Letters to the Moon

Chapter 1

"a moment of insanity"

The 'Pureblood Pageant' was opened to all witches and wizards of halfbloods and muggleborns in Hogwarts. The only standard needed was for every contestant to have a pureblood to escort him or her in the pageant – the objectives were to prove that halfbloods and muggleborns could act as finely as purebloods given the chance and 'unity'; blood-unity, house-unity. So far everything went too smoothly. Some say it was a surprise, but Hermione thought it wasn't.

Of course it should be a surprise when the purebloods (mainly girls) began to seek for the halfbloods and even the muggleborns who wanted to take part in the pageant, willingly offering themselves to be escorts. Then again it was clear that they were willing to overlook the blood differences and escort the 'lower bloods' simply because they wanted to be part of the pageant. So although the pageant seemed to be reaching its objectives vigorously, Hermione wondered whether it was reaching them the way it supposed to.

Then, the pageant wouldn't bother Hermione as much as it was if only Ron wasn't alluding to her to enter the pageant with him every two minute – "I'm a pureblood and you're a muggleborn" – and when she had refused because – well, because Hermione Granger wasn't the one to enter any pageant thinking or unthinkingly, Ron had exploded. There were rumors about them now and the rumors spread that the reason Hermione wasn't entering was because her only candidate to be picked as an escort – Ron or so they thought – was a peasant. Hermione thought the rumors were rubbishes – as rumors always are – but Ron thought they were exactly what she was thinking.

Hermione sighed for the thirteenth time as she closed her book, picking up her book bag from the library table and standing to leave. She had read – try to – but she had been at the same line for the past one minute and it wasn't a good sign, considering usually Hermione Granger could read much in one minute.

She stopped when she saw a dark-green book lying on the floor between two bookshelves. She walked over to it and picked it up.

'D' written in silver was the single letter marked on the book leather cover. Hermione frowned and surveyed the library for signs of its owner. Finding none, everyone either talking quietly with his companions or reading silently away, she heaved out another sigh and tucked it above the pile of books loaded in her arms.

~*~*~

"Hermione Granger found it – she asked if it was any of us', but no one said yes. I think she's taken it to find its owner."

For some reason Draco only heard until 'Hermione Granger found it'. He was appalled.

Hermione Granger had taken Draco Malfoy's diary – how imprudent! And if Hermione Granger had any guts to actually flip its pages and read through – no, really – if Hermione Granger even flicked through its first page; on which Draco Malfoy had written 'Bloody Hell, world is a stocking-sized shithole', Draco Malfoy will make sure Hermione Granger vanish.

Draco stalked through the Great Hall straight towards the Gryffindor table. Since the Pureblood Pageant was announced to be taken place in Hogwarts a week ago, every time he walked past, the girls seemed to goggle over – not that they hadn't been before, but the goggling thing seemed more prominent now and, well, it wasn't that Draco didn't enjoy the attention, but it was rather disconcerting when every swing of your butt was followed by such goggling eyes.

"Granger." Draco called straightforwardly when he reached her. He was opening his mouth to list the charges she was under for kidnapping his diary when Hermione stood, until he realized she wasn't acknowledging him.

"It's not that, Ron." she pressed, frowning tiredly. Draco's eyes flickered to his left when Ron too, stood, leaving Draco to stand in the middle of them. Because they didn't seem to see him, briefly Draco wondered if he was actually dead and was now one of those invisible, hair-rising ghosts he had seen in movies; something muggle he had just learned – not one like Moaning Myrtle or Headless Nick or Bloody Baron. "I never said I wanted to enter the pageant." Granger said.

"Yeah, I know." ruddy-weasel said, looking habitually offended. "Because you've thought of it over. You knew I was just a peasant from the start so you decided not to take part in it."

Granger stared at him disbelievingly.

"What are you talking about?" she raised her voice, ignoring the attention they were getting. Draco was now officially in the middle of prickling saliva – especially from his left. "Those are just rumors. I'm not the kind to enter a pageant even if it's to prove something – which I don't really believe in anyway and you should know that. It's just—"

Having had quite enough of the lame squabble, not to mention the rain it was producing at his face, Draco raised his hands to Hermione and Ron's face level.

They blinked.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron snarled, as if shocked to see him for the first time there.

Draco almost rolled his eyes, but resorted to his best driving-'em-all-mad scheme. He smirked.

"Just for clearance… I'm still alive." he announced, flashing Ron a set of sparkling teeth even Voldemort couldn't match. In return of his smirk, ruddy-weasel clenched his jaw and seemed constipated. Concerned to be mistaken, Draco looked again, and he realized that ruddy-weasel was actually scowling. Suddenly a madder scheme popped into Draco's mind. He leaned to a side, closer for a fraction of an inch to Granger. "You see, Weasley—" Ron frowned glaringly at him at the proper surname. "—Granger is actually planning to enter the pageant with me. She didn't want to tell you just yet because, well, she knew you'd be reacting like this."

Voices rose – not really – exploded in the Great Hall.

Some gawked, some frowned and muttered, most exclaimed 'What?', sounding shocker than when they received the death of their great-great-great grandpa's, and some went to the extremity of standing up and craning their neck to the Gryffindor table as though to see for certain whether the speaker was indeed Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's eyes widened, fixed on Draco's face with shock and disbelief.

Ron's eyes snapped to Hermione, accusing and offended.

"Thank you for telling me then, Malfoy." he said lowly, tearing his eyes away from Hermione to stare hard at Draco's self-satisfied expression.

Hermione removed her surprised gaze to Ron but before she could react, he had turned and in a moment was out of the Great Hall massive door.

When Granger turned back to him, Draco thought she looked like she was about to cry.

"Malfoy!" Hermione and Harry shouted simultaneously.

"Shouldn't blame me he's so gullible." Draco drawled, and instead of continuing the acting, he leaned dangerously close to Hermione. Even though she seemed faltering, she remained staring sharply at him. "Where is my book?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Hermione's face changed. Draco couldn't quite put what it was but for a terrifying moment he thought she did read his diary. Then, she held her head high and turned to seize the exact book from the table. She shoved it harshly to his chest.

"I wouldn't accept your thank you." she said as quiet, her voice strained.

Draco fingered his book. He gave her a bitter smile.

"Why would I thank you in the first place?" he remained staring into her dark brown eyes and she seemed to struggle at keeping the eye contact. "Tell me you didn't open it." he ordered, putting the hint of a warning in his voice.

"I didn't." Hermione retorted.

Draco edged closer. Hermione stood still tensely – by then she could even make out her image in his cold gray eyes but somehow, they were still not clear enough.

"Bad liar." he mouthed.

Anger flashed across Hermione's face.

"I didn't." she repeated. "I didn't know who the owner was till you mentioned it. Why, keeping the world secret in there?" she mocked.

Ignoring the harsh remark, Draco distanced away and left.

Hermione released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

It had never been easy for her to lie.

~*~*~

After the fight interlude with Malfoy's infantile insertion in the Great Hall, Ron hadn't bothered trying another bicker with her for the entire day and at the moment, although fear was slashing at her inside so frantically, afraid if the redhead had decided she was not worth it anymore, Hermione didn't feel like confronting him.

Perhaps later, she soothed herself, when they both had had time to cool.

Hermione sat down on the couch nearest to the fireplace, a book in her lap – a copy of the book she had returned to its owner this evening. The common room was quiet as she made sure she was the only one left.

Heaving out a sigh, Hermione opened the book in her lap and began to read.

xXx

BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BOOK

I never wanted to write. I never wanted to write in you!!

xXx

Hermione blinked. The rest that was written on the page were mad scratches and clumsy splatters of ink. She flicked to the book second page.

xXx

Tuesday, 16 July

It rooted from a moment of insanity.

Father was enraged at something I did. Something I knew he should be enraged at. But then, in that moment of insanity he cursed me with a killing curse. An ancient, a killing-you-slowly-and-painfully killing curse.

I'm going to die.

xXx

Hermione read the lines again, surprised. There was nothing else after the seventh line but blots of ink and scratches of the quill, although not as deep as they were on the first page. It seemed that he was annoyed, uncertain on how to write the whole story properly.

She turned to another page.

xXx

Monday, 29 July

I flew around the manor today. I tried to fly with my eyes closed. It worked – for a second or two before I crashed into a tree and fell from its branches. I remember crashing into the same tree when I flied for the first time. But when I fell today, Mother looked even more terrified. She cried again.

Every time she saw me she cried now. Last night I woke and found her beside my bed, sitting on the floor and sleeping with her head on the bed.

She barely looks at Father now.

Sometime before, I did think of wanting to have a lighter family – not the kind with a Death Eater father in it but a real businessman kind – but now that he's started coming home more frequently even just for lunch and smiles at me, it feels wrong. His smiles looked odd. Not the kind I wanted. He just smiles and looks guilty. Regretting. I don't get it. Don't they know all those make me sad? They're supposed to act fine like I do. They're supposed to be stronger. Every time Mother cries I hate myself. Every time Father looks at me and get that guilt-ridden look on his face I hate myself. I don't blame them. I would never blame them. I would tell everyone it was an accident, not their fault. Don't they get it? They aren't supposed to show they're sad.

It hurts me.

xXx

Hermione stared wide-eyed at the page. Maybe Malfoy meant nothing to her, but she wasn't expecting this when she made a copy of his diary out of rebel for what he had done to her and her friends in the past years. She only realized she had been crying when her hand wiped her face.

"Oh no." she frowned helplessly at the book. "I wish I hadn't taken it."

~*~*~

It wasn't Draco's idea. He was originally practically forced by the healer that worked for his family, saying it might help to pour his feelings out into a book if he didn't want to disclose them to someone. Draco hadn't wanted to write, but seeing his Mother's worry-stricken face, he forced himself to and occasionally flicked the pages to Narcissa just to show her he did write. And it wasn't his idea not to cast protecting spells on the book either. Again, he was somehow persuaded into following the bloody healer's advice not to cast any spells on his own diary – saying it would feel better if he didn't, it would feel light that he wasn't hiding anything he wrote from anyone by letting it spell-free. Draco had known the healer was talking worthless scrap, but again he lost to his Mother's beautiful, hopeful face.

Tonight, as Draco turned and tossed in his bed while Crabbe and Goyle's snore wafted throughout the boy dormitory from either side of his bed, he had a feeling that frightened him.

If he had to choose one thing that feared him most about dying, it was 'being pitied at'. Granger was the perfect prototype of someone who would give pity incessantly and that was why he panicked when he figured she had taken his book.

Draco frowned as he stared at the green ceiling; everything in his gaze green for the dormitory was dimly lit by murky green light.

Granger wouldn't lie about it right? She did say she didn't read it…

"Goddamnit Malfoy." Draco muttered, shutting his eyes firmly. "She said she didn't read it." he turned to lay flat on his face on the bed and hugged the pillow and began counting the sheep.

A/N: There you go two chapters in a row! I've wanted to post only prologue first, but I think it'd be annoying to have just posted prologue without an actual beginning, so I posted along 'chapter 1'… but how would I know? I humbly and desperately need your comments since you know better -wink-… So tell me something please, and thanks for reading!