Chapter Seven
The Slytherin Prince, and the Gryffindor Bookworm
Every night for the next week when Hermione was sure that Malfoy was fast asleep she performed the same spell that caused his journal to fly into her hands. Every night in her room she would read his journal, and when she was near sleep she casted another spell to send the journal back to it's original place.
This routine didn't go without guilt. Hermione felt extremely guilty, it ate at her, but it satisfied her. It quenched a thirst she didn't know she had. She wanted to know more about Malfoy, and gradually she was learning about him. His growing resentment towards his own blood, and his hatred for who he had became. It was enlightening, and she desperately wanted to tell Harry, and Ron, but it wouldn't have been fair. It was bad enough that she was reading it without permission. She couldn't forgive herself if she handed over his guarded feelings to other people he hated just as much.
It was once again night, and she cuddled underneath the covers with one of her many pillows. She picked up where she left off the night before, looking out for her name, and her friends.
1/9/93
Dementors came onto the train today. I thought things that I thought I buried deep, so deep that not even a dementor could dig them up, but I was wrong. I remembered when my father became angry; he hit my mother across her jaw. The bruise was there for weeks. I remembered when I was five, and I fell off my toy broomstick, and skinned my knee. I cried, but my father told me to grow up, and take the pain like a real boy. I've never cried in front of him since. I remembered a lot of things... Now I can't forget them.
2/9/93
I couldn't sleep last night. I wonder if I ever will. Dementors, they're all around the school keeping a watch out for Sirius Black... My father supports these creatures? How can someone support something so vicious? What does my father feel when he's near them? I'm a horrible son, sometimes I wonder if he has a heart.
She skipped pages, feeling a bit better about not reading his journal word per word.
26/4/94
That dirty, unworthy, mudblood smacked me! Me! I'll get that jumped up mudblood one day. It'll come to her.
She flips again.
2/9/94
A ferret... That old, indespicable professor turned me into a ferret. My father should have been furious. I wrote to him, but I all I was told that there was nothing could be done. Quite contradictory considering it's the opposite of what I've been told while growing up.
Turns more pages.
8/11/94
Was in a fight with Potter in the hall today. Our spells deflected. Lets just say that Goyle is in the hospital wing for the night, and Granger, well that was funny. Her teeth grew past her chin! Consider it payment for her hitting me last year, not to mention being a mudblood.
10/11/94
Passed Granger in the hallway today. She was smiling, and her teeth looked... Normal. I suppose her looking that decent was my fault...
Decent eh? She laughed, and stifled it with her hand cupping her mouth. She flipped through more pages, not seeing her name. Then...
25/12/94
It was the Yule ball tonight, my feet hurt, and I hate to admit that Granger looked... Beautiful. It's only here that I can admit this. She looked stunning, not at all her usual bushy haired self. Not once did I think her a mudblood. My father would be ashamed at the thoughts I'm having towards her, but he'll never find out, and neither will anyone else. We can all hope for something else, or someone else, right? I can dream that I don't care about blood status. It is only when those dreams come true that I'm in trouble.
Hermione's hand dropped from her gaping mouth. Beautiful? No one aside from Krum, (the Bulgarian Quidditch star that she went to the ball with) had ever called her that before. It was touching to say the least, but she read on pretending that she hadn't been effected. She was sure he would take it back in a page or two.
30/12/94
The Yule Ball is over. Granger is back to looking like her usual self, so I should be back to my usual thoughts. Then why is it that I'm not? These feelings, they're only temporary. This will all go away, and soon I'll go back to hating her.
Her hand shook as she skipped some pages. He would take it back, she knew he would. It was only passing thoughts.
5/3/95
I heard from a couple of Slytherin girls at breakfast about the article Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly about Hermione. What Skeeter says is always a lie, but I can't help but look over to the Gryffindor table. She looked so upset. A part of me, a very small insignificant part wants to comfort her. I have to banish these thoughts, and feelings. This girl's put a spell over me.
24/6/95
I heard Granger caught Skeeter in a jar. Can't deny it... The girl has guts, brains, and beauty. If only she was a pureblood, a Slytherin. If only I wasn't one...
She skipped pages again.
1/9/95
The blood on Potter's face was satisfying, hearing the crunch of bones beneath my shoes...
She felt sickened... She skipped through the rest.
20/7/96
A secret: I don't want to be a deatheater. After all these years, seeing how other parents treat their children with such care... I don't want to be my father anymore, I want my own life. However, I do not have a choice. I couldn't fight my father, and hear him disclaim me from the family. So I went with him, I met Voldemort, and I was branded like a cow... I'm now a deatheater, and my task is to kill Granger. I'm not sure if I can do this, but I have no choice... I have to. I have to live up the expectations that was given to me at birth.
"Oh... Malfoy..." She breathed, the ache she was feeling for him filled her.
10/9/96
When I saw Granger in breakfast I imagined pointing my wand at her, and yelling the curse that would end her life. I couldn't imagine it, and when I tried too hard it hurt. I realize that I'll have to do this when her back is turned so I won't have to see her face, those caramel eyes. How I'm going to manage that it undecided. In the end she is still a mudblood. I'll still have to kill her.
14/9/96
I hate my life. I hate the way I've grown up around hatred. The dark mark on my arm is like a constant sore. It never stops hurting, it's almost blinding, and worse yet spitting out the word mudblood to her doesn't have the same satisfaction... It feels... Wrong. I'm bringing shame to my whole family without them knowing, but when I kill Granger I think it'll get easier. I don't understand why I was assigned to her. Why couldn't it have been Potter, or Weasel? Why her?
15/9/96
I was down at the lake tonight. Simply thinking about my plans for Granger when she showed up. I put on my mask, my act, and because of my hatred I almost died tonight. I was pulled into the lake by that wretched squid. I still have water in my ears, and Granger's lavender scent on my clothes. I have tortured this girl since the beginning of school, and yet... She saved my life. I don't know why, and I want desperately to ask her, but what kind of person would that make me? Kind? I wasn't raised to be that way.
16/9/96
It all became clear when I woke. I can't kill her. I won't. She thinks I have no morals, but I do. I'll show her I do. I agreed to give myself over to Dumbledore. I'm going to Azkaban, and if this is the last thing I write... Well, it won't matter, no one will ever read this, possibly a future Slytherin. I will give some advice then: Follow what your gut tells you, and you won't end up like me full of regrets, and hate.
17/9/96
That old man didn't send me to Azkaban after all (obviously I'm writing in here). He did something much worse. I have to live with Granger in a Muggle town. I have to keep this act of mine up for however long it will take for Voldemort, and his followers to be caught. I'll be here forever, and this girl has guts... I called her names, I was rude, I was everything I was raised to be at the moment I told her the rules of the house, and you know what she did? She grabbed my arm in a remarkable strength, and told me what the rules were. I can still feel her hand on my arm. I think there's a bruise...
What's worse? I'm right across the hall from her. I'm only a couple of walls from being near her. Nothing can hurt so much.
What's wrong with me? I'm tainting my status. She's below me. Yet... Everyday it seems to matter less. My father isn't here to corrupt me anymore, I have to make my own choices... What if I choose to be who I think I am?
Hermione set the journal down beside her. Her room was blurred in front of her by hot tears. They spilled down her cheeks. Slowly, but surely Malfoy was changing, and she felt bad for him. She never knew his story, never cared, and she didn't blame herself for that. No, she only blamed the wizarding world for putting so much emphasis on status. If there was no such thing, would Malfoy, and her be... No, no, it couldn't happen.
With a flick of her wand she sent his journal off. She would forget what she had read, and she would sleep. Tomorrow would be another day living with Malfoy, and she couldn't show weakness. He was still Malfoy the Slytherin Prince, just like she was still Granger the Gryffindor Bookworm.