Bon-jour! This is the third installment, told from Draco's perspective. I was going to post it in as a different story, but I think this would be easier.
For those who are wondering, while all these parts are connected to one another they don't necessarily make up a whole story which is my it's more chunky than flowy. So yeah, while they're all related in some way, shape or form, it I wouldn't really call it a full-on story…if that makes sense.
Anyhow, please enjoy!
Forgotten, But Not Gone
The first time he sees her, he's 11 years old and he swears it isn't the first time.
He's sitting in one of the first-year compartments. On his left side: Vincent Crabbe. On his right: Gregory Goyle. Both boy's fathers are "business partners" with his own and so, by default, he's been friends with them for years. They're thick, the pair of them, but they make him look even smarter than he already is so he keeps them around. Across from him is the ever-irritating Pansy Parkinson; he met her two years ago, her father's also a "business associate" of his, and she's fallen head-over-heels in love with him. When she isn't drooling over him and vying for his attention, she can be alright. On her left is Theodore Nott. His father, too, is a family friend and unlike with Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson he's never really been forced to hang out with him. On her right is Blaise Zabini. His father's dead and his mother has been through something like seven marriage's in the last 11 years. He's the only one who isn't connected to his family through "business" or many years of friendship; and he's the only person he'd ever trust with his deepest, darkest secret. Not that he has. Just that he would.
Blaise and Theo are talking about the rumor that's been wandering the train, moving from compartment to compartment. The rumor that Harry Potter will be attending Hogwarts this year. His father has already warned him of the possibility of the Boy Who Lived returning to the Wizarding World after 11 years of living with his muggle family. Rumor has it the boy didn't even know he was a wizard until a few weeks ago.
Half-blood.
And then the door opens. And for a moment, Draco thinks he's seeing an angel – or at the very least, a ghost. His breath stops in his throat as a short, petite girl with big, bushy hair and large brown eyes stands in the doorway.
"Hi," she greets friendly, smiling.
He's too busy staring at her to notice anybody else's reactions, but based on the silence that has fallen over the compartment, her presence is unwelcome. Her voice rings in his ears and he swears he recognizes it from somewhere. Those teeth, too; they look too big for her mouth. More than that, though, it's her eyes. Giant pools of brown and gold, warm and inviting.
"Have you guys seen a toad? My friend lost one, he says it's somewhere on the train," the girl says, looking innocent.
"No," Theo replies simply.
"Oh," she mutters, seemingly disappointed. She looks down awkwardly, biting her lip as she taps the tip of her foot on the floor three times in deep thought.
"Well if you do come across one, his name's Trevor," she says finally, lifting her head with a soft, shy smile. "And the boy's name is Neville. I'd really love to stay and chat; I'm so excited about staring school! But I've already promised Neville I'd help find Trevor – it's his pet, you know. Anyway, thanks for your time!"
And then with a whirl of black and brown, she's gone. Draco stares at the spot she was just in, unable – or unwilling – to look away. Who was that? And why did her voice sound so familiar.
"If you could have any animal, at all, what would it be?"
"Anything? Even mythical?"
"Anything."
"A dragon. And I'd name him Draco."
Theo's flabbergasted voice pulls him out of his head. "Who the bloody hell was that?"
"Her name's Hermione Granger," Pansy replies. "Weird name, right? Anyway, she's nothing special; just another little Mudblood," she spits.
"How do you know that?" Draco asks. A part of him is genuinely curious as to how she knows. Another part of him wants it to be just a rumor.
"I saw her in Diagon Alley. She was with Professor McGonogall; only Mudbloods go with a professor to get their school supplies."
Draco grunts, but says no more as he settles back into his seat. His thoughts keep drifting back to this Granger girl, so he engages Blaise in a game of Wizard's Chess – which will last hours, with the two of them.
In the end, Draco wins despite the distraction.
In the end, he decides that he only recognizes her voice from Diagon Alley.
[That night he dreams of ice cream and laughter and his girl.]
X
His fatherresents her.
Granted, Lucius Malfoy hates all Mudbloods, but his hatred towards her, before he even meets her, confuses him. Sure, he's complained about her a few times – because she's a nosey, know-it-all, little teacher's pet who's managed to beat him in all of their classes thus far. But his father's responses are immensely hostile – even for him. His words are harsh, laced with venom, and the look in his eyes is almost deadly.
He almost regrets telling him about her the second they run into her, with Potter and the Weasleys, in Diagonal Alley. The way his father spits her name, glares at her, speaks to her. Calls her out on her blood status, makes a nasty remark about her parents – who really have nothing to do with it. It bothers him.
But she stands her ground, standing tall and looking proud despite his father's insults. And he almost smirks, because the look on his father's face is a priceless.
It's only when she turns away from them that he sees the fleeting look in her big, muddy, brown eyes. Disappointment. Disapproval. Hurt. And, suddenly, he really does regret telling his father about her.
[That night he dreams, again, of his girlcrying because of those boys making fun of her – calling her a freak. And even his real-self wants to hex them for hurting her.]
X
The second her fist slams into his face, confuses him. First, he feels nothing but pain – the blinding-kind that breaks your nose and makes red, sticky blood ooze from the wound. Second, he feels angry and humiliated – angry at the Mudblood for hitting him in the first place, let alone touching him, and humiliated by the mere fact that she had tricked and bested him. Again. And then, as he'd ran back up the hill towards the footbridge, forbidding his "friends" from uttering anything about the incident to anyone, he hears a voice. Just one. Just hers; his girl's.
"Oh! Sorry! I'm so sorry, Draco!"
It echoes in his head, makes him dizzy and confused and he instinctively spins around, looking for her. His gaze, however, only lands on the trio as they begin making their way down the hill towards the giant's hut.
[He dreams of "horseplay" and his girl, that night. Getting all muddy and shrieking with laughter as they tumble in the wet grass, play-fighting. When she lands a particularly hard punch that sends him to the ground in pain, she panics and falls to her knees beside him.
"Oh! Sorry! I'm so sorry, Draco!"
"I don't think you know your own strength, He..."
He almost says her name.]
X
He – alongwith a number of others – doesn't even recognize her at first. She's wearing a beautiful, form-fitting periwinkle dress that does wonders for her girlish curves. Her hair is actually neat, pulled back and styled – probably for the first time in her life. She isn't wearing a lot of makeup, but the stuff she is wearing makes her brown eyes pop – they sort of remind him of melted chocolate and caramel – and puts a bit of color on her lips.
She looks beautiful.
For a moment, he forgets she's a Mudblood. He forgets she's friends with Potter and Weasley. He forgets that she stands for everything he stands against – by choice, or not. He forgets, entirely, who she is.
And for just a moment he forgets that he has his own date, tugging on his arm and sneering in herdirection. She makes a rude comment about how Granger is nothing but an attention-seeking whore, and Draco has to bite his tongue to keep his thoughts to himself – that Granger isn't the one tugging on his sleeve and walking around like she owns the bloody castle.
Still, as she passes him into the Great Hall with her own date – an idol of his, who he isn't sure he still wants to idolize – he tosses her an insult, something that doesn't even remotely make sense, for it's what he does.
[He dreams of his girl, that night. Dressed just like the princesses from her fairy tales, wearing a tiara and sparkly shoes. She spins for him, giggling gleefully.
"How do I look?"
"Beautiful. You know, if you didn't have girl cooties."]
X
He feelsguilty the second he sees the red, angry scars across the top of her porcelain-like white hand.
Following the trio around and busting them in the act of their little DA meeting was all well and good – completely harmless. Until, of course, he began to notice the scars showing up on everyone's hands. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what Umbridge is doing – especially if you take into account their writing hands. Granger is right-handed and the scars are on her left hand.
Umbridge is, in fact, torturing them. Torturing her. That thought alone makes him sick to his stomach. He signed up for her little squad to be in control, to be looked up to by his peers, to show his superiority. To make his father proud. Nobody had said anything about torture.
He finds her studying in the library – nursing that left hand – and before he can talk himself out it, he strides towards her table in four large strides. From the pocket inside his robes he produces a small vile of clear liquid and places it on the table next to her Transfiguration text book. He takes a step back, lingering next to her as she raises her face to look at the vile. He watches her eyelashes flutter and her nose scrunch in confusion as she tilts her head to look at him.
"What is it?"
"It's a potion."
She raises her eyebrows. "It's not enough that you've got me detention for rest of the year, but you have to poison me too?"
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at her with a smirk. "It'll help with pain and the stinging."
She looks confused again so he motions to her hand, which is resting on the table next to her book. She pulls it back and hides it in her lap, looking away from him.
"For what it's worth, I didn't know she would do...what she's doing. She never mentioned anything about those quills."
"Thanks," she mutters.
He nods, turning to leave before stopping mid-step and turning back to face her. "It's concentrated, so just use a little bit at a time. That way there's plenty to go around."
A smile sneaks up upon her lips. "Message received."
He smirks. And then leaves.
[He dreams, like he always does after an encounter with her, about his little girlwith skinned knees. She looks sad and confused and in pain all the same time.
He drops to his knees next to her. "Here, I'll fix it."
"H-how?"she hiccups.
He grins, running his hand gently over her torn-up skin. A smile of amazement lights up her face. "Magic."]
X
When heisn't trying to ignore the blinding fear taking over his soul at the possibility of not accomplishing his task, he's trying to ignore this weird and...disturbing obsession he's developed with Hermione Granger.
That is to say, when he isn't thinking and planning and freaking out on the inside, he's watching her. Just watching. From a safe distance.
There's just something about her – something mesmerizing and...it's like he feels a pull towards her. A connection, of sorts. Like he has to know where she is, who she's with and what she's doing every minute of every day. And if he doesn't know, he has to find out.
Lately, she's been spending a lot of time in the library – more-so than usual, anyway. And she's been spending less and less time with the pothead and the weasel. Most of the time she looks miserable and withdrawn and he has this unfounded need to hurt and torture the person who's done this to her. Sure, he makes her miserable at times – or at least he used to, when he enjoyed it – but, well, he was allowed to. Nobody else should be allowed to make her feel that way.
When he finds out it's Weasley, who's only been gallivanting around the school with that slag Lavender Brown for the last couple of weeks, he nearly throws the pathetic little blood traitor against the nearest wall and hexes him. He would like nothing more than to rip his throat out and make him suffer, but he doesn't – because, honestly, how would he explain that one away?
When the rumor mill begins to buzz that she's taking Cormac McLaggen to Professor Slughorn's little party, he gets a little tight feeling in his chest that he isn't prepared for. Why would she take him? He's foul and pathetic and – then he realizes exactly why she's taking him, and it ties his stomach into knots. She wants to make Weasley jealous.
That's, essentially, why he crashes the party. To see where she is, who's she's with and what she's doing. A sense of satisfaction falls over him when he notices, over Filches gangly shoulder, that she's avoiding her own date. At least she can take care of herself.
Two hours later, he finds himself lingering in the dark corridor outside the room in which the party is being held. He's waiting for her. When the door opens and his peers begin to file out two-by-two, he holds his breath. What if she's with someone? What if she decides to leave with Potter? Or worse, what if she actually leaves with Dickhead McLaggen.
He sees the skirt of her dress before he actually sees her. Alone. He finds himself staring, watching her as she begins to make her way down the corridor – straight towards him. Before he can even think, he jumps out from the shadows and curls his hand around his wrist, yanking her into the alcove. She screams as he pushes her against the wall, struggling as she tries to fight him off. He's stronger, though, even as she knees him in the thigh. He grunts, pressing his body against hers in a panic to keep her still and calm her down.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispers in her ear.
She stops struggling, her entire body seizing up. "Malfoy...what do you want?"
He pulls back far enough to look at her, his nose grazing hers at their close proximity. He can feel her apprehension and her fear through her body heat. Her eyes are wide with curiousity and confusion as she looks back. "S-something's happening tomorrow, Granger. Something bad," he murmurs. His voice sounds desperate, even to himself.
"What's happening?"
"I can't tell you. Just...protect yourself," he whispers sternly. "Protect your friends."
And then, before his mouth decides to reveal anything more, he disappears.
[And then, while he's lying in bed, it dawns on him – why he feels so...attracted to her. Why he feels so protective and obsessed.
She reminds him of his girl.
And it's no wonder, then, because he's been obsessing over and trying to protect her for as long as he can remember.]