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Pride & Prejudice & Leprechauns	By : Refictionista Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 4178 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Nothing from the wizarding world of Harry Potter is mine, and I make no profit off of my writing. The fact that this story is on this site obviously implies that I am a fan writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Waking from the most wonderful dream and then wincing from the bright morning light streaming through the window, Hermione slowly lifted her head.

She immediately regretted that mistake. Her head spinning, or perhaps it was the room spinning, she groaned and tried to grab a pillow to put it over her head to stop the sun’s rays from assaulting her eyes, but she couldn’t move her arm.

Another arm was holding her down, preventing her from moving.

A muscular and definitely male arm.

Eyes wide and too shocked to cry out in surprise, she turned to see exactly whose body was attached to that arm.

As she somehow suspected, Draco Malfoy, his naked torso rising and falling gently and in time with his soft snores, was lying next to her. He had scratch marks on his shoulders and arms, and there were love bites all over his chest.

Oh, merciful Merlin! thought Hermione. What have I done?

Then the memories of last night came back to her and she gasped. It hadn’t been a dream! At the sound, Draco’s eyes flew open, and he sat up straight. Hermione sat up as well, inching away from him and then grabbing the green silk sheet to her chest as she realized her own nakedness.

Draco was staring at her, twin pink spots appearing on his pale cheeks and surprise in his eyes. Unable to maintain eye contact, she turned at looked straight ahead, blinking every few seconds and at a distinct disadvantage in her ability to form any coherent words.

After what seemed several moments to Hermione, he spoke. “I believe,” he said bluntly, “it would be in our best interests if I went to get us some tea.” Without waiting for a reply, Draco leaned over, grabbed a dressing gown from the end of the bed, and hastily donned it. He stood, gave her an awkwardly stiff bow, and left the room.

Hermione, finally coming to grips with the circumstances, realized that she had bedded the bête noire of her existence. No thought was given to how... vigorously... no, she mustn’t think that way... he had performed. She needed to find her clothing and her wand, preferably in that order, and get out of this flat as quickly as possible.

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door opening, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being a house-elf come to inquire after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Draco walk into the room. In a hurried manner, he immediately began to set up the tea, asking if she would like him to pour. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Hermione was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. Our sexual chemistry will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Hermione’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, colored, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed. His sense of her blood’s inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the Muggle-born obstacles which she had miraculously overcome, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a wizard’s lust, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience. He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer, and expressed his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed arrogant confidence.

“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed; however, I am not one of your pureblooded ladies. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly on someone you should view as, how did you say it, ah yes, undeserving.”

Draco, who was leaning against an ornately carved bedpost with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became even more pale than usual with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”

“I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting both myself and my heritage, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your supposed good breeding? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been indifferent, or had they even been favorable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved friend?”

As she pronounced these words, she stood away from the bed, naked, as she searched for her chemise. Draco changed color; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued as she yanked the shift over her head:

“I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

With assumed tranquility he then replied: “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from yours, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”

“But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received from Ronald Weasley. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?”

“You take an eager interest in a gentleman who treated you most abominably,” said Draco, in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened color.

“Regardless,” cried Hermione with energy. “You have sabotaged the advantages which you knew would have been for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his dessert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”

“And this,” cried Draco, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,” added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, “these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?—to congratulate myself on the Muggleness of your birth, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"

Hermione felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried the utmost to speak with composure when she said:

“You are mistaken, Mr. Malfoy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:

“You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:

“From the very beginning—from the first moment on the Hogwarts Express, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your pure-blooded arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not worked closely with you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Hermione heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the flat.
Hermione hastily finished dressing, grabbed her wand, and Apparated home.
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Pride & Prejudice & Leprechauns