Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Some Kind of Wonderful	By : Dazzlious Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 12061 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from J K Rowling's fantastic books or films, I'm just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so.

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Draco sat on the bed looking at the stack of diaries he had pulled from his trunk. He had never expected to show them to anyone. Not for him the urge to share their contents. They were his private and most deeply personal feelings and they were definitely not for general consumption, containing as they did every thought he had ever had over the six years he had spent at Hogwarts before leaving with Snape on that awful night almost two years ago.
Every bad thing he had ever thought, every nasty thing he had ever done, all these were contained within the pages of his journals, written down for posterity. But so, too, were his true feelings for Hermione. His diaries had been the one place he could be honest about his love for the Muggle-born witch, his only relief from the pain he felt at being a blood-traitor. His desire for her had seemed so wrong at the time that he had often had a difficult time writing about it, especially when he had done something particularly nasty to her, something he often did purely to punish himself for being so weak as to be in love with her. But there had been no one he could confide in, and his diaries had given him a way to offload his feelings before he did something stupid like tell her how he really felt about her.
If his father had ever found the diaries, had ever looked at what his son had written, he would have disowned him immediately, at the very least; but Draco had kept them well hidden and he didn’t think his father even knew he still kept a diary, let alone wrote in it regularly. Neither did anyone else. Draco had always guarded his writing time jealously, sure that if his friends had discovered what he was doing they would be disapproving, or worse, would want to see what he had written.
Six books lay on the bed, all but one looking almost brand new. Six years of precious memories and the confession of his love for Hermione. He stroked the top book in the pile as he debated. Hermione had been right when she said that during their entire time at school he had never once been even pleasant to her, and he could completely understand her mistrust of him and his assertion that he was in love with her.
He was positive that given enough time he could eventually convince his new wife that his feelings for her were true, but he was impatient. Now that Hermione was finally his he wanted the physical intimacy he had been dreaming of for years and as things stood now that wasn’t going to happen overnight. She wasn’t willing to consummate the marriage yet, and although he could have forced her to give herself to him — she was his wife and had to obey him, or so the bonding ceremony had said — he didn’t want their union to begin that way.
If he gave Hermione his diaries to read she would see for herself just how much he adored her, would learn just how long he had been in love with his brilliant, beautiful wife. But it would also expose her to every single facet of his being. He would have no secrets from her and she would be able to use that knowledge and power to control him. She would know his reasoning for every nasty thing he had ever said or done, and some of it really didn’t make him look good when he thought back on it.
He sighed deeply, stroking his chin with one hand as he weighed the choices. Without the diaries, convincing Hermione of his sincerity would be a long, slow, drawn-out process during which, if what he had already experienced was anything to go by, he would be lucky if he was even allowed to kiss her, let alone get his hands anywhere near her luscious body. At the very least the diaries would speed up the process and if he was really lucky they might even get her into his bed within days or maybe weeks rather than months.
Draco scooped up one of the journals and headed for the Library, where he was sure Hermione had taken refuge. Sure enough, Hermione was sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, surrounded by a pile of large and boring-looking books. Draco looked around for Madam Pince. It always helped to know where she was, especially if you were going to do something she considered heinous, such as talking in the Library. On the bright side, he and Hermione appeared to be the only people there, not really a surprise as it was the weekend, but Madam Pince was on the prowl and was already watching him suspiciously as he headed towards Hermione.
‘Here,’ Draco said, holding out the pristine-looking black leather-bound journal. He looked a little apprehensive.
‘What’s that?’ Hermione asked.
‘You want proof that I’m in love with you. It’s in there, at least the start of it is,’ Draco said quietly.
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise but took the journal from Draco and turned it over in her hands to study it.
‘It’s one of my diaries,’ Draco explained. ‘I didn’t bother giving you the first year. You were an annoying bint then and I thoroughly detested you, as did most of the school, as I recall. But even by our second year I was revising my opinion of you, was beginning to realise that there was something about you. It’s all in there if you care to read about it.’
Hermione bristled at his candid comment but then looked at the diary, noting the embossed crest on the cover of the obviously expensive book. For a moment Draco thought she was going to refuse to read it, but then she gave a small nod. He realised he had been holding his breath. He could see Madam Pince getting ready to descend upon them.
‘I’ll let you read it in peace,’ he said quickly. ‘It shouldn’t take you long. It’s not exactly a masterpiece, just the scrawling of a twelve-year-old boy. I’ll come back in an hour or so with the next one.’
Leaving Hermione in the Library, Draco made his way slowly back to his bedroom. He was already beginning to regret having given her the diary. What if she didn’t understand what he had written? He hadn’t re-read his journals but he was sure he had been legible and succinct, even at that age. He just hoped his memory was right. He looked at the pile of journals still on his bed and picked up the one from his first year, opening it and flicking through the pages.
His handwriting was legible, at least, although completely different from his current style. He looked at the entry before him. He had written something rather dull about how stupid Crabbe and Goyle were; had he really needed to record that? And a complaint about Pansy Parkinson and what a bore she was, mooning over him all the time. That was interesting. Even in his first year, when Hermione had been nothing more than the know-it-all Mudblood everyone hated, he had still made reference to preferring her to Parkinson, even though Hermione’s blood status made her persona non grata in his world. The following day’s entry was a long rant about Potter and Weasley and what a pair of prats they were. He smiled. Nothing had changed there, then; he still thought they were prats.
As he had told Hermione, the prose wasn’t award-winning, but assuming he had continued in the same vein as this diary, it was at least readable. And there would be some good stuff in amongst the bad. He remembered his guilt after he had blithely announced that he hoped Hermione would be the one to die after the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. It had sounded right at the time and had given his Slytherin colleagues a laugh, but a tiny part of him that he had tried desperately to ignore had told him he didn’t really want that at all and he was being incredibly mean by saying it.
He remembered trying to convince himself that he was mean, as mean as the trio had always accused him of being, but it hadn’t worked. Whatever he personally thought of the Mudblood, the name by which he always referred to Hermione in his diaries, he didn’t really want her dead. In fact, the idea of her not being around any more, annoying as she was, left him with a slightly hollow feeling that he couldn’t quite work out, and not even writing it down had managed to clarify it for him.
And then it had happened. Not Hermione’s death, thank Merlin, but she had been attacked by whatever the monster was that was living in the Chamber of Secrets and had been Petrified. He remembered how, when he had first heard about it, he had laughed as loud and hard as the other Slytherins and added that he was disappointed that her demise had not been forthcoming, causing the Weasel to rail as he always did. Inside, though, Draco had been a seething mass of emotions: loathing for himself at what he was saying publicly; horror at the fact that Hermione had been attacked, almost as if his pronouncement had caused it; and disgust at the fact that he cared one way or another. He still remembered the amount of time he had spent that day writing that entry, trying to put into words the huge turmoil that was roiling around inside of him.
It was about that time he had realised how much he looked at Hermione. It was hard not to, of course. Slytherins shared most of their classes with the Gryffindors, and the bloody know-it-all was always there, sticking up her hand or offering some unwanted piece of information. But after she had been Petrified, suddenly all their classes had seemed that much duller. He had lost count of the number of times he had turned to look at her seat only to find it empty, and Potty and the Weasel looking as miserable as Draco felt. He had dedicated several days’ worth of writing to debating why it was he couldn’t stop looking for her.
Closing the first year’s diary, he dropped it back into his trunk and moved back to the bed to pick up the next book in the pile. He looked at his watch. It hadn’t been an hour yet, but he was feeling restless, unable to settle until he saw Hermione’s reaction to him in light of the revelations of his diary. He had to go back to the Library.

Hermione was making great headway with Draco’s diary. She had always been a fast reader anyway, but this was the ultimate in light reading, especially after the Ancient Runes book she had been attempting to decipher before Draco had given her the diary. She had sat there looking at the journal for a good ten minutes while she debated whether to read it. On the one hand, she was fascinated to find out how Draco’s mind worked, but at the same time, it seemed like prying, even if he was giving her permission.
When she finally opened the book and began reading she found herself remembering the Draco Malfoy of their second year; the obnoxious Pure-blood boy who, it had seemed to her at the time, had dedicated himself to making her life as miserable as possible. Interestingly, she found herself smiling on occasion at some of his comments and felt herself getting annoyed once again over many more, especially when his diary told her the petty reasons behind what he had done. But once she began reading his thoughts on her, his real secret and hidden thoughts, she found herself surprised and a little disconcerted.
She remembered the way he had acted over the Chamber of Secrets when he told everyone he hoped she would die, but reading his admission that this was the last thing he really wanted was unsettling.
As was his description of his joy at her return to the Great Hall after being revived by the Mandrakes. Apparently, this had unnerved him somewhat, especially the sharp flare of jealousy he had felt upon seeing her happily hugging Harry and Ron. And he had argued with his friends, who had accused him of being too happy about the restoration of those who had been Petrified. He had covered quickly, pointing out that they didn’t want the Headmaster — who Draco felt was already fiercely anti-Slytherin — to have a reason to punish the House for not being community-minded. This had, apparently, given him the opportunity to look at Hermione throughout the entire meal without fear of being found out.
What really surprised her, though, was his account of the journey on the Hogwarts Express back to London on the last day of term. Back home at Malfoy Manor, he had obviously spent quite some time trying to assess his feelings and chronicle them accurately. He had written an in-depth description of how, although he had tried to relax with his friends as they looked forward to the blissful summer that lay ahead without any interference by Mudbloods and blood-traitors, he had not been able to shake his thoughts of her.
The sudden realisation that after that day he wouldn’t be seeing her for over two months had caused him to rise and take a walk along the train, taking his goons with him for protection as he had made quite a few enemies over the course of the year. Draco had hovered outside the door of Hermione’s carriage for as long as possible, watching her while she played Exploding Snap with her friends until he knew he could no longer stay without getting caught. Amazingly, she had never even realised he was there.
How had he managed to keep all this quiet for all this time? Hermione wondered. She had never once suspected that Draco had harboured anything but ill-will for her, yet as far back as their second year he apparently, had completely opposite feelings for her to the ones he showed publicly. Perhaps if he hadn’t felt the need to keep his feelings hidden, hadn’t been so enslaved by the pureblood ideal, things could have worked out differently for all of them. But then Hermione realised that wasn’t entirely true. Whilst Draco’s feelings for her weren’t anything like she had expected, his hatred of Harry and Ron was absolutely still as real as ever.
She looked at the Ancient Runes book she had been reading before Draco had given her the diary. She couldn’t face picking it up again. What she really wanted to read was Draco’s third-year diary.

When Draco entered the Library the second time he couldn’t work out how Hermione was feeling. Her expression was inscrutable, giving nothing away. She had obviously finished reading his diary as it lay closed on the desk in front of her, but she hadn’t returned to her studies, which Draco chose to take as a hopeful sign that she might be interested in reading more. He noticed Madam Pince looking at him warily again as he walked over to Hermione and placed the next book on the table, retrieving the one she had read.
‘You really were an obnoxious little prick, weren’t you?’ Hermione said.
Draco’s heart caught. Whilst it was probably true, it wasn’t the comment he had hoped to hear. He bit back a retort. Those had always come far too easily to his lips over the years where Hermione and her friends were concerned.
Hermione looked at him intently. ‘How on earth did you manage to keep it quiet for so long? I mean, you never once gave any indication . . . .’
‘I didn’t have any choice,’ Draco said honestly. ‘You know what my father’s like. Can you imagine what he would have done if he’d had an inkling of how I felt about you? Even I didn’t understand it. There was no way he would have. He still won’t.’ He pointed to the new diary on the table. ‘This was when I really began to fancy you seriously,’ he said without a trace of embarrassment.
Madam Pince had obviously decided they were talking too much and was making her way towards them. Draco glanced towards her, then back at Hermione.
‘Here comes the old bird to tell me off for talking. I’ll see you later, Mrs Malfoy.’
Before Hermione had a chance to say anything further, Draco left the Library. Hermione smiled at Madam Pince, who was looking rather put out at not being able to reprimand Draco, then opened the second, pristine volume of Draco’s diary.
She hadn’t got far into the narrative before she realised that even at thirteen Draco had been considerably more advanced than Harry and Ron. He had written in great detail his glee at Harry’s fainting incident aboard the Hogwarts Express on the way to school, when the Dementors had boarded the train looking for the escaped convict Sirius Black; and he had been incredibly scathing, too, in his disdain for the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin, with whom Hermione and her friends had shared a carriage, meaning Draco had needed to curb his bullying of them to some extent. He had also been very descriptive about her.
It appeared that in the short time he and the goons had been in the trio’s carriage, not only had Draco noticed that Hermione had got a decent tan while she was on holiday — which he had found rather attractive, according to his diary — but that she had changed physically, too, becoming curvier and much more alluring than Pansy, or so he had said. By the time she had got a month or so into the school year he had talked about her body many times, discussing her ‘impressive’ breasts in particular in quite some detail, explaining on several occasions how he had spent whatever lesson they had shared together checking her out, although these comments had always been followed by the self-loathing that stemmed from his desire for her. He had also been, Hermione had been amused to read, apparently surprised that neither of her dim-witted friends, as he called them, had seemed to notice the change in her and he had wondered on more than one occasion whether they had even realised she was female.
Interestingly, probably because he was spending so much time stalking her, he had also noticed that she had a fuller timetable than anyone else in the school, something she had spent a lot of time that year trying to keep quiet, and he had observed on several occasions that her increased workload was taking its toll and her relationship with her friends was clearly suffering as a result.
In fact, Draco had decided it was that stress that had caused Hermione to slap him hard around the face after he had helped condemn to death the hippogriff that had attacked him in Care of Magical Creatures. He had written in terms of such pleasure about what had happened and how he had been unable to keep the glee from his voice as Hagrid had broken down over the fate of Buckbeak that Hermione hated him all over again for what he had done and she was fairly certain that had he been in the Library at that moment she would have slapped him again, regardless of Madam Pince.
But it seemed he had been far more disturbed by his reaction to the slap than by Buckbeak’s attack. According to the diary, his immediate reaction had been a desire to hit her back, although that was something he would never do to any female, not even a Mudblood, he had confided. But he had gone on to explain that deep inside, a far more disturbing desire had taken hold, one that had made him walk away from Hermione and her friends before he could act upon it.
Over the next few weeks Draco’s entries brooded on the unwelcome desire he felt for Hermione. It seemed nothing could drive it from his brain. However hard he tried to ignore it or convince himself he wasn’t interested in her, deep inside he knew this was a lie and it seemed to be tearing him apart.
Hermione was shocked at the entries that followed. It appeared that his need to act upon this desire that had taken hold of him had caused him to construct intricate fantasies about her, which in turn had caused him to be almost vitriolic in his self-hatred. It was unsurprising that he had been so unpleasant to her and her friends when his life was spent wanting to pull her to him and kiss her passionately, yet at the same time he was trying to pretend he had no interest in her at all, that in fact, he hated her for being a Mudblood.
But by the end of term it seemed he had been at least partially successful in stopping his fantasies about her. His last entry before the holiday recorded his triumph at not going to find her as he had done the year before — or as he put it, nothing would make him leave the carriage this time, especially not a Mudblood with an attitude problem.
Hermione was even more surprised than before and, she had to admit, a little impressed at how Draco had managed to keep his desire for her so deeply hidden from absolutely everyone. His indoctrination about the evils of Muggle-borns and fear of his father’s discovery of his desires had been so complete that he hadn’t dared show one single trace of interest in her in case the wrong people noticed, even though from everything she had read it was causing him considerable mental anguish. No wonder he had always come across as a complete nutter in all her dealings with him.
She was a little freaked out by his growing obsession with her, though, and with the theory he put forward several times in the latter part of the year, once his fantasies about her had become ingrained in his life, that she had slapped him not because she was angry about his treatment of Hagrid but because she felt a similar desire for Draco, too, and instead of acting on it was, like him, trying to pretend it didn’t exist.

Draco found waiting for Hermione to finish reading the diaries to be almost as stressful as being in love with her without being able to express his feelings. Once again he had been to visit her in the Library, this time taking two diaries as she seemed to be reading them much more quickly than he had anticipated. As he walked across the room, he realised he still had little idea of how she was feeling. She was definitely keeping her cards close to her beautiful chest.
She had cleared up one point for him, though, even if once again it didn’t make him feel very hopeful.
‘By the way, I didn’t slap you because I fancied you,’ Hermione told him before he had even placed the other books on the table. ‘I did it because I hated you for what you did to Hagrid. He’s a good man and was trying his best. What you did was mean and vindictive and you deserved more than a slap.’
‘Oh, come on, Hermione. You know as well as I do that Hagrid is a crap teacher. Look at those Blast-ended Skrewts and that dragon he hatched. He’s a complete bloody menace!’
‘I will admit he doesn’t always make the best choices,’ Hermione conceded. ‘But his heart is in the right place and you hurt him deeply by getting his hippogriff sentenced to death. Especially when it was your own stupid fault you got injured in the first place.’
Draco glared at Hermione. ‘That bloody animal was a killer. I could have been seriously hurt.’
‘That’s crap and you know it. Remember? You mentioned it in your diary,’ Hermione shot back. ‘You weren’t badly injured; there was hardly a scratch on you. You just played it up to be an arsehole. Just like you always do.’
Draco dug his nails into his hands and counted to ten. He couldn’t let Hermione wind him up so much that he attacked her. It would undo any good feelings she was getting about him from the diaries — assuming she was getting any good feelings.
Hermione sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Draco. I know this is all ancient history, but reading about it now, especially when you explain how you provoked the situation, makes me angry all over again.’ She grinned ruefully. ‘If you had been here while I was reading about it I would probably have slapped you again.’
Draco tried to smile back. ‘Lucky for me I wasn’t, then, otherwise Madam Pince would throw us both out.’ He indicated the books. ‘You seem to be getting through them pretty quickly, so I brought two this time. Or perhaps you want to take a break? It is almost lunchtime.’
Hermione looked at the two books and considered for a moment. She was surprised to find that she was actually quite eager to discover what Draco had written in them, but she didn’t want him to know that. If she read both books now she would end up missing lunch and she was already feeling quite peckish as her minuscule breakfast hadn’t really done anything to fill her up. She could probably do with a break anyway.
‘Lunch first, I think, otherwise I’ll lose all track of time,’ she told Draco. ‘And I’m quite hungry.’
‘I’m not surprised. You didn’t have much for breakfast,’ Draco observed. He handed her the diaries. ‘Can you put these in your bag?’
As Hermione stored the journals in her bag and packed away her parchment, quill, and ink, Draco put away the Ancient Runes books Hermione had been working with. Madam Pince was still hovering but had retreated a little way off once she realised the couple were leaving and had cleared up after themselves satisfactorily.
‘Are you going to come back here after lunch, or are you going to the Gryffindor common room?’ Draco asked as they left the Library. He really hoped Hermione wasn’t going to retreat from him again.
‘Come back here, I think,’ Hermione mused. ‘It’s quiet here and I can concentrate better. Anyway, how would I get the other books if I was in the common room?’ She gave Draco a brief smile.
‘I’ll catch up with you later,’ Draco said as they reached the Great Hall.
For a moment Hermione worried that he would try to kiss her again, but he just gave her a small wave of farewell and headed for the Slytherin table. Hermione walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down and poured a glass of pumpkin juice. She hadn’t realised how thirsty she had got sitting in that dusty old Library.
She looked at the food choices and piled her plate high with barbequed chicken drumsticks and salad. For a moment it reminded her of how Ron had always filled his plate with enough food for three people. The memory made her smile wryly but caused her heart to constrict with pain at the thought of her ex-boyfriend. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to him, to end the relationship properly. The next time she saw him it would be as the wife of the man Ron hated most in the world. She realised she was crying, a steady flow of tears dripping onto her plate. She wiped at her eyes, trying to stop the flow with her hands, then dug around in her bag to find a handkerchief before anyone noticed. Suddenly she wasn’t so hungry any more. She took another large gulp of her pumpkin juice, picked up a couple of drumsticks, and got up and left, aware that Draco was watching her as she went.
She ate the drumsticks on the way back to the Library, stopping at the girl’s bathroom en route to wash her hands and face. She hadn’t even thought about how she was going to deal with Ron and Harry over this; she had gone into denial yet again. She looked at herself in the mirror, pushing down her bushy hair although it did no good at all. Well, she was going to have to stay in denial for a bit longer. She had enough to deal with emotionally with Draco’s diaries. Ron and Harry would just have to wait.

Hermione was surprised to find that Draco had started his fourth-year diary early. All the previous ones began on the first day of term and usually ended on the last day, although a few entries had been written after the journey home if something had happened during the trip that he felt he needed to analyse.
But in this journal Draco had included his visit with his family to the final game of the Quidditch World Cup. She had a feeling she knew why that was, and soon discovered she was right. She, too, had attended the match with Harry, Ron and his family and remembered the terrifying events caused by the Death Eaters after the game had finished. She wasn’t surprised to discover that, as she and her friends had thought at the time, Draco’s father, Lucius, had been one of the marchers terrorising the Muggle farmer and his family who owned the land where the stadium and campground had been erected.
He had begun the entry by expressing amazement that Hermione and her friends had somehow managed to get tickets for the Minister’s box, but he had apparently cheered up considerably when he realised his seat gave him a perfect view of her throughout the game. As she continued to read his comments Hermione realised that Draco had probably spent more time watching her than he had watching the Quidditch match.
As ever, he had been quite descriptive about her body and also about a desire he had spent the whole match fighting, namely wanting to reach out and stroke her hair — which she found very odd considering how much he had always hated her unruly mop — followed by the usual mix of self-hatred and guilt that often accompanied admission of his desire for her. This time it seemed to have been caused by the sneering way his father had looked at Hermione, reminding Draco — as if he needed reminding — that she was off-limits to him.
But later, when the Death Eaters had marched, Draco had been worried that Hermione would be caught up in the trouble, scared that his father would try to get hold of her and teach her a lesson in humiliation. With a sense of panic running through him he had headed for the woods, hoping Mr Weasley had sent his family that way so Draco could make sure Hermione was safe.
She remembered how he had already been in the clearing when they arrived and his sarcasm towards them. What she hadn’t realised was that he had meant it as a warning for her friends to get her away from the area. When she hadn’t been as grateful as he expected — not really a surprise, as she hadn’t realised he was trying to help her — his imagination had once again kicked into gear. He had begun by conjuring up an image of her held aloft by the Death Eaters, but this had soon turned into his usual lewd fantasies, seemingly based on her being grateful to him for rescuing her from the bad men.
Hermione remembered how he had known about the Tri-Wizard Tournament even before it had been announced by Dumbledore at the opening feast and the way Draco had wound them up about it on the train on the way to school. According to his diary he hadn’t been at all impressed when Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire; then again, he hadn’t been happy about Cedric Diggory being chosen as the School Champion, either.
For probably the first time since Hermione had begun reading his diaries, Draco had actually shown some sympathy towards one of her friends. Not for Harry’s being thrown into a dangerous situation, he was too young to be involved in; it seemed Draco had hoped the tournament might get rid of him once and for all. Surprisingly, his sympathy was for Ron. It seemed Draco completely understood her friend’s annoyance that Harry hadn’t shared how he had managed to get past the age charm on the Goblet, something that had stumped even the twins. Of course Draco, like Ron, didn’t believe Harry’s insistence that he hadn’t entered the tournament and he had been pleased to see that the argument between the two friends had caused them to stop speaking to each other.
Hermione shook her head and snorted softly in disgust, rolling her eyes at the comments. Boys! Only a stupid boy could have got so annoyed at not being picked for a potentially lethal competition.
Of course, not being the Hogwarts or Tri-Wizard Champion hadn’t stopped Draco imagining himself as one. And, of course, as his fantasies always did, they included her in there somewhere. Usually, she was sycophantically praising him for being so talented and rubbing herself against him provocatively whilst they kissed. But after a few weeks of this, the fantasies had developed further, taking on an infinitely more sexual overtone. It was around this time that Draco began to record his real-life sexual exploits, instigated, it seemed to Hermione, in an attempt to stop his desire for her and the fantasies that accompanied it. He was only fourteen and yet was describing doing to others, and fantasising about doing to her, things she had never even heard of at that age, let alone known how to do.
But his new-found sex life hadn’t stopped him becoming extremely jealous when the Daily Prophet had described Hermione as Harry’s girlfriend. Draco wrote at great length about how annoyed he was that Harry was getting what he, Draco, wanted so badly. Interestingly, this had included an extensive rant about Draco’s father and his pureblood ideals that stopped Draco from making Hermione his girlfriend.
Draco had discovered Harry and Hermione’s supposed relationship when he had overheard Pansy — about whom he was generally scathing unless he was using her to rid himself of his frustration at not being able to do anything with Hermione — when she was chatting to her bitchy friends about Rita Skeeter’s article. Hermione remembered the taunts she had suffered from the Slytherins over the article, especially from Pansy, and was unable to stop the sense of pleasure she felt at reading just how impressed Draco had been with her for the way she had just ignored them.
He was still stalking her and had soon come to the conclusion that the only reason she and Harry were spending so much time together was because Ron still wasn’t talking to Harry. He also realised that Harry and Hermione weren’t actually lovers, which had relieved him greatly although it hadn’t stopped him keeping an eye on them whenever they were together, just in case he saw something untoward happening between them.
Hermione realised that Draco’s obsession with her had grown considerably from the previous year. So many of the entries were about her that she couldn’t help but wonder if he had done anything that year but stalk her. But then she realised that because of the Tournament a lot of things had happened that had brought her into direct contact with Draco, certainly more than would normally have been the case.
She got annoyed once more over the ‘Support Cedric Diggory’ badges that Draco and his friends had created, remembering the way they had doctored them to show the alternate words POTTER STINKS; and as he gleefully recounted the events of the afternoon when he and Harry had duelled over the badges, she found her anger with Draco growing. She calmed down a little when she read of the guilt he felt when during the duel with Harry, their spells had collided and ricocheted. He hadn’t been all that bothered about Harry’s spell hitting Goyle, but he had felt completely mortified that his own had hit Hermione.
His guilt had turned to anger almost immediately when Professor Snape had embarrassed and hurt her by saying he saw no difference in her when in fact, her teeth had actually grown down past her collar. Draco had been furious that he could do nothing either to help her or retaliate against Professor Snape and for a moment Hermione felt quite warm towards the boy for his concern. But a moment later that, too, was gone as Draco was back to gleefully discussing how pleased he had been when Professor Snape had punished Harry and Ron and not him.
And then it was Christmas and the Yule Ball. In every entry after they had heard it was to take place, up until about a week before the ball itself, Draco had written about his desire to ask Hermione to be his partner for the ball. He had fantasised about it, of course, and had beaten himself up about it, too — another given — but eventually, after a lot of prevaricating, he had done the sensible thing and asked Pansy, although it had done nothing to stop his desire for Hermione.
He had spent quite some time speculating about who she was going with. At first, he had considered Harry, which would have confirmed her as being his girlfriend, but then he had written that he was convinced her two friends had still not realised she was a girl, which ruled out both of them as partners. He had discovered this surmise to be true when he heard Ron asking Hermione who she was going with. She remembered back to the time of the ball and the argument she’d had with Ron that night over the exact same point.
Draco had been extremely jealous when he discovered that Viktor Krum had been Hermione’s date. He had written in exquisite detail both about how beautiful she had looked that evening in her robes of periwinkle blue, her hair amazingly tamed and styled, and also of his utter hatred for the Bulgarian Quidditch ace who had been her partner because he had got what Draco so wanted. Once again he ended up sympathising with Ron, noticing the way Ron had been acting once Hermione arrived at the ball. After one dance Draco, like Ron, had spent the rest of evening oblivious to anything but Hermione and Viktor.
Hermione was amused to read that Draco had been worried about her being led astray by Viktor. Although it was apparently fine for him to fantasise about doing all sorts of lewd things with her, there was no way he wanted anyone else even touching her. He was happy when she said goodnight to Viktor without, as far as he was aware, so much as a single kiss being shared. Draco’s sympathy with Ron had evaporated, however, once he realised the boy was feeling the same way Draco did, something Draco had ranted about at great length. He had been pleased that Ron had argued with Hermione, both because the boy had said pretty much what Draco was feeling and because it made Hermione mad at Ron, which made him seem less of a rival.
After the ball Draco had been extremely upset that Hermione’s relationship with Viktor had continued, to the extent that he had actually begun to hope that Ron would break it up, since Draco obviously couldn’t. Several times he had theorised as to what she was doing with Viktor. He was convinced that the two of them were spending every spare moment having sex, and his diary entries matched his resulting mood.
Hermione was surprised and pleased to note that Draco had actually been impressed with Harry’s performance in the tournament, both with how he had handled the dragon and his performance in the lake. He had written that he would never admit it to a living soul, though, and Harry’s success had made him begin to worry once more that Hermione would decide to go out with him.
And then, with the horrific end to the Tri-wizard Tournament, everything had changed. Well — not Draco’s desire for her. That was apparently never-ending. But Voldemort’s return had forcefully reminded Draco of her blood status, and whilst he still yearned for and fantasised about her just as regularly as before, the hatred of himself at being a blood-traitor that followed these admissions in the diary had increased until they almost drowned out the desire, which Hermione assumed was what Draco was trying to achieve.

Hermione was quite touched when she discovered that he had spent quite a lot of time in the last week before the end of school worrying about her, not only for being Muggle-born but also for being Harry’s friend, which brought her into direct danger with the newly returned Dark Lord and his followers. Draco had devised several elaborate plans to help her escape if the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, all of which he had documented in great detail. He needed to be close enough to get to her for them to work, so he had taken to following her around everywhere just in case.
And then he had gone and ruined it all by being a complete prat again on the train home, Hermione thought and she felt her ire rising at the return of his pettiness. She closed the book and rubbed her eyes. Almost all of Draco’s nastiness towards her and her friends had stemmed from his need to subjugate his feelings for her. If only he hadn’t felt that need, hadn’t been brought up to believe in all that evil crap his parents believed; things could have been so different. Maybe they would have been friends. He would still have been an annoying prat — but then again, so were Ron and Harry sometimes, Hermione reflected, yet at the end of the day she still loved them dearly.
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Some Kind of Wonderful