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Chosen	By : TillieJupiter Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters of Harry Potter belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this wor

Chapter List
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It was late, but he didn’t know how late when he stumbled out of Snape’s office into the dark corridor, as the pain in his mind seared his thought processes. He staggered through the silent, murky halls, his wand all but forgotten in his robes, as the sheers of moonlight guided his way. His ears were filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and a high-pitched howl that came from within; his vision was cloudy and misty as if not in focus at all. He didn’t know how long he staggered until he came to the door that led to the courtyard—his efforts to look for a guiding light leading him to the moonlit grass.
Draco fell down into the grass face first—his cheek smearing into the dew-laden grasses already crisp with the beginnings of winter. Lying there, Draco delighted in the cool against his hot face as his sweat melded with natures misty droplets; it almost felt like a luxurious bed in his desperation for repose. The moon beams illuminated his sprawled body—left for dead by anguish and despair. This sight, however, would be unknown with the minds and souls of those in the castle unconscious to the world; it was so late that maybe the only eyes watching the castle were those of Mrs. Norris as her narrowed eyes peered out into the night.
Time passed, and again Draco couldn’t comprehend how long—it could have been minutes or hours. As he clutched the wet grass in his hands, Draco felt his grasp on the world around him return as the blades glided between his fingers in ticklish swipes. Finally, his breathing steadied; the strands of grass blades in front of his face vibrated with each even breath. His gray eyes that were previously empty and void of his own presence soon began to flicker with life again.
Draco let out a soft grunt as he began to jostle his body as he sensed his blood that had felt cold and frozen in his limbs begin to circulate again. Finally, with a hard grunt, he began to push himself up—the grass that had felt soft left imprints in his tired flesh. Getting to his knees, Draco put his hands to his face and wiped the dew and sweat from his skin as he wondered what his life had become. As he put his hands to his side, Draco looked up at the full moon before him and let out a deep sigh as his breath exploded into ice crystals in the air above. It was cold, but it reminded Draco that he was alive.
What had life become for Draco Malfoy? The year before, he had been planning inane attempts to kill the famous wizard, Dumbledore, at Lord Voldemort’s request, and now he sat bathed in moonlight on pause. There used to be a plan, and all Draco had to do was comply. The tests for the Vanishing Cabinets were not quite successful, but were well on their way to being ready when the Ministry confiscated both of them. Then the game changed—the war put on hold as both sides determining what to do next. Draco was made a silent sleeper-weapon, waiting for orders, though unsure if he could complete them. At least with orders, he felt there was some sort of future.
Draco closed his eyes and he listened to the nature around him, his breathing, and silence. Empty, desolate, meaningless: that’s how Draco felt about his life, his soul. It was just a waiting game to die, which was probably all that there was left to look forward to in his future. The word “future” had no meaning—it was simply a means to the end. A year ago all he had to worry about was his own abilities to carry out a task that seemed rather simple if broken down into their parts. The hardest part was to gather courage, which Draco would be hard-pressed to admit he truly lacked. Back then he felt ripped apart by his own adolescent innocence and his preordained future of famous-wizard killer; now, he was literally threatened with being ripped apart and dissolved out of this world. At first, he wondered if he should give in and be torn apart, but then his lack of courage took over. He was afraid: afraid of the unknown, afraid of what’s after, afraid to not be; it was something he was more afraid of than the unknown of the world around him. However, the fear that persisted for so many months was making him weak; his need for something, an end, maybe, to happen, overwhelmed his every need and want.
In these moments, after his mind was being ripped apart, all of Draco’s darkness spilled out of him like blood—his angst and despair desperate within him. Suddenly, he felt more wetness gather on his face—he was crying. A silent, desperate sob quaked within him as his face fell in grief. He had become a man in the past year as he grappled with themes beyond himself and lost his innocence to the war that most people around him didn’t even see. He felt far beyond the influence of humanity, with his “friends” nothing more than names of people he used to know. Even those he was supposed to hate, like Hermione Granger, were becoming nothing but a blank slate—and as a blank slate his hate and prejudice began to wane. He thought maybe it was silly to see such an inconsequential person as an enemy when Draco had seen real evil.
But, he wondered, wasn’t evil good? To be a Malfoy, a pure-blood, was to be for purity and the destruction of anything that was muddied. To most this was evil, but to his parents, especially his father, this was worth giving one’s life—or in his father’s case, his freedom. But in this pause and personal threat, Draco began to question if this was for what he did indeed want to give his life up. But these questions were forbidden and immediately silenced within him—he was his father’s son and his destiny was already set before him. Though the direction wasn’t entirely clear, he knew that one way or another it would all be set before him again and the outcome would be the same.
He had come full circle, and it meant simply that his life was nothing more than the whim of others. He was a vessel—a vessel for whatever they wanted to fill it up. He would perform the duties instructed when the time came, or he would be killed on the spot having accomplished nothing except treason against his blood.
Opening his eyes, he wiped the stray wetness from his cheeks and began to stand. His mind was beginning to settle more—his soul was no longer able to hold such heavy whispers. His body was drained of all essence, and he craved the calm of sleep where only then he felt slightly at peace. After a few stuttering steps, he began to make his way back to his dorm for silent sleep.
Back at the dorm, which was quiet and dark, Draco made his way to his room—his weary body waving with weakness. As he rested his head upon his pillow, Draco closed his eyes. At first, slicing scenes of mayhem appeared making him restless. And then, as if dreaming, visions of a girl peering through a window into the setting sun, her visage bathed in hues of the sea, her eyes wistful and tranquil, painted across his mind. A sense of calm fell over Draco’s mind as he fell in to slumber.
Hermione.

“It’s destiny, you know,” Ron said as he shoveled a pile of eggs into his mouth. “You know, Lavender and me.” The jumble of yellow eggs rolled around in his open mouth.
“Sure, Ron,” Harry said unenthusiastically, not even paying much heed to his friend as he looked over the paper Hedwig had brought in.
“I’m serious!” Ron protested as he tried to get his friend’s attention. Harry sighed and put his paper down to look at Ron.
“Fine, I believe you,” Harry huffed in annoyance—apparently this conversation was not a new one to Harry.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Ron dreamily sighed before shoveling more eggs into mouth.
“Yeah, sure,” Harry wearily sighed as he picked up his paper again.
“What’s great?” Ginny asked as she and Hermione sat down. Harry peered over his newspaper at Ginny, glaring slightly.
“Please, don’t get him started again,” Harry whined.
“Lavender and me, of course,” Ron said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Ginny said dejectedly, appearing uncomfortable that she had reintroduced the subject again and in front of Hermione.
Hermione peered over at Ron for a moment, their eyes meeting, before Hermione took a drink of her orange juice and looked away.
“What? Why is no one happy for me? Did Hermione say something?” Ron accused.
“What?!” Hermione balked at him. “I haven’t said a thing!” she defended.
“Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure it’s killing you to see me with her!” Ron indicted.
“Killing me? Oh yes, it’s just killing me inside,” Hermione said sarcastically. “I just can’t stand seeing the GUY I BROKE UP WITH gallivanting around.”
“See!” Ron raved.
Hermione huffed at his stupidity at not understanding sarcasm. “That was obviously sarcasm!” Hermione defended, as she felt her cheeks get hot.
“Come on, guys, do we really have to do this?” Harry pleaded.
“Don’t look at me, he’s the one who’s obviously completely delusional,” Hermione said, flustered.
“Oh, what makes me so delusional, Hermione?” Ron asked defensively, with his voice just asking for a fight.
“Don’t get me started,” Hermione warned.
“Oh, no, you said it, so why don’t you just tell us?” Ron mockingly prodded.
“Fine!” Hermione said standing up. “You’re delusional that I would actually feel some sort of jealousy after I’m the one that broke up with you. You’re also delusional if you think your…thing with Lavender is any different than last year—though, I hope she’s the one that realizes, FINALLY, that you’re not worth the time!”
Ron seemed to balk at her, but then soon his face contorted angrily. However, before he had a chance to say anything, Hermione grabbed an apple and her book and then walked off.
“That went well,” Ginny murmured after a few moments.
“You know you’re a real arse, don’t you Ron?” Harry said shaking his head.
“Me? She was the one who called me delusional,” Ron defended.
“Well, you started it!” Ginny defended Hermione.
“Did not!” Ron started back—it started to feel like a sibling fight in the making already.
“You know, it’s hard to have a nice, quiet breakfast reading the paper with you guys,” Harry huffed and stood up, going after Hermione. Ron and Ginny seemed to continue their sibling rivalry of wits paying little heed to Harry’s absence.
“Hermione!” Harry called after her, catching her in the hall. Hermione immediately spun around seeming to expect a confrontation.
“Look Harry–” Hermione began defensively.
“No, I’m not here to talk about that. Ron’s a prig,” Harry said bluntly. “I have something to talk to you about.” At this Hermione seemed to settle as she peered at him curiously.
“Well, Dumbledore talked to me again about Slughorn,” Harry stated lowly, so no one else could hear.
Hermione leaned forward intently. “Since I was unable to get much information from him last year, he wants me to try again.”
Last year, Dumbledore had asked Harry to befriend Professor Slughorn in hopes of uncovering the truth to the conversation Slughorn had with Tom Riddle years ago. Dumbledore considered the memory, which was “a lie”, as Dumbledore explained, to be the most important one in his collection of memories; it seemed it might hold the key to Voldemort and the possible dark magic he was using to survive his mortality. Unfortunately, Harry had been unable to get Slughorn to divulge any information on Tom Riddle, and since the year ended so peacefully there seemed to be no rush to do any drastic measures to get it; in fact, Dumbledore didn’t even mention it at the beginning of the year as a task that Harry should spend time on again.
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Why the renewed interest?” she ventured.
“I don’t know. He didn’t really explain. Maybe it’s just for good measure,” Harry responded.
“Well, have you thought about ways to get him to tell you?” Hermione asked.
“A few, but I thought we could start researching it again.” And by ‘we’ Harry meant Hermione. Hermione slowly nodded. “You know—research some of the possibilities of this dark magic Tom Riddle used…” Harry said lowly, but stopped as Draco Malfoy passed by them. Harry’s eyes watched him until he was farther away and then continued. “…So maybe we can figure it out. You know, just in case Slughorn doesn’t remember or something.”
“Okay,” Hermione said. “I’ll start some research, but I’m not sure how far I’ll get though; it’s almost as if some of the books on the subject disappear every year from the library, even in the Restricted Section. It’s possible this type of magic is so dark we won’t find it.”
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Harry stated. “Thanks, Hermione.”
Harry turned to leave, but Hermione caught his attention again. “Harry, does Ron know about this?” Hermione questioned.
“I haven’t told him yet. Honestly, without telling him by default because we’re all together, I’m not sure there is real reason to tell him. It’s not like he’s going to do any research on it,” Harry said offering her a smile, which Hermione returned.
“You should probably tell him at some point, or he’ll be upset,” Hermione teased.
“Yeah, but maybe I’ll wait until he’s not so…”
“Aggressive?”
“I was going to say being a total arse, but close enough.” They laughed, and it felt like old times.

That night, Hermione went to the library and took out some books. Some of them seemed far-fetched when it came to possibly containing any pertinent information, but the books she could find so far that had seemed possible turned out not to contain much information when she had looked over them last year. It was a Tuesday night and some 5th years were buzzing around the library preparing for an exam making it rather difficult for Hermione to concentrate. She decided to go back to her dorm to try and research there, if possible.
An hour had passed on what seemed like a useless task, with each book containing nothing pertinent—all of it was rather innocent and only hinted at possible dark magic. Hermione sighed and threw the last book at the end of her feet on the couch, settled back, and gazed into the fire place for a moment of relaxation.
“You again,” a voice snorted from behind her. Hermione turned her head to peer towards the masculine voice that interrupted her drowsy thoughts. It was Draco, glaring at her from the door.
“I have company coming over, so you better sod off,” he warned as if she was nothing more than a pest.
Hermione sat up on the couch and fully turned towards him. “This is my dorm too!” she declared.
“Only by accident,” he spat. “And really, what can you hold on to these days?” he ventured boldly. “You couldn’t even hold on to a Weasley; that’s how pathetic you are.”
His ire was abrupt and bold, feeling unwarranted to Hermione. Scenes of Ron and Lavender danced through Hermione’s head, and she felt a feeling of rejection. Even though it had been her that had broken up with Ron, it had appeared that she was the one that was rejected and lost, Lavender being the winner, in Draco’s view. Though it wasn’t true, the perception hurt her feminine ego. Hermione stood up in protest—the fact that his insult had hit a cord evident on her face. Inside Hermione, the only recourse she could think was to defend herself and deny this perception to regain a sense of confidence. “First of all, I was the one–” Hermione began in her legendary matter-of-fact tone.
“And to have someone as pathetic as Lavender Brown take your place is just embarrassing,” he interjected, as he laughed cruelly. “But I can’t blame him—Weasley that is—as stupid and worthless as he is, you’re even worse. It’s embarrassing that he even dated you in the first place,” he ranted with a look of disgust. “Not only is she a pureblood, but at least Lavender isn’t so bad to look at compared to you, you disgusting Mudblood.”
As sudden his words and cruelty were, so was the suddenness of the tears that sprang to her eyes. Even though she felt confident in her feelings about Ron and Lavender, the perception of her failure and her lack of worth made her feel embarrassed and ashamed. Does everyone actually think that about me? she wondered. The tears that welled in her eyes made her even more embarrassed and ashamed that she had let Draco get to her. Quickly, she grabbed her books and wand and rushed out of the dorm room without a word, as she tried to hide the tears.
Draco watched her go with a proud sneer on his face. As soon as she was gone, though, the look disappeared from his face and he appeared crestfallen in the silence of their dorm room.
Hermione retreated to the library, which was her sanctuary, especially when she was feeling blue. By the time she even stepped foot in the library, she had made sure that any stray tears were gone—just in case she ran in to anyone she knew. It was later, however, and most of the other students had gone back to their dorms for the night. Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she relaxed her posture and allowed her feeling of rejection to show.
She walked slowly through the library as her feet felt as heavy as her heart. She let her eyes glaze over in thought as she passed by the rows of books and began to put back the ones she had finished. As she brought the books back to their cases, she simply let go of them and they levitated back to their rightful place; her mind began to wander during the inane task.
Why did Malfoy’s words hurt so much? Hermione wondered. She remembered that she was fully accepting of the truth and reality of her failed relationship with Ron. When she made the decision to break up with him in the first place, she had mulled it over deeply for a week analyzing every feeling and thought she had—she was resolute in her decision. Ron was just not the right person for her, and it was something she should have known from the beginning. It was possible for people to change, but Ron was probably incapable of changing that much. But even with this resolution of feelings on the matter, was it possible she felt jealousy?
Hermione bit her lip as she delved deeper into her feelings, and her process of putting the books back became sluggish and slow. She thought maybe she did feel some jealousy, but it wasn’t as clear cut as others might think. Hermione knew that she did not want to be back in a relationship with Ron again—been there, done that—but Hermione felt some jealousy that Ron had moved on maybe a little too quickly, and also that he was able to enjoy intimacy and Hermione was not. If anyone deserved intimacy, reassurance, love, it was Hermione; she was the one that in reality was truly rejected by Ron, and maybe that was why Draco’s words hurt so much.
Ron never really loved her, and in some ways probably didn’t even really like her. Hermione felt like she was a partner of convenience; therefore, he never put real effort into any part of their relationship—just like their friendship. Now with Lavender, would Ron actually change and give Lavender what Hermione had wanted: true love? And there it was: Hermione was afraid that Lavender would prove that it wasn’t actually Ron to blame, but that it was Hermione who was not worthy of his love in the first place.
Hermione clutched a side of a desk as she stood rigid with her head hung with her hair covering her face as she tried to hold back tears. Even though most knew that Hermione was the one that had broken it off, maybe everyone knew it was because Ron never truly accepted, or loved, Hermione in the first place, and that maybe even to Ron she was unworthy, not good enough, without. And then Hermione wondered if that made her almost a sexual pariah to the other men in Hogwarts—obviously not good enough if Ron didn’t even want her. Maybe that’s why Draco’s words hurt so much—that she was without not only in blood, but everything: her looks, her personality, her expectations.
Suddenly, Hermione shook her head and aggressively wiped away her tears. Inside her mind she screamed at herself. How dare you think that about yourself! she thought. No matter what Draco had said or Ron had done (or not done), Hermione knew deep down she did not deserve to question her person physically, emotionally, or intellectually like she had begun to. No, she was confident in herself—she had made the right decision to break up with Ron, and it was his loss, not hers: she was worthy of love and intimacy; her body was healthy and perfect, and Hermione actually liked how she looked; her personality, though sometimes a little too know-it-all, was unique and appropriate; and she wouldn’t change her blood-status even if she could—she loved her parents and the Muggle world too, after all. As Hermione checked off all the positive things in her mind about herself, she felt her soul begin to purify and the darkness lift from her face.
Hermione knew that she was happy with herself, and even if she was without an intimate partner, she knew she was young and that her relationship status did not actually define her worthiness. And to believe otherwise is completely misogynistic, she thought to herself with a huff, feeling her indignation come back to her. No matter the course of Ron’s future relationships, or why their relationship had failed, it did not mean Hermione was lacking. Hermione stood up tall and straightened her uniform as if readying herself for the world again. Pulling her hand from the desk she had been clutching, she confidently put back the last book and made her way back to her desk by the window.
As Hermione sat down, she felt proud of herself that she was able push through her mental anguish and anxieties and not fall into an unconfident despair that had sometimes plagued her in earlier years. She remembered times years ago, often after run-ins with Draco, how she would find herself in the library, questioning her existence at Hogwarts as an “unworthy Mudblood”, and burying herself into books to ease her pain. Back then, it was hard to rationalize out of her low self-esteem moments, as it is for a lot of children, and Hermione was happy those days were mostly behind her.
Hermione let out a loud sigh as if letting all those bad feelings escape her and sat erect in her seat as if the stiffness of her spine portrayed her renewed confidence. She was a proud 18 year old woman, and accomplished in her studies with a bright future. No matter what anyone said, or thought, I am good enough—better, in fact, Hermione thought rather haughtily. Smiling at her renewed confidence, she let her mind come back to the present.
Suddenly Hermione noticed something that was slightly out of place on her desk. There were a couple of books on the corner of her desk which she had left earlier, but she noticed a piece of parchment sticking out from underneath the books. Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly as she pulled at the parchment and watched as it slid out from under the books. Immediately, she noticed type-faced words sprawled across the pages which made her realize that it appeared to be a page from a book.
Hermione turned her head in each direction to see if she saw anyone in the immediate vicinity to explain where the page had come from. But she was alone, so Hermione put her attention back to the piece of paper. Hermione turned the page the right way and looked at it. It didn’t look like it came from any book she had seen before, and from the fading of the words she could tell the book it had come from was rather old.
“‘Magic of Spiritual Displacement’,” Hermione read softly to herself.
“What’s wrong? You didn’t cum,” Pansy asked breathlessly, as Draco rested beside her after suddenly pulling out of her.
Draco’s brow was furrowed as he took deep breaths. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said impatiently.
Pansy sat up and looked at him. “Well, I could–” she began as her hand met his still erect member with a smirk on her face.
Draco pushed her hand away and sat up from his bed and swung his legs over the side where his bare feet met the cold floor, leaving his back to her. “No. I think you should leave,” he said coldly.
Pansy’s face suddenly contorted in annoyance. “You’re the one that suddenly made me leave everyone to go fuck, and now you want me to leave?”
“Yeah, Pansy, I want you to leave,” he said a little too gruffly as he turned and looked at her. His face wasn’t in a normal scowl or full of anger—it was actually a little soft. This threw Pansy off guard for a moment and her anger subsided a little.
“Fine!” she huffed softly as she got up from the bed and quickly got dressed. “I already got mine, anyways,” she retorted to their imaginary argument. When she finished getting dressed, she quickly left without a word.
Draco didn’t even watch her as she left, already in thought about another as he sat there limply.
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