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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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The next day, Luna was still very poorly, perhaps even worse than before, and Hermione would not quit her at all till late in the evening, despite the risk of being contaminated with bad luck. When she had the comfort of seeing Luna sleep, and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant, she went downstairs.

On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party playing Exploding Snap, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her friend the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book. Lady Malfoy looked at her with astonishment.

“Do you prefer reading to cards?” said she; “that is rather singular.”

“Miss Hermione Granger,” said Pansy snidely, “despises cards. She is a great reader to which she owes her cleverness, and has no pleasure in anything else.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Hermione; “I am a great reader, but I have pleasure in many things. But really Miss Parkinson. Books! And cleverness! There are more important things, like friendship and bravery.”

“Spoken like a foolhardy Gryffindor,” said Lord Malfoy. He looked down his nose at the Muggle-born witch, and Hermione decided at that moment that she despised him as much as his son.

“Her friendship with Miss Lovegood is to be praised,” cried Blaise, coming to her defence. “It is amazing to me how young witches can have patience to be so very kind as they all are.”

“All young witches kind! My dear Blaise, what do you mean?”

“He would list the common extent of kindness,” drawled Draco. “The word is applied to many a witch who deserves it no otherwise, so I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of witches in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are truly kind.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Pansy.

“This must be a Slytherin failing,” observed Hermione.

The wind could be heard rattling the branches of nearby trees outside.

Then almost as one voice, Lady Malfoy and Pansy both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many Slytherin witches who answered this description, when Lord Malfoy called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Hermione soon afterwards left the room.

Hermione passed the night in her friend's room, and in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the inquiries which she very early received from Blaise by a house-elf, and some time afterwards from the elf who waited on young Malfoy.

The day passed much as the day before had done. Blaise had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Hermione joined their party in the drawing-room. Draco was writing, and Lady Malfoy, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention asking him to leave his work for another time. Lord Malfoy and Blaise were playing Wizard’s Chess, and Pansy had gone to visit her fiancé, Theodore Nott.

Hermione took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Draco and his mother. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her opinion of each.

“How I wish you were writing a letter to Miss Astoria Greengrass!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“How many letters of business you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! How odious I should think them!”

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.”

“I am afraid you do not like your quill. Let me mend it for you. I mend quills remarkably well.”

“Thank you—but I am long old enough to mend my own.”

She was finally silent.

After an awkward pause, Hermione tried to lighten the mood by mentioning that Healer Jones had given his consent for Luna to move her convalescence to her own home.

Blaise heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Hermione that it would not be safe for her—that she was not enough recovered; but Hermione was firm by conveying that Luna herself felt it to be right.

Draco ceased his business correspondence, for it was welcome intelligence—Hermione had been at Malfoy Manor long enough. She attracted him more than he liked—and his parents were uncivil to her, and more annoying than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behavior during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of the day, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.

The separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Lady Malfoy's civility to Hermione increased very rapidly, as well as her affection for Luna; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her at Malfoy Manor, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Hermione took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits. She and Luna were granted the Malfoy’s thestral drawn carriage for their journey back to the Lovegood home.

Soon after their return, a letter was delivered via owl to Luna; it came from Malfoy Manor. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed parchment, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing hand; and Hermione saw her friend’s countenance change as she read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Luna recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation; but Hermione felt an anxiety on the subject; and a glance from Luna invited her to follow in a turn about the garden. When they were alone, Luna, taking out the letter, said:

“This is from Pansy Parkinson, who returned to Malfoy Manor after we left; what it contains has surprised me a good deal. Mr. Zabini has left the manor by this time, and is on his way to Italy—and without any intention of coming back again.”

Luna reached out to grab Hermione’s hand.

“It is evident by this,” added Luna, “that he does not feel affection for me.”

“It is only evident that Miss Parkinson does not mean that he should come back to England.”

“Why will you think so? He is his own master and could have written me himself. But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you.”

Mr. Zabini is impatient to see his mother. I really do not think Jezabella Zabini has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she has for her only son is an inspiration for us all. We hope and dare to entertain of her finding a witch worthy of our dear Blaise. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. Our circle of friends admire Sig.ra Zabini greatly already; her son will have frequent opportunities of finding a wife in his home country. With all these circumstances to favor a match, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Luna, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?

“What do you think of this sentence, my dear ‘Mione?” said Luna as she finished it. “Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Pansy neither expects nor wishes me to be with her friend; that she is perfectly convinced of Blaise’s indifference; and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means most kindly to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?”

“Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. Will you hear it?”

“Most willingly.”

“You shall have it in a few words. Miss Parkinson sees that her friend is in love with you, and wants his mother to find another prospective wife. She is trying to persuade you that he does not care about you.”

Luna shook her head. “Can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose friends are all wishing him to marry another witch elsewhere?”
Hermione represented to her friend as forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, using her own engagement as a topic of encouragement, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Luna's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Blaise would return to England and answer every wish of her heart.
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Pride & Prejudice & Leprechauns