Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Daydreams	By : BitterWind Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8997 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, settings, etc from those books or movies. I do this as a creative writing exercise and do not earn any money from writing this fictional story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Seven: A New Desk Partner

“Granger, my father is giving a lecture today, as a guest speaker for the sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts, on conjectured antidotes to werewolf bites. Ten minutes.”

He turned and walked away. Uneasy about their new...understanding...it was difficult for him to speak civilly to her after so many years of hate and jealously, really. The more he’d thought about her and her two twits, and he’d been thinking about them a lot lately, to his own disgust, the more he realized that he’d been bitterly jealous of their friendship and happiness. How dare they find such contentment, the Mudblood, the poor fool and the Chosen One, when he, Draco Malfoy, richest and purest had no real friends and a cold, unaffectionate family. Their laughter and smiles had been like a poison to him, eating away at him through the years.

Now, looking back, he realized this envy had been the cause of much of his treatment of them. He had tried his damndest to make them as unhappy as he was. He wondered why now, after things from...before...stood like a granite marker in his life, separating his childhood at Hogwarts from the few weeks he’d spent here now, why now did he see this envy and bitterness for what it was? Before...before things sped up to unimaginable horror and were only tolerably terrible, his behavior had seemed only just, his birthright.

He felt somewhat different now. Perhaps...slightly better.

And although he now could tolerate Granger, could be civil, that didn’t bloody well mean he would embrace the Nitwits if they appeared.

But she wasn’t with them now. Now when she smiled or talked, it was to him. He wasn’t quite ready to reciprocate such friendliness, even if it seemed a trifle forced on her part, but he did find walking the halls, eating meals, reading in the library, together….acceptable. And that’s what they’d done for about a week. Talked, ate and walked.

He sat down in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, watched as sixth year students filed in, organizing their notes and quills. A few, and not just Slytherin’s mind you, actually looked at him and nodded. It felt odd, to be accepted. He was so used to either being ignored or being feared, or... before..being admired. To be just another student, at least to be treated like just another student, someone here to study and learn, who gave the impression to others that he might end up leading a somewhat normal wizarding life in the future, was...again... acceptable.

Granger had encouraged him to attend lectures, and somewhat reluctantly he had agreed. He’d even raised his hand to answer a few questions, and his calm, even, if somewhat chilly, manner had not gone unnoticed by the real students. It almost felt like he was recreating his Hogwarts experience in a way, and this time he was, himself, but stripped down a little. It felt...acceptable...to be calm and not so reactive and hostile.

All his musings faded when Granger sat down beside, sharing his table, sitting actually close enough for her shoulder to brush his while she arranged herself as comfortable as possible on the shared bench. He felt his skin prickle just a bit, and edged away slightly because he was uncomfortably aware of the way she smelled these days.

Like something good to eat.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said a little breathlessly. “I wanted to check out a source in the library before, so I had to run here to make it. I’ve heard from a Hufflepuff girl, Serena, that your father’s lectures are well organized and informative, but I’ve yet to attend one.” She looked at him and grimaced. “I was...well...if you must know, I was a little afraid to be in the same room as him. So I’m glad you’re here,” she added, stiltedly, looking to the front of the room where Professor Malfoy had come in and had begun writing notes on the chalkboard visible to all.

Malfoy was bemused. She was afraid of his father but felt safer because he, Draco, was here? What did she imagine he would do if his father went beserk and starting killing Mudbloods left and right? Did she think he would rescue her?

Starkers. She was quite mad.

His father began to speak. He referenced magical scrolls long forgotten by most. He detailed, with chilling clarity, his first hand accounts of the werewolves he’d known and encountered during his tenure as leader of the Death Eaters. He spoke simply, and without dramatic emotion of how he’d witnessed bitings and killings on a mass scale and then, just as simply, turned on a dime and began to speak about known, rumored and experimental antidotes to this behavior. He candidly spoke of the part he played, as part of his punishment and probation, in administering these antidotes and the various successful and some unsuccessful results. The students in class were riveted, shocked and furiously scribbling down notes, references and anecdotes.

Draco looked away.. Although he remembered these moments, the good and the bad, he’d been there, thought about them, again and again, had resolved these particular memories as best as he’d been able. He didn’t think, but of course he should have realized, that he didn’t want or need to hear about them again, especially coming from his father’s lips.

He looked over at Granger, and sat up, and looked about uncomfortably for a girl, any girl’s assistance or, failing that a Nitwit to appear. Tears blanketed Granger's face, although she never stopped looking at the elder Malfoy in that, ‘Isn’t this fascinating?’ sort of way. She turned to look at her desk partner and gave him a watery smile.

“He’s quite good, isn’t he?” Then she turned her head to look out the window, while Professor Malfoy began to talk about histories of werewolfs and moved quite a bit away from more recent events.

Malfoy bent over to pick a quill from his pack, and when bending over, managed a sip from the bottle. He was afraid, but determined to see what she was wishing for at this moment. Was she wishing for Weasley? The thought made his stomach turn, but he couldn’t help himself. She seemed lost; he himself had not clue what to do, so what would she wish for the most? What or who would be her succor?

What he saw surprised him. He simply saw her wish vision of herself stand up and go to the window seat nearby. She curled up, placed a blanket on her lap, and watched the snow come down outside, occasionally tracing her fingers in designs across the frost on the glass.

Watching this for several minutes, Malfoy decided to do something he never thought in the realm of wizarding kind he would ever do. Something he never would have dreamed in his worst nightmares he would do. Not here, not ever, but especially not where he sat in plain sight of his father.

He crossed the bare inches that separated them, and took Granger’s hand in his. It was under the table. No one would see. But he did it. Her hand was cold in his, but slowly warmed. He kept his eyes face forward, not daring to look at her, waiting in fact, for her to rip her hand away and storm from the room.

But she didn’t.

Glancing, he saw her staring ahead, her eyes a trifle wider than normal. Then she too turned and looked at him.

He couldn't look away. Her wide eyes, open, truthful and brave, looked into his own gray eyes; she measured, assessed, and looked away again.

And suddenly he felt her squeeze his hand gently.

He shook his head slightly, just a little twitch, feeling his hair move across his cheek.

Her hand was warm.

He bit his lip, unnoticably of course. Then...rubbed his thumb slowly over hers. He breathed through his nose, ever so slightly, when her hand opened like flower under his, her fingers curling across his palm.

He darted another quick look sideways. She was still not looking at him, though her mouth was open slightly and he saw a tremor run down her neck.

Her wish vision was looking straight at him, though. Had sat up from the window seat, turned to face him and was looking at him with those golden brown eyes. Very slowly, the wish Granger resumed her seat, a double Granger. A mental blurring. They were both beside him. The real Granger that gently stroked his hand with a slowness that was causing him unaccountable anxiety and frustration. And the manifestation of her secret wish self. He could somehow inexplicably feel that Granger as well. A lighter, whisper of Granger, but still discernable.

And that Granger, placed her hand lightly on his thigh. Her thumb slightly stroked his slacks, not touching anything inappropriate, mind, just stroking. Her real hand simultaneously explored his, touching all his fingers and nails, feeling the smooth skin, as he felt hers.

Malfoy placed his other hand firmly over his mouth, pressing hard, trying desperately to look as though he were interested in his father’s lecture.

This went on for ten agonizingly horrendous and darkly wonderful minutes.

When his father finished speaking, Draco simply sat frozen as Granger packed up her bag, gave him an unreadable look, and walked away without a word.

He just sat there. Leaving at the moment would be quite impossible without revealing to all just how much he had enjoyed his father’s class.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Daydreams