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First Name Terms by MissesWeasley123
Chapter 2 : Guilt
 
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That, stupid rude git, how dare he... Why was he so interested in why I was crying anyways?

Hermione had returned to the girls’ dormitory in a fit. Anger boiled dangerously in her but somewhere inside of her was also screaming for help. A part of her was so weak her heart ached in unbelievable amounts of pain. Her mind took over though, like it always did.

Malfoy, what a prat, if anyone's an arse, it's him. Thinking he's better than all the other witches and wizards because of his pure blood. What a prat.

Hatred continued was dominating Hermione's mind, when her dorm room opened. Hermione hesitated before looking up and sure enough.

It was Lavender.

"...and then, Ron grabbed me and asked whether I wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him!" she exclaimed. Parvati, who had entered alongside her, beamed back.

"Oh yes, after ages of leading him on eh?"

"Definitely," responded Lavender, with a giggle that made Hermione want to slap her like she had done to Malfoy years ago.

Hermione felt hot tears renew in her eyes, and decided to call it a night, as she pulled her crimson and gold Gryffindor covers over her head. She forgot all about her encounter with Draco, and her tears went unnoticed as she struggled to drift off to a trouble filled sleep.








"You're still that foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach aren't you Malfoy?"*

Hermione's voice was still ringing in his ears. Nott and Zabini had already asked him what was wrong, but honestly, Draco just didn't know. He had been keeping to himself lately, but this time, it was different. He had assumed it was because he wasn't able to finish the cabinet. But, this particular feeling made him queasy, not scared. Maybe... just maybe, he'd actually managed to hurt Hermione. And it was weird, because he didn't ever feel like that when he used to insult her before. It was the fact that there was no point in hating Hermione Granger that greatly pained him. He wished there was, but there wasn't. Granger had always been a greater person than him, no matter the blood type.

Malfoy could ask Blaise for help; he wasn't bad with girls and was definitely nicer. But if he, Draco Malfoy, asked Blaise for help... Ha, he could already form Zabini's reply:

"Draco Malfoy needs help? Spending quality time with Crabbe and Goyle lately? Next thing we know, you're grunting like a troll!"

Yes. That is exactly how Blaise would reply. Troll...

"...spend snogging that troll Pansy."

Hermione's voice came back into his head, this time making him smile. Pansy was a troll.

Not like Draco didn't snog her. He did. More like she snogged him. But it was just snogging. Not kissing. Two very different things. Draco still hadn't had that with any girl yet. No time at all. What with becoming a Death Eater, being assigned with a task even the Dark Lord himself couldn't do... Yes, no time at all. 

What did he want from a girl? Out of all the books his mother had read to him during his short childhood days, he was sure that the girl would be the exact opposite from him; opposites attract wasn’t that the saying?

She’d have to be beautiful, funny, nice, smart, quick witted, and cheeky. Just like – one face flashed dangerously in front of him. Granger

She’s Granger.

She’s beautiful.

She’s a Mudblood.

She doesn’t care.

But I do.

Do you?

 Father wouldn’t agree. 

Who cares?

The Dark Lord will kill me.

Won’t he anyways?

This could not be happening. Draco and Hermione. Malfoy and Granger. Hermione... Malfoy? Hermione Malfoy. Since when had hate turned into love? Or was it the mere idea that he was drawn to?

No, it's the thought of love that's most appealing, he heard a voice say.

The more Draco thought about it, the restless he became, and with one final sigh he drank his usual goblet of water and fell asleep.













Hermione woke up to an empty dorm. Pillows were littered around the four poster beds, as well as Parvati’s Dream Oracle, and, a jumper. A maroon jumper. Her eyes were far too dry so initial hurt turned into nothingness. She felt hollow inside. But if Ron was happy... then maybe she would be too.

Stiffling a yawn, she got up and left the tower, heading to the prefect’s bathroom to shower. She let the feel of water make thundering sounds drown her troubles as she listened. She didn't want to leave and just wished she could stay in this realm forever.

In half an hour’s time she dressed herself, and pinning her prefect badge, she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror.

Puffed eyes of red, even purple glowered back at her. She had been crying all night. Sighing, she took out her wand and thought, “Episkey!” Her eyes went back to normal, smooth lids.

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that she’d managed to do magic without saying the incantation. Strolling out of the bathroom, Hermione carefully set her hair, and returned to the common room.

“Dilligrout,” she said firmly.

“Indeed,” replied the portrait of the Fat Lady, swinging open.

The instant she climbed in steadying herself, she suddenly wished she hadn’t come back. Hermione looked up to see Lavender wrapped around Ron, so tightly, that even air possibly couldn’t seep through. Hermione wondered whether two people could be so engaged with one another. It was impossible to distinguish who’s hand belonged to who.

With an incredible amount of strength, Hermione looked away fuming, and turned to talk to Harry, who was almost as uncomfortable as the other fellow Gryffindors were, watching the duo in action.

“Morning Harry! Let’s go down to breakfast,” began Hermione, in a most un-Hermioneish way, grabbing his arm.

“Yeah, but don’t you want to wait for Ron –"

“No,” snapped Hermione, now flushing, “Are you coming or not?”

Sensing her mood, the boy with the lightning scar and bright green eyes nodded, and opening the door Hermione had just entered through, they departed.







Draco didn’t sleep at all last night. He had many nightmares; most of which were filled with screams, as the Dark Lord tortured a victim. Sometimes it was Draco himself, with his pointed face so pale, or his mother shrieking with her blonde hair, precisely the shade of his own. Every time there was a new person shaking in the cold corner, stammering, pleading for it to stop. In one particular dream, a girl rocked back and forth, her brown, bushy hair covering her face. She was crying uncontrollably, as You-Know-Who laughed mirthlessly.

He would then scream “CRUCIO!” and the girl would shake and shriek in pain, writhing, her legs drawn up to her chest. Another cry of the curse, and Hermione would twitch and scream in agony.

Draco woke up instantly and hadn’t slept since. He was too busy thinking... It had been the first time Granger had visited him in his sleep. And he had not enjoyed her pain at all, quite the contrary. Was this guilt? Because he didn't like the feeling of it. The tug to his heart - if you could call it that - was unbearable.

Draco struggled to get out of his bed, stubbing his toe.

“Damn,” he whimpered, as Zabini came through the door.

“Draco, Snape told me to give you this,” said the tall, black boy, holding out a roll of parchment.

“Throw it away, Blaise,” growled Malfoy.

“Professor said that if you didn’t read it, Um, - He shall know,” he said, in a very good imitation of the greasy Professor, “And...”

“And what exactly?” snarled Draco.

“He said he won’t shy away from sending you a Howler,” grinned Zabini.

“Fine, put it over there,” Draco said, making a rude hand gesture to the boy.

Zabini returned the gesture, and said, “Okay mate,” and departed.

After showering and putting on his emerald and silver tie on his robes, he went to the parchment that was tightly rolled on the mahogany edge of the four-poster bed. Malfoy opened it, already having a shrewd idea of what it held:

Draco,

You must confide your plans to me, The Unbreakable Vow Draco, remember.

Visit me, we are on the same side.

Professor Snape.

Visit him? Bloody hell... Not in a billion years.

Guilt though, was eating him alive. The note had given him an idea. Conjuring some parchment and a quill, he wrote.

Hermione,

I’m sorry.

He struggled between the urge to rip the note in half, but found himself not wanting to. He wanted out from all of this, this Pureblood mania. This wasn't him, he didn't want it at all. The idea seemed unreal to him, unbelievable. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy just couldn't happen. But he wanted it to. Somewhere in him told him that she deserved more, hell - she didn't even deserve him. She could do better. But if he was going to do what he was assigned, and was going to kill Dumebledore - he may as well do some good in the world, in the likely hood that he didn't suceed. 

It was the tears he decided, that did it. Damn girls and their ability to cry.

Deciding then to slip the note into her bag during the usual chaos of Potions, he headed down to the Great Hall, thinking it was a new day.






* Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, 2004 - Warner Bros.

AN: Another chapter done, wow. Please review, it really helps when I write, to make edits and all. If you spot any mistakes in this chapter or in the future ones, leave a note and I'll fix them.


Edit on 24/09/2013 - mistakes, added sentences.

28/11/2012 - typos


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