A Lesson In Love

A Lesson In Love

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Prologue

"Watch yourself, you Mudblood." Draco seethed hatred through his gritted teeth, looking at the Gryffindor standing before him. Her hair was bushy, a bit past her shoulders, her brown eyes gleaming with something he could not describe nor distinguish. And her cheeks were red with rage as she folded her arms across her chest stubbornly.

"Are you already calling me that again? You weren't so brave in our third year, when I slapped the hell out of you?" she asked loudly, peering knowingly at the passersby's, who were watching with beaming interest as she raised an eyebrow at the silver-haired foe, and a smirk washed over her face when Draco's pale cheeks tinted with a blood red color.

"Shut up, Mudblood, look at you, shouting out things that never happened," he said with a devilish grin, looking around at the lookers nervously. "You should know better than that." His sentence followed with a fresh string of curses.

"Language, Malfoy," drawled Hermione in a mimicking way. "You kiss your mother with that mouth? Were you not hugged as a child? Were you not loved?" she spat mockingly. He could see fear mingled with anger and humiliation flashing in her eyes.

Draco Malfoy had never felt this spiteful toward someone in a while. His smirk was vanished, as thoughts rushed through his mind. He gulped, making sure it was inaudible, and regained his composure soon enough. "There's. No. Such. Thing. As. Love." He was almost yelling by now as he pushed past his two massive friends who were looking at him dumbly, and turned his back on Granger, walking away from the onlookers, Harry and Ron were staring at him from the corners, Harry holding Ron back. His eyes were stinging with something he had never felt before. His chest was thumping with something he had never recalled before. His legs threatened to buckle underneath him. Stop it, she's just a Mudblood, he reminded himself bitterly. And yet her words was still going through his brain. Were you not loved, were you not loved, the echoes said rapidly.

No such thing as love, he argued back. No such thing.

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Draco Malfoy was a well composed boy, who was taught to be best, who was taught to look at himself higher than others; he was the finest, richest and most cunning boy to attend Hogwarts, at least that's what he told himself. And what his father told him to become. Becoming a Slytherin had brought such joy in the Malfoy family that Draco learned it, fit inside it, and made sure to make plenty of friends. Being reserved for the inner-circle of Death Eaters was his destiny; he fulfilled it graciously with wit and high spirits by learning everything that had to do with Dark Arts. He flaunted his surname as if it was him, his charity, his reality. He had made himself a life for himself. He had earned money for himself; and taken half of his father's. He was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and after completing one more year, he would be gone and become a Dark Wizard, someone who's name was as feared as Voldemort's.

It was when Draco was seven when his father told him he needed 'lessons'. Every week, his father would invite him into the study, where Draco promptly sat in a chair, listening to all the quoted words that came out of his father's lips, or obeyed all things said. His first lesson was his last name. "We are the most powerful purebred family there is," his father explained with pride. "You are always supposed to be defined by that, Draco. You are never to be weak, you are always to be a Malfoy, which means you're strong."

You're strong. You're a Malfoy was always imprinted on his head. His father's second lesson turned out to be more promising. "You are always to be social with the best bred of people there is. Muggleborns, Mudbloods, Half-bloods will never do. You understand that, Draco? You are a Pureblood. You look down at those kinds of people."

"Yes, father," he swore. "I will always do that." His father had seemed pleased enough of the way he was teaching his boy, but obviously not pleased enough, as his third lesson had become the most crucial.

"In the Wizarding World, people fall over themselves over lust, sex, and love. Lust is needed; everyone feels it, everyone desires it. Sex is needed; everyone does it when it's their time. Love..." Draco's father had paused, leaning over for effect as his father's smile went rigid. "Love is nothing. It is a complete waste of time. There is no such thing. Love is a petty excuse for marriage. Marriage is official; it is only to ensure heirs. Love. Does. Not. Exist. There is no such thing as love...do you hear me, Draco? No such thing."

"No such thing," Draco found himself replying automatically, repeating the words over and over. "No such thing as love."

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He eyed her over dinnertime as she ate. Her hair was tucked away into the back of her robes, she was talking and laughing with her fellow Gryffindors, bickering or scowling every so often, then erupting into giggles again. Her hands made motions, her eyes rolled, her mouth went in many different directions. She was intelligent. She was attractive, at least in the physical bodice. She was a Gryffindor, although Malfoy could reluctantly overlook that. However, she was a Mudblood. And that was all that mattered.

Draco watched closely as she got up from the table, saying something from the corner of her mouth, then heading outside the Great Hall. Draco quickly downed his meal, instinctively following her hurriedly. She was in the library when he found her, her legs tucked beneath her chair, her hair falling over her face, her eyes pondering the words of an old ratted book that looked over hundreds of years old; the book's name was "Hogwarts, A History," and looked nearly over thousands of yellow pages that was torn from the edge.

"How can you stand to read that?" he sneered. She looked up, startled at his sudden appearance. She closed the book slowly, still staring at him, surprised.

"It's my favorite," she scoffed.

"It's over thousands of pages!" he exclaimed.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "So?"

He shook himself. Was that a tiny smile forming in her face?

"So...I just don't know how you can...that's all."

"It took me nearly three days," Hermione said, the book clutched at her chest.

"Only three days?" he scoffed.

"I am a fast reader, aren't you?"

It took moments for Draco to realize they were actually having a civil conversation. He didn't need to ensue it, but leaned over, and could feel the heat radiating from her.

Sex is desired, his father's voice said dully in his mind. He nearly jumped, but managed to keep himself collected. Sex with a Mudblood, sex with her? No, he told himself. But he found his eyes wandering to the front of her robes, with stuck out her small, but firm chest.

"Malfoy?" she questioned. He looked up, blinking, extremely dumbfounded.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to look down my robes? That's disgusting!"

He forced a look of repulsion over his face. "What? You must be crazy, Granger." Why would I want to look down and see or touch those nice, tight nipples you have there, he added silently, and could feel his pants tightening in progress of the thought.

"Whatever." She got up, and hurried out of the library, the book still in her arms.

Did I just check Granger out? he asked himself, his eyes growing wide in surprise. No, no, he protested. I couldn't have...he tilted his hand, watching her hips sway...he closed his eyes. What the hell? His heartbeat increased unknowingly, drumming in his ears.

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Draco was surprised the next day to see one of the school owls in his bed, with a large, enormous package. He took it from the black owl, and proceeded to open it. His hair fell over his face as he leaned over, blinking. No...it could not be...

In his hands, was a newly polished copy of "Hogwarts, A History."

The note on top was scrawled in neat cursive:

You never answered my question. I'll assume you're a fast reader. If in three days you finish it...you can keep it.

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