My Boyfriend, The Death Eater

"You WHAT?!" Ron stood in shock, staring at Harry.

"I saw Hermione and Malfoy snogging in the empty Potions lab," Harry said patiently.

Ron’s jaw opened and shut several times. "What were you on?" he demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, Ron, I do not spent my free time smoking weed in the boys’ bathroom."

Ron just sat down, hard. Unfortunately, he missed the chair and landed on the ground. "It’s a joke," he said. "It’s got to be."

"It’s no joke, Ron."

"I am going to so eat her head off!!"

* * * * *

Hermione shrugged her bag more snugly over her shoulder and walked up the staircase towards Gryffindor Tower. She really wasn’t sure what to make of the whole thing - was Draco really as big of a jerk as he seemed? Did he really mean something by that kiss, or what he just messing with her mind?

Giving the Fat Lady the password - "Juggernaut" - Hermione stepped through the portrait hole to be besieged by Harry and Ron, both talking at once and very quickly.

"You won’t believe the things Harry was saying today-"

"And then Ron just nearly fainted-"

"He said you and Malfoy were snogging in the Potions lab, honestly-"

"I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t believe me -"

"QUIET!" Hermione bellowed, loud enough for the entire common room to hear. "Let’s go someplace more private, shall we?" Harry, Ron and Hermione retreated to a semiprivate corner behind some chairs, the farthest away from the fireplace.

"Okay, one at a time. I assume this is about that incident you witnessed, Harry...?"

Harry began to explain the entire thing all over again to Ron, who refused to believe a word of it.

"Ha, ha, guys," he said. "Really funny. I’m not that gullible, you know."

* * * * *

That evening, Ron tossed and turned in his sleep. He dreamt of Draco and Hermione, they were kissing... then Draco turned around and saw Ron. He waved.

"Hi, Weasley. I know you’re one of Hermie’s friends, so I wanted to invite you to the wedding."

"No! Ron cried. "You can’t marry her! You can’t!" Then he was there, at the wedding, with Draco and Hermione at the altar.

"If any should speak against these two coming together, then speak now or forever hold your peace..."

"No!" Ron yelled, running up to the front of the chapel. "I speak against! Hermione! Listen to me! I love you..."

Draco turned around, grinning. He raised his wand, and Ron could see the Dark Mark on his left forearm. "Too late, Weasley, it’s done. You’re looking and Hermione Malfoy now."

"But you can’t!" Ron screamed. "She’s Muggleborn! You’re one of them!"

Then Hermione smiled at him. Hermione Malfoy. "Sorry, hon. I had to do it." She raised her arm, since when was ’Mione left-handed? And she pointed her wand at him, the arm with the skull and snake. "Avada..."

Then the best man turned around, red eyes glowing. "Kedavra," he finished.

Ron bolted straight up in bed, screaming.

"What the..." Seamus fluently spouted a stream of curses, giving Ron a three new uses for a bed post.

"At the wedding. And - and You-Know-Who was best man." Ron said, breathing hard and sweating as if he’d just ran a long distance.

Harry groped for his glasses, which were lying folded on his bedside table. "Who’s wedding?" he asked groggily.

"Hermione and Malfoy! And Wormtail was the minister!"

Harry shuddered. "Wormtail’s dead, remember? Deep six feet below the cold, cold ground. In pieces," he added.

"Just a nightmare," Ron said, not as sure as he sounded. "Just go back to sleep." Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus soon winked off, but Ron was left awake with his thoughts. Was it true? Was his Hermione in love with Draco Malfoy? Please say it isn’t true, ’Mione, please say it isn’t true...How could you, Herm? I loved you. Love you. I would give my life for you. And you keep hurting me. Ron turned his face into his pillow so his dorm-mates wouldn’t hear his sobs.

* * * * *

The next morning Hermione was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn’t even notice that Ron was absent from classes. After Herbology, though, she realized he was missing.

"Where’s Ron?" Hermione asked Harry, who was jamming a Mercury Flytrap into its clay pot a little more forcefully that was necessary.

"Funny you asked," Harry fumed. "He’s been gone all blinking day and you haven’t noticed until now! Fine time you give your friends."

Hermione looked hurt. "I’m sorry, Harry, I’ve just been so preoccupied-"

"Yeah, mentally undressing Malfoy," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" Hermione said sharply.

"Uh... I said, ‘did you use Mellony’s Freshening Mouthwash?’ Your breath smells really nice," he hastily covered up. "For your information," Harry continued icily, "Ron has been up in the dorm for the past four hours, playing chess with himself and dripping tears all over the board."

Hermione looked away. Serves her right, Harry thought. She doesn’t even care the way she treats her friends anymore. She treats Ron like crap and expects him to follow her loyally. He carefully excluded his own feelings from the situation - that would only complicate things. Harry didn’t even look at Hermione all through the rest of class, much less speak with her - but if he had, he might have seen the silent tears dripping down her cheeks and into her Neptune Flytrap’s waiting jaws.

* * * * *

Ron sat miserably on his four-poster, moving a knight back and forth, again and again. Never mind that knights couldn’t move diagonally, he was too miserable to care. His pieces were quiet, too, perhaps they sensed his depression.

He picked up the black queen and twirled it in his fingers. That’s what Hermione was, a queen. The most powerful one on the board...

But she didn’t control the outcome of the game.

Then who was the king? Immediately a face sprang to mind. Malfoy. Was he the king? Ron laughed bitterly. Then I am surely the pawn. I am nothing but a life to be thrown away, one to be controlled. Nothing but the latest broken heart on a long string of her conquests. I hate her. I love her. I hate her and I love her.

God, the bitch.

"Ron?" a voice came from the doorway, breaking his train of thought. He didn’t even turn around. He knew that voice, the voice that whispered to him at night, the voice that told him that she loved him...

"Sod off," he told Hermione.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly. "Draco-"

"Oh, now it’s ‘Draco’, is it?" Ron sneered. "Well I’m not falling for it, Hermione. I would have done anything for you. I would have given you my soul. But it’s too late now. It wasn’t just him, Hermione. I saw the way Harry looked at you. Do you think this is some kind of game, bitch?" he spat. "Do you enjoy doing this to people? Tearing them up inside so they can’t tell what they want or who they love, and then just laughing it off? Well I’m not going to take it anymore. Get out of my life."

"Ron-" he couldn’t read the look on her face. "Are we still... friends?"

"I wouldn’t be friends with you if we were the last two alive on earth." Ron turned back to his solo game of chess.

"I’m sorry," Hermione said as she backed out of the room. And then came the words that froze Ron’s heart. "I love you."

* * * * *

Hermione was miserable. Her friends wouldn’t speak to her, not to mention most of the other seventh-years and a few sixth-years as well. Draco was acting like his mean old self again, and she was having trouble with Ancient Runes - she thought she’d memorized all the Symbols of Thelerates, but as soon as she picked up the quill for a test everything she’d studied just flowed straight out of her head. Her lack of sleep was making her short-tempered, and sharp-tongued, and she was generally pissed off at the world.

After a particularly wearing Ancient Runes class, Hermione was in an especially nasty mood - stomping down the hallway with a look on her face that clearly said ‘don’t mess.’

Suddenly her books and quills went flying everywhere as she whammed into Draco Malfoy.

"Watch where you’re going, numbskull," she hissed. "Now I’m going to be late for Arithmancy."

Draco looked like he was going to give her a particularly cutting reply, but changed his mind at the last minute. He settled himself with, "Stop sharpening your tongue on me and pick up your damn books." Hermione scooped them up in record time and raced towards her Arithmancy class.

Draco sighed as the bell rang, and knew he was going to be late - he was supposed to be in that same Arithmancy class that Hermione was in. But he just didn’t care anymore - and cutting once wouldn’t kill him.

He walked through the empty hallways and down a few secret passageways when he thought he heard Filch or Mrs. Norris, mind wandering. Well, it wasn’t really wandering - more like lingering on one face, one person, one figure that had been haunting his days and nights for nearly a week. Hermione.

Why should I keep thinking about her? He snapped at himself. She’s a Mudblood. Inferior. Besides, Father would kill me. Literally. You never liked her before, and you’ve known her for seven years. Probably just an infatuation - it’ll pass.

Pass? Who was he kidding, she’d gotten his attention two years ago when he’d realized there was a person underneath the Hermione everybody saw. She’d been Viktor Krum’s girlfriend then, which equaled ‘touch and die’. Under his influence she’d changed so much - not even changed so much as blossomed. And not just emotionally, too. She cut quite a figure these days - the main reason why most guys followed drooling at her heels.

Give me a chance, Hermione.Give me a chance and I’ll give you everything you’ve always wanted. Just give me a chance.

Maybe he had to give himself a chance. Maybe.

* * * * *

Hermione returned to her dorm to find a note on her bed. This wasn’t too odd, she often got notes there from all sorts of people, sent by a simple Sending Charm. This time, the strange thing was who it was from.

Draco.

She really didn’t know what to make of him. He switched moodily between two faces - one the face she had known for nearly seven years and the other she had met only recently. Hermione found herself thinking of the kiss they had shared, and wondered if they’d ever do it again.

Stop that! She scolded herself. Now is not the time! She picked up the letter and ripped it open apprehensively. What if it was a letter saying that the kiss was just a joke, a dare, a prank. That it meant nothing.

Hermione, (it read),

I know I have been an ass lately but I just wanted to talk to you. Meet me by the painting of Sleeping Beauty, after dinner.

-D.M.

Well, that was fairly inconclusive. It could mean just about anything.

Hermione gave a whoop of happiness and hugged the piece of paper in her hands.

* * * * *

Draco waited for Hermione, leaning against the wall. He had no idea what he was going to say. He’d rehearsed dozens of different lines, and none of them felt right. He’d pushed all thoughts of his father and his future out of his mind, of what he would do if he could actually earn Hermione’s respect. He’d worry about that when it came - for now he would just make it up as he went along.

He was jolted out of his reverie by a tap on his right shoulder.

"Hi," Hermione said quietly.

"Hi." There was a bit of a silence between them.

"Look, I’m sorry for being such a jerk," Draco said finally. "I just - I don’t know." He went on to Plan B - just kiss her.

He wrapped his arms around the small of her back, pulling her close and placing his lips softly on hers. Heat flooded though Hermione as she breathed his sharp smell, the smell of ice on a misty day. She felt her hands move up his back, up his neck to comb through his silvery-blonde hair -

"No," she said fiercely, and pushed him away, then looked straight up into his eyes. "Why did you do it?" There was no question between them about what ‘it’ was. "Why, after years of mocking my friends and calling me Mudblood, have you decided that you love me - or it is lust? I’m not blind, you know. Why is it that you’ve singled me out, severed all my connections with my friends, and then kiss me again?" Her voice was starting to crack. "Why?"

Draco hung his head. The truth was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know why he wanted her. All his life his father had taught him to detest Muggles and Mudbloods, detest them for bringing such pain into the world. Hate them for crawling out of their muck and trying to take purebloods down from their rightful position in life. And he still felt that way. About all of them - except Hermione.

Before, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance. She was so precocious, so stuck-up, but in a Gryffindor sort of way - which only made it worse. She would never bend the rules, never learn to have fun, never show her wild side. The side that she had kept locked up under constraints for so long, that Krum had set free. She was the most complicated, intriguing, attractive person Draco had ever met. She was completely, utterly Hermione.

"I don’t know," he whispered. "I don’t know."

Hermione’s expression softened a bit. "I know about your family, Draco. Will you become a Death Eater?"

Draco’s head snapped up at the unexpected question, and the silent echo that followed. Will you betray me? The echo said.

"I would never become a Death Eater if it meant that I would have to hurt you," Draco replied softly.

Isn’t it strange how easy it is to break a promise?