Love from the Mudblood

"Love from the Mudblood"

It wasn't completely morbid, Hermione thought, rolling slowly over in her bed on the morning of her sixteenth birthday. Twirling a strand of her bushy brown hair in her fingers, she smiled; relishing the dream she had last night. She'd only had a dream like that once before. That time, it had been a strange Ron/Harry creature, which, every time she kissed it, changed faces between her two best friends. But that had been back in her third year, and to her credit, she had been under an awful lot of stress then. But seriously, she thought, pulling the covers up over her head, there's absolutely no excuse for me to start having those kinds of dreams about Draco Malfoy, of all people. She blushed, grinning like an idiot, though safely shielded by her bed linens. She was a bit embarrassed now by how Dream Hermione had felt when Dream Malfoy had torn open the curtains of her four poster, a villainous smirk warming his sharp features. Oh, stop it! she scolded herself. He's not even good-looking, and besides, you might be on with Ron now, remember?

That thought sobered her a bit, and she readied herself to draw back her curtains and face her dorm mates: Lavender and Parvati. They had been getting up an extra hour early all school year in order to do their hair and put on make-up: two things Hermione would gladly sacrifice for sleep. When Hermione emerged from the red velvet curtains of her four poster, Parvati was sitting on the foot of her bed, buttoning her blouse, while Lavender sat behind her, plaiting her long black hair. At the sight of Hermione, both of them started giggling.

Self-consciously, Hermione ran a hand over her hair to make sure it wasn't sticking up strangely, and she felt the corners of her mouth to make sure she didn't have drool crusted on her face. "What?" she asked, blushing. Oh my god, they know, she thought desperately. They can probably smell it on me, like a thestral smells blood. After all, if there were any two girls in the entirety of girldom that were more girly than any other girls, it was these two. They would obviously know a dream like that when they saw one.

"Nothing," Lavender sang tauntingly. She finished tying off Parvati's braid, and then leaned back on her elbows.

"Except," Parvati continued, smiling wryly, looking into Hermione's horror-stricken face and pointing to her four poster, "you really ought to keep it down in there." Lavender squealed with giggles.

"What--" Hermione paused, trying shamelessly to stall for time enough to compose herself. "What are you talking about?"

"You were talking in your sleep," Lavender giggled, giving Hermione a look.

"Not talking really so much as moaning," Parvati said slowly, painfully drawing out the last word. Hermione could tell by Parvati's pursed lips that she was trying desperately hard not to laugh.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said stiffly, blushing as red as a Weasley and gathering up her toiletries.

"Give our regards to Ron!" Lavender cried just as Hermione slammed the door behind her.

"Girls, honestly!" she said under her breath before heading down for a very cold shower.

The entire day was completely shot. NEWT level classes, Hermione found, were normally very intriguing and stimulating, but today she just could not concentrate. Every time she tried to put her mind around a thought, it took on the size and shape of Draco Malfoy. To say the least, it was unnerving.

During Arithmancy while Professor Vector was explaining a very complicated chart on the blackboard, Hermione found herself chin in hand, staring out the window and idly spinning her quill. She was thinking about him, about The Dream. Again. And then, of all the stupid girly things to do, she sighed. Like a silly little unrequited schoolgirl, she sighed. Loudly.

Hannah Abbot, sitting next to Hermione, gave her a strange look. "Hermione," she whispered, "you okay?"

Hermione practically cracked her neck snapping so fast to attention. She checked herself and tried not to blush. "Just can't seem to concentrate, is all," Hermione whispered back, picking up her quill and starting to copy down the chart on the board.

"Oh," Hannah said with a knowing smile. "Ron."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but dared not set Hannah straight.

During lunch, she sat with her back to the Slytherin table, not because she didn't think that she could control herself, but because she knew she'd have to look at him. Usually, Harry, Ron, and she sat in a row facing their archenemies, watching them just in case. It was the general experience of the entire student population that Slytherins could not be trusted. But today, the truth of it was, she just didn't trust herself.

"You know," Ron said thoughtfully, his mouth full of steak and kidney pie, "I really think we've an excellent shot at the Cup this year."

Harry nodded in agreement. "You've put together a really strong team. I never would have thought the Creevey brothers would make such good beaters."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then focused them back on her Potions text. It was only the first month back, and already she was sick of Quidditch. Of course, it was the same in every House. Zacharias Smith, Roger Davies, Ron, and (she was certain) Malfoy were all embroiled in a bitter rivalry. Perhaps unwittingly the professors had appointed the most competitive Quidditch captains in years, but she doubted it. She was quite sure that it was an attempt to keep the students' thoughts occupied, focused on other things, which was, to their credit, one that was indeed working. No one had even so much as approached Harry about the attack in Privet Drive over the summer, questioned their affair in the Department of Ministries, or even said a hoot about the return of Voldemort, and Hermione, for one, wasn't sure it was a good thing.

She sighed, again, but not because of The Dream this time, but because Colin and Dennis had just arrived, recently hexed by Crabbe and Goyle, and, well, someone had to sort it all out.

Potions was an outright disaster. The Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs glared at the pocket of Slytherins throughout the double period, and the Slytherins, for their part, snickered and verbally assassinated everyone else's character. Hermione, being in such proximity to Draco Malfoy, could not keep her eyes off of him. He surely wasn't the hunk that Dream Malfoy was, that was for sure. Yet (and she panged to even observe it), he had grown a bit more into a young man--but surely not any more than every other boy in their year. He was still pointy-faced, sour, evil, tall, strapping...

STRAPPING? Hermione asked herself. Not strapping. EVIL. E-V-I-L. Seriously, why would anyone dream about Draco Malfoy? He isn't even good-looking. He is completely self-involved, has a rubbish sense of humor, and lacks any and all semblance of honor. And besides, what right does he have to invade my subconscious?

As her anger increased, however, she couldn't displace the passionate scenes from The Dream. Dream Malfoy had been so warm and tender; lascivious, but gentle. While holding her in his arms, Dream Malfoy had told her everything would be okay. And she had believed him. It had been horribly cliché and melodramatic, raunchy and raucous. And it was starting to freak her out. She couldn't cut any of her potion ingredients straight. Her wand trembled as she prodded the flames beneath her cauldron. And her mind was wandering so badly that she had to read the directions at least twice before adding any ingredients to her Dreamless Draught. She couldn't keep her eyes off of him, which meant, of course, that he was everywhere. His robes whipped around her when she passed him on the way to the store cupboard. She had brushed his arm at the sinks. He walked past her six times, all told, none of which went unnoticed.

My god, look at those hipbones, she thought as he passed the last time. It was just after she added the last ingredient: aconite. Wait a minute--HIPBONES? I'm ogling Malfoy's HIPBONES? She groaned, rubbing the heels of her hands in her eyes, which was really a very stupid thing to do, as her hands were covered with aconite, which stung tremendously.

"Miss Granger, I can't possibly fathom what in your lap would be so terribly interesting that it would command your attention away from your work. Five points from Gryffindor."

At Professor Snape's cutting words, she lifted her head. She knew tears were streaming down her face; their hot tracks burning her already flushed cheeks. She kept her eyes closed. She just needed to get to the hospital wing so that Madam Pomfrey could give her a simple eye-cleansing potion.

"Oh dear. No reason to cry. One point for every tear, then, Granger. I will not have students in my class who cannot control themselves." Though she couldn't see him, she could fairly well recall the look on Snape's face. She knew it was the same look he gave every Gryffindor from whom he was deducting points: part disgust and part elation.

"I'm not crying," she said sharply. "I've got aconite in my eyes, and I can't see a thing." She tried not to let the panic seep into her voice at the last words.

Professor Snape sighed loudly and several Slytherins laughed. There was a rush as her classmates huddled around her and someone (she thought Ron) grabbed her by the shoulders. "Shouldn't I take her to the hospital wing, sir?"

"No, Mister Weasley. Nor you, Potter. Neither of you can stand to miss a lesson. You are both failing miserably as it is."

More laughter erupted from the Slytherin corner. Hermione was sure Ron muttered a few choice obscenities under his breath.

"Well, I can't really make it on my own, can I?" Hermione snapped, blinking vigorously in an effort to wash her eyes. She could definitely see purple, which only meant that the effects of the aconite were setting in. She groped the edge of the table as she tried to get to her feet, knocking over her cauldron. The simmering potion sizzled as it hit the cold stone floor.

"Fine, then," Professor Snape said. "Longbottom, Weasley, and Potter: clean up Miss Granger's spilled potion. I don't know how you three ever made it into this class, but you might as well be of use while you're here." Snape paused, relishing his insult. "Malfoy, take Granger to the infirmary."

"But Professor!" Malfoy and Ron sputtered simultaneously.

Hermione spun and stalked in the direction of the door. Her vision may have gone completely black, but she'd make it by herself before she let Malfoy be her escort. She couldn't imagine being alone with him: free game for his insults, helplessly blind and quivering in his strong grasp... UGH! Hermione thought. This cannot be happening to me!

"Mister Malfoy can spare to miss this class," Snape said coolly. "Weasley cannot, even though I am sure he'd be most pleased to accompany Miss Granger on a romp through the castle."

Hermione ran into a table, feeling its hard edge acutely across her thighs. That will leave a bruise, she thought wryly.

"Before she does any more damage, Mister Malfoy." Snape sighed, annoyed.

"Fine." Malfoy stomped towards her, and Hermione felt a hand wrap around her upper arm in a tight grip, pulling her to her left. "The door is this way, Granger."

"You touch her Malfoy, and I swear-- Oi!"

At Ron's threat, Malfoy released Hermione with a gentle shove, and she, overcorrecting, stumbled forward right into Malfoy's chin. She rubbed the dent on her forehead, which would swell to an awfully great bump by morning. Malfoy sure had a pointy little face.

"To the hospital wing, Mister Malfoy. I'd hate to have to explain to the Headmaster how one of his prized students was blinded because of your lack of obedience." Snape's tone was very final, and Hermione felt the swell of Ron's worry and Malfoy's indignance.

Grubling under his breath, Malfoy took Hermione by the arm again and led her out of class. Once in the hall, he immediately let go. Hermione took a few steps, but she knew it was pointless. She was as blind as a bat. "Malfoy, I can't see." She was really not in the mood for this. What a terrible birthday it was turning out to be.

"Well, if you think you're holding my hand the entire way, you're dead wrong."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she hissed back. She wasn't lying: never in her dream of the previous night had they ever interacted in such a chaste manner. "However, I can't climb four sets of stairs and meander countless halls blind, so we are going to have to figure something out." She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to respond.

Nothing.

After a moment, Hermione felt the thrill of panic flick her stomach and compress her lungs. "Malfoy? Are you there?"

"Oh, the little Gryffindor isn't afraid now, is she?" His voice was taunting and child-like, reminding her sharply of his aunt as she had met her in the Department of Ministries.

She pursed her lips and spoke in the direction from whence the voice had come. "You're lucky I can't see you right now, Malfoy."

"And why's that, Granger? Going to slap me again?" His voice was nearer: so near she could practically feel his breath on her face. It was a bit thrilling, actually. She was outright defenseless, and here was Malfoy, the object of Dream Hermione's desire. If only it was the Dream Malfoy now, and not an insufferable prat who smelled like... soup? Chicken noodle soup? Odd.

"You know what, Malfoy?" Hermione said in a low, dark voice. She reached out quickly and caught his robes. "You don't intimidate me, and you certainly don't scare me. Not even your father can claim that of me."

"Geroff!" Malfoy called, pulling away and hitting at Hermione's hands, which clutched fast to his sleeve.

"I don't think so." She pulled him back toward her. "You keep struggling and your robes are bound to rip."

He pulled away once more, and then stopped. "If you're just going to hang on me--" He tried to loosen her grip: prying her fingers out of the fists clenching his robes, but she wouldn't let go.

"Let me hold onto you."

"What?" Malfoy quit fumbling at Hermione's hands.

"Let me hold onto your arm. You can steer and I can follow. It will be easier that way," Hermione said thoughtfully. "And then you can keep your robes in one piece and you won't even have to touch me."

Malfoy snorted. "What makes you think that I won't just go back to my dorm and leave you here?"

Hermione suppressed a smile. Malfoy was such a child. "Because Snape is, among other things, your Head of House. He could take points from you, strip your prefect badge, even give your captaincy to Goyle if he saw fit. And Snape has to do what the headmaster says." She paused for a moment to let this sink in, recalling Snape's words from before. Then she leaned forward and practically whispered, "A few words with Dumbledore, and I can make your life very difficult."

Malfoy balked. "I don't respond well to idle threats."

This time Hermione didn't suppress a wicked grin. "I am aware of that. But what makes you think this threat is idle?"

She could almost hear the gears turning in Malfoy's head. After a moment, he took both her hands, still clenching his sleeves, in his own and wrenched them away. "Fine." He turned, keeping a hold of Hermione's left wrist. "I'll lead and you can follow. But I'll be holding onto you. Just try to keep up." His fingers were thin and strong, like ropes wrapping around her wrist. She hoped he couldn't feel her rapid pulse.

I am such a twit, she thought to herself. Good thing Malfoy's not a leglimens. I'd never live this down. Wait--oh no! Snape! He knew! He did this on purpose! She felt very suddenly as if she would be sick. She couldn't even imagine the gossip in the teacher's lounge the next morning.

Malfoy pulled her along the dungeon corridor and up the stairs that led to the Great Hall. The double oak doors leading outside must have been open, for as she reached the top of the stairs, Hermione felt the warm glow of the afternoon sun on her face. She briefly paused, savoring it, letting it wash away her embarrassment of what Snape may have seen in her thoughts. She probably would have stood there all afternoon if Malfoy hadn't nearly torn her arm off.

"Come on," he hissed.

Hermione scowled, briefly wondering if bad moods and being a git was contagious. She certainly hoped not.

They managed the next two staircases without incident. At the foot of the last, however, Malfoy abruptly dropped her hand.

"Oh! Hello Hermione! Happy Birthday again!" From his teeny, excited voice, Hermione could tell it was Dennis Creevey, whose lips she had just unfrozen at lunch.

"Hello, Dennis," Hermione said.

"What are you doing? Don't you have Potions now?" Hermione could see him in her mind's eye, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, eyes wide and curious.

Hermione could tell that Dennis was staring at Malfoy in that innocent, imploring way of his, and Malfoy, in turn, was probably trying to light Dennis aflame with his eyes. "Malfoy is taking me to the hospital wing."

"Oh! Are you okay! Are you all right? You'll be at dinner tonight, right? You wouldn't want to miss it! It'll be very exciting!" Dennis touched her lightly on the shoulder to show his concern.

"No, I'm fine. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will give me a quick--hold on. What's so important about dinner tonight, Dennis?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Umm--nothing! Gotta run! Hagrid is expecting me with these frogs me and Colin raised over the summer. Bye!" Dennis scurried past her, and she could hear the flump-thump of his trainers as he ran down the corridor behind her.

"I wonder what that was about," she mused under her breath.

"I didn't know it was your birthday," Malfoy said curiously, taking her up by the wrist again.

"Why would you?" Hermione wasn't flattered in the least that Malfoy should be curious about something so personal as her birthday. Granted, Dream Malfoy had been more than curious about certain intimate things, but this was reality, wherein Draco Malfoy was a selfish prat. "I bet the only birthday you celebrate is your own." They started climbing the last staircase slowly.

"That's not true. My mum's is the twenty-fourth of June." Malfoy's tone was indignant.

I'll be sure to send a card: "Thanks for raising such a sweet boy. Love from the Mudblood," Hermione thought sourly, That would go over well. "What did you say?" She just realized that Malfoy had been talking.

"Oh, nothing." He paused. "You're having a pretty lousy birthday."

"You can say that again," Hermione said, just as they reached the top of the stairs.

"You're having a pretty lousy birthday," Malfoy said.

Before Hermione could stop herself the hopeless truth of the statement struck her and she laughed. Malfoy, to her surprise, chuckled a bit with her, and then, even more to her amazement, he opened the double doors that led to the hospital wing and led her in. The pungent odor of brewing potions mixed with the sweet musk of chocolate. Hermione vaguely wondered if Pomfrey would give her a slab of Honeydukes just for good measure because it was her birthday. The smile had not yet faded from her face when the Healer's voice rang out from the opposite end of the room.

"Well, what have we here?" In an instant, she was taking Hermione by the shoulders and leading her to a bed.

"She has aconite in her eyes. We were preparing draughts for dreamless sleep in Potions, and Granger here had a mishap." Hermione was surprised that Malfoy had taken it upon himself not to insult her in his explanation. She sat down obediently on the edge of one of the beds.

"Aconite in the eyes! My goodness! I'll have to have a word with Professor Snape!" She bustled off again to retrieve whatever cure she had coming, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the spotless floor.

There was an awkward moment for Hermione. She didn't know if she could do it, but she thought she had better thank Malfoy for getting her to the hospital wing in one piece. Luckily, Malfoy spoke first.

"Well, Professor Snape ought to know you made it in one piece. I'm going back to class--unless?" His voice was edged with formality (sounding much more adult now than he had before on the stairs), a vague hopefulness lifting it at the end.

Hermione, flustered, fumbled for words. "You don't--I mean, if you want--" She took a deep breath. "Right. Well, thanks." She waited to hear the swing of the hospital wing doors, but they never came. In a moment, Madam Pomfrey was back, and with two shakes of her wand and a few drops of Restore-a-Sight, Hermione was right again.

As her vision cleared, she saw that Malfoy was waiting for her. He was casually leaning back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. And he was grinning. On any other day, Hermione would have thought that grin suspicious, but today, to her shock, she thought it charming. I must be mad from The Dream, she thought, blushing. She looked down at her trainers, the soles of which were tinged purple from the aconite potion she had spilled all over the dungeon floor. Bet Filch will have a wonderful time cleaning that up, she thought with a touch of satisfaction.

When she looked up again, Malfoy almost looked abashed. "Might be best if we went back together. I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't want any more interruptions." He scowled, but Hermione thought it was only half-hearted.

"Well, that ought to clear things up. I'd keep you for a while just to be safe, but I'm sure you're anxious to get back to class." Madam Pomfrey handed both Hermione and Malfoy a small piece of chocolate, then bustled them from the room.

On the way back down to class, neither spoke a word. Hermione stayed half a step behind him, letting the chocolate melt in her mouth as she took in his countenance. He did have a pointy face, but it wasn't without its fine qualities: strong chin, aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and finely arched brow. When they hit the ground floor, his blonde hair nearly shone in the afternoon light.

Hermione paused, struck by the beauty of the afternoon. Past the doors she could just see the shine of the sun on the waters of the lake. The voices of Dennis Creevey's Care of Magical Creatures class floated up from somewhere along the shore. She closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of the setting sun: it's rays red and orange on the back of her eyelids. Maybe she could find some redemption in her birthday after all. She supposed Ron and Harry, along with the rest of Gryffindor House, were planning something for her that night. She would do her best to be gracefully surprised. Afterwards, her two best friends would give her gifts in the common room. She suspected a book from Harry, but she wondered if Ron didn't have something grander in mind. She had been shocked by his gift of perfume last Christmas, and the past summer at the Burrow they had very awkwardly held hands while watching a pick-up game of Quidditch. Perhaps Lavender, Parvati, and Hannah knew something she didn't. I guess we'll know in time, Hermione thought, opening her eyes. She looked around, but Malfoy had already descended the final flight of cold stone steps into the dungeons.