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Dramione: The Forbidden Lovers

Chapter 1 of 7

How It All Began


It was late. Hermione lay in her bed staring at the top of her four-poster bed. Unable to sleep. Hermione felt something inside her. It was as though dozens of tiny fairies were dancing in her stomach, spreading some sort of warmth through her body. Causing her muscles to relax and a smile to creep onto her face. She was thinking about something, but what...? It took her a moment before she realized. It wasn't a "what" so much as it was a "who". But it couldn't be, she had hated him since their first year! Though, was it truly hate?

Down in the dungeons, Slytherins lay sleeping in their green four-posters... All but one. Draco Malfoy sat on his bed in the dark. He could hear the deep exhale-inhale, and occasional snore, of his sleeping friends. Making sure his fellows weren't stirring or waking, he reached under his bed and pulled out a book. The cover read "Draco's Journal", clearly engraved by hand. He fingered through the uneven leather binding and smooth parchment paper, locating the nearest vacant page. Draco closed the curtains around his bed, fumbled with his wand, and muttered "Lumos" under his breath. The tip of his wand ignited with a small, white light. He dipped his quill in ink, took a deep breath, then touched the parchment and started to write...

Hermione looked around the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Fay Dunbar, and everyone else was fast asleep. "Why won't you just close your eyes and go to sleep!?" Hermione thought to herself. She couldn't cease to think about him! She could hear his drawling voice in her head, “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!”, or, “Training for the ballet, Potter?” How could HE be the one that makes her quake with nervousness, the one that gives her goosebumps, the one that she stays up all night thinking about? He has continuously been nothing but hostile to her! How, oh HOW, could she have fallen for Draco Malfoy?

"3 September 1993," Draco began, "I saw her in potions class today. I had just returned from the Hospital Wing so, naturally, all of the Slytherins gathered around me. But they weren't the ones I wanted to see. There she was, like always, sitting at her seat with her books piled up beside her, but there was something different today. She spun around (almost falling out of her seat), and smiled. She smiled at me." Draco paused, suddenly noticing his heart pound in his chest like a prisoner trying to burst open his cell. He smirked. It felt odd, but he enjoyed it. He had never felt like this before, the tingles in his fingers when he sees her smile, the blood rush when she laughs. It was unlike anything in the world! Draco redipped his quill and continued. "She visited me in the hospital, you know. She would come when no one else was around; when she thought I was sleeping. One afternoon, when she visited me, she seemed off. When she sat down, she started talking to me. I guess she thought it would be fine, but she didn't know that I was listening. She started talking about Hagrid and Buckbeak (the hippogriff who injured me), then she started sobbing. I wanted to sit up and hold her, but I stayed laying down. Then she screamed at me, she didn't say anything she just yelled. then she grabbed my hand, not in a hurtful way though, more like you do when you're at a scary movie and you hold on to your lover's hand for comfort. Then someone started walking in and she left." Draco stopped. Sobbing then yelling then grasping on to his hand for comfort. Why must Hermione be so difficult to understand but so easy to fall for?

Hermione sat up. Alone in the dark, she reflected on the past couple weeks. She had visited Draco in the hospital wing after he was injured. She came every chance she got. She visited him one-afternoon after she read that creature who attack students, like Buckbeak, might be executed. She had yelled at him because she blamed him, then... she wasn't sure why but... she squeezed his hand. She could still remember the feeling of his cool, soft hand grasping hers. It was then, on her four-poster bed, in the pitch-black darkness of night, she realized she had fallen, and fallen hard.