Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I own the plot and anything that you do not recognize. This disclaimer will only be present in this first chapter.
He didn’t know how long he’d been awake. He didn’t really care either. He just lay there, staring at the silky green canopy of his bed. Anyone who saw him would wonder what he was thinking, but they would never guess that not a single thought crossed his mind. At least not now, in what had become a daily routine. He would fade out of sleep slowly, and just lay there, staring, until the noise of other boys waking would shake him out of his trance.
Everything had changed for Draco Malfoy that fateful summer. Everything. No one really understood how much he had lost. Voldemort had been defeated “ but before that, the Lord had made sure that Draco paid the price for his treachery. Not many people knew, but Draco had told Dumbledore everything. He himself wasn’t even quite sure what made him do it, but he did. And he paid dearly for it. When Voldemort discovered that his secrets had been told, he had stormed Malfoy Manor. His intentions were to kill Lucius, which he did, but not before Narcissa leapt before her husband attempting to save him, leaving her lifeless as well. He searched the house relentlessly for Draco, the traitor “ but he was nowhere to be found. He had been taken by Dumbledore to safety.
Draco wasn’t sure why he risked everything. A voice inside his head had told him that everything would end up okay. He had almost believed it then, and trusted his instincts. But everything was certainly not okay now. He had lost all the things that were important to him. His parents were both dead, his beautiful manor destroyed, along with every wonderful possession that had ever mattered. His closest family members were Death Eaters, all of which suffered the Dementor’s Kiss. All he had had to turn to were the blood traitors, and at the time, Draco was not willing to lower himself to come crawling to them. Instead, he accepted Dumbledore’s offer to come stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer holiday. He had been so lonely, but had convinced himself that it was the best solution.
So there he lay, staring, during the early November morning. If he was the old Draco he would have been thinking of his prized possessions, his family, or even new ways to insult those lousy Gryffindors. But he wasn’t the old Draco anymore. He was no longer pompous, or obsessed with his pure stature. Even his smirk had left his face, which had almost been a permanent fixture once. Everyone knew that he wasn’t the same anymore, but they didn’t truly understand why. Nor did any of them understand why he just sometimes faded out during class or meals, looking as if nothing was going on in that mind of his. The reason for that though, is that he had nothing to think about. He used to think about things that mattered…and all of those were gone. Draco hated dwelling on the past and letting himself be vulnerable to anyone who might accidentally say the wrong word. He was never going to let himself cry. So he pushed those thoughts from his mind, pretending that they never existed. It was a sad way to live, but Draco had become at ease with it.
A grunt from the corner of the dormitory shook him from his daze. He propped himself up on one elbow, to see who the perpetrator was. He eyes soon rested on a sleepy Crabbe who had stumbled out of bed.
“Come on Crabbe, it’s Saturday. What the bloody hell are you doing up so early?” Draco spat through gritted teeth. It took Crabbe a moment to realize that he had been spoken to.
“Quidditch, Malfoy,” he grunted.
“Yeah,” came a yawning voice from the other side of the room. “You’re captain this year, how could you forget?”
Malfoy looked to see Gregory Goyle also waking up, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He realized that he had forgotten, and hated that he had been reminded by two of the slowest people he had ever met. Without even responding, he got up and walked to the bathroom.
I have the feeling that today is going to be a very long day, he thought. He had no idea how right he was.
A soft sunlight filled the room, its yellow glow stretching across the girl’s soft, relaxed face. Her toffee colored eyes fluttered open. By the look on her face, you would know that she hated waking up to a new day. Every morning, it was only yet another time where she had to return to reality, straying from the dreams that would flood her mind each and every night.
Yawning, she sat up in her bed, finding that she was the only one left in her dormitory. It surprised her that the other girls had actually been able to keep their giggling down enough so that she could continue sleeping. Those girls had been giggling a lot lately. They have every right to, she thought, they are all in love. And that is what Hermione Granger had to face every single day.
Ever since the Dark Lord’s defeat before seventh year began, everyone was able to relax for a change. No one had to worry about a sudden attack or violent happenings anymore. With that stress out of the way, they all found the time to find someone who made them feel like they were floating on air. Harry had finally admitted his feelings for Ginny (much to Ginny’s content), Ron and Lavender were together, Parvati and Seamus; the list went on and on! Even Neville had found the nerve to ask out Luna Lovegood. But who did Hermione have? No one.
Hermione wandered into the bathroom in the dormitory to get herself ready. It was a Sunday, so she could take as long as she wanted. With the other girls gone, she could even sing in the shower if she wanted to. After ten minutes, she finished her shower, stepped into fresh clothes, and sat at her vanity (there was one for each girl). After attempting to tame her hair from its natural frizzy state, she left for the common room.
Walking down the stairs, her mind wandered to her dream that she had had that night. As usual, she had been walking through a little forest next to a creek, holding the hand of a boy. He was tall and stately, his broad shoulders square and proud. His hands were warm, and he had long slender fingers, suggesting that he was a good wizard. Hermione didn’t care about what his fingers were like though. The fact that they were intertwined with hers was all that mattered. In this recurring dream, she never saw the face of her loving companion. It seemed as if every time she tried to peek, she would wake with a start. So even in her sleep, she learned not to look and enjoy the presence of someone who cared until the rays of the sun woke her.
When she got to the common room, she found it deserted. How late have I slept? She wondered. Glancing at the time, she realized where everyone would be. The Quidditch game starts in five minutes! Hermione made a mad dash out of the portrait hole, said a quick “I’m sorry,” to the Fat Lady (she was rather ruffled at the sudden rush), and headed toward the Quidditch pitch.
As she ran, Hermione seemed to have no time for thought. But in the back of her mind, all she really wanted to do was crawl between the covers and slumber once more. While she slept, Hermione didn’t have to dwell on the fact that everyone else was in love. In her dreams, Hermione could have what she wanted. In her dreams, Hermione was never alone.