Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

6 quidditch world cup: sixth letter

Dear Granger,

I did all I could.

Draco had just warned Hermione and the other two of the approaching Death Eaters. True, he has done all that he could. They couldn't have imagined him asking them over for tea while the whole thing blows over, do they? Or perhaps a little curtsy? Or maybe a group hug amidst the chaos?

He shivered as he pulled his jacket closer towards him. He was alone in their tent, just inches from the fireplace just so he could chuck the parchment he was writing the moment his father got back. The moment his father wearing his Death Eater mask and dark robes came back. Came back from torturing the Muggles.

Hermione's kind.

It was far from cold but he was trembling.

His mother has drunk a sleeping potion to drift away from it all. She was just a door apart from him but she might as well be oceans away. He just wanted to talk to someone.

If this was meant to be, why is she sleeping through it? Why is it making him feel horrible? Why did he acted on the urge to tell Granger that she was supposed to run and get away from it all?

I hope you managed to come back to whatever rabbit hole you call a tent. The next year won't be as fun without a mudblood to constantly torment. You should always be there in the roll call.

Always?

He blinked at the word. How long is 'always'? How often?

Granger, do you know what's going to happen this year?

His mind went back to the list of things that they are going to need this year. It had been sorted the minute it came. No problem with that. His father took him to Diagon Alley to have a customized robe. 'For what?' He asked.

'Don't embarrass me,' was all the reply he got.

He managed to put two and two together and thought that there must be a ball happening this year. And if there is a ball. There will be dancing.

Maybe I would ask you.

He smiled at the parchment imagining the look of horror then later anger on her face targeted at him. Only him.

Or maybe I'll let you in on the joke and it will be us making fun of them. Imagine the looks on everyone's face when you go with me? It will be an instant classic!

And maybe it was because of the rush from that night and the elation that lingered that his team won that Draco did something on a whim.

Hermione Granger, will you go to the dance with me? If there ever will be.

He stared hard at the parchment, it felt right and the grammar is correct but his brain nagged at him. You shouldn't make jokes like that. You are not friends. You can never be friends.

Mudblood and pureblood. Pureblood and Mudblood. Never together.

"Filthy muggles," his father stormed into the room. Dirt on his boots, his smooth hair disheveled. He was expecting that the common room of their tent would be empty by now. "And what are you doing awake?" He snarled at Draco.

"Late night reading, Father," Draco answered meekly as he crumpled the parchment that he was reading.

His father scoffed at him as he removed his boots. "Well, about damn time. Don't want you lagging behind that bushy haired mudblood now, do we?" Then he shook his head grinning maliciously, "If the outcome that I hoped for was achieved tonight you wouldn't have to try so hard."

A sinking feeling overcame Draco's body as he looked at his father, "What do you mean?"

"Thick headed boy," he tutted. "You'll really need all the help you can get. I would hit those books harder if I were you."

Draco stayed even though he wanted to go straight to his room and slam the door on his father's face. He kept his chin up, hands behind his back.

"You are excused. Go to your room," his father finally said, as he sat upright, feet now bare.

"Good night, Father," Draco said before turning his back.

He walked to his room and sat on the fluffy bed that was just a smaller version of the one he had back in the manor. Everything is still pretty much as it is, just smaller to fit. A Malfoy never settles, they always aim for the best. He looked at the half finished bottle of butterbeer on his bedside table. It's not worthy anymore, it was exposed to air. Not pure anymore.

But nevertheless he took it and took a swig. It was sweet against his lips, nothing better or worse than a freshly opened bottle. No less of a butterbeer.

He laid still on the bed before straightening the parchment and folding it as small as he could. He held it in his fist, close to his fast beating heart.

And he wondered if Hermione was safe and sleeping soundly by now.

He closed his eyes- waiting for dreams. Anything to take him away from the chaos outside that his own father started. Chaos? What is it really? Or was it things finally falling into place?

He laid there wishing, hoping that perhaps maybe she was wondering about him too.

That someone else was thinking that maybe he is not quite alright.

Because as of now that is all he could do.

Wish.

Hope.

Wonder.

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And we are officially in Goblet of Fire. I know that I've told you guys that I haven't read the Harry Potter series before, right? If I haven't yet then here you go. I am now looking for a copy of Deathly Hallows. Every single bookstore is out of stock! And do you know what they have bundles of? Twilight. (no offense to twihards) These bookstores need to have their priorities in check.

Song at the top is 'Wonder' by Lauren Aquilina covered by Jamie Willets. You should listen to the song! Ohmygawd. It's like a theme song for unrequited love. Sighhhhhhhh.

This chapter is dedicated to for being adorable. Her oneshots were one of the first that I stumbled across here in wattpad under the Dramione tag. :)