Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

31 yours in purity

Your father will try to coax you into giving Ginny Weasley Voldemort's diary. Don't. Leave it in the aisle. Don't leave Hermione alone. She might not just be petrified this time. Keep the ripped page about the basilisk with you at all times.

Don't call her a 'filthy little mudblood'. Don't fall in love with her. Don't make this hard for all involved.

It was all Draco Malfoy could remember about his second year at Hogwarts from his previous life. He has slowly come to accept the situation, he didn't need to try so hard at studying but he still placed second to Hermione Granger who fought tooth and nail to be at the top of the academic charts. He didn't mind now-- somehow it was supposed to be and he enjoyed the steely determination in her eyes and the energy directed towards him though against him. The air practically fizzles with it when they meet.

But as of the moment, Hermione Granger is in the infirmary due to him being a complete asshat. In the end he really did end up calling her a 'filthy little mudblood' again over some Gryffindor versus Slytherin quidditch dispute, even though he has long known that he has no love for the sport. He just wants to beat Harry Potter. It was a slip and now he doesn't know what will happen next.

Draco snuck out at midnight, Theodore Nott strolling ever so casually behind him like an a good for nothing git, about to see her in the infirmary. Nott just tagged along because he wanted to try a few hexes on Argus Filch if they ever get caught. A result of the undying buzz of excitement over the dueling lessons.

"Stay here," Draco commanded. "Keep lookout."

Nott just looked at him as if bored. Black eyes just skimming his face before settling on something he deemed more interesting. "I'll keep lookout alright but don't expect me to holler at you in warning, I'm not your minion. First sign of trouble and I'll throw some hexes on that catfucker and bolt."

Draco rolled his eyes, when it comes to Theodore Nott, he'll always be the reasonable one. At least, he'll hear the ruckus anyway. No use killing each other over who has the bigger wand.

"Bloody well then."

He left Nott by the dimly lit hallway and made his way inside the infirmary. He can see the lone light  at the end of the room where Hermione probably is. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight so he made his way hurriedly to the lone light. "Granger," he whispered. "Hey, Granger."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

He reached out to draw the curtain around her bed but she felt her hand grab his wrist. "Don't. Madam Pomfrey forgot to get me a dressing gown." Then she started hacking a really bad cough. She was practically sputtering, she tried muffling it with her blanket.

"Dearie me, do you have water there?"

She heaved, "I do, Malfoy. You can go now. Since we aren't friends because you're a pureblood and I'm a filthy little m-mudblood." Even without seeing her face he can tell that he has hurt her. Why did he even have to say that? He didn't mean it. He can't remember but he has said the exact same thing to her in his previous life. He probably didn't mean it either.

Blood still mattered, of course. But she's an exception. She'll always be.

"Actually, I came here-- I came here to apologize," Draco said as bravely as he could. Admitting that he was sorry gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. "I'm sorry."

"Very well, you can go now. I'm tired and I don't like talking to filthy rich purebloods that are going to be in detention tomorrow." She was to the point, like she had been rehearsing what to say long before he said anything. She never misses a beat, she never misses anything. Damn it.