errorYou must be logged in to review this story.
Spellbinder
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,632
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,632
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Page-Turner
Disclaimer: I did not create, nor can I make any claims to the ownership of the characters or magical devices in the following story. They belong strictly to J. K. Rowling and publishers. The plot, however, has been roving around in my head for quite some time now.
Author’s Note: Hi there, again! This is the second story I’m attempting to write, and it all came to mind one day when I was watching one of my favorite movies, “The Shop Around the Corner.” For those of you who haven’t seen it, it is what the more popular “You’ve Got Mail” is based on. This is completely AU, but only to a certain extent. Dumbledore did die. Snape did kill him. A final war did happen, in which Harry, Hermione, and Ron did collaborate with the others to kill Voldemort. Basically, the only thing that didn’t happen from Deathly Hallows is the epilogue. Obviously! How else would Draco and Hermione get together? I really hope you enjoy!
Summary: A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man’s mind can get both provocation and privacy.
Spellbinder
What a small wonder that spell means both a story told, and a formula of power over living men.
~J.R.R. Tolkein~
Draco arrived at his flat in record time, suddenly having much more of an incentive to be cooped up in the well-decorated home. He immediately went to the makeshift library and office he had transformed from a spare bedroom and sat at the desk. He opened up the center drawer and pulled out some old pieces of parchment and a self-inking Dicta-Quill.
“Lionel arrived home sometime after midnight,” he began, watching in satisfaction as the quill copied down the words exactly as he spoke them. “He’d taken the train this time, eager to be away from her haunting presence. But no longer did she haunt him in the clouded corners of his thoughts. No. Today, he saw her. She looked exactly the way he had always pictured her, in his late-night fever dreams, when he’d throw down his pen and push his paper off his desk. Unable to write. Unable to concentrate. Unable to think about anything other than her graceful neck or the curve of her hip. She looked like the very idea of a woman, and wasn’t that better, he wondered, than the reality of the situation? Weren’t ideas, when all is said and done, so superior to reality?”
Draco continued to speak, his words directed at no one in particular, as the quill continued to scribble on into the night. Pages and pages poured out of him as if there were no tomorrow. The pointed feather dropped to the desk after he had remained quiet for several moments. He picked up the pages delicately and glanced over them. 87. A mere ten minute meeting with her had inspired him to write 87 pages after what he had assumed was the worst case of writer’s block he’d ever had.
That night, Draco Malfoy went to bed and slept more soundly than he ever had in his life.
~*~
Hermione, however, slept very little. She tried her hardest to figure out just why he plagued her so. Thinking about Draco Malfoy - obviously - did not help her to understand Draco Malfoy. It just led to more provocative thoughts of Draco Malfoy in different places and different outfits. Certainly, she thought, her homework for the next following nights would help in distracting her from a certain blonde memory. Good old C.R. Whitney usually provided her with a great escape; his writing was very involved and descriptive, not to mention a bit existential. She loved that about him. Unfortunately, this latest adventure introduced her to Malcolm and Genevieve, two star-crossed lovers who found themselves between the sheets in every chapter.
When she finally did succumb to unconsciousness, her mind was plagued with thoughts of what it would be like to unfasten the buttons on a particular blue Oxford shirt. Never in her life had she reacted to someone’s mere presence in such a fashion. With an unsatisfied groan, she threw back the covers and slipped on her robe, determined to make the rest of the day better.
She showered and dressed, then ate a bit of breakfast before resisting the urge to dunk her head into the huge pot of coffee she had been brewing all morning. Jillian and Christine found her downstairs not long after that, staring inside her cup intently.
“I think you need tea leaves to tell the future, Hermione,” Christine said, nudging her with her hip. “Yeah, and I thought you hated Divination,” Jillian chimed in, going straight up to the loft. Their mere presence caused Hermione to wonder just how it was they were on time the one day they weren’t scheduled to work at all.
“What are you even doing here?” she asked, taking a long sip of coffee as if it were her lifeline. Maybe taking up cigarettes wouldn’t be a bad idea, she mused, imagining herself as one of those French girls who wore a beret and carried a baguette around all the time.
“Go,” Christine said forcefully, shooing her away from the counter altogether. “Go get a new hairstyle, get your nails done, go shopping. We don’t care. But you are not going to botch things over with your new boyfriend.” Before Hermione could protest, Jillian came bounding back down the stairs only to hand over her jacket and purse. “We don’t want to see you until closing time.”
Christine smirked. “Or maybe even tomorrow afternoon. A girl deserves a wild night every now and again,” she laughed, shooting a wink over at Jillian. “It’s a Thursday,” was Hermione’s only response, even though she did as she was told and slipped her slim arms into the sleeves of her jacket. “You’re sure about this?” she asked, already heading for the door.
“Okay, um, how long has it been since you were properly shagged?” one of them asked, causing Hermione to blush to the roots of her hair. Without another word, she was gone, having Apparated to the Burrow.
They were right, after all.
~*~
In lieu of transforming herself into a mega-watt redhead or something of the sort at a salon, Hermione much preferred to go visit one of her favorite pre-existing redheads instead. “And then what happened?” Ginny asked excitedly from her seat on the sofa, one hand on her very pregnant belly. “And then he just invited me out to dinner,” she said, an odd expression on her face. “I don't know what is going on, Gin. I haven't seen him since…that day. And now, all of a sudden, he‘s back. He’s here, and apparently wants to be in my life.” She sighed. “I don't know what to do.”
“Let him,” Ginny said simply, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. “Clearly, he's changed, ‘Mione. He said it himself! And it’s not every day someone as bloody gorgeous as Malfoy hops right into your lap like that.”
“There was no hopping into anyone's lap!” she said, slightly appalled at the thought of herself just plopping down onto him. Ginny laughed, then gasped as she saw something out of the corner of her eye. “Harry James Potter, you put him down!” she cried, causing Hermione to spin around to see what had happened. Baby James was currently holding an infant-sized broomstick and giggling uncontrollably as Harry levitated him off the ground.
“What?” he asked innocently, gesturing out the kitchen window where Ron and his son Hugo were currently involved in the same activity. “We're practicing.”
“Excuse me,” Ginny sighed, apologizing to Hermione a she pulled herself up and chased after her ridiculous husband and brother. “Have you both lost your bloody minds?” she yelled, pulling her one year old from the air in front of her. “What if this one's a girl, you sorry, no good…”
Hermione laughed to herself over how everything had come together in the end. Her friends had found their own happily ever afters, so why shouldn't she? There was nothing wrong with exploring a few different options, and she had definitely had her shares of Mr. Wrongs. Silently resolving to be open to new experiences, Hermione looked out the window and smiled. Harry and Ginny were now playing with James together, occasionally talking to the large bump protruding from her midsection. A large black owl distracted her, though. It flew over the treetops near the house and came closer and closer until it perched on the window box right behind her.
“Oh!” she gasped, reaching for the letter which was clearly meant for her. The bird remained perched, clearly expecting some sort of reward for its hard work. Hermione fed it a piece of crust from her toast that morning and stroked its soft feathers appreciatively. “Thank you, lovely,” she murmured in dismissal, looking down at the letter in her lap with curiosity. The bird still stared her down. Must be waiting for a reply, she thought, opening the wax seal quickly.
Hermione,
I must confess that after our meeting yesterday I slept quite soundly knowing that I was to see you again soon. Finished The Devil Danced at Midnight yet? I bet you have. I, for one, couldn't put it down. We should have much to talk about at dinner tomorrow. Shall I pick you up tomorrow at 7? You may send your reply back with Persephone if you wish.
Draco
She grabbed a nearby quill and scrap of parchment, scribbled a quick reply, and gave Persephone another treat before she made off with her note. Hermione looked down at Draco's tidy handwriting once more, noting the loops and swirls at the ends of his words. The smooth flourish he made in his invitation had obviously taken some preparation and thought, which caused her to smile. “Ginny,” she called through the window, “I've got more news!”
~*~
Author’s Note: Hi there, again! This is the second story I’m attempting to write, and it all came to mind one day when I was watching one of my favorite movies, “The Shop Around the Corner.” For those of you who haven’t seen it, it is what the more popular “You’ve Got Mail” is based on. This is completely AU, but only to a certain extent. Dumbledore did die. Snape did kill him. A final war did happen, in which Harry, Hermione, and Ron did collaborate with the others to kill Voldemort. Basically, the only thing that didn’t happen from Deathly Hallows is the epilogue. Obviously! How else would Draco and Hermione get together? I really hope you enjoy!
Summary: A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man’s mind can get both provocation and privacy.
What a small wonder that spell means both a story told, and a formula of power over living men.
~J.R.R. Tolkein~
Draco arrived at his flat in record time, suddenly having much more of an incentive to be cooped up in the well-decorated home. He immediately went to the makeshift library and office he had transformed from a spare bedroom and sat at the desk. He opened up the center drawer and pulled out some old pieces of parchment and a self-inking Dicta-Quill.
“Lionel arrived home sometime after midnight,” he began, watching in satisfaction as the quill copied down the words exactly as he spoke them. “He’d taken the train this time, eager to be away from her haunting presence. But no longer did she haunt him in the clouded corners of his thoughts. No. Today, he saw her. She looked exactly the way he had always pictured her, in his late-night fever dreams, when he’d throw down his pen and push his paper off his desk. Unable to write. Unable to concentrate. Unable to think about anything other than her graceful neck or the curve of her hip. She looked like the very idea of a woman, and wasn’t that better, he wondered, than the reality of the situation? Weren’t ideas, when all is said and done, so superior to reality?”
Draco continued to speak, his words directed at no one in particular, as the quill continued to scribble on into the night. Pages and pages poured out of him as if there were no tomorrow. The pointed feather dropped to the desk after he had remained quiet for several moments. He picked up the pages delicately and glanced over them. 87. A mere ten minute meeting with her had inspired him to write 87 pages after what he had assumed was the worst case of writer’s block he’d ever had.
That night, Draco Malfoy went to bed and slept more soundly than he ever had in his life.
Hermione, however, slept very little. She tried her hardest to figure out just why he plagued her so. Thinking about Draco Malfoy - obviously - did not help her to understand Draco Malfoy. It just led to more provocative thoughts of Draco Malfoy in different places and different outfits. Certainly, she thought, her homework for the next following nights would help in distracting her from a certain blonde memory. Good old C.R. Whitney usually provided her with a great escape; his writing was very involved and descriptive, not to mention a bit existential. She loved that about him. Unfortunately, this latest adventure introduced her to Malcolm and Genevieve, two star-crossed lovers who found themselves between the sheets in every chapter.
When she finally did succumb to unconsciousness, her mind was plagued with thoughts of what it would be like to unfasten the buttons on a particular blue Oxford shirt. Never in her life had she reacted to someone’s mere presence in such a fashion. With an unsatisfied groan, she threw back the covers and slipped on her robe, determined to make the rest of the day better.
She showered and dressed, then ate a bit of breakfast before resisting the urge to dunk her head into the huge pot of coffee she had been brewing all morning. Jillian and Christine found her downstairs not long after that, staring inside her cup intently.
“I think you need tea leaves to tell the future, Hermione,” Christine said, nudging her with her hip. “Yeah, and I thought you hated Divination,” Jillian chimed in, going straight up to the loft. Their mere presence caused Hermione to wonder just how it was they were on time the one day they weren’t scheduled to work at all.
“What are you even doing here?” she asked, taking a long sip of coffee as if it were her lifeline. Maybe taking up cigarettes wouldn’t be a bad idea, she mused, imagining herself as one of those French girls who wore a beret and carried a baguette around all the time.
“Go,” Christine said forcefully, shooing her away from the counter altogether. “Go get a new hairstyle, get your nails done, go shopping. We don’t care. But you are not going to botch things over with your new boyfriend.” Before Hermione could protest, Jillian came bounding back down the stairs only to hand over her jacket and purse. “We don’t want to see you until closing time.”
Christine smirked. “Or maybe even tomorrow afternoon. A girl deserves a wild night every now and again,” she laughed, shooting a wink over at Jillian. “It’s a Thursday,” was Hermione’s only response, even though she did as she was told and slipped her slim arms into the sleeves of her jacket. “You’re sure about this?” she asked, already heading for the door.
“Okay, um, how long has it been since you were properly shagged?” one of them asked, causing Hermione to blush to the roots of her hair. Without another word, she was gone, having Apparated to the Burrow.
They were right, after all.
In lieu of transforming herself into a mega-watt redhead or something of the sort at a salon, Hermione much preferred to go visit one of her favorite pre-existing redheads instead. “And then what happened?” Ginny asked excitedly from her seat on the sofa, one hand on her very pregnant belly. “And then he just invited me out to dinner,” she said, an odd expression on her face. “I don't know what is going on, Gin. I haven't seen him since…that day. And now, all of a sudden, he‘s back. He’s here, and apparently wants to be in my life.” She sighed. “I don't know what to do.”
“Let him,” Ginny said simply, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. “Clearly, he's changed, ‘Mione. He said it himself! And it’s not every day someone as bloody gorgeous as Malfoy hops right into your lap like that.”
“There was no hopping into anyone's lap!” she said, slightly appalled at the thought of herself just plopping down onto him. Ginny laughed, then gasped as she saw something out of the corner of her eye. “Harry James Potter, you put him down!” she cried, causing Hermione to spin around to see what had happened. Baby James was currently holding an infant-sized broomstick and giggling uncontrollably as Harry levitated him off the ground.
“What?” he asked innocently, gesturing out the kitchen window where Ron and his son Hugo were currently involved in the same activity. “We're practicing.”
“Excuse me,” Ginny sighed, apologizing to Hermione a she pulled herself up and chased after her ridiculous husband and brother. “Have you both lost your bloody minds?” she yelled, pulling her one year old from the air in front of her. “What if this one's a girl, you sorry, no good…”
Hermione laughed to herself over how everything had come together in the end. Her friends had found their own happily ever afters, so why shouldn't she? There was nothing wrong with exploring a few different options, and she had definitely had her shares of Mr. Wrongs. Silently resolving to be open to new experiences, Hermione looked out the window and smiled. Harry and Ginny were now playing with James together, occasionally talking to the large bump protruding from her midsection. A large black owl distracted her, though. It flew over the treetops near the house and came closer and closer until it perched on the window box right behind her.
“Oh!” she gasped, reaching for the letter which was clearly meant for her. The bird remained perched, clearly expecting some sort of reward for its hard work. Hermione fed it a piece of crust from her toast that morning and stroked its soft feathers appreciatively. “Thank you, lovely,” she murmured in dismissal, looking down at the letter in her lap with curiosity. The bird still stared her down. Must be waiting for a reply, she thought, opening the wax seal quickly.
I must confess that after our meeting yesterday I slept quite soundly knowing that I was to see you again soon. Finished The Devil Danced at Midnight yet? I bet you have. I, for one, couldn't put it down. We should have much to talk about at dinner tomorrow. Shall I pick you up tomorrow at 7? You may send your reply back with Persephone if you wish.
Draco
She grabbed a nearby quill and scrap of parchment, scribbled a quick reply, and gave Persephone another treat before she made off with her note. Hermione looked down at Draco's tidy handwriting once more, noting the loops and swirls at the ends of his words. The smooth flourish he made in his invitation had obviously taken some preparation and thought, which caused her to smile. “Ginny,” she called through the window, “I've got more news!”
~*~