Year Seven:Blindsided

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or places they belong to the wonderful
J. K. Rowling: It is her world I just play in it.

Chapter 1- Draco

Draco Malfoy stood staring at the Head-boy badge in his hand, as it fell from his seventh and final Hogwarts letter, with mingled pride and anguish. He was proud, for the badge in his hand proclaimed him to be the male Hogwarts student with the highest grades in his year.


This was an exceptional feat, but it was not good enough for a Malfoy; Draco’s father had taken every opportunity to drill this fact into his son’s mind. In order to meet the proper standard demanded by his lineage Draco must not only be named Head-boy, he must also attain higher grades than the student named Head-girl. Draco sighed, for he knew that second place was simply unacceptable.


Even worse for Draco than knowing he’d been bested by a girl, was the knowledge of which girl had consistently proven herself to be his academic better. “And only my academic better,” muttered Draco as he stomped around his room in a huff. He could think of no other student, no other person that he’d met in his first six years at Hogwarts that he despised so much as Hermione Granger.


Perfect Miss Granger! Her perfect grades, perfect robes and that perfect smile, which though he was loath to admit it sent a delightful chill up his spine, were nothing short of grating to Draco. He couldn’t even claim that she’d cheated. The only time that an error had been made in her favor she’d privately seen the professor and had the problem corrected, this had proven to be to her detriment and to his favor. Perhaps the reason that her sense of fair play irked him so was because how she earned her grades was as important as scoring highly to her. He, on the other hand, had made a lifetime pursuit of being as close to perfect as possible, by any means necessary.


Her fair play and perfect grades would have been enough to drive Draco mad, but the fact that it never seemed to him that she had to try in order to achieve such grades nearly sent him over the edge. Draco was jealous. Magic came more easily, more naturally, to that mudblood bitch that to him. Or did it? He remembered one test, the potions final last year, which might serve to prove that she’d received special treatment from a teacher.


The students at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry have come to understand that Professor Snape is a man known for many things, and that being fair is not among them. “That slut,” Draco fumed. He remembered how hot it was that day in late May. Draco recalled how distracted he had been when Hermione let her robe slip off of her shoulders. Whenever he’d bend over to grab the next ingredient for his potion he’d steal a glance at her bare legs under the table so that no one would see him ogling a mudblood.


Oh, how he’d envied the bead of sweat that dripped slowly down her neck and between the creamy alabaster orbs that were her breasts. (So immerced in the memory was Draco that the young wizard could not determine when he’d achieved the full erection he now held in his hand.) Her perfect breasts heaved as she took a deep breath and stretched her arms up over her head. He was in sweet agony to see her flat stomach, and the way her hips curved gently. She lowered her arms and for an instant her shoulders picked forward in the merest suggestion of a chill.


Draco knew she’d felt a chill, after all, he’d caused it, both to make her uncomfortable and because he’d realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that skimpy tank top. His plan worked! As she straightened up the eyes of every male in the room were on her, whether it be overtly or covertly. She seemed not to notice, or maybe not to care that the majority of the class was staring at her hard nipples. ‘She knew,’ Draco thought, ‘I bet she liked it too.’ (Prior to this Draco had always pictured Hermione as the type of girl who was so organized that she must always wear matching lacy bra and panty sets that screamed, “Look, but don’t touch!” From that day on he dreamed more and more often of not only looking at her, but also of touching her in ways no other man could.)


She then raised her hand to ask a question, hardly a rare occurrence when dealing with Hermione Granger, but this time something was different. Rather than dismissing her for the insufferable know-it-all she was, Snape not only came over to her cauldron, he also answered her politely and walked back to his desk as if this was normal behavior for him. A few minutes later Snape strode back to Ms. Granger. Draco then remembered how Professor Snape had the gall to rub up against the dirty blonde; he also remembered the anger he had felt toward his teacher at that moment.


Hermione had flirted with that old man! Would he have to be the last man on earth before she would see him? Then at the most opportune moment for the bitch, the strap of her shirt slipped down her arm. She’d flashed the potions teacher for a good grade, or at least a little ‘extra credit’. Looking back Draco was still angry; he wanted her and he could not let any other man have her. “But, what man could resist her?” Draco whispered. Still, this was not he worst part of having to live in close quarters with the exquisite bitch.


The worst part of living with Hermione would be the inability to escape her scent, the sweet and spicy whisp that always floats gently around her and causes the air in her vicinity to tingle as she passes you by. Draco sighed, both aroused and angered by the mere thought of Hermione. How could he possibly share a suite with her for an entire year? It had been difficult enough the last two years having to share the Prefect’s bathroom with her. During those two years the only person Draco had walked in on was Hermione, as she had walked in on only him in those two years.


It seemed that fate was determined to have her way with the two of them; a mudblood had unwittingly ensnared the proudest of pureblooded wizards, and Draco found that he was helpless to resist her charms. Though given his birth he resolved to fight as long as possible against his ever-growing feelings for Hermione.


Draco laid back on his bed and tried desperately to think of anyone, anything, but her. He settled on thinking about how much he’d like to hurt Ron Weasley. Draco added every excuse he could think of, save the obvious one, for wishing to do harm to Ron to the list in his head. ‘He’s poor, and dirty, he’s a horrid quidditch player…and he’s Potter’s best mate,’ thought Draco. That last reason seemed to have inspired in him such a fire that he temporarily forgot about Hermione. He was lost to the depths of ranting about “poor, innocent,” spoiled, bloody Harry Potter. Draco knew that he was by no means a fair person, yet to see such preferential treatment go to that little slag was too much for him.


Draco was relieved to have been shaken from his black mood by a House Elf that was bound to his family. The little creature informed him, in a voice that was more a squeak than anything else, that supper would be ready presently and that his father demanded that he wear his shiny new badge to display to the supper guests.


This was a double-edged sword, as Draco knew, for all of the praise he receives at dinner, from the guests, will be negated by his father as soon as all the guests have left for the evening. He put on his favorite set of formal robes and takes a deep breath before putting on an air of confidence, which he does not feel, as well as his trademark smirk. With one last glance at the mirror he left his room and braced himself for the ordeal that he is certain the evening would turn out to be.