Young Loveless

Author's Note: Hello, all! This is my first time at publishing anything I've written. When a girl is on an extended Spring Break, the mind runs wild with an abundance of ideas, most of which scream, "WRITE ME!" Needless to say, I'm rather excited at the prospect of getting many reviews and comments. The more the merrier! All criticism will be taken with a grain of salt, thank you very much.

Disclaimer: I did not create, nor can I make any claims to the ownership of the characters 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.

Summary: Do not bite the bait of pleasure till you know there is no hook beneath it; for deception is a cruel act. It often has many players on different stages that corrode the heart. I do not love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or an arrow of carnations that propagates fire. I love you as one loves certain dark things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.


Young Loveless


Hermione Granger - daughter of Robert and Annabelle, friend of Harry and Ron, former Prefect of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - was speechless. She looked down at the official-looking piece of parchment held rather tightly in one hand and blinked. And blinked. And blinked again. She finally shook her head, sending a waterfall of springy chestnut-colored curls bouncing around her shoulders. “This can’t be,” she murmured, her jaw tightening as she read the contents of the letter once more.

Dear Miss Granger,

We at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are pleased to congratulate you on the appointed position of Head Girl. As you know, this status is a very prestigious one given to only the best and brightest of the Wizarding World who show the utmost promise. Although a student’s seventh and final year is both a time of jubilation and period for anxiety, the staff feels very assured that you are more than capable of handling the pressures, obligations, and responsibilities that come along with this esteemed title.

Your duties include such matters as the deduction of House Points and other minor disciplinary actions. Your attendance is also required at monthly staff meetings and weekly meetings with our Prefects. However, all work and no play would certainly make the position of a Head Student undesirable, would it not? Since much of their time is taken up with other circumstantial obligations, the Head Boy and Girl have an extended curfew and are authorized to venture into the otherwise Restricted Section of the Library. You may also venture to Hogsmeade any weekend you wish - with permission, of course!

You will also be pleased to know that after much deliberation, we will be instituting new policies concerning Inter-House Relations. Along with this year’s Head Boy, you will be given the opportunity to conceive several seasonal activities to improve upon the rapport between our students. There is no doubt in our minds that you and Mr. Malfoy will make us all very proud.

You will find an enclosed list of N.E.W.T. Level materials for your classes, along with an assigned reading list which is to be completed by your return to school.

Looking forward to your safe return,
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Draco Malfoy was Head Boy? Surely this had to be some kind of mistake. Somehow, Hermione didn’t see Professor McGonagall playing some sort of joke on her just out of summer boredom. Draco Malfoy was Head Boy? She skimmed the letter a third time to be absolutely sure that what she suspected was true. Yes, indeed, her life was officially turned upside down. Draco Malfoy was Head Boy.

“Well, I certainly won’t be conceiving anything with him,” she said moodily, her outlook on life suddenly seeming very drear.

“What the devil are you on about now, woman?” asked one of the multitude of redheads inhabiting her summer home. Ron cocked his head in curiosity from his spot in the doorway. “It’s about time she got up,” came another familiar voice just behind him, a swatch of raven black hair now coming into view. Harry and Hermione had been invited to spend their summer holidays with the Weasley family, and never the one to turn down exposure to adults who actually liked having him around, Harry immediately consented and all but carried Hermione along.

“I’ve just been named Head Girl,” she said without flourish, tossing the parchment on her freshly-made bed in the room she shared with Ginny, Ron’s youngest sibling and only sister. The faces of her friends lit up in a very childlike manor, much like two tots discovering the presents Santa left for them on Christmas morning. “Which,” she continued, reading their minds, “does not mean my privileges extend to your use.”

“Blimey, Hermione, this is great,” Harry said, reaching for the letter. “Yeah,” agreed Ron, grabbing an unopened bottle of ink off her dresser and tossing it into the air. “Just because our very best mate happens to have her run of the school…doesn’t mean that we, her very best mates, expect to be treated any differently.” He elbowed her in the side as he caught the bottle, only to toss it right back up once more.

“Bloody hell,” Harry said under his breath, causing Hermione to sigh. He’d obviously gotten to the end of the entire, painful letter. “Is she serious?” he asked, running a hand roughly through his unruly hair, still studying their professor’s neat scrawling handwriting. “I’m afraid so,” she replied, looking out the window woefully. If only she hadn’t awoken to the tapping of a Hogwarts owl that morning, and instead let the smell of a Weasley family breakfast pull her from unconsciousness.

“What?” Ron asked, ever so slowly trying to get one of them to explain whatever inside joke he wasn’t quite in on. “Is who serious?” He grabbed the parchment out of Harry’s hands and mumbled the words to himself as he read. “What the FU--” he began, the bottle of ink crashing to the floor.

“I hope you don’t kiss our mother with that mouth,” Ginny said, covering his colorful use of language with her presence. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand, casting a quick Scourgify at the very large ink stain that covered her bedroom floor. “Why does everyone look so uncomfortable?” she asked, sitting next to Harry on her bed. “We won the war, You-Know-Who is dead, and there are two whole weeks left of freedom before we start school again. We have every reason to be happy,” Ginny beamed, already looking forward to her sixth year at Hogwarts.

“Think again,” Ron said angrily, thrusting the now-wrinkled piece of parchment in her general direction and placing a comforting hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright, ‘Mione,” Harry said rather unconvincingly as his girlfriend of almost one year began to read the ever-popular letter. “Hermione this is great! You’ll have such fun this year with…oh. Oh. Mr. Malfoy? Seriously?”

The three of them nodded grimly, to which Ginny merely shrugged. “Won‘t be so bad, really,” she said, a small smile on her freckled face. Six wide eyes all turned to her questioningly. “It won’t be so bad?” Ron asked incredulously, his face beginning to flush. “Hermione is going to have to share living quarters with that…that Deatheater!”

This certainly snapped Hermione out of her reverie. “Come now, Ron,” she started, trying to avoid an all-out battle before breakfast. “You know as well as we do that he didn’t take the Dark Mark. Honestly, we can find plenty of other reasons to hate him without involving the whole Deatheater mess.”

“Yeah, Ron,” Ginny said, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “His mother and, for a lack of a better word, father have been thrown into Azkaban. I know they were cold and heartless and could never be classified as real parents, but they were all he had. Now, all he has is…”

“BREAKFAST!” Molly Weasley called out from the bottom of the stairs, momentarily giving everyone a great distraction from the matter at hand. Ron and Harry seemed to forget all about Malfoy’s title of Head Boy, not to mention her own of Head Girl. Ginny laughed as they raced each other down the rickety stairs. “Wave a couple of eggs and bacon in their faces and they turn into starved animals,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Hermione smiled tightly, clearly unconvinced that the next year would go as smoothly as Professor McGonagall had assured her it would. “You’ve still got two weeks,” Ginny fruitlessly offered once more, shrugging her shoulders before following them to the table.

“Two weeks,” Hermione repeated, looking out the window once more. She couldn’t help but wonder if a similar scene was going on wherever Malfoy was.