Essays, Original, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Harry Potter Not mine, not mine, not mine. Did I mention it's not mine?

Oh, and by the way, for anyone out there hoping this is a sequel, it's not (sadly.) I was looking over and decided to correct some mistakes and do the tiniest bit of revision. I hope, though, that I'll be able to get a new story up and running soon.

Essays

Essays. I absolutely loved them. I always aced them and my teachers, not including Snape, were extremely proud of all the research I did. But as the years went on, I began hating them. Why? Because of that stupid, blasted, bloody boy. It all started in my first year at Hogwarts…

He acted superior and mighty, as if he owned the school. I hate those types of people, so naturally I hated him.

One time when I was at the library, writing an essay titled Wizards, Witches, and Muggles, he sat down beside me.

"Hello, Hermione. That's your name, isn't it?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I ignored him and continued working. What a show-off, I thought. I looked down at my essay and frowned, taking a bright blue eraser out.

Seeing I wouldn't respond, he continued, "So, what are you doing? Working on homework already? Why, we haven't even been assigned any homework yet!"

Again, I ignored him and continued writing. Scowling at my paper, I took out my bright blue eraser, which I had just put away, and began rubbing the bottom of my parchment.

The boy next to me scooted closer until he was no more than two inches away from my face.

"Hermione, come on. Don't bother wasting your time on schoolwork. Let's do something else."

Very irritated, I stood up, letting my arm hit the idiotic boy in the nose. "Well," I said in an annoyed tone, "how about you leave me alone and find someone else to pester?"

"Fine," the boy said, holding his nose. "I'll find some other cutie to go out with." Huffing, he stomped out of the library, after, of course, being yelled at by Madam Pince.

I smiled. I was already beginning to like that batty old librarian.

As I sat back down, I took one look at the words I had written and erased for the past ten minutes, and bit my lip to keep from yelling out in frustration.

Thaddeus Thurkell was famous for producing seven Squib sons and turning them all into that blond hottie who sat next to me.

I glared at my paper and let out a groan, practically tearing my parchment while trying to get rid of the words my bloody hand kept writing.

Outside the library, the blond boy smirked. Oh how he loved that spell.

-xXx-

In my next year, that boy and I officially became enemies. He called me names, and I still hated him, for still being a spoiled brat and for calling me Mudblood.

I could've wrung his neck, but I was too busy helping my best friends solve the mystery about the Chamber of Secrets.

One time I did meet up with that boy again in the library.

I was just sitting there, writing an essay I named The Twelve uses of Dragon Blood, when he came by and sat down right beside me.

"Hello, Mudblood," he greeted casually. I could feel the anger burning up inside me, but I managed to focus on my essay.

"Dragons' blood has many essential uses. It may have something to do with its purity, which—"

"You do know the polite thing to do when someone greets you is to respond, right?" he sneered. "Oh wait! I forgot. Mudbloods don't have manners because then they'd have to go everywhere saying 'Oh, I'm so sorry that I got my dirty Mudblood germs on you.'"

I clenched my teeth and once again took out my bright blue eraser. The boy smirked at my frustration.

"Well, Mudblood, hope I don't run into you anytime soon. Don't want any muddy blood on me." Laughing, he walked out of the library, and was once again reprimanded by Madam Pince.

I stared down at my paper, which read, "Dragons' blood has many essential uses. It may have something to do with its purity, which is purer than Mudblood Granger's blood, and a hell lot dirtier than Malfoy's."

Banging my head on the table, I groaned. What. The. Hell.

Outside the library, Malfoy smirked in satisfaction. Oh yes, he definitely loved that spell.

-xXx-

In my third year, my friends and I got extremely irritated with him. One day, when we were outside, I got so mad at him I slapped him. Very hard. I remember that look on his face. Ah yes, the satisfaction of the enemy getting wounded.

Anyway, so after that incident and before I hurried of to bed, I decided to finish up an essay on magical items and devices.

"One interesting magical device is the Muggle guard. When touched by a non-magical hand—"

"Hello, Mudblood."

I groaned. Not again.

"What do you want?" I asked, glaring at him.

He glanced at my essay. "Doing homework when you should be in bed? Tsk, tsk. I didn't think you'd love schoolwork so much that you'd break curfew to finish it."

I raised my head. "What? It's not past curfew, it's only—"

"Eleven o'clock."

"What!" I looked at my watch. Sure enough, he was right.

He looked at me curiously. "Why do you wear that muggle device?" I shrugged. Rolling his eyes, he said, "Well, you better get back to your dorms. Any prefects out here might catch you and spoil your perfect record." He stood up, smirking.

As he left the library, I felt a twinge of disappointment. There was no Madam Pince to yell at him this time.

As I reached for my parchment, the words I last wrote stared up to me and I screamed inside my head.

"One interesting magical device is the Muggle guard. When touched by a non-magical hand it will begin slapping you like hell, just as hard as Mudblood can slap."

Right outside the library doors, Malfoy snickered. He could practically hear her screaming in her head.

-xXx-

Our next year was turned interesting because of the Triwizard tournament and Harry's participation in it. I feared for him many times as he escaped death again and again.

And then, there was the Yule Ball. Ah, the memory of that fateful night burns as clear as day in my memory.

It started out wonderful, with Krum dancing ever so gracefully with me. I loved all the envious stares and dreamy looks I was receiving. I even caught that Slytherin boy, Blaise Zabini, gaze at me with a wistful look several time.

Then, after the ball, Krum cordially wished me goodnight with a peck on my cheek, and I floated happily to my friends on cloud nine. That is, until that bloody moron Ron had to ruin everything. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say he was jealous of Krum. He and the Harry, the idiot I called my friend, left me, crying in the middle of the corridor after everyone else had trampled off to bed.

Still sniffling, I sighed and trudged up to bed, not noticing a pair of eyes following me, hidden from sight.

I collapsed onto my bed, but I had no desire to sleep. So, I decided to sneak into the library and complete my essay on Rowena Ravenclaw.

"Oh come on, Granger, don't tell me. Another essay?" drawled a voice. I stifled a groan.

"What happened to 'Mudblood'? I thought that was my official name," I snapped.

He sniffed. "Do you want me to call you Mudblood?"

I frowned, ignoring his question and concentrating on my essay.

There was silence.

"So, what happened out there with Weasel?" he asked, casually leaning against a bookshelf.

I stiffened and didn't bother to chastising him about calling Ron names.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh please, I know you're dying to spill your story, about how you were in love with Weasel and wanted to make him jealous by taking Krum to the Yule Ball." He snickered.

I spun around and marched right up to him, on the verge of tears. "First of all, Krum is a very nice gentleman, unlike you. Second of all, Krum asked me, not the other way around. And third, there is no way in hell I would like Ron." Under my breath, I added, "Anymore."

If he heard me say that, he didn't show it. "Well, well. It seems like Potter and Weasel's little pet has quite a temper now."

I couldn't take it anymore. I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my arm when it was barely an inch from his face.

Leaning in close, he whispered, "I don't think so, Granger." I stared at him, caught by a strange look in his eyes. I'm not sure what it was. Passion? Hope? Helplessness? Anger?

I had no idea, but I blinked and the look was gone. I jerked my arm away and turned back to my essay.

"Just leave me alone," I said, surprised that I sounded slightly defeated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me for a few minutes before turning away.

"Good night, Granger," I heard him say before he quietly closed the library doors.

I sighed and stared down at my essay, not at all surprised to see that new words had appeared in my handwriting on the paper.

"A dear friend to Helga Hufflepuff and a founder of Hogwarts, Rowena Ravenclaw is one of the most famous witches ever. She is to have stated once, 'we will teach those whose intelligence is surest', which explains why the smartest and cleverest wizards and witches are sorted into Ravenclaw. A famous witch who should've been placed in Ravenclaw but was accidentally sorted into another house was Hermione Granger, a brilliant witch of her time. Unfortunately, she was stuck in Gryffindor with two bloody idiots as friends. She deserved to have better friends, but was regrettably still in Gryffindor."

This time, I smiled slightly at the words.

By the library doors, the boy was smiling too. Not smirking, but smiling.

-xXx-

Fifth year was boring, but okay. Well, maybe not too boring. I learned to forgive Ron, as he had to me, and that made it easier for us to help Harry.

Of course, after the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, we were all pretty shaken up, especially Harry. I couldn't blame him. He had only known his godfather for two years before Sirius was killed. We all felt a great loss when he fell through that veil. Sirius had been just like another father to me. We all loved him very much.

Harry was like stone for the next month or so. I cried so much I could've flooded Hogwarts. Combining the amount of tears Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and I cried, I believe we could've flooded three Hogwarts's.

When Ron finally convinced Harry to go out to Hogsmeade, I stayed behind, telling them I had work to catch up on. Ron rolled his eyes and Harry gave me the tiniest grin.

I plodded to the library and sat at my usual table in the back of the library. My professors had given us a free-write essay, and essay where we could write anything we wanted down. I decided to take advantage of this and dedicate the entire paper to Sirius.

"Sirius Black—"

I stopped. What was I supposed to write? A boring biography? An exciting fictional story? Our third year when he came by? I felt the familiar burn at my eyes, hoping my tears wouldn't come spilling out.

They came.

As I sat there pathetically sobbing and weeping, someone came and sat down beside me. He lay his hand on my shoulder.

Because my head was buried in my arms, I couldn't see who it was, but I guessed it was Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry. You shouldn't have to see me like this. You've had enough pressure already," I sniffed.

"Are you okay?" an unexpected voice asked.

My head snapped up. "W-what? What do you want, Malfoy?" I asked, still trembling.

He stared at me with a sympathetic look. "Are you okay?" he repeated, a little more urgently.

"Yes, I'm fine!" I retorted, instantly feeling guilty for being so rude to him when he hadn't done anything wrong. Yet.

Looking slightly hurt, he shrugged, "I'm just sorry about…you know…"

Feeling a little angry since his father had been one of the main Death Eaters there, I replied angrily, "I don't need your sympathy, Malfoy! Just leave me alone."

Sighing as if disappointed, he stood up and lifted his hand from my shoulder, which I had just realized was there the entire time. "Well, I'm still sorry, Granger." With that, he turned around and left, accidentally knocking over a pile of books on his way out.

I could hear Madam Pince snap at him. Smiling just a tiny bit, I thanked her for being there, unlike the past two years.

I looked at my paper and blinked.

"Sirius Black was a great man and a wonderful godfather to Harry as well as an amazing guardian to Harry's friends and family as well. He died honorably."

I smiled sadly at the paper and didn't bother getting out my bright blue eraser. I kept those sentences in my paper and earned 135 for that essay.

Later on, when I saw Malfoy alone in the hallways, I thanked him quickly and walked away.

I could've sworn he smiled at me and replied, "You're welcome."

-xXx-

Oh, the next year was horrible. It brings painful memories back, especially when we learned Malfoy was involved. Not only was he involved, but also he was practically the center of the operation. It killed me inside, although I really didn't know why.

I did a couple of essays that year, waiting for someone to come and interrupt me, but no one came, and I was somewhat disappointed.

On May 27th, I was sitting in the library, working on yet another essay. I hadn't written anything down yet except part of my heading which read:

Hemone Gangr

May 2—

Hm, I think was very distracted that day. It had to do with yesterday. Harry, Ron, and I were talking, and the boys were saying something about tattoos, and then it went to Eileen Prince.

Ugh, Prince. I hate that name. It just gives me bad memories, especially after Harry nearly killed Malfoy with one of the spells indicated in there.

Anyway, so I was just sitting there, very unfocused, when someone sat beside me. I didn't even see him.

"Hello," he said softly. Slowly I turn to him.

He was paler than usual, his blond hair is stringy and lifeless, his eyes look dark and sunken, and he looked very fragile and thin. I wondered what was wrong. So I asked him.

He merely sighed and shook his head. Leaning forward slightly he whispered, "I'm sorry for what will happen."

Confused, I started to respond, but he shook his head again. He stood up and glanced at my paper.

"Your name is spelled wrong and the date's not finished," he pointed out quietly. He turned swiftly and slipped out of the library.

Still confused, I sat back down and tried to think about what could've been wrong. I came up with nothing and looked at my paper to see what on it.

My heading was corrected and eleven words were written in fine handwriting, even better than mine.

I really am sorry for what will happen. Please forgive me.

I frowned. What the…

I found out the next day. We were all there when Dumbledore was killed. Harry tried to stop Snape and Malfoy, but it was already too late. Malfoy stared at me with helpless eyes, and before he was snatched away by Snape, I heard him whisper, "Remember what I wrote."

Staring numbly after them, I couldn't bring myself believe it. I had actually thought that Malfoy had had a change of heart. Too bad I was wrong, as Ron and Harry pointed out to me later. Three days later came Dumbledore's funeral.

When I got back to my dorm, I suddenly realized that Malfoy had confirmed that he was the one who tampered with my essays.

-xXx-

Our seventh year was very awkward, mainly because of Malfoy, who had chosen to come back to Hogwarts.

I'd better recap to the summer after our sixth year. In the middle of night on the summer solstice, there was a knock on the door. Instantly, the entire Order of the Phoenix leapt to their feet and stared at the door.

Again came the knock. Moody glared at the door with his eye and warned, "It's the Malfoy kid, but he's got nothin' with him. Harmless, in fact, but be ready, just in case." With our wands pointed at the door, Moody slowly creaked open the door.

There stood Malfoy, completely defenseless and helpless.

"I'll give you all the information I know," he stated after a moment of silence, getting directly to the point.

We all stood there, wands still aimed at him, thinking. Finally, Lupin broke the silence.

"Malfoy, none of us trust you, you understand that?" he asked cautiously.

Malfoy nodded. We ended up taking him in and discussing the issue. Then, the Order reluctantly accepted him

The war finally ended, and of course, everyone was grateful. The Order had learned to be civil, and even friendly to Malfoy.

But in out seventh year, there was much hostility, and Hogwarts had to break up the Slytherin house and re-sort the students before anyone got too violent.

I, however, still refused to speak to him. He had betrayed us, just when I thought he had changed, so there was no way for me to trust him anymore. Not even when he sent me a bunch of owls with the message "I'm sorry" on them. Not when he placed roses in front of my door. Not when he offered me chocolates. No, he didn't give up. Not even after I hexed him.

As the year went on, essays were assigned, and I loathed each one more than the last one. I don't know why, but that anger fueled my writing, so I continued getting 140 or 155 on my papers, even though I hated each and every one of them.

Near the end of the year, I had to write an essay on forgiveness. Ironic, no?

"I swear, these teachers are going mad," I muttered to myself. "No more essays on the magical world, just essays on life. Really, you'd think they'd give something less ironic. I hate essays."

"Talking to yourself, Granger?"

I froze. It had been a long time since this last happened. Or was it? To me, it was much too long ago to remember.

"So what are you working on? Another essay?" He sat next to me on the couch in our common room. As you would expect, we had ended up Head Boy and Girl.

"Yes. What do you want?" I asked in a clipped and unfriendly voice.

He sighed. "Hermione, please. I've proven myself over and over again. I killed my father, my own flesh and blood. Please, at least talk to me."

I replied in a cold tone, "I am talking to you right now. Now go away."

He took my hand and a shiver went through me, although I turned my head away, refusing to look at him.

"Look at your paper," he whispered.

I looked. There on my paper, was the same flourishing handwriting he had used the year before.

Forgiveness is a virtue of only the bravest witches and wizards.

One simple sentence, but they changed me. Staring at the words, I realized that he had proven himself, time and time again, just for me, since the rest of the Order had trusted and believed in him.

I turned to face him, and he gave me an expectant look.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he must've seen the answer in my eyes because instead of letting me finish, or even begin my sentence, he silenced me with his mouth.

After I broke the kiss, I whispered, "You owe me seven rolls of parchment. One for every year you ruined my essay."

He responded with a laugh and another kiss.

Maybe essays weren't so bad after all.

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