The Littlest Things DxH

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, only the plot. If I owned Harry Potter, I would have been married to Tom Felton a long time ago. 

Prologue:

Hello, fellow readers. I am the narrator. Now, you're probably thinking why the hell the narrator is introducing herself, but why not? I'll be the one guiding you through this story so you might as well get used to me.

I'm here on a very important job. I have to tell you the story of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. You know, the two arch-nemeses. They hate each other, of course. But now you are probably thinking: Wait, I thought this was supposed to be a love story. They're not supposed to hate each other if they love each other. Ah, I am so glad to have smart readers. Well, OF COURSE they're supposed to love each other; love is usually at the center of most love stories. But, you say, you just said that they hate each other. Yes, dear reader, that is exactly what I said. You continue to protest: but how is this story going to work out? My dear reader, you just have to go wait and see.

Ch. 1:

"Shut up, Hedwig! You're giving me a headache," complained Harry. He stared around his room, which looked like a hurricane hit it. Twice.

"Hedwig, I mean it. You know that Vernon and Petunia would throw a fit about their reputation and hatred of magic if I let you out." Hedwig threw him a death glare. "Hey, don't blame me," Harry said. Hedwig turned her head with a huff as if to say 'Of course I blame you.'

Harry looked at his room again. He really had to get packing; the Hogwarts Express was leaving tomorrow. Harry really wanted his 7th year to his best yet: no near-death experiences, no fighting trolls and a bitchy headmistress, and definitely no late-night escapades to the Forbidden Forest. Well, he mused, maybe one last-night escapade. He started packing, picking up his robes and books, carefully putting them into his trunk which was decorated with Chudley Cannons stickers courtesy of Ron. He took his Firebolt out from under the bed and stroked it lovingly. Oh how he had missed flying during the summer! He could almost taste his excitement about getting back on the Quidditch field, feeling the wind in his face, diving after the elusive Snitch….

"Tap, tap, SQUAWK!" came from the window. Harry came out of his daydreaming and see Pigwidgeon carrying a letter and looking mighty angry.

"Hold on, Pig. I'm coming," said Harry, hoping that Vernon was too busy eating, Petunia too busy spying on the neighbors, and Duddly too busy watching television to hear a rather loud and tiny owl fluttering outside Harry's window. He unlatched the window quickly and Pig came to an ungraceful landing on the bed. Harry untied the letter from Pig's leg and gave him some food. Pig accepted although he was still miffed at having to wait so long. After Pig was fully recovered, he flew to Hedwig, who ignored him.

Harry opened the letter to see his friend's almost illegible handwriting. It said:

Dear Harry,

I had just heard from Hermione: she's Head Girl! She was rather disappointed that I wasn't Head Boy, so I wrote to you seeing if you were Head Boy. I hope she doesn't get stuck with a Slytherin; that would be terrible! Send me a reply with Pig back, and if you're not Head Boy, we'll try to figure out who is on the train tomorrow. Hope you had a good summer!

Your Friend, Ron

Harry frowned. He wasn't Head Boy; if he was he would have known about it a while ago. He started on his reply, his handwriting obviously coming out neater than Ron's.

Dear Ron,

I just got your letter. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not Head Boy either. It is going to stink without Hermione in the Gryffindor Tower. I wonder who Head Boy could be. See you soon!

Your Friend, Harry

He tied the letter to Pigwidgeon. "Off you go, now," he said, carrying Pig to the window. Pig uttered a hoot and took off. Harry went back to packing. He looked at Hedwig. "Come off it, will you? You can fly all you want tomorrow." Hedwig looked down her beak at Harry and narrowed her eyes. Great, now I'm being intimidated by my own owl, thought Harry. He laid on his messy bed, not bothering to fit the blankets that were strewn haphazardly everywhere. I hope this year goes well. The last thing I want is more surprises.

Author's PS – Sorry, Harry, but that is exactly what you are going to get. Readers? Good? Bad? Horrendous? Stupendous? Reviews and constructive criticism would be wonderful.