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August 13th, 2004
When I was younger, I’d tell everyone, whether or not they were interested, that I would work at the Ministry someday. I might even become Minister Of Magic.
What a joke. I’m not proficient enough and would have probably bribed my way to the top.
The cruel irony of life is now that I do work at the Ministry, I hate it. I hate it so much that I almost set fire to my office when I first saw it. Well, they call it an office. I call it a broom closet with a desk, minus the brooms. They probably gave me the dreariest office in this place, out of pure spite.
Then again, probation wasn’t supposed to be fun. It’s torture for me, especially when Hermione Granger just won't leave me the fuck alone. I don’t get it. What did I ever do to deserve this? Every day, she shows up to my office, asking me if I need help with anything — as if I do. I just want these three years to be over quickly, so I can live a secluded life away from the holier-than-thou bullshit that people like her offer. She gave me a snowglobe on my first day. A fucking snowglobe—out of all things! She has some secret agenda, I’m sure of it.
Oh, she just stepped out the lifts, looking as annoying as ever.. and she’s holding two cups of coffee.. and she’s heading towards me.
Brilliant.
~*~
August 21st, 2004
The walls are paper-thin, so I’m pretty sure the whole Ministry heard the row and between Granger and I yesterday.
I had just started to tolerate her existence, but she just couldn’t live without expressing her precious opinion on the Sacred Twenty-Eight: ‘Don’t you think it’s incongruous the way the so-called purebloods are the ones whose bloodlines are polluted with the transgressions of bloodshed?’
What started as a reluctant lunch escalated into an argument, and it didn’t take it long to become nothing but a screaming match of personal attacks. She left my office, seething, and hasn’t talked to me since—finally, some peace.
Why can’t I stop thinking about how right she is, though?
~*~
September 26th, 2004
She’s been growing on me. Granger. I sort of even enjoy her company.
She has lunch with me daily in my office. We talk little, and I use it to my advantage by secretly staring at her, memorising the soft lines of her face, dark brown eyes with specks of gold, and her overall bookish but fierce aura. She gets very passionate about the things she loves to the point where she would rant about them for hours, and it’s somewhat soothing to hear her talk. I don’t know why that surprises me.
I have a feeling time is going to pass fast.
~*~
Januar y 12th, 2005
She broke up with Weasley. Publicly! I was tempted to invite her to celebrate with me over firewhisky, but I couldn’t follow through.
Coward.
~*~
March 3rd, 2005
She said yes.
I have no idea how I managed it, but I asked her out.
And she said yes. I started outright laughing because I couldn’t believe it. I went to her office with a lot of hope, and when she did agree, I refused to trust my own ears.
I think it was then that I knew.
If prodigy had a name, it would be Hermione Granger, without a doubt.
With her swotty appearance, that tense posture, those chocolate brown eyes, and the lion’s mane. Yes, the same Hermione Granger had been nothing but a filthy mudblood to me at school. But now, though... now, she is someone I would proudly call the love of my fucking life.
~*~
March 4th, 2005
I’m officially calling it quits.
I keep thinking of where I would take her, what I would say, what to wear. And yet, I still haven’t decided on a single thing. I keep changing my mind; I keep thinking that I would fuck this up somehow, and that leads to me sitting in my room, getting drunk all alone. I need to pull my shit together. I can’t fuck this up. Merlin, I sound completely smitten.
But it’s okay. As long as it’s her.
~*~
March 5th, 2005
No dictionary in the world would have enough words to describe how she looked that night. She was breathtaking in a modest black dress, and her hair was knotted in an elegantly intricate chignon. It left me speechless and sputtering.
Down went the drain my plan to impress her.
I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t form a single proper sentence for the first fifteen minutes, at least.
The dinner went reasonably well, I’d say, if you ignore the fact that I was quiet for most of it, while she led the entire conversation. I was shocked at how much I didn’t know about her.
She bites her nails and starts scratching her neck whenever she gets nervous.
She prefers coffee to tea. It’s the opposite for me.
She still does her chores the muggle way, not even because it’s a reminder of her ancestry, rather because she enjoys it. I can’t wrap my head around how someone could enjoy doing extra work. I had everything handed to me on a silver platter.
She knows some French. She sounds adorable when she tries to speak it because she’s still rusty. I won’t forget the look of jealousy in her eyes when I demonstrated what French is supposed to sound like. Despite all, it felt good to beat her at something.
She loathes the title ‘Golden Girl,’ and I can’t agree more. It sounds juvenile.
She has re-read Hogwarts: A History more than any other book.
Shakespeare..? Whatever, that guy is her favourite. Granger told me to read Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet. There is not a chance. I haven’t touched a book in years, but I told her I would, just to please her.
She’s beautiful.
The realisation of my luck had been too overwhelming to bear. I handed her two white roses and left before I could see her reaction.
~*~
March 6th, 2005
We made it to the front page of The Daily Prophet.
I take a sip from my wine glass.
It was expected, but it still made me nervous as hell. It was just a date, nothing serious. She wouldn’t want to associate herself with me. What if she stops talking to me after this?
Another sip.
I fucked up. I really messed up, and I have got to fix things somehow.
I gulp down the rest of my wine.
I shouldn’t have asked her out. It ruined whatever we had before. I guess the Manor will be my permanent abode for the rest of my life.
I’ll spend the rest of the day drinking.
~*~
March 7th, 2005
White roses and the night
when her skin shined under the moon;
her eyes glowed with the fire of anticipation.
When her demeanour illuminated the room
Stunning every passer-by.
But damned was the man who sat in front of her
who, in his blond, grey-eyed, and pale-faced glory,
had the audacity to believe that he could be worthy
of the light that she radiated.
Regardless, he would always cherish the ironic charm of
white roses and the night.
~*~
March 8th, 2005
You could only imagine my shock when I woke up to her standing by my bedroom door, scowling at me. I swear to Merlin, she looked feral. Her skin was flushed an angry red, her hair was all over the place, her hands made wild movements as she screamed at me for ignoring her. It was only for two days—bloody woman.
But it was only when she kissed me that I snapped out of my daze. I kissed her back twice as eagerly.
~*~
October 2nd, 2005
She finally made our relationship public. So that means we are officially dating now. Not that it was a secret before, but hearing the phrase ‘officially dating’ makes me feel, there is no other way to describe it, butterflies in my stomach.
I’m oddly optimistic for the future. I think that’s her influence.
~*~
June 21st, 2006
Thoughts of Hermione in a wedding gown, holding a bouquet of roses, and walking down the aisle had somehow made their home in my mind for the past year.
I never thought I’d actually get to see them come to life.
It was everything I imagined and more.
I was nervous as fuck. I don’t ever remember sweating this much.
It was a small wedding. Few people were invited; just Hermione’s parents, Potter, and a few of Hermione’s cousins. There was no one from my side, of course. None of the Weasleys attended, much to my satisfaction. Poor Ron Weasley. He’d probably be drinking out of self-pity, thinking that he deserved her more than me. Well- ha! He was not the one wearing a tuxedo.
And he wasn’t the one to watch her walk down the aisle with her father.
She was wearing an ethereal pale gold gown and holding a bouquet of white roses. Her smile was—
-----
Draco’s quill dropped as he was interrupted by Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley entering the cafe. The newly married couple.
Yearning seized him, and his heart started pounding at the sight of Weasley slipping his hand in Hermione’s, and then she smiled at him—
Draco started gathering his things. A black leather-bound notebook, a few quills, and that freaking snowglobe. He was sure if he stopped a moment longer, he would do something idiotic like cursing fate and himself in front of them, or maybe — maybe even crying in front of them. And there was no way in hell he was going to let that happen.
He peeked at them one last time through the cafe window as he made his way to the apparition point.
Weasley whispered something in her ear, to which she responded by laughing. He wondered if she would ever laugh like that at something he said...
No. Stop.
She was married to Weasley, for fuck’s sake. Draco had lost his chance with her all those years ago.
He felt disgusted at himself for being jealous of Weasley.
Draco looked down at the snowglobe in his hand. Perhaps his only solace. His only souvenir. His most prized possession.
August 10th, 2004
“Malfoy?”
“Leave me alone, Granger. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to talk to you?”
“Look, you always keep to yourself and you never talk to anyone else. Sulking all the time. Maybe you should see that not everyone hates you as much as you think they do! Me, Harry and many others are willing to give you a chance—”
Draco’s head snapped up from his files, “You are doing me a great fucking favour, then! Do you expect me to kiss your ass like everyone else does, just because you have the word ‘Golden’ stamped with your name?”
Hermione bristled and raised her voice to match his, “Excuse me? You think I asked for that petty title? Do you think I asked to be worshipped?”
His eyes glinted cruelly. “You fucking bitch,” he sneered. Hermione’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock. That was the fuel he needed to keep going.
“You like being insulted, Granger? What else do you think will be the outcome of pestering me every chance you get? I don’t want to be the victim of your saviour complex. Now leave me the fuck alone. If I see you around me again, I promise I won’t be kind.”
Draco could see the pain and disappointment in her eyes, but he didn’t care. He almost laughed at the notion that she had any expectations from him to begin with.
She took a deep breath before taking out something from her bag and putting it on Draco’s desk.
A snowglobe.
Without even taking a proper look at it, his first thought was that the globe was ugly. His second thought was to chuck it in the bin right in front of her.
“It’s a welcome gift. For good luck,” she gave him a small smile. Something passed through her eyes before she fixed them on the snowglobe and said, “I think I was wrong about you buying your way into the team. You were a good flier.”
Or maybe he could get rid of it after she left.
“Get lost,” his voice was harsh. She nodded and left.
He immediately picked up the snowglobe; it was a model of the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts. He shook it, watching in awe as the green and silver particles danced in the globe and a miniature broom whizzed around the pitch. A Nimbus Two Thousand and One.
On second thoughts, he wouldn’t throw it away, after all.
Damn her for being so thoughtful.
She never looked back after that incident, though. Not even a glance.
He was brought back to reality when the door to the cafe opened. The couple walked out and looked straight at him. Hermione’s smile faded a bit and Weasley put his arm around her protectively. Draco sneered at them because he didn't know what else to do, and then Weasley looked at him with pity.
Oh, how the tables turned. He had to remind himself that his diary entries were a mere figment of his imagination. His eyes burned.
Five years ago, he had his first interaction with Hermione after the war. Since then, every tear left him in the form of a diary entry.
The wind rushed past him, the sound of it echoing in his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He was numb. Unaware of his surroundings. The scene of Weasley and Hermione together kept playing on loop in his mind.
He was broken. He had come to accept that, but at least there was consistency in his life.
He usually drank all night long and slept throughout the morning. He would wake up hungover and spent the afternoon at the cafe, which was a few blocks away from his apartment building, writing in his diary about his non-existent relationship with Hermione Granger. It was therapy for him, the only thing keeping him sane, perhaps. It made him forget reality, and to keep it that way, he would read the diary entries aloud. He ate if he felt like it, or else he would starve himself for days. He sometimes spent hours staring at that snowglobe.
All of a sudden, it started raining. Draco halted.
Oh great, this was the cliche part where he was supposed to be sad and reflect on his life decisions. Well, he was already low; he might as well ponder everything he did wrong.
He should have given into Hermione Granger’s advances when he had the chance; he should have accepted her help.
He should have actually done something about his feelings instead of watching her from afar.
He should have known that she would never choose him over Weasley.
He should have known that this was how he was going to end: In the rain, lonely and delusional.
He should have known better than to fall in love with Hermione Granger.