Hello! First of all, Happy Birthday!! Hope you have a great one. Secondly I'm so happy that your health is getting better!
If you have the time and inclination I've had this idea in my head but since I cannot write as well as you I'll be happy to take this opportunity. Any interaction between a Hermione who was sorted in Slytherin and a Draco who went to Durmstrang.
Thank you for this drabble and for being an amazing part of this fandom.
Hello Anon! Thank you soo much, for the wishes and the idea. This actually really inspired me. One day there might be more but I hope this is a satisfying nugget for now!
Hermione intrigued him immediately. The hair. The attitude.
Draco found out almost as soon as he noticed her, that she was off limits. Despite being sorted into Slytherin. She was a mudblood.
At first he was disgusted that somebody who was as filthy as her had been granted access to his noble house. Or, at least the house he’d always dreamed of being sorted into, because that hadn’t happened.
Shortly before his eleventh birthday, his father had informed him that he would be attending Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. He had been told it would be better for their future goals.
Draco had been quietly furious, but there was nothing he could do about it. It took him several years to even understand that he was angry with his father and not himself, that he hadn’t done anything to be refused the educational experience he’d always been promised.
But he wasn’t brave enough to do anything about it, didn’t even know how.
The first rebellion against his parents which he was ever actually able to see through, was to attend Hogwarts for his fourth year. He wasn’t even old enough to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament that his school was visiting Britain to compete in, but they’d asked for a few members in the younger years to volunteer to spend the year in Scotland, just to represent the school. He’d jumped at the chance,
He’d gained confidence in the past three years; in a school and a country where the people had little or no respect for his name. Often they openly resented it, so he’d learned not to depend on it. He’d grown a little tougher, a little harder. He grew to resent the father he’d once adored for ignoring not only his own expectations, but his mother’s express wishes to send him to Hogwarts in favor of a place that would toughen him up.
Well his father got his wish.
Draco was proud of the argument he’d weaved with his father, urging him to allow him to spend that year at Hogwarts. Telling him how he could begin to re-establish the Malfoy dominance within his generation.
He would have made an excellent Slytherin.
It didn’t take him long to recognize a fellow displaced soul in Hermione. He had expected to find camaraderie in the purebloods he’d grown up with. And they were anxious to latch onto him. But instead he saw how superficial those connections were, and was almost magnetically drawn to the wild-haired, muggleborn Slytherin.
She was fierce. She’d carved out a place for herself in this world out of sheer determination, however fragile. It was admirable.
It was the admiration that got him.
He was fourteen when he asked her to run away with him. She laughed in his face.
He was eighteen when he walked off of a battlefield with her, triumphant in a war he hadn’t wanted to fight, but she couldn’t in good conscience just ignore, hand in hand. They didn’t look back.
