Title: Boy

Author: SkoosiePants

“My father’s in love with you.”

Hermione glanced up from her book and stared incredulously at the boy standing in front of her, his arms crossed defiantly over a slim chest, his dark eyes sullen. “Excuse me?”

With a shuddering breath he let his limbs fall to his sides, revealing a Ravenclaw crest on his black robes, and Hermione got the distinct impression that he was trying very hard not to cry.

“My father,” he started again, mouth tight, “is in love with you.”

She bit her lip, fighting a grin, thinking it really wouldn’t be appropriate to laugh at the angry young man. Hermione had never met him before, of course, having just arrived at Hogwarts that morning to temporarily fill in for Madam Pince. But he looked to be about twelve, with curly black hair and a snub nose, and the first stage of awkwardness that foreshadowed height as well as width.

She really didn’t know how the boy even knew who she was, let alone that his father was in love with her.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he cried.

Hermione should have reprimanded him for his disrespectful tone, but the boy, all thin arms and snapping eyes and a full lower lip that quivered with more than just anger, seemed so heartbreakingly vulnerable. She didn’t want him to break down sobbing, after all. Somehow, she felt that it would have been the ultimate humiliation for the child.

“Well, now,” she said softly, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers, “why would you think something like that?”

The boy clutched at the back of the chair in front of him, white knuckled and trembling with suppressed emotions, and shook his head vehemently. “You won’t ever be my mum,” he near snarled. “Never ever.” He sniffed and wiped a hand under his nose, then rasped brokenly, “My mum was beautiful and… and... your hair sticks out!” And then his eyes welled up and he gave a sharp sob and fled.

The library door slammed shut behind him and Hermione sat there, dumbfounded. Who was he?

“He’s right, of course, although the insult lacked finesse,” Draco Malfoy said, dropping gracefully into the seat across from her. “You could fix it, you know. A few well-placed straightening charms.”

Hermione lifted a hand to her hair, self-consciously smoothing it back. “I like my hair just the way it is.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t you have a class now?”

He shrugged and leant back in his chair, eyeing her lazily. “Let them go early... Heard you were here and found myself in a particularly good mood. Aren’t you the least bit curious, then?”

“About the boy, you mean? Of course.” At his silence, she closed her book with a sigh. “I don’t like threats, you know, but if you don’t tell me what you know, I’ll mention the hair insult to Ron.”

Draco’s lips dropped into a mock-pout. “Oh, no, please don’t tell Red.” He rolled his eyes. “That really wasn’t much of a threat,” he pointed out. “He’s almost always upset with me for something.”

She stared at him calmly, brows raised, her hands folded over the closed book.

“How about a hint?” he asked, gray eyes glinting mischievously.

“How about you just tell me who he is?”

He lifted a finger to his lip. “Hmmm... let’s see...”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, just tell me,” she exclaimed.

“You have no sense of drama,” Draco complained. “Fine. That was Pansy’s boy, Ash.”

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, and her stomach clenched painfully. “Pansy’s boy? But... but she married...”

“Zabini, yes, she did.”

Blaise. She’d married her Blaise, who hadn’t been hers since seventh year. Red flooded her face and she clutched her hands together, the old anger, hurt and betrayal welling up inside her. He hadn’t been hers since they’d had that spectacular row right before graduation, and she’d told him that if he wanted a housewife so badly he should just go marry Parkinson. And he had married to girl. Just to spite her.

“Ash was right,” Draco said, his voice low and oddly sincere.

Agitated, Hermione pulled her hair back into a bun and stuck a quill through it. “There, are you happy? No longer sticking out.”

“No, Granger,” the blond man shook his head, “he was right about his father.”

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