Cinderella

chapter 1

Basically, this is the plotline of A Cinderella Story but to Harry Potter, with some slight alterations.

I don't own the characters; they belong to JK Rowling and her fabulous imagination.

Chapter One

It was early in the morning; before breakfast. Draco wandered up the spiral staircase to the owlery, letter in hand. He ran his pale fingers along the parchment as he stared at the stone steps. Suddenly, he bumped into someone; knocking them backwards.

"Ouch!" Hermione Granger exclaimed as she landed on a step, hitting her coccyx. Hard. She looked up and saw Draco, who sneered at her.

"Move Granger." He snarled, stomping past without even offering a hand to help her up.

"Inconsiderate idiot." Hermione mumbled under her breath as she got up and continued to descend down the stairs.

Up in the owlery Draco sighed. He'd lived up to his reputation once again. He scowled as he tied the letter to the foot of one of the school owls. The large barn owl glared at him questionably. Draco hadn't addressed the letter and he hadn't told the owl who to send it to.

"I don't care." Draco murmured to the owl as he stroked the owl's feathers in a tender way. "I don't care which witch or wizard this letter goes to. They won't even know it's me. All I need is someone to read about what I'm going through. Choose who you like. It doesn't bother me." He held out an owl treat which the owl took gratefully before hooting and flying out of the window.

Draco left the owlery in the same fashion Hermione had done. He didn't bump into anyone.

In the great hall, Hermione entered muttering angrily to herself. She sat down next to Ron and Harry out of routine.

"Alright 'Mione?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head. "What's up?"

"I just delivered a letter and on my way out of the owlery Draco knocked me down and didn't even offer to help me up. He is such an arrogant ass. Just because he's rich and popular he thinks he can do what he likes. Well, he can't. Idiot." She grumbled angrily as she spread some butter on her toast. The boys exchanged glances. They were used to Hermione ranting and raving about all sorts of things. They continued to eat breakfast without saying another word to her.

After a few minutes Draco walked in. Heads turned, eyes widened. Hermione sighed at the school's reaction. What made Draco so great? She shook her head to herself. She couldn't believe it. Everyone knew his father was a Deatheater. Most people knew he himself was one, and that it was his duty to kill Dumbledore last year but he had failed. Yet, when he returned for their seventh year; he was welcomed back as some kind of god! Hermione frowned as she chewed on her toast. She watched Draco strut over to his seat at the Slytherin table and wrap an arm around Pansy Parkinson; his almost equally popular girlfriend. Hermione glanced around at the expressions of adoration that most of the Slytherins wore. She saw the same look on a couple of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor student's faces. Hermione started muttering under her breath and both Ron and Harry all knew what it was about.

Meanwhile on the other table Draco was acting up to his usual reputation. His eyes scanned the great hall in a cool, relaxed manner. A few people copied him, and Draco found himself both amused and disgusted. He hoped his letter would find someone.

Hermione crossed her fingers under the table. She'd poured her heart out into a letter last night, and sent it off this morning with no address. She was wondering who'd get it. It could go to any wizard or witch in the entire world; well maybe not the entire world. She couldn't see one of the school owls going off to Africa or Australia. No. The owl was probably delivering it to some witch in London or Bristol. Hermione didn't mind who got it. She just wanted someone to read about what she was going through, how she felt. Hermione put her elbow on the table and rested her head upon her palm. She'd left no name. Only a nickname she'd invented. The owl delivering the letter knew her nickname and knew that it was her, so that if anyone ever addressed a letter to her nickname, it would be delivered straight to her. Hermione groaned into the palm of her hand. There was no way anyone would reply to her letter. Why would they? Who would listen to the ranting and ravings of a muggle-born witch who was top of her year, and misunderstood by everyone? Even her best friends. Hermione felt her eyes water with tears. She picked her bag off the floor, ready to leave the hall, but stopped. The post had arrived, and an owl had just dropped a letter in front of her.