Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own Hamilton. I just enjoy them immensely.
A/N: So for this story to work we have to imagine that the story takes place 20 years in the future: Harry is born July 31st 2001, making sixth year take place in 2017 (Hamilton West-End opens December 21, 2017). I hope you enjoy the first part of Can You Imagine?! Love CrazyAsACupcake x
Hermione is tired. Horribly tired. She sits opposite Harry at breakfast, yawning into her hand as the owls begin fluttering in. Hedwig drops a copy of the Daily Prophet onto the table, and Harry shoots his hand out to steady the tea that the newspaper had knocked. He tickles Hedwig under the chin, and she flies away with a gentle coo. Another owl, one of Hogwarts' own, drops an envelope onto the table, addressed to Hermione. She frowns at it.
"Expecting anything?" Harry asks, cradling his tea between his hands.
She shakes her head as she picks up the envelope. Her name is written on the front in her dads handwriting. She eats another mouthful of cereal before sliding her thumb underneath the seal and pulling the letter from inside it.
She skims it, instantly pulling out about ten words.
Surprise… so lucky… opening night… Hamilton the Musical… good view…
She almost dropped the letter into her bowl out of shock. Instead she holds it to her chest, her feet stamping on the stone floor beneath the table. She could scream, but she goes for a little squeal instead. She's grinning like a crazy person, and Harry is watching her with a quirked brow.
"Should I ask?" He drawls. Ron slides onto the bench beside him, ignoring the exchange as he begins piling his plate.
"I'm going to see Hamilton!" She's ecstatic, and Harry's jaw drops.
"How?" He snatches the letter from her hands and reads it himself.
"The ticket sale opened and my dad managed to get four tickets in his basket! He thought they would've been sold out by the time he hit checkout." She lets out a sigh, her head falling backwards. "I can't believe it, it's going to be incredible."
Harry hands the letter over. "It's probably the only show I've been able to get into. The guy who wrote it, he's a genius."
"Would you like to come see it with me? You've just read it, they got four so I could invite someone." She points at the passage in the letter, and Harry laughs.
"The soundtrack is great, but you and I both know I won't be able to sit still and in silence for two and a half hours."
"What about you, Ron?" She turns to the red haired boy, who stops, his mouthful, and stares at her.
"What about me, what?" He practically spits his toast at her, and she cringes. She resists the urge to lecture him on table etiquette.
"Do you want to come and see Hamilton with me? December 21st."
He looks to Harry for help. "I don't know what that means."
"The musical. Hamilton. About one of the American Founding Fathers."
His cheeks turn as red as his hair. "I don't… I don't know what any of those words mean."
She resists the urge to roll her eyes.
The rest of the day she goes around her (extremely limited) friend group, trying to find an extra person to come with her. Ginny, like her brother, doesn't know what Hamilton is, but even if she did she has plans elsewhere. Neville is going home to his grandmothers, Seamus is going back to Ireland, Dean isn't interested in theatre, Luna… well, Hermione chickened out of asking Luna. But even though she didn't ask, Luna enthusiastically explained how she will be spending her time with her dad, searching for – a direct quote – 'a Dinkenpog'. Hermione doesn't know what a Dinkenpog is. She doesn't think they exist.
She doesn't bother asking.
At the end of the day, Hermione is – quite frankly – pissed off. It's not rational, she knows, but that doesn't mean she can't be upset about it. She doesn't want to make her parent's feel as though they wasted £262 on an extra ticket.
Deep down, she feels as though she's just not likeable enough for people to want to go and see a show with her. And she knows it's stupid to think like this – the majority of them won't understand it, and it's just before Christmas, so they'll all be with their own families and have their own problems to solve. But she still thinks it. She still thinks that she's only 'friends' because she works hard and is smart, not because she's an asset to the group. She knows that if she wasn't there, their lives would probably continue; they wouldn't say hey, has anyone seen Hermione recently?
It's stupid to think this way over a ticket to a show that none of them know, but she can't help herself. She can't stop herself from this constant worry that maybe she's a problem. It didn't escape her when Ginny said that she would be too busy with Harry and her family at the Burrow. It doesn't escape her that she wasn't even invited to the Burrow for Christmas and Harry was. It doesn't escape her that neither Harry nor Ron had told her that Harry was going to be spending Christmas at the Burrow.
She's thinking of all of this as she goes to meet her patrol partner, and she tries to force her brain to stop coming up with these stupid conspiracy theories all the time. It's just a ticket to a show that they aren't interested in. It's just a ticket to a show that they're all too busy to see.
It's just a ticket that her parents spent £262 on.
It's just a ticket.
Her eyes begin to fill with tears and she calls herself stupid under her breath. "Hermione Jean Granger stop crying. Stop being silly. Stop it."
"Dear Merlin, Granger, I didn't think you were that crazy." Draco Malfoy pushes himself off of the wall ahead of her. "Talking to yourself really isn't a good sign," he smirks, and she glowers at him.
"Shut it, Malfoy," she snaps, harshly wiping the wetness from her face with the back of her hand. She continues walking, and he lazily falls into step beside her.
His hands are in his pockets, and his top button is undone. He doesn't look like much of a role model for the younger students. Then again, he never really was. She's not really sure why he was chosen for the role of a prefect in the first place.
"So, Granger, are you going to tell me what you were talking to yourself about?" Even his voice sounds lazy.
"Are you going to tell me why it's any of your business, Malfoy?" She responds, not even looking at him. She knows he's looking at her; she could hear in his voice that he was watching for a reaction.
"It's terribly boring to walk around all of these halls in complete silence. It will probably give me some entertainment for hour or so that we have to wander around aimlessly."
"That doesn't explain why it would be your business."
"Why does it need to be my business?" Even without looking at him, she knows he's sneering.
"Because I'm not going to go prattling all of my secrets to you, of all people," she sneers back.
"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."
"No, you won't. You'll wait for me to tell mine and then you'll refuse. I know how you work, Malfoy."
"I'll go first then: I'm scared to go home for Christmas."
This makes Hermione stop, and finally she turns towards him. "Why on earth would you be scared to go home?"
He fidgets, averting his eyes and looking down the dimly lit corridor. He rubs the back of his neck, then pushes his hair backwards. "That part isn't important."
"Are you going home?"
He shrugs. "Of course. I have to."
"But if you're scared-"
"There is no but, Granger," he snaps. "I have to, regardless of my feelings in the matter."
She nods, then starts walking again.
"Are you going to tell me yours?" He's quieter, now. His voice is a lot softer than normal.
"Oh, mine isn't as interesting as I'm scared to go home."
"It doesn't need to be interesting."
She sighs, thinking of how to word it. "It's stupid."
"Come off it, Granger. Nothing about you is stupid." It doesn't sound like a compliment.
"My parents got me a surprise, but they got an extra thing for a friend – and it cost a lot of money. And…everyone's busy. Which I understand, obviously. It's too close to change plans now. But I keep thinking that they aren't actually. That they just don't want to hang out with me. Which is stupid, don't you think?" The tips of her ears heat up. Why is she bothering to lay all of this out to him of all people?
"You feel like the odd-man-out," he turns his head to look at her. "Is that it?"
"I feel…" She struggles to grab the right word. "Expendable. Like, I could be there or I couldn't be there, and it wouldn't make a difference."
He laughs at this, and it makes her frown. "You really think any of them have enough personality to not want you? Honestly, you're probably the only thing holding your sorry little group together."
They stop once more, and he leans against the wall to look at her, his arms crossed over his chest.
"I told you it was stupid." Her hands are balled into fists, and she feels like a child. "It's just a stupid thing I can't stop thinking about."
He raises an eyebrow at her. "I get that. I do."
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. She crosses her arms, mirroring him. "Please, Malfoy. Like you know what it's like to be excluded from things."
"Don't I?" He asks, not breaking eye contact.
"No, you don't," she sighs. "You're the one in the middle of the conversation. You're never the one on the outside."
"Okay, so tell me how you're being excluded. Because to me it looks like you're always pretty bloody involved." He's frowning at her, now. She doesn't like the way his face looks when he frowns: the way his brow furrows, his lips turn slightly downwards, his nose wrinkles just the tiniest bit.
She doesn't know why she cares what his face looks like.
"Harry was invited to the Weasley's house for Christmas and I wasn't."
He whistles, the frown disappearing to be replaced by a half smirk (the left side of his lips twitching upwards, but not enough to be fully smirking). He looks a lot better like this. His grey eyes seem to shimmer when he's amused.
She doesn't know why she's focusing so much on his eyes.
"Were you aware that he was invited?" He asks. He seems to be watching her almost as much as she's watching him.
"Not until Ginny mentioned it today. Him or Ron obviously couldn't be bothered to tell me."
"Maybe they just assumed you had other plans."
"It's still nice to be asked, you know."
He smirks, fully this time, and stands up straight. She never realised how much taller than her he was. "What's this surprise then?"
"Tickets. To a show."
"You wouldn't know it."
He shrugs. "Probably not, no. But what show."
She rolls her eyes. "Hamilton."
She laughs, and he smiles. He has the most brilliantly white teeth, the most dazzling smile. He should smile more than he smirks. "It probably would be, for you."
"And how much was this very expensive extra ticket?"
"It was £262."
He raises his brow at her. "Which is?"
"Oh!" She does some mental maths (thank God for being a 'gifted student'). "About… 53 Galleons."
He whistles again. "Lot of money."
"Why don't I do you a favour?"
"Why don't you not?"
He laughs and her stomach flips. He has a nice laugh. Or maybe it's just the acoustics of the corridor, the sound reverberating, echoing, and changing all around her.
"I go see your show, which helps both of us."
She frowns, confused. "How does it help you?"
"It gets me away from my house."
"You know what? Fine. But that's all it is. A favour."
He grins, walking down the corridor, away from her. He spins and walks backwards as he speaks to her. "It's a date."
Her cheeks flush and she scowls at him. "Like I would want to go on a date with you, Malfoy."
He laughs again, his eyes twinkling as he regards her.
"Right back at you, Granger."