erased

Seeing the young blond-haired boy in front of her felt so surreal to Hermione, it was like all of the air escaped her lungs as she took in Draco Malfoy’s younger presence.

As she took in the group, she noticed they were also dressed in fresh Hogwarts robes, their house affiliations yet to be determined but their demeanors already carrying the weight of privilege and prejudice.

“Can we help you?” Draco drawled, his gaze flicking dismissively over Neville before landing on Hermione. His grey eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her as if trying to place her.

“I-” she breathed out, “We’re sorry to bother you but have any of you seen a toad?” she asked willing herself to act as normal as possible. “Neville has lost his.”

This was certain to be a pivotal moment in her mission.

Hermione couldn’t help herself from staring, her heart pounded in her chest. She was standing before a boy who, in her timeline, had caused her so much pain and yet, in the end, had evoked so much pity and confusion.

The Draco Malfoy she had known was an antagonist who had eventually shown glimmers of humanity. But this Draco was a blank slate, an eleven-year-old boy whose fate had not yet been written.

A second of silence passed before the young group of soon-to-be Slytherins glanced at one another then burst out in laughter causing Hermione’s brow to furrow. Hermione felt Neville shift closer to her, his nervous air radiated around him.

Draco smirked, leaning back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh. “A toad? Honestly, who brings a toad to Hogwarts these days?”

Hermione felt her face drop, she began biting the inside of her cheek to remain levelheaded.

There he was.

The Draco Malfoy she knew. Mentally she was kicking herself for believing, even for a mere second, that he would be a different person from the beginning.

Irritation was bubbling inside of her as she gently reminded herself that this was simply a test. How she handled this moment could set the tone for all her future interactions with Draco.

“Some people have toads,” she said evenly. “Some have cats. Some have owls. They’re all on the school supply list, are they not? It doesn’t matter what kind of pet someone brings as long as it’s meaningful to them.”

Draco’s eyebrow raised in surprise at her, his smirk faltered momentarily as if he wasn’t expecting her to respond in such a way. The compartment was silent once again before Draco spoke again his cool tone laced with arrogance.

 “What’s your surname?” he asked, his smirk returning to his pale pink lips.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, despite being back in the body of her eleven-year-old self, she could easily see through the implications of his simple question.

“It’s Granger.” She said confidently “Hermione Granger.”

Draco’s smirk grew as he leaned back, relaxing into the cushioned compartment seat “Well Hermione Granger,” he spoke again, his voice dripping with condescension “You obviously have something to prove then by being here. You know with being a muggle-born and all.”

Neville let out a little gasp as he stood behind Hermione, Draco’s blatant disrespect shocking him.

Hermione’s fists clenched at her sides, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. This was not the time to lose her temper or let his words get under her skin. She needed to handle this differently than she would have in the past.

“Well,” she began crossing her arms across her chest, “while your concern is touching, I can assure you that I have nothing to prove. Especially to you.” Hermione responded in a cool tone that was equal to Draco’s typical drawl, a forced sweet smile on her lips.

Draco’s smirk faltered momentarily but he laughed hollowly as he stood up from the compartment seat, gathering himself to his full height, his eleven-year-old frame still significantly taller than Hermione’s at this age.

 “You’re a bold little muggle-born aren’t you, Granger?” he asked mockingly, looking down at her.

Shocked by his brazen move Hermione, went to take a step back, wishing to put space between them, and accidentally stood on the silent Neville’s left foot.

“Ouch!” Neville hollered as he attempted to back out of the compartment, then tripped on the door frame, falling to the train corridor floor.

The compartment occupants once again began laughing at the sight of the boy on the ground grasping his foot.

“Oh Neville, I’m so sorry!” Hermione apologized quickly moving to crouch next to him to check on his foot.

Hermione quickly then turned her attention back to Draco, who was looming in the doorway laughing alongside his companions as he looked down at her.

“Well,” he said, copying her previous tone, “it looks like we haven’t seen the toad. So off you go, Granger.”

Hermione watched as Draco turned his back on her, closing his compartment door behind him.

Sighing, she stood up dusting her robes off, and offered Neville her hand to help him off the floor. “I’m sorry about that Neville. I don’t know what got into me.”

Neville shook his head, “No, thank you for standing up to him,” Neville said quietly, his round face flushed with relief. “I don’t think I could have.”

Hermione moved her hand to Neville’s shoulder, offering him support. “He might talk a big game, but he’s just another first-year like us. Don’t let him intimidate you,” she reassured him kindly. He returned the gesture with a small, shy smile.

After checking two other compartments together, they decided to split up and check the rest of the train while they were hunting for Trevor the toad.

Hermione leaned back against the corridor wall and exhaled deeply. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thud of her heartbeat as the weight of the encounter sank in. Seeing Draco’s sneer and hearing his prejudice was almost more than she could bear. It was so familiar yet so foreign.

Truthfully, the interaction went as well as it possibly could. As much as Hermione wished that she could simply show up, that alone would be enough to influence Draco Malfoy to go down another path, a better path, she knew deep down that this would take time.

Pushing herself upright, she resumed her search for Trevor, determined not to let the encounter rattle her.

Hermione felt a strange sense of déjà vu as she approached the next compartment, a shock running up her hand as she went to slide open the door.

Before acknowledging who was in the compartment Hermione asked the occupants, “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

Inside were two figures she easily recognized. Two eleven-year-old boys sat together, one with dark messy hair and glasses, the other redheaded with freckles.

 “We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron Weasley, wand in hand.

Hermione’s heart jumped, warmth flooded her body, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with joy and comfort at the sight of her two best friends. To see them both, unsullied by the traumatic years to come, almost brought her to tears.

“Oh, I see.” She replied kindly, restraining herself from jumping to hug them both.

“Are you trying out a spell? May I watch?” Hermione asked, taking a seat in the compartment with the two boys.

Years ago, Hermione had walked into the interaction bossy, giving off an unlikable air about herself. She spent her first two months at Hogwarts virtually friendless and Hermione truthfully couldn’t bear to repeat that experience another time.

The young Ron raised his eyebrow at her suspiciously, perhaps assuming she was teasing him, “Sure.” He mumbled.

Hermione watched him clear his throat. “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” He waved his wand, but nothing happened just as before. Scabbers the rat stayed gray and fast asleep.

It took everything in her not to open a window and throw the rat from the moving train.

“Perhaps they gave you the wrong spell?” Hermione suggested in a friendly tone, attempting to make Ron feel more confident.

“Yeah, must have been,” Ron mumbled back, shrugging his shoulders in Harry’s direction.

Obviously, she knew the spell was a bogus one made by the Weasley twins to mess with their younger brother, but Hermione didn’t want to go down the road of humiliating Ron for believing them.

“But I wouldn’t worry. I’ve learned all our course books by heart, and we’ll learn something that could change him sooner or later in lessons.”  She said very quickly, worried she still might have come off bossy. “I’m Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger.”

The two looked at each other shocked, perhaps due to the fact they hardly ever touched their course books without her guidance.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron mumbled.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry.

Awkwardness filled the air, so Hermione tried again.

“Do either of you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it.”

This is where she got lucky as the trio began excitingly discussing the Hogwarts houses. She and Ron quickly taught Harry about the four houses and their common attributes that influenced placement.

Hermione felt serene, being with her two best friends again at this innocent age was all she could ever ask for.

After some time had passed Hermione peeked at her watch, “Well I’d better go back and look for Neville’s toad. You two should change, I expect we’ll be there soon.” And with that, she exited the compartment.

As Hermione stepped back into the train corridor, the weight of the past and present seemed to settle heavily on her shoulders.

Her encounter with Harry and Ron left her heart warm but aching for the simplicity of their younger selves. They were unscarred, brimming with curiosity and humor. This time, she thought, I’ll do everything I can to protect them.

As she moved further down the train corridor, she spotted Neville again, sitting near a window and looking out wistfully. He looked up as she approached, his expression brightening.

“Still no sign of Trevor?” she asked gently, sliding into the seat across from him.

Neville shook his head. “No. I think he might’ve escaped to the luggage racks. I’ll probably find him once we’re off the train.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll help you look again once we’ve arrived. We’ll find him, Neville.”

He smiled shyly, and for a moment, Hermione marveled at the vulnerability in his expression. She resolved to encourage him, to help him become the brave young man she knew he could be.

The sound of the train whistle cut through the air, and the rhythm of the train’s motion began to slow. Hermione glanced out the window, her pulse quickening as she saw the silhouette of the castle in the distance.

Hogwarts, she thought. Home.

The train came to a halt with a loud hiss, and the corridor quickly filled with first-years scrambling to gather their things. Hermione guided Neville to the train's exit, offering him a reassuring smile as they stepped off the train.

The crisp evening air hit her face, and her heart swelled as she took in the familiar sight of the towering castle in the distance, its windows glowing warmly against the darkening sky.

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years, over here!” Hagrid’s booming voice echoed across the platform, and Hermione’s chest tightened. She turned to see the towering half-giant waving a lantern, his massive form impossible to miss.

“Hagrid,” she whispered under her breath, feeling a sudden wave of affection for the kind-hearted man. He doesn’t know me yet, she reminded herself.

She and Neville made their way to Hagrid, joining the small crowd of first years. Hermione kept her eyes peeled for Harry and Ron, relieved to spot them nearby, chatting animatedly.

“All right, follow me!” Hagrid called, leading them down a winding path toward the lake.

The sight of the black, glassy water and the fleet of small boats bobbing at the shore took Hermione’s breath away, even after all these years. The view of Hogwarts reflected in the still water, with its turrets and towers reaching toward the sky, was just as enchanting as she remembered.

“Four to a boat!” Hagrid instructed.

Hermione found herself sharing a boat with Neville, a quiet boy that she knew to be Theodore Nott, and—much to her surprise—Draco Malfoy.

Draco barely acknowledged her as he settled into his seat, his sharp eyes fixed on the castle ahead. Hermione bit her lip, willing herself to focus on the moment rather than the tense silence that stretched between them.

The boats glided seamlessly to the far shore, and the first years climbed out one by one. Hermione stayed close to Neville as they were led into the castle, her heart racing as they entered the castle.

They crowded together outside of the Great Hall standing rather closer together than they would usually have done.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses.”

Hermione listened as she explained the sorting ceremony, houses, the point system, and the house cup to all of them.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” McGonagall said, silently eyeing the crowd of first-years in front of her.

Stifling a giggle Hermione noticed the deputy head mistress’s eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, Ron’s dirt-smudged nose, and Harry nervously trying to flatten his untidy hair.

Professor McGonagall excused herself as she left the chamber and immediately Hermione felt the nerves of all of those around her.

She could hear both Ron and Harry whispering about how students were supposedly sorted into their house and Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from correcting them on how the sorting worked.

Hermione then heard multiple screams and gasps as transparent figures, ghosts, began to fill the chamber. Smiling, she watched everyone’s surprised reactions as they greeted students nervously waiting.

By the time Professor McGonagall returned, the ghosts floated through the wall. “Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”

The group of first years did as they were told and followed the older woman into the Great Hall.

Despite spending almost eight years at Hogwarts, not including many visits to the school for work regarding elf rights, Hermione felt overwhelmed by its beauty. The Great Hall was lit by countless candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.

The house tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.

Professor McGonagall led herself and her fellow first years until they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. Hundreds of faces stared at them looking like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight.

 Hermione couldn’t help herself and whispered to the group, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

Hermione’s chest tightened as the Sorting Hat was placed on a stool at the front of the room. She could hear it singing its familiar song, but the words felt distant, her mind too preoccupied with the moment to focus on the rhyme.

One by one, names were called, and students stepped forward to be sorted.

When it was her turn, Hermione stepped forward with steady legs, her heart hammering. As the Sorting Hat was lowered onto her head, its voice rang out in her mind.

“Ah, Miss Granger… Or should I say, Miss Granger from a different time?”

Hermione’s breath caught.

“Yes, I know,” the Hat continued. “You’re a curious one, carrying secrets far beyond your years. But where to place you?”

“Gryffindor,” Hermione whispered. “Please put me in Gryffindor.”

The Hat chuckled softly. “Again?” the hat asked, “you’d do well there, no doubt, just as you have before. But your mind… such sharpness would thrive in Ravenclaw.”

“No,” Hermione insisted, her voice firm. “I need to be in Gryffindor again.”

“Very well,” the Hat said after a moment’s pause. “Gryffindor it is!”

Hermione removed the Hat and hurried over to the Gryffindor table with her heart still racing. How could the hat have possibly known she was from another time? 

Names continued to be called, and Neville soon sat next to her at the Gryffindor table. Hermione watched as Draco’s name was called, and he sauntered up to the stool, his trademark smirk already in place.

The hat barely touched his head when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Draco strutted over to the green and silver table, looking pleased with himself, where he was greeted with applause as he sat next to Crabbe and Goyle.

For a split second, Hermione swore she caught Draco glancing at her from his spot at the Slytherin table, but she must have been mistaken as when she looked back, he was in conversation with his two cronies.

As the ceremony continued, she watched as Harry sat on the stool, aside from stray whispers silence quickly filled the Great Hall. Hermione knew that Harry was about to become a proud Gryffindor.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the battered old hat at last.

Hermione cheered along with all the others at the gold and red bannered table, giggling as the Weasley twins yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

Harry sat down on the other side of her as they watched the last four students get sorted, Ron included. Ron soon rushed to join the Gryffindor table after being sorted, sitting with Hermione, Harry, and Neville.

Once the sorting finished, the hall silenced as the headmaster rose to his feet.

Albus Dumbledore stood beaming at all the students, his arms opened wide. “Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

Dumbledore sat back down in his seat. Everybody clapped and cheered, the first years unsure whether to laugh or not.

The table was then covered with copious amounts of food and the students all began filling their golden plates, eating as much as their stomach could handle.

Hermione hesitated to grab his cutlery as she looked at the food, guilt building in her gut. She had worked so hard in her time advocating for the better treatment of elves, and Hermione was well aware of the fact that all of the meals were essentially made by slave labor.

She had already allowed herself four years of ignorance in her past, could she go through any more time not standing up for them?

Though, Hermione had to be careful with her behavior. If the sorting hat could deduce that Hermione’s presence in time was unnatural then acting too much like her twenty-three-year-old self would be suspicious. But she made a mental note to begin SPEW sooner rather than later.

Hermione began filling her plate with food, attentively aware of all of the conversation going on around her.

The talk turned to their families.

“I’m half-and-half,” said Seamus. “Me dad’s a Muggle, by me, Mum didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.” The others laughed.

“What about you, Neville?” said Ron.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages.”

Hermione listened to Neville’s story, but her heart secretly hurt for him as he avoided mentioning his parents Alice and Frank.

“What about you Hermione?” asked Ron, through a mouthful of food.

“I’m actually muggle-born,” Hermione informed them. “It was a bit of a shock when Professor McGonagall arrived to explain Hogwarts and the fact that I was a witch.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin table. Draco, his expression one of smug satisfaction as he conversed animatedly with them.

He’s already finding his place here, she thought, her stomach twisting slightly. Draco’s path to becoming the person she remembered seemed inevitable, but Hermione wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

As if sensing her gaze, Draco looked up, his grey eyes locking onto hers across the room. His smirk deepened, a knowing glint in his expression that made her blood boil. It was like he knew she was talking about her family.

Hermione determined not to let him rattle her. “But anyways, I do hope they start right away, there’s so much to learn!” she enthused.

She focused on Harry and Ron’s conversation, smiling as Harry described the Dursleys’ horrified reaction to his Hogwarts letter.

As the feast wound down and the dessert plates appeared, Hermione felt the weight of her mission settle heavily on her shoulders. She was back where it had all started, surrounded by the people she loved and those she hoped to influence for the better.

But the enormity of the task loomed in her mind. Changing Draco Malfoy’s trajectory—reshaping a future already etched in her memory—was a responsibility she wasn’t sure she was ready to bear.

Still, as she looked at Harry and Ron, laughing together over a shared joke, she felt a glimmer of hope. If she could build a strong foundation with them, perhaps she could find the courage to tackle the more difficult moments ahead.

The headmaster’s voice rang out again, drawing her attention. Standing once again, he announced that the Forbidden Forrest was off limits as well as the third-floor corridor, quidditch tryouts were scheduled during the second week of term, and no magic was to be used in the corridors.

Dumbledore smiled “And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” he cried, then conducting the hall with the lyrics of the school song.

Fred and George were the last ones singing before Dumbledore spoke again, “Now, off to bed with you!” his cheerful tone and teary eyes signaled the end of the feast. “Prefects, if you’d be so kind as to guide the first years to their dormitories.”

Hermione rose with the others, following Percy Weasley as they exited the Great Hall. The halls of Hogwarts felt both familiar and foreign as they ascended the moving staircases toward the Gryffindor common room.

When they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, Hermione smiled to herself, feeling a sense of home wash over her.

“Password?” the Fat Lady asked.

“Caput Draconis,” the Prefect answered crisply.

The portrait swung open, and Hermione stepped inside, greeted by the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room.

The sight of the cozy space, with its roaring fireplace and squashy armchairs, brought tears to Hermione’s eyes.

As she climbed the spiral staircase to the girls’ dormitory, she let her fingers brush the stone walls. She remembered the countless nights spent here studying, laughing, crying, and plotting alongside her friends.

She made her way to the dormitory with both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, her heart light despite the challenges that lay ahead.

As she changed into her nightgown, Hermione allowed herself one moment of pure joy. She was back at Hogwarts, with Harry and Ron, at the very beginning. And for now, that was enough.

As she lay in bed that night, Hermione stared up at the canopy above her, her thoughts racing.

This isn’t just about Draco, she reminded herself. It’s about everything—Harry, Ron, the war, the countless lives that will be impacted by what happens here.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat. I can’t afford to fail. Not this time.

And with that thought, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, the echoes of laughter and the promise of tomorrow swirling in her dreams.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

Draco Malfoy’s Point of View

As Draco stepped out of the sleek, enchanted black car, his shoes clicked against the cobblestone of King’s Cross Station. The warm late summer air did little to cut through the heavy tension that always accompanied outings with his parents.

His father, Lucius Malfoy, strode ahead, his cane tapping rhythmically against the pavement. Draco followed just behind, his mother, Narcissa, walking gracefully at his side. 

The crowd at the station was bustling with a mix of Muggle commuters and wizarding families discreetly making their way to Platform 9¾.

Draco sneered at the Muggles who darted about like ants, entirely unaware of the magic that lay just beyond their sight. He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the pervasive scent of diesel and human sweat.

“Hold yourself tall, Draco,” Lucius said without looking back, his voice cold and sharp, like the point of a dagger. “A Malfoy does not slouch in the presence of lesser beings.”

Draco straightened instinctively; his head held high.

He felt Narcissa’s hand graze his shoulder briefly, a silent gesture of support that warmed him just a fraction. His mother’s presence was a constant comfort, even if she seldom spoke against his father’s overbearing and prejudice-based lectures.

They entered the station, their polished shoes clacking against the tiled floor. Draco could feel eyes following them, curious glances from both Muggles and wizards alike.

Lucius, with his long platinum hair and regal gait, was impossible to miss. Narcissa, always poised and elegant, radiated an air of icy detachment that matched her husband’s.

Draco mimicked their demeanor effortlessly, his face set in the practiced mask of aristocratic indifference he’d been taught since he could walk.

When they reached the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, Lucius finally turned to address Draco, his gray eyes piercing. “Remember what we’ve discussed. This year is crucial. You are a reflection of this family, Draco, and I expect nothing less than excellence from you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” Draco replied, his voice steady, though the weight of his father’s expectations coiled tightly in his chest.

Lucius gave a curt nod before stepping aside to allow Narcissa to approach. She knelt slightly; her pale blue eyes softer than usual as she adjusted the collar of Draco’s robes. “Be careful,” she murmured, her voice low enough that Lucius, now inspecting the crowd with disinterest, couldn’t hear. “And write to me often.”

Draco nodded, his throat tightening. His mother always found small ways to remind him that, beneath the layers of pureblood pride and decorum, she cared for him deeply. It was a quiet assurance he clung to when his father’s shadow loomed large.

“Come,” Lucius barked impatiently, already moving toward the barrier.

Draco and Narcissa exchanged a glance before following. As they passed through the enchanted wall, the bustling cacophony of the Muggle world was replaced by the lively hum of Platform 9¾.

The gleaming scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express stood proudly at the center, surrounded by students saying their goodbyes and loading their trunks onto the train. Owls hooted from their cages, and the air was tinged with the mingling scents of steam and pumpkin pasties.

Draco immediately spotted a few familiar faces—Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini—all waiting near the train. They waved or nodded in greeting, but Draco stayed by his parents for the moment, knowing he couldn’t leave without permission.

“Make an impression,” Lucius said, his tone pointed as he adjusted his grip on his cane. “This is your debut as the family heir. You are a Malfoy. Never forget that.”

Draco gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgment. “I won’t, Father.”

Narcissa kissed him lightly on the cheek, ignoring Lucius’s disapproving glance. “Be safe, darling,” she said softly. “Send me an owl as soon as you’re able to.”

Draco turned toward the train, his chest tightening with a mixture of anticipation and unease. He felt the familiar pull of freedom mingling with the ever-present weight of his family’s expectations.

As he climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. Narcissa watched him with a small, almost imperceptible smile, while Lucius stood like a marble statue, his expression as unyielding as ever.

Draco straightened his shoulders and made his way down the corridor, ready to face whatever awaited him this year at Hogwarts.

His polished shoes clicked softly against the wooden floor. The familiar hum of conversations filled the air, mingling with the occasional laugh or shout. Fellow first-years darted past him, their excitement tangible, while older students leaned out of compartments to greet friends, they hadn’t seen all summer.

As he moved through the train, Draco kept his chin high, his sharp gaze sweeping over the compartments. Most students hastily averted their eyes when they noticed him; others whispered behind their hands.

It was to be expected that other children from the wizarding world knew of his family.

He smirked, satisfied by the ripple of unease his presence seemed to create. Being a Malfoy meant power, and Draco was keenly aware of it.

Forcing the thought aside, he continued down the corridor until he reached the compartment where his friends had gathered.

Theodore Nott was sprawled lazily across one bench, Pansy Parkinson perched beside him, her gaze lighting up when she saw Draco enter. Blaise Zabini leaned casually against the window, his expression unreadable, as always. Crabbe and Goyle were already stuffing their faces with sweets from the trolley.

“Draco!” Pansy exclaimed, sliding closer to make room. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Draco gave her a small, self-assured smile. “I had to deal with my parents,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, dropping into the seat beside her. “You know how they are.”

“Yeah, perfect and rich?” Blaise drawled, earning a few chuckles from the group.

Draco waved off the comment with a flick of his hand. “Enough about them.”

Despite the group spending time together during the summer, they all began discussing elements of the summers that they spent outside of each other’s companies with their families.

The conversation soon drifted to speculation about what their first year would entail, but Draco found his attention slipping.

Deep down Draco was worried, what if he wasn’t enough to be sorted into Slytherin and ruined the Malfoy family’s reputation?

Soon an hour into the train ride had passed uninterrupted, the group had even changed into their fresh Hogwarts robes.

That was until the compartment door slid open, the group all looking at the intruders with curiosity.

Draco straightened slightly; his interest piqued by the unexpected interruption. A boy with a round face and a nervous air stood there, half-hidden behind a girl with bushy brown hair. She was dressed neatly in her Hogwarts robes, her expression somewhere between determined and anxious.

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk as he took in her appearance. There was something about her—perhaps the way she stood so stiffly, as though bracing herself for a challenge—that caught his attention.

“Can we help you?” he drawled, his gaze flicking dismissively over the pair.

“I-” the bushy-haired girl began, “We’re sorry to bother you but have any of you seen a toad?” she asked, “Neville has lost his.”

Silence filled the compartment before Draco and his friends busted out in laughter.

Draco smirked, leaning back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh. “A toad? Honestly, who brings a toad to Hogwarts these days?”

The other boys in the compartment laughed, and even Pansy let out a shrill giggle. The bushy-haired girl, however, didn’t waver. Her brown eyes locked onto his, narrowing slightly.

“Some people have toads,” she said evenly, her voice calm but edged with a hint of defiance. “Some have cats. Some have owls. They’re all on the school supply list, are they not? It doesn’t matter what kind of pet someone brings as long as it’s meaningful to them.”

Draco blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her response. She wasn’t flustered, as most people were when faced with his taunts. If anything, she seemed... resolute. Intriguing.

Recovering quickly, he raised an eyebrow, letting his smirk return. “What’s your surname?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“Granger,” she replied without hesitation, her voice steady. “Hermione Granger.”

Granger. The word rolled through Draco’s mind, and with it, a rush of understanding. She was a Muggle-born. His father had forced him from a young age to study the pureblood families in the wizarding world, specifically the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

The thought soured whatever faint curiosity he might have felt about her. A Malfoy had no business wasting time on people like her. Still, something about her confidence rankled him—an insolence that needed to be put in its place.

“Well, Hermione Granger,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, mocking drawl, “you obviously have something to prove by being here. You know, with being a Muggle-born and all.”

The round-faced boy—Neville, apparently—gasped audibly, his face flushing as he shifted closer to Granger. Draco could see the tension in her posture, the way her fists clenched briefly at her sides. He waited for her to stammer or falter, but she didn’t.

“While your concern is touching,” she said, crossing her arms and meeting his gaze with a cool expression, “I can assure you that I have nothing to prove. Especially to you.”

Draco’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment. Her words were sharper than he’d expected, and the tone in which she delivered them carried a confidence that didn’t align with what he’d been taught about Muggle-borns. He quickly masked his surprise, letting out a hollow laugh as he rose from his seat.

“You’re a bold little Muggle-born, aren’t you, Granger?” he said mockingly, towering over her with all the superiority he could muster.

She took a step back, her foot inadvertently landing on Neville’s.

“Ouch!” Neville yelped, stumbling backward and tripping over the compartment doorframe. He landed in the corridor with a loud thud, clutching his foot.

The laughter from Draco’s companions filled the air again, a chorus of mockery directed at the unfortunate boy. Draco himself chuckled, watching with amusement as Granger crouched beside Neville, murmuring apologies, and checking on him.

When she turned back to Draco, her expression was a mix of irritation and resolve. For a fleeting moment, he felt something unfamiliar—a flicker of unease, perhaps? No. It was just the novelty of someone standing up to him so directly.

“Well,” he said, adopting her earlier tone with a smirk, “it looks like we haven’t seen the toad. So off you go, Granger.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned his back on her and slid the compartment door shut. As he sank back into his seat, Pansy leaned toward him, giggling.

“She’s ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

Draco didn’t respond immediately, his mind lingering on the strange encounter. Hermione Granger. A muggle-born, defiant, and unyielding in a way he hadn’t expected. He pushed the thought away, reminding himself that she didn’t matter.

After all, people like her never did.

Draco leaned back in his seat, letting the familiar feeling of superiority settle over him once more. Around him, his companions continued to laugh and talk, but his thoughts drifted. Hermione Granger. The name stuck in his mind like a splinter he couldn’t quite dislodge.

“She’s got some nerve, doesn’t she?” Blaise remarked, breaking into Draco’s thoughts. He was lounging across the seat opposite, arms folded and his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

Draco shrugged, schooling his features into the detached mask he wore so easily. “Doesn’t matter,” he said coolly. “She’ll learn her place soon enough.”

But even as the words left his mouth, a faint irritation lingered. Granger hadn’t seemed the least bit intimidated by him. Annoyed, perhaps, but not cowed. It was an unfamiliar reaction, one that gnawed at his sense of control.

“Bet she won’t last a week,” Pansy said with a smirk, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Muggle-borns like her always end up overwhelmed. They don’t belong here.”

Draco nodded absently, his gaze fixed on the window. The countryside was beginning to blur past as the train picked up speed, and the low hum of its wheels filled the silence. He wanted to believe Pansy was right, that Granger would be no more than an insignificant blip in the grand scheme of his Hogwarts life.

And yet…

Something about the way she’d looked at him—eyes steady, voice unwavering—refused to leave him alone. It was as if she hadn’t just dismissed his words; she’d seen straight through him, into something he wasn’t sure he liked.

“Malfoy,” Pansy’s voice cut in, pulling him back to the present. “You’re quiet. What’s wrong? Did the little Muggle-born rattle you?”

Draco scoffed, straightening in his seat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “She’s nothing. Just some loud-mouthed know-it-all who doesn’t understand where she stands.”

The others laughed again, but Draco barely registered it. He turned his gaze back to the window, forcing his mind to focus on the things that mattered—pureblood pride, his family’s expectations, and the future that lay ahead of him.

Granger didn’t matter. She couldn’t matter.

And yet, as the train carried them closer to Hogwarts, Draco couldn’t quite shake the faint echo of her voice.

“I have nothing to prove. Especially to you.”

The words replayed in his mind, irritatingly clear and defiant. For reasons he couldn’t fully explain, they left him feeling unsettled.

He told himself it was because she’d dared to challenge him, dared to act as if she was his equal when she was anything but. Still, her face—flushed with indignation, her brown eyes sharp and defiant—kept invading his mind.

“Crabbe. Goyle.” Draco said suddenly, “Let’s take a walk, my father believes Harry Potter is on the train. He wants me to befriend him. He believes he might be a dark wizard.”

The three collected themselves from their seat and began to look around the train for the elusive Potter boy.

He slid the compartment door open, a practiced air of nonchalance masking the excitement beneath. His pale gaze swept the occupants—there was no mistaking him. The boy with the untidy hair and the round glasses: Harry Potter.

“So, it’s you, is it?” Draco said, striding in with confidence. His voice carried the right mix of curiosity and indifference, as though meeting the most famous boy in the wizarding world wasn’t worth breaking a sweat over. He tilted his head slightly, studying Potter’s face, trying to gauge him.

“Yes,” Potter replied simply, his green eyes flickering between Draco and the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him. Draco didn’t miss the way Potter’s gaze lingered a little too long on his companions.

“Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” Draco said dismissively, waving a hand toward them. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

As he said it, he watched for a reaction. His name usually had that effect, especially among pure-blood families. It commanded a certain respect, and Draco had been raised to wield it like a weapon.

But what he got was… a cough. A stifled laugh from the freckled redhead sitting next to Potter. Weasley. It had to be.

“Think my name’s funny, do you?” Draco snapped, his sharp gaze cutting to the boy. “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

He turned back to Potter, brushing off the interruption with the ease of someone who’d been taught to treat people like Ron Weasley as background noise. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Draco extended his hand, offering it with a smirk he knew bordered on cocky. This was the test. Would Harry Potter be clever enough to recognize an ally when one stood before him? Surely, he wouldn’t—

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” Potter said coolly.

Draco froze, his hand lingering for a moment before he withdrew it. That stung more than he expected. The smirk faltered, just slightly, as he felt his cheeks warm. But he recovered quickly, a warning edge creeping into his tone. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer, you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either.”

He saw Potter tense, and beside him, Weasley’s ears were as red as his hair. Draco pressed on, his words sharper now. “You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that oaf Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

That did it. Both Potter and Weasley stood abruptly, glaring at him with a kind of defiance that made Draco’s blood simmer. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, but his pulse quickened. There was a thrill in it—the tension, the challenge.

“Say that again,” Weasley demanded, his fists clenched, and his face flushed.

Draco sneered. “Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?”

Potter didn’t hesitate. “Unless you get out now.”

Draco’s smirk deepened. It was almost funny how bravely Potter spoke, considering Crabbe and Goyle loomed over him and Weasley like trolls about to squash pixies. “But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food, and you still seem to have some.”

He watched as Goyle reached for the Chocolate Frogs beside Weasley, expecting the redhead to erupt into another round of shouting. What he didn’t expect was the rat.

A strangled howl filled the compartment as Goyle jerked his hand back, Scabbers the rat dangling from his knuckle with its sharp teeth sunk deep. Draco stumbled back, instinctively putting space between himself and the chaos. Crabbe followed suit, his bulk bumping into Draco as they both watched Goyle flail around, shaking his hand wildly.

The rat finally flew off and hit the window with a dull thud. Draco barely registered where it landed. He was already retreating, Crabbe and Goyle at his heels, his mind racing to make sense of what just happened.

They disappeared down the corridor, the sound of laughter following them like an echo. Draco’s cheeks burned—not with embarrassment, he told himself, but anger. Potter would regret this. One way or another, he’d make sure of it.

After returning to their compartment Draco was quick to tell Pansy, Theodore, and Blaise about what had just happened.

“Sounds like your father must have been mistaken. I doubt a dark wizard would be hanging around a Weasley,” Theodore chimed in.

Soon the train hissed to a halt, and the sound of first-years scrambling and chattering filled the air. Draco stood in the corridor, straightening his robes with a practiced air of indifference.

Around him, other students jostled and bumped, their excitement barely contained as they gathered their belongings.

He adjusted his trunk, sneering slightly at the chaotic energy. It was hardly befitting of future wizards and witches. His eyes flicked toward the exit, catching sight of Granger leading the Longbottom boy off the train. She was smiling reassuringly, her bushy hair bouncing with each step.

Draco scoffed, turning his attention away. "Playing the hero already, isn’t she?" Blaise muttered under his breath to Draco.

The crisp evening air hit him as he stepped onto the platform. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, its glowing windows and towering spires casting an almost magical aura against the darkening sky.

Draco had imagined it countless times from stories told by his parents, but standing there himself was different. He felt a thrill of pride and anticipation, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years, over here!”

Draco turned toward the booming voice and found himself staring at the enormous figure waving a lantern. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“That’s the gamekeeper?” he muttered to his group of friends. “Figures they’d let someone like that run loose here.”

He followed the throng of students toward Hagrid, keeping a deliberate distance from the others. Granger and Longbottom were ahead of him, and he could hear Granger’s overly enthusiastic commentary about the castle.

Does she ever stop talking? Draco drawled to himself.

The path to the lake was winding, and the sight that greeted them as they reached the shore momentarily stole his breath. The glassy black water reflected the castle’s grandeur, its lights shimmering like stars. Despite himself, Draco couldn’t help but feel a twinge of awe.

“Four to a boat!” the gigantic man called out to them.

Draco climbed into one of the boats, his movements precise and calculated. To his annoyance, he found himself seated with Theodore, Longbottom, and—of all people—Granger.

She barely looked at him as she took her seat, her focus seemingly fixed on the castle ahead. Fine by me, Draco thought, leaning back against the boat’s side. He had no intention of engaging her in conversation.

The boats glided smoothly across the water, and Draco stared at the castle, imagining himself walking its corridors and commanding the respect of everyone he met. This was his birthright, his destiny.

As they reached the shore and climbed out of the boats, Draco stuck close to Theodore, who remained silent in awe of their surroundings. They joined the crowd of first-years heading into the castle, the grandeur of the entrance hall enveloping them.

Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the hum of nervous whispers. “Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses.”

Draco listened with half an ear as McGonagall explained the Sorting Ceremony. Silent prayers flooded his mind hoping the Sorting Hat would place him in Slytherin, just as it had his parents and generations of Malfoys before them.

He smirked as he glanced around, his grey eyes assessing the other first-years. Many of them looked nervous, fidgeting with their robes, or whispering to one another. Draco, on the other hand, stood tall, exuding confidence.

The arrival of the ghosts caused a ripple of gasps and shrieks from the others. Draco raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by their theatrics. One of them, a particularly rotund figure, floated close and offered a greeting. Draco inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the ghost without enthusiasm.

When McGonagall returned and instructed them to form a line, Draco took his place near the front, eager to get the Sorting over with. He walked into the Great Hall with his head held high, ignoring the hundreds of eyes that turned to watch them.

The hall was as grand as he had imagined, its ceiling bewitched to mirror the night sky. Draco resisted the urge to look up too long, unwilling to seem as awestruck as some of the others.

As the Sorting Ceremony began, Draco watched with detached interest as names were called and students were sorted.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Draco watched, his grey eyes narrowing as he watched the young girl make her way up to the stool to try on the hat. Moments passed before the bushy-haired girl was finally sorted into Gryffindor.

Exactly where she belongs, Draco thought coldly as he watched her take a seat at the Gryffindor table.

When his name was finally announced— “Malfoy, Draco”—he strode to the front with an air of supreme confidence.

The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”

Draco smirked and made his way to the green and silver table, where he was greeted with applause and approving nods from the older students. Crabbe and Goyle, already sorted, moved to make room for him.

He sat down, glancing briefly at the Gryffindor table. Granger was seated with Potter and Weasley, her face lit up with excitement as she whispered to her companions.

Draco’s eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. He smirked, letting his expression convey all the disdain he felt for her and her kind. He turned back to his table, dismissing her from his thoughts.

As the Sorting continued, Draco joined in the conversation around him, soaking in the praise and attention from his housemates. All his friends had been sorted alongside him in Slytherin.

The Great Hall buzzed with energy, but Draco felt perfectly at ease.

This was his world, his stage. And he intended to own every moment of it.

The feast ended with a song, one that caused Draco some secondhand embarrassment. The headmaster then wiped away tears.

The students were then dismissed to head to their respective common rooms and Draco followed his fellow Slytherin’s and house prefects into the cold dungeons.

Draco bid Pansy a good was shown to the male dormitories, one that he was to share with Blaise and Theodore, while Crabbe and Goyle were roomed with another male first-year Slytherin.

As Draco settled into his bed that night, the soft rustle of the sheets was a small comfort in the otherwise starkly quiet room, and his thoughts wandered back to the bushy-haired girl from the train—Hermione Granger.

Her face, so clearly set with stubbornness, wouldn’t leave him. He had never encountered someone who reacted to him in such a way, so confidently, so boldly. Her blatant defiance, refusing to bend to his will, had intrigued him.

Most people, especially those of her kind, simply quivered in fear when he looked at them wrong. But not Granger. No, she had stood her ground, her eyes flashing with something sharp—something that made Draco uncomfortable.

He could feel his lips curling involuntarily, his fingers absently tightening around the edge of the blanket as he replayed the scene in his head.

But it wasn’t just her defiance that kept his thoughts tangled. No, there was something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of his mind and refused to be ignored. Granger felt... familiar. The thought itself sent a chill down his spine. Familiar?

It didn’t make sense. She was a muggle-born—someone beneath him, beneath everyone he had ever known. She was the antithesis of everything his family had ever taught him. Purebloods, his father always said, were the elite. Above all others simply because of their blood status.

Draco had been raised to believe that muggle-borns were inferior. They were not to be trusted, not to be associated with. And yet, something about her presence made his mind stir in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

The way she held herself, the way her words were always so deliberate and measured, as though she was always prepared for the worst. There was a quiet strength to her that spoke to him in a language he couldn’t understand.

Why is it that she lingers in my thoughts? He wondered, his chest tightening with a mix of confusion and irritation.

He barely even knew her, and yet, here he was, alone in his bed, obsessing over her. He could feel his pulse quicken with frustration. It was absurd. She was nothing more than a muggle-born, a girl who didn’t belong here, who didn’t belong in his world.

He had never associated with anyone of her kind before. His father had made sure of that, teaching him from a young age that to mix with anyone of lesser blood would be a betrayal of his heritage.

The Malfoy family was one of the oldest, and Draco had been taught that such things mattered. He had been reminded, repeatedly, that their status—his status—was something to be proud of. Purebloods were superior, and that was the way of the world.

But Granger—Hermione—made that belief feel like a distant, inconvenient truth. The sharpness in her eyes when she’d stood up to him on the train had unsettled him in a way, he wasn’t ready to face. There was something more to her than just being a Muggle-born.

It doesn’t matter, Draco told himself firmly, trying to push the thoughts away. She’s just another obstacle, another irritating piece of filth to deal with. He didn’t need to waste time thinking about someone like her, someone who had no place in his world.

And yet, despite his best efforts to shake the feeling, he couldn’t quite shake the image of her face—the defiance, the spark in her eyes. The way she didn’t flinch when he’d taunted her.

Draco exhaled slowly, his mind racing in circles. What was it about her that was so damn irritatingly fascinating? He couldn’t figure it out, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t forget her.

 Not yet.