Shadows at the Edges
Draco
The dining hall was a symphony of chaos, every table a cacophony of overlapping conversations, clinking cutlery, and the occasional burst of overenthusiastic laughter—no doubt pitched perfectly to draw attention rather than show actual amusement. Draco leaned back in his chair at the center of it all, one arm draped lazily over the backrest like he had all the time in the world. His untouched coffee sat in front of him, steam curling upward in lazy spirals that matched the indifference he wore like a second skin. Carefully crafted, intentionally aloof—the way only someone who knew the world was watching could manage.
Theo sat across from him, methodically shuffling, the sharp snap of the cards a perfect counterpoint to Blaise’s incessant rambling. Blaise wasn’t talking so much as performing, gesturing dramatically as he recounted—yet again—his latest escapade. Something about a second-year who’d accused him of cheating during a poker game. Blaise had denied it with his signature grin, the kind of grin that could make someone doubt reality itself. Draco wasn’t listening. Not really. Blaise’s stories were predictable in their chaos. If he didn't charm or punch someone by the end of it, it was considered novelty.
Draco’s gaze swept the room with practiced detachment, roaming over the usual cliques in their usual spots. Overachievers hunched over their laptops, their screens glowing like miniature altars to their gods of productivity. Theater kids gestured wildly, their half-eaten plates of food forgotten in favor of some dramatic rendering of lines from Othello, Don Quixote or the oh-so overdone Romeo and Juliet. And then, of course, the socialites, perched on the edges of their seats like they were posing for the cover of a glossy magazine.
And then there was her.
She wasn’t trying to stand out—which may be why his gaze landed on her instead of skimming over like it had done with everyone else. In fact, she seemed to be doing everything in her power to disappear, her movements deliberate and controlled as she navigated the crowd. But there was something about the way she carried herself—the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flicked to every exit as though mapping escape routes—that made her impossible to ignore. She wasn’t just moving through the room; she was dissecting it. Calculating. Draco had never seen someone with that look in eyes before—other than Theo himself, analyzing his new victims like they were a pamphlet in bold lettering splattered on the side of a building.
“She’s new.” Blaise said suddenly, breaking through Draco’s thoughts like he’d been reading them. He leaned forward, his grin widening as though he’d just uncovered a secret that he thought Draco would be dying for him to share. “Granger. Hermione Granger. Scholarship student.”
Draco raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Of course Blaise knew her name. Blaise always knew things he wasn’t supposed to, slipping through conversations and social barriers like water through cracks. Blaise didn’t gather information; he absorbed it, effortlessly, as if it was his birthright.
Theo looked up from his cards, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Interesting that you’d bother remembering her name.” he said, his tone as dry as the desert.
Blaise shrugged, the picture of casual arrogance. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for the small, pretty ones. And she doesn’t seem like the usual type that ends up here.”
Draco’s gaze flicked back to Hermione. She had settled at a table near the corner, unpacking her things with the kind of precision that suggested control wasn’t just a preference; it was anchored deep. Her head was bent, her wild curls falling forward as she scribbled furiously in a notebook. She didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge the world around her, and yet Draco couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hyperaware of everything—her shoulder too tense, her body angled just right to face the entire room even without looking up.
“She’s intriguing.” Blaise continued, his tone light but with an edge that suggested he wasn’t just talking for the sake of it. He had a knack for going on and on about girls but rarely did he actually care about the words coming out of his mouth. Really Blaise—more often than not—just really enjoyed the sound of his own voice. “That kind of tension? She's wound tight like she might just snap, even when she’s just sitting there.”
Theo’s lips curved into a faint smirk, a rare flash of amusement breaking through his usually unreadable demeanor. “So that’s why you’re watching her, Draco. Intrigued?”
Draco didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, maybe, or something darker. “I’m not watching her.” he said coolly. She was a nobody. “She's just... new. I'm assessing.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Blaise said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin that Draco pointedly ignored else he might suddenly feel the need to throw his coffee in his friend's face.
Draco’s fingers curled around the handle of his coffee cup, the porcelain warm against his skin. He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment longer than necessary. She was a puzzle, yes. But she was also something else—a variable in an equation he hadn’t yet solved. And Draco Malfoy never left an equation unfinished. Blaise had been right about one thing, she was different from the usual crowd, even from his vantage point he could see that much, and different had a way of demanding his attention whether he wanted to give it or not.
The symphony of the dining hall buzzed on, oblivious to the undercurrent of Draco’s thoughts. Theo shuffled his cards again, Blaise smirked as though he’d just won a silent argument, and Draco took a slow sip of his coffee, the bitter edge grounding him. Whoever Granger was—all tense shoulders and fleeing eyes—he'd figure it out, get bored and move on. Surely.
He entered the lecture hall ten minutes late, as was his custom. The double doors swung shut behind him with a soft thud, but the sound might as well have been thunder. Heads turned—some subtle, some not—and the quiet murmur of pre-lecture conversations died away like someone had turned the volume knob down to zero. It was an entrance, but then again, Draco Malfoy never made anything else.
He didn’t rush. Rushing was for people who worried what others might think. Instead, he descended the steps with measured ease, his shoes clicking against the polished wood floor as he scanned the rows for his usual seat. Theo and Blaise were already there, their spots staked out in the back row like a throne and its flanking guards. Blaise tilted his head toward Draco as he approached, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” Blaise said, leaning back in his chair with the kind of relaxed confidence that bordered on infuriating.
Draco slid into the empty seat beside him, ignoring the comment. He set his bag on the desk in front of him with deliberate care, pulling out a notebook he had no intention of using. Across the room, the professor had resumed his lecture, though Draco could tell by the slight edge in his tone that he’d noticed the disruption. Good.
“Spot anything interesting this morning?” Theo asked, his voice low enough not to carry. He wasn’t looking at Draco, his attention instead fixed on the ever present deck of cards under his desk. The motion was seamless, hypnotic.
Draco didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted across the lecture hall, cataloguing the usual faces. The know-it-alls in the front, perpetually armed with color-coded notes and desperate questions. Socialites sprinkled throughout the middle rows, their poses calculated for maximum visibility. And then, further back, closer to the periphery, there was Hermione Granger.
She was hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously in a notebook—the only thing she ever seemed to do. Her curls were a wild halo around her face, partially obscuring her expression, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. She looked like someone carrying the weight of an entire universe on her shoulders, and for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Draco found himself watching her longer than he intended. Again.
“Not particularly.” he said at last, his voice as casual as ever.
Blaise’s smirk deepened. “Liar.”
Draco didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes still flicking to Hermione whenever he thought he could get away with it. There was something almost… irritating about her. Like an itch he couldn’t quite reach, or a melody stuck in his head. She wasn’t doing anything remarkable, and yet she stood out. Maybe it was the way she seemed so utterly consumed by her own thoughts, oblivious to the world around her. Or maybe it was the fact that she didn’t so much as glance in his direction, as though he didn’t exist.
He wasn’t used to being ignored. It was… novel.
“You're watching Granger, right?” Blaise’s voice broke through Draco’s thoughts, quieter this time. “The scholarship girl.”
Draco turned his head just enough to glance at Blaise, raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess, you’ve already got her entire life story?”
Blaise smirked, his grin slow and deliberate. “Not quite. But she’s hard to miss. Pretty, keeps to herself, and clearly not part of us trust funds. I make it a point to notice the new and interesting things around here. Especially if they have nice legs.”
“And by ‘things,’ you mean people.” Theo interjected dryly, not looking up from his cards.
“Exactly.” Blaise replied, unbothered. He gestured toward Hermione with a tilt of his chin. “She’s not just another overachiever. Look at her—she’s bracing for something. Like she’s got a secret, or she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. That kind of tension? It’s kinda hot.”
Theo finally glanced up, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Hermione from across the room. “You’re right.” he said after a moment, his tone quieter but no less pointed. “She’s not here to fit in. That kind of focus? That’s survival.” He shuffled the deck in his hands, the cards snapping together in one fluid motion. “I wonder what she’s running from.”
Draco’s gaze flicked back to Hermione, unbidden. She was scribbling in her notebook with an intensity that seemed almost excessive, like the act of writing itself was an anchor. Her posture was tight, controlled, her movements precise. Blaise’s comment about her being “hard to miss” lingered in Draco’s mind. Blaise had always had an uncanny ability to sort people into neat categories—the good, the bad, and the interesting—with a glance. It was less intuition and more an instinct honed by years of reading social cues and gut feelings that rarely steered him wrong.
Theo, on the other hand, dismantled people. Not with charm but with an unsettling accuracy that came from seeing past the surface. If Blaise could judge a book by its cover, Theo wrote the table of contents before anyone else even opened it. The fact that Theo had engaged with Blaise’s observation at all was telling. Few things piqued his interest, and fewer still earned more than a passing comment. If Theo thought there was something worth wondering about with this Granger girl, then Draco knew there was—indeed—more than met the eye.
Still, he didn’t know what they saw in her, not yet. But she didn’t strike him as someone ordinary. And ordinary people didn’t end up in their orbit for long.
“She feels… different.” he admitted finally, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. He didn’t elaborate, and neither Theo nor Blaise pressed him. They knew better than anyone how Draco processed curiosity—quietly, meticulously, and entirely on his own terms.
The lecture dragged on, the professor’s voice fading into the background as Draco’s thoughts wandered. He found himself watching Hermione more often than he should, noting the way she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, the precise movements of her hand as she wrote, the way her shoulders tensed whenever someone nearby shifted in their seat. She was coiled, wound tight, like a spring ready to snap. And yet, there was a steadiness to her, a determination that felt almost unshakable.
Almost.
Draco’s pen hovered over his blank notebook, and on impulse, he opened his mouth. He didn't raise his hand like all the other sheep, didn't care if he interrupted the professor in the middle of his tirade.
“Would you say Locke’s philosophy contradicts itself in its application of natural rights? Specifically regarding property ownership?” Draco leaned back slightly in his chair, his voice cool and deliberate.
The question was calculated, deliberately disruptive without crossing into disrespect or leaning off the lesson's topic. Not that he cared much about either of those things, but he wasn't trying to sow chaos today—not just yet. The professor blinked, clearly thrown, and began a long-winded explanation that Draco tuned out almost immediately. The real purpose of the question wasn’t to engage in debate—it was to see who in the room would react.
Predictably, most of the students turned toward him, their faces a mix of admiration, curiosity, and unease as they gazed toward his sit like he had dropped some kind of complex mental connundrum on the classsroom as a whole. Some whispered to each other, their voices low but audible. Blaise smirked beside him, clearly enjoying the show. Theo didn’t look up from his cards but muttered, “Subtle.” under his breath.
But Hermione barely flinched. For a moment—a fraction of a second—her brow furrowed in irritation, and she glanced up, her gaze brushing over him like he was nothing more than a passing nuisance—or a roach. Definitely a roach. Then she went back to her notes, her focus snapping back as if the interruption hadn’t even happened.
It was infuriatingly novel.
Draco’s lips twitched, caught somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. He wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not when the rest of the room seemed poised to hang on his every word. It was irritating, yes, but also—and he hated to admit this—intriguing. There was something about Granger’s complete indifference that made her stand out, made her memorable in a way that felt almost deliberate. Like a book with no title on the cover, she dared him to open it, dared him to figure her out.
She may not know she was doing it, but there was no doubt she absolutely was.
He leaned back in his chair, feigning disinterest, but his mind was already taking a tally of her reactions, dissecting every glance, every movement. Granger wasn’t just a scholarship student. She was something else entirely, like a loose end with frayed edges that would unravel if you tugged on it just hard enough. And Draco Malfoy didn’t like loose ends.
The quad was quieter than usual, the chill of the autumn air driving most students indoors. Draco, Theo, and Blaise strolled across the sprawling green expanse, their presence commanding attention even in the relative emptiness. Blaise had his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored coat, his dark eyes scanning the few students brave enough to linger outside. Theo walked beside him, his expression unreadable as always, nobody daring to look at him for too long in fear of their eyes locking.
Draco walked a step ahead, his stride measured and deliberate. The tension from the lecture hall still buzzed faintly in his chest—not annoyance, exactly, but a sharp edge of something unspoken. Hermione Granger. Even now, her flicker of irritation lingered in his mind, replaying like a scratch on an otherwise smooth record. She hadn’t looked at him twice after that moment, and yet somehow, her dismissal felt pointed. Precise. Like she’d handed him the cutlery to stab himself with, and he was too distracted to notice.
Blaise broke the silence first. “So, thoughts on the scholarship girl?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable note of mischief in it—a spark ready to ignite. Blaise did always love those a little too much.
Draco didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he glanced around the quad, his gaze landing on a bench near the library steps. She was there, of course, her bag slung over one shoulder as she leaned forward, utterly engrossed in a book. She seemed unaware of the world around her, her curls falling into her face as she flipped a page with one hand, her other hand resting on the strap of her bag as if ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
“That focused, all the time...” Blaise continued, following Draco’s line of sight. “It’s almost unsettling. Like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower. Her shoulders must be sore as hell.”
Theo tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening as he studied her from a distance, his expression turning thoughtful. “She’s bracing for something.” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of certainty that made Draco glance at him. “Not the usual pressure to fit in. It’s bigger than that. She’s on survival mode.”
“Aren’t we all?” Blaise quipped, though his grin faltered slightly as Theo’s words hung in the air. He recovered quickly, nudging Theo with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Still. She’s… compelling. Don’t pretend you don’t see it.”
Draco crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on Hermione. She shifted slightly, tucking her legs beneath her on the bench, but her focus never wavered from the book in her hands. The world seemed to shrink around her, the busy chatter of students on the periphery fading into a dull hum. It wasn’t just her intensity—it was the way she carried it, like it was armor she hadn’t yet learned to remove.
“You’re staring again." Theo observed, his tone neutral but pointed as he resumed walking.
Draco rolled his eyes, his expression smoothing into feigned indifference. “She’s… odd.” he said, the word feeling inadequate even as he spoke it. Too flat. Too small for what lingered beneath it.
Blaise chuckled, tipping his head back in exaggerated amusement. “Hear that? Malfoy’s intrigued. Someone alert the press.”
Theo’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Careful, Draco. You know how you get.”
Draco shot him a sharp look, but the comment went unanswered. They both knew Theo wasn’t wrong. Curiosity was one thing; obsession was another entirely, and Draco had never been particularly skilled at distinguishing between the two. But this wasn’t that. Not yet.
“Relax,” Draco said coolly, resuming his stride. “She’s just a scholarship girl trying to keep her head down. Boring, like everyone here. She's novel today, and tomorrow she'll be old news.”
“If you say so,” Blaise murmured, his grin widening as he fell into step beside Theo.
Draco didn’t look back, but his thoughts lingered, circling around the girl on the bench like a moth to a flame. The way her shoulders hunched as though bracing for impact, the tightness in her grip on the book—it all spoke of someone carrying far more than they should. He knew what that looked like. She was intriguing in the same way a locked door was: impossible to ignore, especially when you knew something more interesting was stuck behind the lock.
As they approached the library steps, Blaise’s voice broke through Draco’s thoughts, casual and irreverent. “So, are you going to stare at her all term, or do something about it?”
Draco smirked, the expression deliberate and razor-sharp. “That depends. Are you offering to take notes for me, Zabini?”
Blaise laughed, the sound low and knowing. Theo, as usual, said nothing, his cards snapping back into motion as if the conversation no longer interested him. But Draco caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Draco adjusted the strap of his bag as they entered the library, the heavy door swinging shut behind them. Whatever chess piece Hermione Granger was behind all that tension, she’d just landed on the wrong board. He never missed a checkmate.