The First Note
As Hermione walked down the halls of Hogwarts she noticed that they were buzzing with the energy of students eagerly preparing for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione had gotten used to the constant ache in her chest—the dull, persistent pain of watching Ron grow further away from her, the quiet way he leaned into Luna's presence as though Hermione were nothing but a fleeting memory.
Her mind was spinning with thoughts, but it wasn't just Ron anymore. The library had been her refuge for weeks now, but even there, she felt like an intruder. What had once been a sanctuary now felt hollow, the books on the shelves too many and too vast, the silence too deep to escape into. She had hoped for answers, for clarity, but what she had found instead was a growing sense of loneliness, as if she were drifting further into the shadows.
That afternoon, though, something was different. Something small, something unremarkable. But it caught her attention just enough to shift her focus for a moment.
As she walked toward the library, feeling the familiar weight of her books in her arms, she spotted a slip of parchment tucked underneath one of the stone columns near the entrance. It was folded neatly, too neatly to have been discarded by accident. Hermione hesitated for only a moment, the curiosity tugging at her like a secret whisper.
She bent down, scooping it up and unfolding it carefully. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the words scrawled in a neat, deliberate hand:
"You are more than you know Hermione. Someone sees you."
Her breath caught in her throat. The words felt like a jolt of electricity, a sudden warmth in the pit of her stomach, as if someone had just whispered directly into her soul. She looked around, half-expecting to find someone watching her, but the corridor was empty. Only the faint sound of footsteps echoed in the distance.
The note was cryptic, but something about it rang true in the deepest part of her being. She felt the weight of the message, like a lifeline thrown out to her in the middle of a storm. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew it wasn’t random. Someone had left it there for her.
She tucked the note into her robes and entered the library, her mind spinning with questions. The note had been a small act, but it felt significant, like a thread that might unravel something much larger than what was visible.
The entire afternoon passed in a blur. Hermione couldn't concentrate on her work, her mind drifting back to the note and the possibility that someone, somewhere, understood her pain. But who? Who had left it for her? The mystery gnawed at her, but the strangest thing was that for the first time in weeks, Hermione felt a glimmer of hope.
–
The next morning, Hermione woke early, her mind still tangled with the note. She tried to push it aside, focusing on the tasks at hand. She was trying to study, the end-of-term exams looming on the horizon. But as she walked through the halls of Hogwarts again, it wasn’t just the weight of her books that slowed her down. It was the feeling that something, someone, was watching her.
She passed by the same column where she had found the note the previous day, and to her surprise, there was another one. This time, it was tucked inside one of the pages of a book left open on a bench, as though it had been casually placed there, waiting for her to find it.
Her hands trembled slightly as she picked it up. It was shorter than the first, but the words sent another wave of warmth through her chest:
"You’re not invisible. You matter more than you think."
Hermione’s heart raced as she read the note again, her fingers brushing over the ink. This time, the words felt more personal, more intimate, as though someone knew exactly how she was feeling. The ache in her chest, the weight of being unseen…someone was seeing it, someone was acknowledging it.
As she looked around the empty hallway, Hermione realized she couldn’t ignore this any longer. Whoever was leaving these notes was trying to reach her, trying to offer her something she hadn’t been able to find anywhere else: understanding.
But who? She scanned the area once more, feeling the familiar thrum of curiosity. She had no answers, but there was something deeply comforting in knowing that someone, even in the quietest of ways, cared enough to try.
–
That afternoon, as Hermione made her way to the library, she felt a shift in the air, a tension she couldn’t place. She wasn’t sure if it was the notes or the unsettling feeling of being constantly watched. When she entered the library, she immediately felt it. Draco Malfoy was there, his usual spot in the corner by the window empty, but he was no longer alone.
As Hermione moved past his table, she could feel his eyes on her, the weight of his gaze heavy against her skin. But when she glanced at him, he quickly turned his attention back to the books in front of him, as if he hadn’t been looking at her at all. But Hermione wasn’t fooled. There was something in the way he held himself that made her stomach twist.
Without a word, she walked past him and found her usual seat. Her thoughts wandered again to the notes. She had no idea who was leaving them, but she couldn’t ignore the sense that Draco, somehow, had something to do with it. He had been watching her. She had noticed it in the past few weeks—the way his gaze lingered, the way his posture seemed to change when she entered a room. It had to be him, didn’t it? He had the means, the opportunity, and the motive after all, he had seen what was happening with Ron, hadn’t he?
But what would Draco Malfoy, of all people, gain by giving her hope? It didn’t make sense. He was the last person she would expect to show any care for her, let alone send anonymous notes to make her feel better.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling. Draco Malfoy, despite all of his past cruelty, might be the one person in Hogwarts who saw her for who she truly was, even if he didn’t know how to show it. That thought alone left her conflicted. She didn’t trust him, not completely. But for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel entirely alone.
-
As classes were coming to an end, the corridors of Hogwarts were quiet, save for the soft echo of footsteps on the ancient stone floors. It was late afternoon, and the sun, setting outside, cast a golden glow through the tall windows. Hermione Granger walked ahead of Ron Weasley, her brow furrowed, lost in thought. She had spent the better part of the afternoon in the library, trying to bury her concerns beneath the pages of a book, but nothing seemed to help. No matter how much she tried to focus on her studies, she couldn’t shake this feeling of unease..
Ron, ever the chatterbox, was carrying on about his latest Quidditch practice, though Hermione’s responses were somewhat distracted. Her mind kept wandering back to him and Luna and the mysterious stranger who seemed to care about her.
“So, what do you think, Hermione? You reckon we’ve got a shot at the Cup this year?” Ron asked, his voice enthusiastic. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and offered him a tight smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice a little more distant than she meant it to be. Ron noticed, but before he could say anything more, a familiar, sneering voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Golden Trio, gracing the halls of Hogwarts with their presence.” Hermione stiffened at the sound of Draco Malfoy’s voice. She didn’t need to look up to know he was there. She could feel his presence, like a dark cloud on the horizon. Ron’s jaw tightened. He had never been one to tolerate Draco’s mockery, and today was no different. “What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spat, his voice full of the usual disdain that Draco had earned over the years.
Draco, who had been drinking earlier was being followed by the usual Crabbe and Goyle, has his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his robes. His cold, gray eyes flicked over Hermione first, then to Ron, before he flashed a mockingly innocent smile. “Just passing by, Weasley,” Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was just wondering if your perfect little girlfriend here needed a lesson in humility.” He sneered, his gaze shifting back to Hermione. “You know, Granger, you should be careful who you spend time with. Not everyone is as loyal as they pretend to be.”
Hermione’s chest tightened. The words stung more than they should have. But it wasn’t the usual insults, the typical “Mudblood” or “Weasley is our King” jabs. It was something more cutting, something more personal. It made her heart twist uncomfortably. She didn’t need to ask. She knew exactly what he meant.
Ron’s face flushed with anger, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “That’s enough, Malfoy,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk to Hermione like that.” Hermione stepped forward, trying to put some distance between the two boys before things escalated. She had been in enough arguments with Draco to know where they could go, and she didn’t want Ron getting caught up in one of them again. “Ignore him, Ron,” Hermione said softly, though her voice wavered just a bit. She was trying to keep it together, trying not to let Draco’s words get to her. But it was hard when he always seemed to know where to strike.
Draco’s smirk widened, as if enjoying the subtle tension between them. He looked back at Ron, his lips curling into a sneer. “You can try to defend her all you want, Weasley. But let’s face it, you’re nothing more than a distraction. A sidekick. You’ll never be good enough for her.” Hermione’s breath caught at the harshness of Draco’s words, but she felt Ron stiffen beside her. She could see the anger building in him, the way his fingers twitched like he was ready to throw a punch.
“Piss off Malfoy!” Ron’s voice cracked with fury. Draco chuckled darkly, stepping a little closer to them, his goons following his lead with their usual vacant expressions. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “You really think she’s happy with you, don’t you? Always there to defend her, always by her side, but she’s starting to realize something, Weasley.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted. She had heard enough. Whatever Draco was implying, she didn’t want to hear it. She wasn’t ready to face whatever truth he was trying to reveal, especially not in front of Ron. “Stop it, Draco,” Hermione said, her voice surprisingly steady, though the anger was starting to bubble up inside her. “What’s your problem with me? You’ve been trying to make my life miserable for years. What do you want now?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a bitter grin. “What I want, Granger, is for you to wake up. Maybe one day, you’ll realize who really cares about you. And who’s just using you.” The words hit her like a slap to the face. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Draco shoved past her, his shoulder knocking into hers as he continued to walk down the hall, his goons trailing behind.
But not before he turned to look over his shoulder at Ron, his voice low and venomous. “Don’t act like you care, Weasley. You’re just a boy playing pretend. You’re not her knight in shining armor.” Ron’s face was bright red now, a mixture of fury and frustration written all over him. He opened his mouth, no doubt ready to shout back at Draco, but Hermione quickly grabbed his arm, holding him back before he could say anything more.
“Ron,” she said urgently, “let’s just go. It’s not worth it.” But Ron’s expression didn’t soften. His eyes were locked on Draco’s retreating form, his anger palpable. “He’s got some nerve, hasn’t he? I swear, I’ll—”
“I know,” Hermione interrupted, squeezing his arm, trying to steady him. “But don’t let him get to you. Please.”For a long moment, they stood in silence, the echo of Draco’s words still hanging in the air. Ron’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his fists clenched at his sides.
Hermione was shaken, her heart racing as she replayed the encounter in her mind. Draco’s words, his actions, there was something about it that unsettled her, something that didn’t add up. His cruelty wasn’t just malicious, it felt like it came from somewhere deeper, somewhere more personal. She laid a hand on her shoulder, the way he shoved past her left it with a stinging pain. Not unusual for Malfoy. And yet, she hated to admit it, but a part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Draco Malfoy had been trying to say something else hidden in all that anger.
–
Hermione walked beside Ron, her thoughts still heavy with the echoes of Draco’s words. He had left her with a thousand questions that she didn’t want to answer, at least not now. Not here, where it felt like the walls themselves were closing in on her. Ron hadn’t said much since their encounter with Draco. His jaw was clenched, his fists still at his sides. She could feel his anger simmering just beneath the surface, his frustration with Draco as sharp as a knife.
But as they neared the entrance to Gryffindors common rooms, Ron suddenly slowed his pace, shifting awkwardly beside her. "Oi, Hermione," he said, his voice a little more strained than usual. "I, uh, I just realized—I forgot something in the quidditch locker rooms. A... a book I was reading. I’ll catch up with you in a bit, yeah?"
Hermione looked at him, puzzled. Ron wasn’t one to forget things like that, especially not something as trivial as a book. She could tell by the way his eyes flickered nervously that something was off. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t push it. She didn’t want to argue with him—especially not now, when everything felt so fragile.
"Okay..." she said, trying to keep the suspicion from creeping into her voice. "I’ll see you inside." Ron gave her a quick, slightly too casual smile. “Right. Be right there. Don’t wait up for me.” With that, he turned and hurried down a side corridor, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway. Hermione stood there for a moment, watching him go. There was something about his hurried exit that didn’t sit right with her. The way he’d practically fled, as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
Her chest tightened, that familiar feeling creeping up again—the same feeling she’d had earlier when she’d watched him with Luna. It was the same feeling she’d tried to ignore, tried to bury beneath the mask of indifference she wore every day. But it was getting harder to pretend it wasn’t there. Harder to ignore the way Ron seemed to slip further and further away from her, each time he laughed with Luna, each time he made an excuse to leave her side. Hermione shook her head, willing herself not to think about it. Not tonight. But deep down, she knew she was fooling herself.
At first, she could excuse the distance between them during the holidays, of course he wouldn’t be as attentive during that time. But slowly he stopped sending as many letters to her and then slowly they stopped talking altogether. She had hoped things would be better when school started back as they would get to see each other everyday but alas not. Things were the same. She had this ever so slight feeling in the back of her mind that she was unloveable. That love was something so easily broken and it wasn't something that was meant for her. She shook the thoughts out of her head. She decided it was too self destructive to ponder any longer.
Hermione’s steps slowed as she passed the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. Ron had been angry, furious even, but in his defense of her, Hermione couldn’t help but feel something else. His protectiveness was something she had always valued, but lately, she had begun to wonder if it was because he was still clinging to a version of her that no longer felt real. She had been so certain of their relationship. So sure of what they were. But now... now she wasn’t so sure.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rounded the corner toward the Gryffindor common room, the warm glow of the fire inside calling her like a quiet sanctuary. But just as she reached for the portrait of the Fat Lady, a voice cut through the stillness.
“Granger.”
The familiar sneer in the voice was unmistakable. Hermione froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. But she knew he was there, standing just behind her, the air thick with an uncomfortable tension.
“Malfoy,” she said coolly, her tone betraying none of the emotion roiling inside her. She wasn’t going to look at him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter, even though she could feel his gaze like a weight on her back.
For a long moment, there was only silence. The sound of footsteps grew louder, closer, until he was standing just behind her, so close that Hermione could feel the heat of his presence pressing against her.
“Don’t,” he muttered. His voice was low, almost hesitant. “Don’t go in there. Just let me explain.”
Hermione’s breath caught, and despite herself, she turned to face him. There was something about his tone, something so different from his usual arrogance that caught her off guard. She didn’t know how to respond, so she simply stared at him, waiting.
Draco Malfoy wasn’t looking at her with contempt. His gaze was sharp, yes, but there was something more there—something she hadn’t seen before. Regret? Guilt? She wasn’t sure. But the brief silence that stretched between them seemed to speak volumes.
“I didn’t mean to... I shouldn’t have... pushed you as I left. Ron just makes me so angry..” His voice faltered, and the words felt like they were dragging themselves out of him, unwillingly.
Hermione swallowed, her chest tight. “You’ve made your point, Malfoy. You’ve always been good at that.” For a brief moment she could have sworn she smelt alcohol on his breath “Have you been drinking?” She was quite surprised at the accusation she was making. Draco flinched at her words, and she watched as the mask, that carefully constructed facade he always wore, slowly slipped back into place. It was as though the brief moment of vulnerability had never existed.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” he spat, his tone sharp once again, though it lacked the conviction it had earlier. “You think you’re the only one who has problems, Granger. But the truth is—”
But before he could finish, a voice broke in from behind him, clear and loud.
“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?” Ron’s voice.
Hermione’s stomach twisted as she watched Ron approach, his eyes dark with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. He had heard the exchange, had seen Draco stand so close to her, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. She could tell by the way his face tightened, his jaw setting in a hard line.
“I’m not in the mood for your games tonight, Weasley,” Draco shot back, his voice dripping with disdain. But Hermione saw the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his grip tightened around the strap of his bag. There was something almost defensive about his posture now.
“You need to learn your place. What do you even want with Hermione? You shouldn’t even be here.,” Ron growled, his voice low but full of determination. “ You’re just trying to provoke her, aren’t you? Trying to make her feel small. It won’t work. It never does with Hermione.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sneer. “Don’t act like you care now, Weasley. Don’t act like you’ve ever cared.”
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. There it was again. The undercurrent of something more beneath Draco’s words. His anger was palpable, but there was something else, something raw and desperate in his tone. Before Ron could respond, Draco’s eyes flashed with a wild sort of rage, and in an instant, he shoved Ron to the side. The force was enough to send him stumbling backward, off-balance. This time Hermione was unharmed.
The world spun as she crashed to the ground, and when she looked up, Draco was already walking away, his robes billowing out behind him like the tail of a storm. Crabbe and Goyle followed silently, leaving Hermione and Ron in the corridor, stunned and silent.
What had just happened? The encounter had left her breathless in ways she hadn’t expected. She glanced down the corridor at Draco’s retreating form, her chest tight with a mixture of confusion and frustration. “He’s not worth it, Hermione,” Ron muttered, though his voice was softer now, quieter.
Hermione nodded again, but the doubt lingered in her heart.
Then she realised. Something horrible. Wasn’t Ron going to the quidditch locker rooms? Why was he here? Did he lie to her?
So much had happened today but despite everything she had a reason to be excited for tomorrow, her mysterious note giver. Somebody cared about her and that was worth something.
–
Later that evening, Draco sat in his bed, the Slytherin dormitory quiet except for the soft sound of breathing. The other students had already succumbed to sleep, their snoring filling the room with a dull, steady rhythm. But Draco could not sleep. He lay awake, his mind still turning over what had happened earlier.
He had acted out of anger, out of a frustration he couldn’t even name. Pushing past Hermione earlier was something that he had never planned to do and now he felt like a fool. His mind raced with shame. He had seen something in her eyes before he pushed past her, something that unsettled him, something that lingered even now. Where had her fight gone? Her fire? And what was it about her that got under his skin so much?
His hand trembled as he reached under his pillow, pulling out the bottle of alcohol he had stashed there earlier. He unscrewed the cap with a sharp twist, the scent of whiskey strong and bitter as he took a long, burning swallow. The warmth spread down his throat, soothing the ache, numbing the tightness in his chest.
He wasn’t sure how much he drank before the world around him blurred. Before he allowed himself to slip into the darkness, where the weight of his actions couldn’t reach him. He closed his eyes, his body heavy with the weight of alcohol and regret.
In the darkness of the Slytherin dormitory, Draco Malfoy drifted into a restless, guilty sleep. No guilt existed for Ron, but Hermione? Plenty. The echoes of his actions, the sting of his words, haunted him as he tried to forget.
But he couldn’t. Not this time. This is not how things were supposed to go.