the grim
Draco lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him, shadows cast by the flickering fire dancing in strange patterns.
The cold Slytherin dorm was silent, except for the faint breathing of his sleeping roommates. He wished he could sleep as easily. Instead he replayed the day’s events in his mind,,feeling tension knotted tightly in his chest.
Why had he insulted her? After everything - when they were finally somewhat civil.
It hadn’t even been satisfying. His words had hurt, sure, but the look on her face—some blend of hurt and anger—stuck in his mind like a splinter. “You might be top of the class, Mudblood, but you’ll never be one of us.”
He’d practically spat it at her, and for what? What was it he was trying to prove?
You’re a Malfoy, he reminded himself, trying to summon that familiar sense of pride. But the word felt hollow, like an echo of something he was supposed to believe, not something he actually felt.
Malfoys were supposed to be proud of their heritage, proud of their superiority. And Hermione Granger—Mudblood know-it-all who challenged every standard they held dear—should have been beneath his notice, or at least beneath his respect.
So why did he feel so… guilty?
The image of Crookshanks’ wide yellow eyes flashed in his mind, and he grimaced. What was it about that cat? Every time the creature crept around him, it felt like the world tilted a little.
Crookshanks didn’t care that he was a Malfoy, or that he was supposed to be cold, arrogant, untouchable. Crookshanks only knew him as the boy who scratched behind his ears and kept him warm. In the presence of the ginger furball, Draco felt, bizarrely, like he could just… be.
Not everything’s so simple for people, cat, he thought wryly.
He’d noticed Hermione watching him with Crookshanks, seen the curiosity in her eyes. What had she seen that made her look at him like that? She should be avoiding him, dismissing him as the same snide git he’d always been. The same boy she knew better than to trust. And yet… she looked at him like she wanted to understand something.
And the worst part? He almost wanted her to.
He turned onto his side, fingers twisting in the sheets. No, he thought firmly, trying to silence the conflicting emotions rising within him.
Letting her in would mean letting everything he’d been taught come under question, and he wasn’t ready for that. She represented everything he was supposed to despise.
And yet, whenever she answered a question in class or held her own against the Slytherins’ taunts, he found himself watching her, curious and annoyed in equal measure.
Envy, that’s what it was. Hermione Granger was free in a way he’d never been.
She chose her friends, her beliefs, her values—all on her own. She didn’t have a family name to uphold or a legacy she was chained to. She wasn’t trying to prove herself worthy of a lineage that felt more like a noose than an honor.
He clenched his fists, and swallowed painfully. Why couldn’t he just ignore her? But it was too late.
He couldn’t unsee the parts of her that defied the image he’d built up in his mind. The brilliant, stubborn, endlessly irritating Hermione Granger was anything but simple. She was… she was—
No. No, this was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Letting his mind wander like this, acting like he felt anything but disdain for her.
But the truth sat there, uncomfortably close to the surface, and Draco knew it.
He admired her.
It was a dangerous thought. He could almost hear his father’s voice, cold and sharp: “She’s a Mudblood, Draco. You know what that means.”
But did he?
Frustrated, he shook his face, trying to erase the day’s memory.
This was madness—he had a role to play. People to prove himself to. He was supposed to be on one side, and Hermione, with her bravery, intelligence, and kindness, was supposed to be on the other. He was Draco Malfoy, the heir to a legacy, and he wasn’t going to let one know-it-all Gryffindor change that.
…So why did he feel more trapped than ever?
***
The cool autumn breeze rippled over the Black Lake, causing the surface to shimmer under the afternoon sun. The grounds were peaceful, most students busy indoors with their studies or enjoying free time in the common rooms.
Hermione, however, walked briskly along the lake’s edge, still fuming from the day’s Potions lesson.
Draco Malfoy had been particularly insufferable. He’d made a snide comment as they passed each other, muttering just loud enough for her to hear, "You might be top of the class, Mudblood, but you’ll never be one of us.“ His tone was smooth, unhurried, and his face had held that cold, practiced sneer that infuriated her.
The words had stung, and she’d almost been surprised by them – she thought that they had reached a kind of silent understanding. The insults had slowed almost to a halt; until today.
She’d ignored him, kept her head down, and focused on her cauldron, but the sting lingered.
Just as she tried to push the memory from her mind, she spotted a familiar orange shape nestled at the base of a tree by the lake. Crookshanks. She paused. Crookshanks was not alone.
Sitting beside him, partially hidden by the branches, was Draco Malfoy.
He was leaning back against the tree trunk, his usual guarded expression softened as he absently ran his fingers through Crookshanks’ thick fur.
Crooks, for his part, looked utterly content, his large yellow eyes half-closed as he stretched luxuriously beneath Draco’s hand.
Hermione’s fists clenched instinctively, her irritation flaring. Why him, Crooks? She took a step closer, her curiosity overriding her anger. She didn’t want Draco to notice her, but something compelled her to stay, to watch this strange, almost out-of-character scene unfold.
Draco sighed, his head tilting back to rest against the tree, his eyes on the lake as he continued to stroke Crookshanks, who had curled up beside him, purring softly.
“You know, cat,” Draco murmured, barely audible over the rustling of the leaves, “you’re the only one around here who doesn’t expect anything from me.”
Hermione felt a strange pang in her chest, something uncomfortably like sympathy.
She’d never heard Draco speak in such an unguarded way—especially not to her or anyone in their year.
She watched as Crookshanks nudged Draco’s hand with his head, encouraging him to keep scratching behind his ears.
Draco’s mouth curled into a faint smile. “You’re persistent, aren’t you? Just like her.”
Her? Hermione frowned, confusion mixing with her frustration. Was he talking about..her? She made to leave, flustered.
Before she could turn away, Draco suddenly glanced up, locking eyes with Hermione from across the clearing. For a brief moment, they simply stared at each other, neither saying a word. The silence was punctuated only by Crookshanks’ steady purring.
Hermione felt heat rise in her cheeks and quickly averted her gaze, composing herself. “I… I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, her voice harsher than she’d intended. Her annoyance was clear – she still felt wounded from his recent behavior in Potions.
Draco’s expression hardened instantly, the mask slipping back into place. He straightened, his hand pausing on Crookshanks’ back as he looked at her with an aloof, unreadable expression. “Well, don’t let me keep you, Granger,” he said coldly.
Hermione’s jaw tightened, her previous sympathy vanishing. “You know,” she said, her voice low, “I thought for a while that you were capable of something decent. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known you wouldn’t change.”
She turned to walk away, anger burning hot under her skin, but she couldn’t ignore the quick, guilty look that flickered across Draco’s face.
“Granger, wait,” he said abruptly, his tone softer but guarded. When she paused, Draco looked away, his fingers resuming their absent-minded petting of Crookshanks. “It’s not... your business.”
“Oh, trust me, I have no intention of prying,” she shot back, her voice wavering between frustration and curiosity. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
He looked up at her again, a glint of something vulnerable in his eyes, before he shrugged, forcing an indifferent tone. “Maybe not everything does.”
For a moment, they stood there, both of them tense and unsure, with Crookshanks as the only peaceful presence between them. Hermione took a deep breath, finally breaking the charged silence.
“Fine,” she said quietly, her anger softening as curiosity took over once more. “Just… be careful with him, will you?” She gave a pointed look at Crookshanks, who looked blissfully unaware of the tension in the air.
Draco nodded, his eyes meeting hers with a flicker of understanding. “I’ll try.”
As Hermione walked away, she felt a new swirl of emotions stirring within her—anger, frustration, and, reluctantly, curiosity about the boy she thought she’d had all figured out.
***
The sky was just beginning to lighten, casting a soft, greyish hue over the Hogwarts grounds as Draco soared above the Black Lake. The air was cold and sharp in his lungs, but he didn’t mind.
As he circled back towards the ground, something caught his eye—a Crookshanks padding along the shoreline, accompanied by an unmistakable black dog.
It was the one ‘plaguing’ Harry Potter – according to Daphne, Professor Trelawney had seen it in a teacup.
Curiosity tugged at him, and he steered his broom downwards, landing quietly a few yards from the pair. Crookshanks looked up at him immediately, giving a soft, encouraging meow, as if to welcome him into their small circle.
The massive black dog sat beside Crookshanks, eyeing Draco with an almost human intensity.
Draco’s brows furrowed, and he stepped forward cautiously. “Hey Crooks – what's wrong?” He kept his voice low, just in case. The dog gave a small, almost reluctant whine, and lowered its head.
It was then that Draco noticed a nasty wound along the dog’s flank, hidden just beneath the black fur but unmistakably red and raw. Without thinking, he crouched down, reaching out slowly to the injured creature. "You’re hurt,” he muttered, voice softened. "What did you get yourself into, hey?"
The dog’s dark eyes looked into his, solemn and steady, and Draco couldn’t shake the feeling that this creature understood him. The rumors that it was a Grim, a bringer of death, didn’t feel right. There was something fierce yet… gentle in its eyes.
Crookshanks nudged him with his head, urging him forward. Draco swallowed, hesitating, but ultimately allowed himself to reach out, gently resting his hand on the dog’s fur, just above the wound.
He slowly reached into his pocket for his wand, and murmured “Ferula” under his breath.
The great big dog winced as the skin re-sealed, but then nuzzled him in thanks.
Honestly, at this point he might as well do Hagrid’s job for him.
He was afraid that a scourgify would be too harsh, so he slipped off his cloak and folded it, then pressed it gently against the wound to clean the freshly healed gash.
The dog watched him, steady and understanding.
Crookshanks purred softly, and Draco felt his shoulders ease. “Well, go on then.” He lifted the cloak with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, and patted the dog. “See you around, Grim.”
Draco could’ve sworn the dog rolled its eyes.