Gift
September 15, 1995
Draco
“Hey, princesses.”
Blaise’s voice breaks through the quiet of the dormitory with careless audacity. He’s back to his usual self—full of jests and taunts—with the only difference being that now, Theo and I are his favorite targets.
I watch as he drops into one of the armchairs by the fireplace with practiced nonchalance, stretching out his legs and crossing his hands over his stomach, his expression dreamy as he stares at the ceiling.
“I happened to overhear a conversation among the Gryffindors,” he announces with studied indifference, “and it seems that September 19th is Granger’s birthday.”
My wand twirls between my fingers as I make a paper crane glide above our heads. I don’t take my eyes off him, but I do raise a skeptical eyebrow. I know exactly where he’s going with this. I know because it’s Blaise, and when Blaise adopts that fake casual air, there’s always something behind it. I’ve seen him pull this act with others for years.
“So?” I ask, turning fully toward him, as if I hadn’t already figured out his intentions.
“So,” he continues, suddenly springing up from the chair and planting himself in front of me and Theo, “after all the help she’s given me, I’d like to do something for her. Nothing excessive, of course. Just the four of us. It’d be nice, don’t you think?”
Theo doesn’t even lift his gaze from the book he’s reading, his legs crossed with his usual composure. “I think it’s a good idea,” he murmurs neutrally, turning a page with exasperating calm. “We can grab a couple of Butterbeers and head to the Shrieking Shack.”
Blaise nods enthusiastically, satisfied that he’s at least found one accomplice. Then he turns to me, watching expectantly. Not that he actually needs my approval—this is just for show, for that thin illusion of democracy he’s been pretending to uphold for the past five days.
“Oh, sure, a little party for Granger,” I huff with an amused smirk, letting all the irony drip from my voice. “Shall we get her a present too? I don’t know, maybe with a big golden bow?” I add, wrinkling my nose in mock disgust.
Blaise, however, doesn’t miss a beat. His grin widens in a way that’s honestly concerning, and before I can react, he claps me on the shoulder with an enthusiastic smack.
“Brilliant idea, Malfoy!” he exclaims, as if I’ve just come up with the plan of the century.
I stare at him, expressionless, already regretting having said anything.
“You handle the gift,” he continues briskly, ignoring my obvious displeasure. “Theo and I will take care of the Butterbeers and arrange for us to meet her at the Shrieking Shack on the evening of the eighteenth.”
And with that, he strides off, crossing the room with a light step and—as always—leaving the door half-open behind him.
I let out a theatrical sigh, rolling my eyes, and with a flick of my wand, I send the poor paper crane diving straight into Theo’s forehead. Not even a blink. He just keeps reading his stupid book as if nothing happened, entirely unfazed by the chaos around him.
I press my lips together in annoyance. I know full well that Blaise picked up on my sarcasm perfectly—and yet, he chose to twist it against me, using it to his advantage.
I almost miss the days when he was afraid of me.
Almost.
September 16, 1995
It’s Saturday evening, and I’m in Hogsmeade.
And instead of enjoying a Butterbeer at the table with the other Slytherins—relaxed and detached, as I should be—I’m wandering aimlessly through the village streets, searching for a gift for Hermione Granger.
How the hell did I end up in this situation?
I understand mutual cordiality. I understand that, whether I like it or not, we’ve been caught up in the same insane circumstances. But the fact remains: it’s still her. The insufferable, incessantly chatty, irritatingly brilliant know-it-all.
But she didn’t betray your trust. And she stood by your friend.
I clench my jaw. Stupid conscience.
I keep walking until my eyes land on a familiar shop window. Scrivenshaft’s. The quill and stationery shop.
I stop, hesitating. The glass is fogged up from the cold evening air, and beyond it, hundreds of inkwells sit in perfect order on shelves lined with red velvet. The color stands out against the faded green plaster of the walls, which looks as though it’s crumbling under the weight of the years. A small corner of both chaos and elegance.
My gaze falls on a quill different from the rest. Elegant, refined, a deep black with delicate silver veins running along the shaft. No useless golden embellishments or flashy decorations. Simple, yet perfect.
And in that moment, without meaning to, Hermione Granger’s face appears in my mind.
Why do I know she’ll like it? Salazar, why do I know what she might like?
Without giving myself time to dwell on the answer, I step inside. The scent of parchment, ink, and dust envelops me as I approach the counter.
A few minutes later, I walk out with a small package wrapped in golden paper. I could just hand it to her as it is, without worrying too much. I could. And yet, as I slowly make my way down a deserted street, I take out my wand and brush the tip against the quill.
“Scribo Perfectus.”
A faint silver glow surrounds the quill, absorbing into the shaft as if becoming part of its essence. Now, it won’t just be an elegant writing tool—it will never run out of ink, will always write flawlessly, will never stain the hands of its user, and will automatically correct mistakes, replacing wrong words with the right ones.
Practically a living extension of Hermione Granger in quill form.
I glance down at the object in my hands. Perfect. Too perfect.
A gift for Hermione Granger. Thought up by me.
If someone had told me this a year ago, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Salazar, what kind of trouble am I getting myself into?
September 17, 1995
Hermione
“Granger, your time is running out.”
The voice behind me freezes me in place for a split second. I don’t quicken my pace, don’t show any hesitation, but my fingers move instinctively, slipping into my uniform pocket and wrapping around my wand. Only when the cool wood presses against my palm do I allow myself to turn, feigning indifference.
Nott and Zabini watch me with relaxed expressions, leaning casually against the corridor wall between two torches that cast flickering shadows behind them. We’ve established this phrase as a code. If they say it in public, it means only one thing: we need to meet.
“Oh, really? And when exactly is that supposed to happen?” I retort with a smirk, raising my wand just slightly, aiming it at them with mock aggression.
Theo scoffs, crossing his arms with his usual bored demeanor. “I’d say you won’t make it to eighteen candles. If I had to bet, I’d put everything on that day.”
Blaise brushes a hand over his jacket sleeve, as if wiping away an invisible speck of dust. “But who knows, you might get lucky and make it to your twenty-second birthday. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”
September 18th, at 10 PM.
Good.
I take a brief pause, letting their words linger in the corridor before responding. Raising an eyebrow, I slowly lower my wand. “Then we’ll meet again when the last leaf falls.”
Another code—our closing phrase. It means only one thing: I’ll be there.
Zabini smirks in amusement, while Theo pushes off the wall, hands in his pockets. “It’ll be interesting, Granger.”
I turn and walk away as if nothing happened.
Fortunately, my birthday party is the following evening.
Should I invite them? No. I don’t think they would accept. And even if they did, I wouldn’t know how to justify their presence.
September 18, 1995
I stop in front of the Whomping Willow, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch its branches thrash menacingly. Taking a deep breath, I step into the secret passage.
The air in the underground tunnel is damp and heavy with the scent of wet earth. Every step echoes against the stone walls, amplifying the oppressive silence. I don’t know what to expect when I arrive.
An emergency meeting is never a good sign.
Have they been discovered? Has someone threatened them? And what if something has happened to Draco, Theo, or Blaise?
My stomach tightens. My mind races too fast, imagining increasingly catastrophic scenarios. I slip out of the Invisibility Cloak and start running.
Since when do I care so much about them?
If something happened…
I rush down the last flight of stairs, my heartbeat hammering in my ears. I brace myself for the worst. I prepare to find them frightened, tense, desperate…
But nothing could have prepared me for this.
“Surprise!”
I freeze in the doorway.
Blaise bounces in front of me, waving two enormous red and gold balloons with the same enthusiasm as a child on the first day of snow. Draco stands in the center of the room, his usual cocky smirk in place, while golden sparks burst from the tip of his wand, crackling in the darkness and illuminating the room’s decrepit walls. Theo is making confetti rain down over our heads, a massive grin on his face.
I look at each of them, completely stunned.
My heart, which had been racing from anxiety just moments ago, suddenly seems to forget how to function. I open my mouth to say something, but the only sound that comes out is an incredulous breath.
“Oh Godric…”
I bring a hand to my mouth, unable to stop myself from smiling, then shake my head in disbelief.
“I don’t know what to say! Thank you!”
And before I even think about it, before my mind can process the action, I throw myself at them, hugging all three of them at once.
For a moment, their bodies stiffen against mine. Just a year ago, they would have wiped their hands on their robes after merely brushing against me. But now… they don’t pull away.
Blaise laughs, squeezing me with his usual enthusiasm—perhaps a little too much. Theo, still smiling, pats me on the back. Draco—well, Malfoy looks completely out of his depth. His body is stiff as a board, and I can practically hear his brain short-circuiting as he tries to figure out what to do. And yet… he doesn’t step back.
When I finally let go, Blaise groans theatrically. “Alright, Granger, emotions are fine, but let’s not get carried away.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand—since when have I been so emotional?—and let out a small, amused huff.
We settle onto the blankets spread over the dusty floor, legs crossed, shoulders occasionally brushing. Theo pulls out a bag of Honeydukes sweets from behind the armchair, along with four still-cold Butterbeers.
Blaise immediately grabs a bottle, Theo shoots him a reprimanding look, and Malfoy, of course, finds something to complain about.
“Warm Butterbeer? Really?” he comments with an air of disdain, inspecting the bottle as if he expects it to catch fire at any moment.
“Just freeze it yourself,” Theo replies, rolling up his sleeves with a bored expression.
And then we laugh. For hours. No deep conversations, no strategizing against Umbridge, no worrying about the future.
Just lighthearted chatter, teasing, sarcastic remarks, and ridiculous stories. And for the first time in far too long… I feel free.
The first sign of midnight is a flash of light.
Blaise’s wand suddenly glows, pulsing like a small beacon in the darkness. I don’t even have time to react before he lunges at me, making me gasp in surprise.
He grabs my face between his hands and presses a loud kiss to each of my cheeks.
“Happy, happy birthday, Miss!” he exclaims with unstoppable energy, shaking my head slightly as if to make sure I fully understand that it’s my birthday.
I laugh, trying to wriggle out of his grip. “Blaise, you’re making me dizzy!”
He finally lets go, and Theo takes his place. He steps closer, pulls me into a brief hug, and murmurs a simple, sincere, “Happy birthday, Herm.”
There’s a familiar warmth in his tone, an affection that doesn’t need to be overstated. I return the hug with gratitude.
When I pull away, my eyes meet Malfoy’s. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the other side of the blanket, lounging with his usual nonchalance, a glass of Butterbeer between his fingers. He lifts it slightly in my direction, that infuriating smirk of his tugging at his lips—except lately, I don’t find it quite as irritating as I used to.
“Happy birthday, Granger.”
Blaise, meanwhile, looks like a kid on Christmas Eve. With a dramatic wave of his wand, he summons a package from behind a chair and grabs it with theatrical flair.
“And now, for the highlight of the evening!” he announces, brandishing it like a trophy.
I, on the other hand, am losing the battle against the warmth creeping up my cheeks.
Blaise hands me the package, wrapped in shimmering gold paper, his face lit by the flickering candlelight. “This, dear Miss, is from all three of us.”
My fingers brush over the smooth surface of the wrapping, my heart picking up speed.
“Although…” Blaise adds with a mischievous grin. “Draco picked it out, so be careful—it might be cursed.”
My head snaps up. Draco Malfoy picked out a gift for me?
The thought of him wandering through Hogsmeade with his usual haughty expression, evaluating and discarding potential presents, hits me so suddenly that I almost laugh.
With slightly trembling fingers, I untie the red ribbon, trying not to ruin the golden paper.
An inkpot—elegant and refined, with my initials, “HJG,” engraved on it.
Beside it, a long, slender quill with a flawless tip, its black surface laced with delicate silver veins. It almost seems to glow with a soft light. I pick it up gently, tracing my gaze along its smooth texture.
My throat tightens. It takes me a moment to understand. This isn’t just any quill—I can feel the magic thrumming through it. Malfoy explains how he enchanted it. I can’t speak. I feel… overwhelmed.
Not even Harry and Ron have ever given me a gift this thoughtful. No one has ever understood my tastes so well. And the fact that it was Malfoy…
Blaise peeks into the box, nodding approvingly before clapping Draco on the back.
“Well done, little Draco, excellent choice for our Miss.”
Malfoy shoots him a murderous look, but the faint redness in his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed.
I lift my gaze to the three of them—the three Slytherins who, just months ago, embodied everything I despised about this school. And now they’re here, celebrating with me, as if we’ve always been friends.
I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and this time, I don’t even try to hold them back. I let them fall, a smile curling my lips as I clutch the quill to my chest.
“This is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received,” I whisper, hoping they can hear just how much I mean it. “I don’t even know how to thank you for all of this.”
Their faces relax, as if those words have eased something in the air. I glance at each of them, an unexpected warmth filling my chest.
“Thank you, snakes.”
Blaise lets out a low whistle, smiling fondly. Theo shakes his head but doesn’t bother hiding the flicker of camaraderie in his eyes. Malfoy looks away, lifting his Butterbeer again with an air of indifference.
A thunderclap rips through the air, making the windows of the Shrieking Shack tremble. The rain pours down violently, hammering against the roof, while a flash of lightning illuminates the room for a brief moment.
Blaise, ever the dramatist, raises his hands to the sky. “Seriously, Miss, you have chronic bad luck. A biblical storm on your birthday night?”
He lifts his glass with an amused air, ready to toast to my “fortune,” but his playful tone fades when he notices that Theo, Draco, and I have suddenly tensed. We look at each other, eyes wide, the same thought flashing through our minds like the lightning outside.
The storm. The lightning. It’s tonight.
Draco is the first to leap to his feet. “The potions.”
Theo’s mouth falls open, his eyes shining with excitement. “Merlin, we can do it tonight!”
Without hesitation, I grab my wand and stand up. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. We have waited, calculated every detail. The sky is literally giving us the signal we’ve been waiting for.
Blaise, however, just stares at us, confused, his glass still frozen mid-air. “Uhm… can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”
Draco turns to him, impatient. “The storm, Zabini. The lightning. It’s the perfect time to complete the transformation.”
Blaise jumps up so fast that he spills some of his Butterbeer, a huge grin spreading across his face.
Wasting no more time, we rush to the door, the rain immediately drenching us the moment we step outside. My heart pounds in my chest, caught between excitement and a shiver of anxiety.
We stand in the storm, out in the garden of the house. The three of us form a circle, our gazes determined, tension vibrating in the air.
Malfoy is the first to press his wand to his heart, his hand steady. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”
His lips don’t tremble, his voice doesn’t waver, as if the fear of being permanently deformed doesn’t even touch him. No hesitation. Without a moment of doubt, he drinks the potion in one gulp.
His body shifts, transforms. A short scream escapes his lips before it’s replaced by a puma, its fur fading into an almost ethereal white. His eyes are silver, magnificent, reflecting the storm above us. The puma moves with an almost regal grace, its movements fluid and elegant.
Blaise’s shout tears through the air, a cry of pure joy. “Fuck, you did it, Malfoy!” Theo shouts as well, excitement dripping from his voice. He can’t hold back his admiration as he steps forward, wand at the ready. He recites the incantation, downing the potion in one swift motion.
Where Nott stood, an eagle now soars into the sky, circling above the puma, letting out a sharp cry.
It’s incredible.
A fire burns inside me. “I won’t be left behind,” I whisper to myself, my heart pounding against my chest.
I feel the magic rushing through every fiber of my body, coursing through me. The transformation wraps around me, and I feel my body shift.
The eagle lands beside the puma, both of them dipping their heads in a small bow. I have no idea what animal I’ve become, but I feel powerful. Strong.
I hear Blaise’s voice rise above the thunder. “You’re stunning!” he shouts, running toward us, completely drenched. A giant smile breaks across his face.
My vision lifts, and I see Malfoy and Nott suddenly pounce on Zabini, tackling him to the ground. They fall into the mud, laughing, tangled together.
“Thank you, thank you, fuck.” Blaise remains sprawled out, arms and legs wide. He eagerly describes the forms we’ve taken.
A lioness. A small smile brushes my lips. How ironic.
“Sirius told me they had nicknames tied to their Animagus forms,” Malfoy says, still sitting in the mud.
Without thinking too much, the words slip from my mouth.
“Golden,” I murmur, looking at Nott. “Because your Animagus is a golden eagle.” I can already picture him soaring, high against the sun. Splendid, regal.
I turn to Malfoy next, who stares at me, wide-eyed. “Silver, because you have molten silver for eyes.”
My head tilts slightly as I look at Zabini. “Platinum, because the moon is the same color.”
All three of them gape at me. No one comments on what I’ve just said. So, I keep talking, trying to ease my sudden embarrassment. “They match well together. If you don’t like them, we can—”
“Granger,” Malfoy interrupts, getting up from the ground. “They’re perfect.”
“Your mane is a shining brown… what about Bronze?” Theo suggests, leaning on Malfoy to stand.
I smile. Not even in a million years would I have imagined myself in a situation like this. Never would I have expected to be coming up with Animagus nicknames with these three, whom I now consider…
Shit. Do I really have to admit it to myself?
That I consider them friends.
“It’s perfect.”