Perhaps

Chapter Two : 1992

August

Draco hadn't spared the girl with the bushy brown hair more then all of two seconds all summer. He focused on staying close to his father, who insisted that Draco start to learn the ways of a true Malfoy heir. He also focused on spending the remaining time with his mother, who spent time helping him practice his piano lessons, and who watched him practice quidditch, and who told him that she was very proud of him for being on top on his house in grades.

However, to say that his father had been more then upset when he had found out that a student from another house, from Gryffindor, mind you, and a muggle born at that, had come out on top of the whole first year class in grades would have been an understatement. And those had been the two seconds that he had spared any thought for Hermione Granger.

Besides that, he focused on keeping thoughts about her away from his mind. It had worked well enough for him until he found himself watching the bushy haired girl walk into the book shop toe in toe with Potter. He cursed himself for not leaving when he had seen the whole of Weasleys walk into the store minutes ago. 

Granger hadn't noticed him, and he was more than glad for that. He didn't want to meet her eyes, somehow afraid that she'd just know that he occupied his summer days with pushing any and all thoughts of her away from his head. 

Or that his father now knew who she was and that he wasn't her biggest fan. That didn't sit well with Draco either. 

Draco busied himself with looking at the bookshelf that lined the stairs in the shop that he didn't notice his father walk in through the doors and come face to face with the Weasleys. And Potter.  And the girl that he had wanted to be friends with. 

He heard his father talking and only nodded his head when he was asked to confirm that it was Granger herself standing closest to Draco when he had come down the stairs. 

Draco couldn't honestly remember what he had said to Potter when the youngest Weasley had defended him. Something about her being his girlfriend, he was sure.

Instead, Draco tried his best to not keep constantly looking at the girl standing the closest to him. 

He watched the Weasley patriarch come forward and defend his children. He watched the way Potters face twisted with distaste. The way Ron Weasley looked like he just might puke from the confrontation the two adults were having.

And perhaps it was because Draco was looking at everyone and everything instead of Granger that he noticed that when his father had returned the younger Weasleys book back into her basket, there was a black leather journal there as well.

Draco would swear on his life that it hadn't been there before. Because he had looked at that basket a few times when he'd catch his gaze turning to Granger.

He decided that he'd have to snoop around later on what his father had put into the girls basket.  For now though, he forced his eyes to not lend on Granger as the whole group left the book shop, only allowing himself to look at the back of her head when she was the last to leave through the doors. 

He never felt more disgusted with himself than at that moment when he had wished he had talked to her. Again.

September

Draco would never admit to anyone that he had stepped in the girls way when she had been walking away from the trolley on the train on purpose. That he had secretly enjoyed the surprised look on her face when she had seen who had caught her by her elbows. Prevented her from falling backwards from the force of which she had collided into him with. 

He would never tell a soul how it pained him at the way her futures turned from surprise and shock to that of unsureness, hurt and then dislike. 

He would never tell anyone how she stepped away from him the moment she regained her balance, and the way she quickly thanked him and the way his last name had come out of her mouth.  Hurried.  Distasteful.

He would never tell anyone that his feelings had been hurt when she sidestepped him and hurried down the hall, disappearing through a door to a cabin where he just knew that Potter and Weasley were sitting in. 

Draco knew that he had no right to feel hurt. He had done this to himself. He had chosen to ignore the girl. But the feeling still lingered. 

He remembered how she had seemed shocked and flushed that he had caught her a second time last year. That he didn't make fun of her. Not in a hurtful way. And how he had hopped that they would become friends.

Draco, for his part, wasn't even sure why he cared. Perhaps it had been the moment when she had looked so lost in the stack of books that had been in her small hands when he saw her coming out of the book shop. He loved books. Loved the way it felt to read the words written on the pages of those books and the way it felt to soak in all of the knowledge they held in them. Although he would never admit that to anyone either. 

Or perhaps it had been the moment when he had seen her later that day with her parents. Her muggle parents. Draco had realized in that moment that they could never truly become friends, not in his social circle.  And perhaps that should have warned him off.

But Draco Malfoy liked breaking rules when he had been younger. He loved the way it felt.  Liberating.  He, of course, would never admit any of that openly either. 

There seemed to be a lot of things that he kept telling himself he would never admit openly, and he was slowly beginning to think that he was going to have a hard time hiding all of the true things about himself from people that he was closest to.

December

Draco Malfoy was cruel. No, not just cruel, he was also scared. Of his feelings, of his thoughts, of his desires. 

He was raised to hate anyone that wasn't of the sacred twenty eight. That didn't uphold the old traditional ways of the wizarding world. Anyone that wasn't in his house, or that wasn't unproved of by his father. 

Draco Malfoy was raised to hate people like Hermione Granger. It was in his nature.

But as he had found himself drawn to her more and more in the first few weeks of school, he wrote to his mother. A big mistake.

He had asked her why, why was it so important to hate someone who was as smart as him, if not smarter. Who was kind to those she called friends and was vicious with those who stood against them. 

Draco regretted writing to his mother when the next day an owl delivered him a letter from his father. Turns out his mother was out of town, so his father had read her post when he'd seen that it was from Draco.  And even though Draco never included a name in his letter, his father knew who he had been talking about.

His father instructed him to accompany Snape to Hogsmead that weekend and Draco was quickly reminded why he had to hate the girl. 

And perhaps in his attempt to keep his thoughts purely on school and not on her, he had called her a name that he swore he'd never call her again the instant that it had left his mouth. Not after the way she had looked. Hurt. And unbelieving that she had heard the foul name come from him.

Months after that, Draco had been beside himself. He kept up appearance when people were around him, but when he was alone, he wanted nothing more then to seek the girl out if only to tell her that he didn't mean it. That he didn't believe anything that the word implied.

He would catch himself looking at the back of her head when they would share a class, and even during meals he would catch his gaze going over to the Gryffindor table.

But he couldn't. He knew that there could be a chance of her forgiving him, but he didn't want to risk seeing the hatred and hurt on her face if he was wrong.

So, Draco Malfoy took the cowards way out. He wrote her a small note and left it in the library, at a table that he knew she favored to sit at. He didn't stay to see if she got it, or to see her reaction to the note.

I am so very sorry for calling you that nasty word.  I don't believe in what it stands for.

He hoped that it would be enough.