First Year
It was her brazenness.
He caught on to her unabashed swottiness quickly. She would fling her arm into the arm before the professor had finished the question, and flail it about like a dying seal. He hated her shamelessness. He hated her outright demeanor. He hated how she walked the halls as if she owned them, how she never hesitated in displaying her intellect. He hated her, for she bested him.
She perfected the Pepperup Potion before he did. Sure, he was second, but she was first. This earned him a sneer from his potioneer godfather, and an angry letter from his father. He hated how her intelligence overshadowed his. He was supposed to be the one dazzling the professors-how dare she take that from him?
Second Year
It was her ignorance.
Not the ignorance Draco had hoped would plague her, for she was still the top student in their class, but a different kind. No, she displayed a different kind of stupidity this year. Despite the constant threat of attacks, she did not cower in the hallways. Her eyes did not dart to secluded corners in fear as so many other muggleborns’ did. Draco hated it.
He hated how she refused to show any kind of panic, any kind of alarm. Did she not know that she was in active danger? She walked the halls without a care in the world, and Draco hated it. He wanted to give her something to fear. He wanted to show her how foolish her indifference was. Yet, what he hated most about her was the unseeing quality of her petrified eyes.
Third Year
It was her volatility.
First year she had constantly surprised him with her intellectual prowess, but he thought he had a grasp of her character now. That idea, however, was destroyed when she struck him in the face. Hermione-swotty, short, non-violent Hermione-had hit him in the face. Hit him rather hard, if he was being honest. Her strength was yet another thing he found himself at a loss for.
He hated how she could so easily change the rules on him. Their battles were fought in the classroom, not the courtyard. Why then, did it feel as if he had lost? Why was he unwillingly in awe at her actions? No one else would have dared to touch him, but not Hermione Granger. He hated how she constantly was out-maneuvering him. He hated how he respected her for it.
Fourth Year
It was nothing.
He could find nothing to criticize as she waltzed into the ball on the arm of Viktor bloody Krum. Her hair? Not one strand was out of place. Her dress? It fit like a glove and complimented her skin rather nicely. No, Draco could not find one thing to criticize and he hated it. He hated the way Pansy paled in comparison to her. The pureblood princess on his arm seemed to shrink and lose her luster next to the mudblood. Hermione outshone every other girl in the room and he hated it.
He should have hated it-but he could not. He could not will his eyes to part from her outline the entire night. He watched as she danced in circles, as she babbled to friends, as she attracted jealous stares. He caught her eye at one point, but she quickly looked away. This-this he could hate. He could hate how she wouldn’t look him in the eyes and hold his gaze. He hated that he wanted just one moment longer to memorize the way her eyes gleamed.
Fifth year
It was her conviction.
It was the conviction that would get her killed. The conviction that drove her to challenge Umbridge in classrooms and Inquisitorial Squad members in the halls. He could see the conviction in her stance as she was questioned over Dumbledore’s Army. Stupid girl, he thought, belief will get you no where.
He hated how strongly her beliefs were held. He hated that he could not do the same. In fact, his own childhood beliefs had been questioned and dismantled piece by agonizing piece. He hated the enormity in which Hermione believed in her cause, and he hated that she was the reason he no longer believed in his.
Sixth Year
It was everything.
It was everything all at once. Everything in his personal and private life compounded to utterly overwhelm him. He was constantly on edge, fighting to keep his unflinching facade intact. He was on the edge of drowning with no land in sight. Thus, he hated that Hermione was his only life jacket .
Seeing her was a reprieve from the trials of his task. It gave him a reason to go to the Great Hall in the morning and attend classes in the evening. His eyes searched for her in the corridors, she was truly his only source of normalcy in the chaos his world had devolved into. He hated how he was going to ruin the one source of joy in his life if he succeeded. He hated how he had to choose between a cause he found no truth in, and the only truth he knew-loving Hermione Granger. He hated that he knew what his choice would be.
Seventh Year
It was her disappearance.
He hated how she had vanished with nary a word to him-to anyone. He hated how she could leave him, leave her school, leave the only sliver of safety she had, for a suicide mission. He hated how her absence affected him. He drove his nails down to the quick biting them and his bottom lip was constantly bleeding. He frantically scanned the Daily Prophet every morning for news of her. Nothing.
His friends would cock their heads as he flipped through the pages at breakfast. Draco didn’t care. He ignored the stares and the whispers that he knew followed him. They turned to a buzzing in his ears, a nuisance that he didn’t take notice of. His only concern was for Hermione’s safety, and he didn’t particularly care who caught on. He hated the radio silence, but he knew no news was good news.
The Final Battle
It was her return.
It was her remarkable, joyous, triumphant return, one that Draco could only look at from afar. The final battle was finished. The bodies still lay strewn across the grass, but Draco was at peace. Hermione was okay, and he would be as well. He looked to her, finding her surrounded by a myriad of well-wishers. They offered congratulations, condolences, and comfort.
He caught her eye, and this time she held his gaze. He expected her to turn away quickly and shun him as irredeemable, but instead, she smiled. She extracted herself from the circle and cut a short path to him. Sitting down at his side, she reached out her hand. He stared at it for only a moment before taking it within his.
“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
On the eve of a battle, surrounded by destruction, something quite unlike hate began to form between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.