All related to the world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. This plot is my idea.

Chapter One: Sight

Miss Hermione Granger was no fool. Top marks, vast knowledge on seemingly everything, and a good reputation, she had it all. She wasn't called 'the brightest witch of her age' for nothing.

So then why could she not put her finger on her problem at the moment? The echoing clatter of her light footsteps radiated through the grand yet ancient halls of Hogwarts. It was the week before school began, and she, Harry, and Ron had been sent a request via owl by Dumbledore to pack up and come to Hogwarts a week early. He would not be there himself, the note had specified, but most of the school staff would. In the meantime, they were free to make themselves at home. That they had, she thought with a small smile as she hopped lightly over a puddle on the cobblestoned floor. They had pored over a great number of books in the library-or at least she had, the boys had gazed out the window at the Quidditch field, longing evident in their eyes. They would have gone out to practice but the entire week they had been there it had been raining. Hard, relentless pouring accompanied by a symphony of thunderclaps and some spectacular shows of lightning as well. Not to mention the harsh winds. Harry and Ron would have no problem walking through the grounds but seeing as she was quite a bit smaller and lighter than they were she'd have to put up a good resistance against it.

The weather had dampened their spirits, but they decided to hang about inside instead. Reading, exploring the empty classrooms, playing Wizards Chess and Exploding Snap and when the gloominess really got to them, they would sit at the Gryffindor Common Room fire over steaming mugs of tea (courtesy of the House Elves) they would talk about the approaching war, or try to devise strategies to take down Voldemort's growing regime.

So far we have nothing, she thought dimly as she turned round a corner. But that mustn't make us lose our focus, she resolved as she reached her destination.

There it was, the portrait that led into the Head Boy and Head Girls' Common Room. Of course, she knew she was a shoe in as Head Girl. She had kept track of all the other girls' marks and none of theirs came within spitting distance of hers.

When it came to her grades, Hermione was quite vain, to be honest. They were perfect, and showed her intelligence. Her peers had made fun of her in the past over her extreme studiousness but that didn't matter to her, as long as she had her goals in mind.

Hermione could feel it, this was her room. Put her hand on the picture of the beautiful night scenery and ah, it felt so right. No one had worked as hard as she to gain the position. The only thing that stumped her was who the Head Boy would be. She'd no idea who the boy with the highest marks was. Certainly not Harry or Ronald. Though she would prefer it were to be one of them, but alas, every effort she'd made to get them to work was in vain. A small crease appeared between her brows. She knew Neville had made an astounding improvement in his classes (all thanks to Luna, she thought with a smirk), there was that boy in Hufflepuff who she heard had good marks, but she wasn't sure if he'd graduated or not. A niggling suspicion crawled up her spine; she realized with a jolt Malfoy had good grades as well. Or at least only in Potions, as far as she was aware. No matter. She doubted it would be him, anyway. With a last, longing look at the portrait she turned, her long brown curls swishing heavily over her shoulder and left towards the Great Hall. It was nearly suppertime, and Professor Dumbledore was due to arrive today.

Hermione entered the Great Hall, immediately spotting her best friends at the Gryffindor table.

"'Ermione! Where 'ave 'ou been?" Ron asked around a large mouthful of steak. Harry looked up from his plate, flashing a grin at Hermione, who smiled back and crinkled her nose at Ron.

"I've been walking around, reflecting on things." She replied with a vague wave of her hand. "Ronald, how many times must I tell you not to talk with food in your mouth? Honestly!" Even as she scolded him, she couldn't help but smile as she sat next to Harry. Ron looked apologetic as he heaped some steak onto his plate. Harry laughed and turned to Hermione.

"Reflecting on what?" he inquired. "Is it about the Head Boy again?" Hermione bit her lip and nodded as she began to fill her plate. Harry shook his head, placing his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Don't stress out about it, whoever it is I'm sure he'll be great." And with that he returned his attention to his pie. Hermione scanned the staff table as she ate some lentil soup. Professor McGonagall was in a conversation with Professor Sprout and Hagrid, who caught her eye and waved. She smiled and waved back, and turned back to her soup. Harry and Ron were now devouring their deserts while maintaining an ongoing debate on which Quidditch team was better. Shaking her head, Hermione stared at her plate. Suddenly she felt very nervous. Ron had noticed and was about to ask her what was wrong when an owl swooped in and dropped a small note at Hermione's plate.

"Who's it from?" He pointed at the note. Hermione opened it. Scanning its contents, she replied, "It's from Dumbledore! He wants to speak to me about the Head Girl position." Rushing out of her seat, she almost tripped over the bench. She called out a hasty good-by and set on her way to the Headmasters' office, smiling to herself. A light skip in her step, she ascended the main entrance stairs that led to the second floor. The torches lined against the wall, casting a soft glow on the ancient statues and suits of armor that inhabited the halls of Hogwarts.

The large, swollen passageways normally held hundreds of students as they swarmed to get to their next class, but on this night, they only held the brilliant, formidable witch as she navigated to her destination.

Or was it really only her?

The fine hairs on her arms suddenly stood at ends and her skin prickled. Someone was watching her.

She was a bit nervous to look around, but in the end, was she a Gryffindor or not? So she turned, sweeping those intelligent eyes around the empty space before her. There was nothing. Didn't mean there wasn't anyone there, though. Hogwarts was always full of surprises, and there were plenty of large objects one could hide behind around her.

"Who's there?" She called out. Silence rang in her ears. She turned, and eyed the space around her warily before moving on. The sensation had gone, and she needed to get on her way anyway.

Hermione Granger was never late.

Draco Malfoy had just arrived at Hogwarts, peeling off his rain-sodden clothing and changing into a fresh pair of robes. That damned rain. It had rained all this past week, holing him up inside his Manor. He'd been fine with it for the first day or two, but after the third day, his body had been screaming for action. He played Quidditch daily-just by himself. He'd fly around his home, chasing after the Snitch his father had bought him his second year. But it had rained and it had rained hard, just as much as it was still raining now. His mother had prohibited him from taking one step outside, fearing for his safety. And then the Headmaster had requested him to come a few days early to Hogwarts on Head Boy business; he'd been secretly happy to get away from his Manor. He had been sent a Portkey, but it had only been able to take him as far as the school gates, where he had been received by the sour-faced Filch, who seemed to be secretly pleased that the Malfoy boy in all his fine clothing was wet to the bone and very cross indeed.

He'd entered the Slytherin Common Room and went to the boys dorms, not bothering to unpack his trunks; he would be moving into the Head Dorms anyway, so what was the point?

Draco had been just about to summon a House Elf for a cup of tea when the note had arrived at his window. The silly owl outside his window was drenched; as soon as he'd untied the paper it had slogged off in a watery flight to the Owlery. The note was from Dumbledore, requesting his presence in his office shortly. Groaning, he threw the note into the fire, where it landed with a loud pop and a sizzle, slipped on his shoes and went on his way.

Draco Malfoy was no fool, and did not have to wonder who the Head Girl would be. Who else but Granger? No other girl at this school studied as hard as she did. Countless times he'd shove past her in the library, her pert nose buried in another ancient tome. How many times had the little chit beat him in their exams, even by a mere few points? Give her any question and no matter the difficulty she would rattle off an answer. The girl was dedicated, he'd give her that. He was loath to admit it, but she really was the brightest witch anyone would ever meet.

He suddenly remembered with a small grimace, his first year. His father had paid a surprise visit in December, to check on him. He'd snuck into one of his classes, where Granger had answered every question at lightning speed and had earned her house a boatload of points for performing a simple charm correctly. He hadn't noticed his father standing just in front of the door, barely visible, watching the girl with a bright glint in his eye.

After that class, his father had pulled him aside, to his immense surprise. They had walked into an empty classroom, his father inquiring about his classes and grades. He'd answered politely, talking positively about his classes, albeit in a bored tone.

His father had his back turned to him, facing a chart on the wall depicting the top students. Malfoy had sat there at a desk, wondering if the interview was over when his father turned around suddenly.

"Tell me, son, who was that girl in your class? The one with the strange hair."

Draco frowned. "Granger?"

His father frowned slightly. "Is that her name?"

"No, it's H-Hermione." Her first name sounded alien and strange on his tongue. He'd never said it before. "Hermione Granger."

His father had repeated her name, sounding out the syllables and vowels like he was reading it from a dictionary. Draco had thought this very odd. "Her-mi-o-ne Granger. Tell me, Draco. What is this girl like?"

Draco had found this an odd question, but hastened to reply. "She's rather intelligent, I suppose. Always with her nose in a book, she practically lives in the library. She always beats me in every exam, and she's very bossy. Can never shut her trap, either. Always prattling on about something or another."

His father was listening very keenly, looking at Draco with an odd look in his face. "You don't like her then," he said flatly. Draco had almost jumped out of his seat with shock and rage.

"Like her? Why on earth would I like her? Big teeth and horrible hair, she never stops bossing people around, and thinks she's better than everyone. Always prancing about with Potter and Weasely and they never get in trouble. They have all the Professors wrapped around their fingers."

His father had turned back to the wall. "A Gryffindor then? And is friends with the Potter boy. Interesting indeed…"

Draco, who had just recovered his breath from his rant, added, "She's Muggleborn, too."

That certainly had caught his father's attention. He'd stopped his musings, real disappointment showing on his handsome, regal face.

"A Muggleborn? Are you sure?" Draco nodded, confused. His father cast a mysterious look at the door, where students were still passing by outside to their classes. "What a pity. Such a good candidate, too."

Now little Draco had been confused. What was his father going on about? "Candidate for what, father?" His father looked at him, the trademark Malfoy smirk gracing his handsome face.

"Why, my boy, surely you must know! The future Lady Malfoy is somewhere in this castle! Such a shame Miss Granger is Mudblood, such a shame. She'll be quite a beauty in a few years' time, and intelligence in a Malfoy Lady is a must, son. Don't go after the brainless ones. The smart ones give more of a challenge." He clapped his son on the shoulder and swept from the room, and an eleven year old Draco Malfoy had stood in the empty Transfiguration classroom, shivering with disgust at the thought of marrying Granger.

Back in the present, Draco rose up the stairs from the dungeons where the Slytherin Common Room was hidden. Lost in his thoughts, he'd continued onward until he heard small, determined footsteps coming his way. He knew who it was, so he hid behind a thick pillar and scanned his eyes along the corridor until he found her.

Granger.

Her lips were curved upwards the tiniest bit; those damned brown curls were cascading down her back and shoulders, swaying gently as she walked. That pale face shone in the shadows and light cast by the torches on the walls. Her muggle attire caught his attention and irritated him until he remembered he was wearing muggle clothing as well, but at least his were hidden under his robes. He knew when she suddenly sensed him. She turned around; calling out to whomever was there, grasping her wand, slight discomfort etched into her face. He found the situation they were in delicious, she not knowing he was there. He would have stayed to toss her a hex or two maybe cast a Disillusionment charm over himself and frighten her a bit, but he had matters to attend to.

Draco Malfoy was never late.