Disclaimer: The wonderful wizarding world, the characters, and some of the dialogue belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is faithful to the plot of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone, merely adding what Hermione was up to between her start at Hogwarts and the events of Halloween.

A Breif Allaince (A Brief Alliance)

Draco Malfoy was about seven years old when he first realised that he was different from the others. Yes, he was a Malfoy, and therefore was far superior to all of the others - a fact that had been drilled into him ever since he could remember - but there was something else, too.

The homeschool tutor that had been hired to instruct him and a few children of his father's associates had lost all patience with him. They all came by the Manor several times a week, covering the basics that the children would need before they were sent to a structured educational institute when they were eleven, as per tradition. Even at their age, there were certain expectations of greatness from the young Malfoy heir – expectations that he was not, as of then, living up to. In fact, the tutor had determined that he was slow, though he would not dare to mention this to the Malfoys. Not lazy, like Vince or Greg, but decidedly slow. His reading level was far below what would have been expected from a child his age, and when asked to read aloud, it was jerky and monotonous, with many corrections having to be made as the boy stumbled over even the most basic words.

But Draco was not slow. He quickly realised that there was something different about him, something wrong, and immediately knew that something had to be done. So, with a few well timed tantrums and petulant accusations, Draco had his tutor fired. The next manner of business, of course, was to get a new tutor, a private one this time, so that he could learn without the humiliation of being left behind in class.

This new tutor quickly picked up on Draco's difficulties, and was far more patient, teaching him how to sound out words phonetically when writing. He even taught the young boy a spell that would read books aloud to him, which Draco found extremely useful, and led to the discovery of his love for stories. Equipped with these new coping techniques, he excelled, his love for learning doing his parents proud. Draco's situation was further improved when he learnt about the Quick-Quotes Quills that were being sold at Diagon Alley – he had his mother buy him one immediately, making up some excuse about how writing was too slow to keep up with his marvelous mind. In a way, that was true.

And so, when Draco received his letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he thought that learning at Hogwarts would be wonderful.

It was, for a while.

The quiet raven-haired boy he had greeted at Madam Malkin's at Diagon Alley had turned out to be Harry Potter – the Harry Potter. He had refused Draco's friendship, for reasons beyond his comprehension, but that was all fine – Draco had friends of his own. Vince and Greg, as well as some other childhood acquaintances he had met at his father's functions or his mother's dinner parties, were attending Hogwarts in his year as well. In addition to those, the Slytherins in his year, and even some from the years above, flocked around and followed him practically from the moment the Sorting Hat touched announced his house in record time. He had them at his beck and call, much to the infuriation of Theodore Nott, whose blood was nearly as pure as his own, and wanted all of the attention just as much.

On top of that, Draco had been receiving an enormous amount of candy and other miscellaneous tokens of affection from his parents (most probably put together by the House-Elves at the Manor, actually), which made him possibly one of the most envied boys in his house. Many of his friends' parents were busy, much like his own, too busy to send their children care packages. Draco wrote home to ask them to keep sending more – they would, of course, since Draco mentioned that he was using the goods to win alliances in school. They had always liked it that Draco could take care of himself.

Classes were going well too – most of the lessons began with practical demonstrations that Draco found easy enough to follow along to. He particularly liked Potions, the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking, partially because it was taught by his godfather, Uncle Sev, but also because it required a certain amount of finesse to brew the best potions, which had been trained in Draco since young. Plus, Potter had been totally humiliated in the very first Potions class when he had tried to get away with being snarky, which Draco found thoroughly amusing. As for assignments, which were usually in the form of essays of unsavoury lengths, this was fine to manage with his trusty Quick-Quotes Quill and the handy self-reading spells for the necessary research. In fact, Draco found, he had surpassed most of his childhood friends by far when it came to school work, a realisation that made him feel rather proud.

That was, however, only until Professor Flitwick decided to give the class that damned pop-quiz.

'Take a parchment and a quill. This test is just to see if you've been listening so far,' said the little professor as he levitated the aforementioned items to their benches. 'Don't even think about cheating,' he added, eyeing the Slytherins in particular, 'there are anti-cheating spells on the quills.'

In his defense, Draco really did try his best. He had paid attention and had even learnt some of the coursework before coming to Hogwarts in preparation, but as he tried to concentrate on the questions, the words just kept dancing and blurring together. Of course, he couldn't use the spells he usually did when his reading got this bad, so all he could do was squint at the paper and answer what he could decipher to the best of his ability. Even then, it wasn't enough – the designated fifteen minutes was up in a blink, and he had only completed about a quarter of the questions. Ashamed, he quickly wrote his name and put it in the pile on the professor's desk face down, knowing full well that he would probably fail.

He was right. When they got back their tests in class two days later, he had failed so badly that Professor Flitwick had scribbled 'see me after class' at the top of the page. Draco sighed, hoping desperately that his parents would not be informed of his grade. When the class ended, he told his posse to go on ahead, lying that he was going to try and wrangle more points out of the professor. An excuse that was in-character enough for the Prince of Slytherin, it seemed that they believed him, and Draco was left alone before the small wizard teacher, biting his lip and looking down, ashamed.

'Ah, yes, Mr Malfoy,' the professor said, looking up from his desk. 'Come over here, please.'

Draco gathered his books and did as he was told, not wanting to get in any more trouble than he already was in. The professor shuffled some papers on his desk before speaking again.

'Due to your rather dismal mark in that test,' he chided, 'I'm afraid that I will have to set you up with another student to catch you up before we move on to the next topic.'

'Blaise is quite good at Charms, Professor Flitwick,' said Draco, thinking that the punishment didn't actually sound too bad. 'I'm sure he wouldn't mind working with me for a couple of weeks.'

The professor shook his head. 'It's my policy to pair up the best and the worst students for this.' Draco grimaced – he was the worst student? That was horrible – humiliating. Even worse, he thought he knew who had topped the level – that know-it-all, bushy-haired and buck-toothed muggleborn in Gryffindor – he absolutely could not stand the idea of working with her. With a nod, the professor continued, confirming Draco's dread, 'That would be Hermione Granger.'

Draco could have groaned out loud.

His day only got worse, it seemed. Slytherin was grouped with the Gryffindors for their first flying lessons with Madame Hooch, that professor with the short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk. Normally, Draco would be excited to fly – it was something he had always been good at – but today it just filled him with dread. When he joined his classmates on the Quidditch pitch, he was in an absolutely foul mood.

The muggleborn girl was there too, of course, and catching sight of her untamable mess that she dared to call hair only made him feel more frustrated and angry. So, of course, when the idiot Longbottom fell off of his broom and broke his arm, Draco decided to take it out by goading Potter with the Remembrall.

'Give that here, Malfoy,' said Potter, his confounded hero-complex kicking in. Draco could have laughed. As if he would! Smiling, he hopped on his broom and prepared to fly.

'I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about up a tree?' he sneered, then soared up high above the oaks that surrounded the pitch.

But, as it turned out, Potter was actually quite good at flying – even Draco had to admit that, when he executed a nearly perfect maneuver to catch the blasted Remembrall. The only highlight was that he had been caught by the strictest teacher at Hogwarts by far, Professor McGonagall – Potter would expelled for sure! How delightful. At dinner, he could not help but rub it in Potter's face.

'Having a last meal, Potter?' he said with a smirk. 'When are you getting the train back to the muggles?'

'You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,' was Harry's reply, causing Draco to grind his teeth and frown.

'I'd take you on anytime on my own,' he retorted. He paused, a brilliant scheme entering his mind. Why not get the Weasel blood-traitor expelled too, while he was at it? 'Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel.'

As he had anticipated, the red-head immediately volunteered to be Potter's second. As for his own – he pretended to size up Vince and Greg, and chose Vince – though in reality, he wouldn't have trusted either to defend his honour if he did die.

'Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room – that's always unlocked.' With that, the final piece of Draco's plan fell in place, and he could not help but smile as the three of them walked away from the table. Once they were out of the Great Hall, he turned to face the boys.

'You're grinning like an idiot, Vince,' he chortled. 'Stop, we're not going.'

Their brows furrowed, clearly confused. Draco rolled his eyes.

'Obviously, we're setting them up,' he explained. 'We'll tell Filch to expect them, they'll get caught, and they'll lose a whole bunch of points and maybe even get expelled!'

Draco could practically see the understanding slowly enter their eyes as they grinned and laughed appreciatively at his plan. It was practically perfect – except that in the Great Hall the next morning, both Potter and the Weasley appeared to be in good cheer, and neither expelled, a clear sign that Draco's attempts had failed.

Ah well, he thought. There's still the rest of the year!

On the agenda that afternoon was his first session with Hermione Granger. She was to meet him in the Charms classroom as had been arranged by Professor Flitwick, who had decided that there was nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon than to study. Maybe that was so for the Gryffindor girl, but it definitely was not for him. He wanted to get this over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible, so that he could return to the party in the Slytherin common room, which had just been getting started when he left, and where Nott was almost definitely trying to steal his title as the Slytherin Prince.

The bushy-haired girl was already seated in the room when Draco walked in. She began speaking the moment he entered the room, scolding him for challenging her Gryffindor peers to the duel last night. He ignored her tirade as he strode up to the table with an air of nonchalance, pretending that he wasn't absolutely ashamed of having failed the test, and slid the parchment to her as he sat down and leaned back on his chair.

'I figured you should know what you're dealing with here, Granger,' he said.

She eyed him for a moment, stopping her speech, then glanced over the test. His handwriting was terrible, sprawling and with so many cross-outs that she actually had to trace his answers with her finger in order to figure out what he was trying to say. His spelling was atrocious, too, and he hadn't even answered most of the questions. She looked up and raised an eyebrow at him, and she wasn't sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn that his cheeks coloured a pale pink as he slicked back his hair, face impassive.

'Obviously we have a lot to cover tonight,' she said, pulling her textbook out of his bag and waiting for him to do the same. 'Let's start on page twelve – read it aloud, please.'

Draco groaned internally and made a face. He hated reading aloud – it made his difficulties with the words extremely hard to conceal.

'Why?' he asked, trying to get out of it. 'I can just read it in my head.'

'No,' said Hermione, shaking her head. 'I need to know that you're actually reading it, and not just pretending. Now, go on.'

Draco slid his book towards him, eyes flitting over the passage. He remembered what that part was about from when he had studied alone – it was something about the numerous uses of charms – but the actual words on the page seemed to bleed into each other, mocking him as he steeled himself for the embarrassment that never failed to follow this impossible task.

'Since the – thirteenth – cen, century – charms have been used – utilised – in a great – number of – ways – ,' he began slowly, his finger following the lines as they blurred in their usual manner. To make matters worse, it always seemed to get particularly bad when he as stressed – and he was definitely stressed, now.

'Stop mucking about, Malfoy,' the muggleborn demanded, annoyed. 'I don't want to be here anymore than you do, and the sooner you take this seriously, the sooner we can leave. So please, pick it up.'

Draco's eyebrows knit together in frustration as he glared at the words. 'I can't,' he said, admitting defeat.

Granger let out a very loud sigh and set her own textbook down on the table, clearly annoyed. 'And why is that?'

He bit the inside of his cheek, unwilling to tell her. All of his instincts were screaming at him to stop, to just get up and leave, instead of admitting the problem. Nevertheless, he did not seeing any other way to help his situation.

'I've always had some problems reading, alright?' he ground out, eyes resolutely looking anywhere but her face.

'What do you mean?' asked Granger, confused.

He bit his lip as he tried to explain it without sounding crazy. 'The words always just move and blur and that makes it really hard for me to figure out what they mean. It's the same for when I write – I can't ever seem to put what I'm thinking down on paper properly.'

'Wait a minute,' the Gryffindor was silent for a moment, then looked up at him suddenly. 'You're dyslexic?'

'What did you just call me?' Draco growled, a little offended, but mostly confused.

'Dyslexic,' she explained. 'It's not a bad thing. It's this muggle learning disability, not a terribly uncommon one, actually, though to varying degrees – it basically means that you have difficulty processing language or something along those lines.' She frowned slightly. 'I'll have to do more research about that before I give you a proper definition, though.'

'Don't bother, Granger,' he said, frowning. 'I don't have any muggle disease.'

'It isn't a disease,' she was quick to reassure, 'and I'm sure that lots of other wizarding folk must have it to, perhaps it might just be that it's less well documented.'

Draco glared and closed the textbook, grabbing his test from the desk and standing up. Hermione stood too, confused.

'Where are you going?'

He sighed, giving her an annoyed glance. 'Look, Granger,' he said, 'I'm not planning to sit around and be insulted by some muggleborn all day.'

Hermione reached out and grabbed his books, taking them from him and placing them back on the table. 'I didn't mean to offend you! I didn't even say anything remotely offensive!' The look Draco gave her made her want to wither up or run away, but Hermione hadn't been placed in Gryffindor for no reason. She stood her ground.

'Come on, let's get back to work,' she reasoned. 'I won't make you read anything out loud, I promise you.'

After a long moment of hesitation, Draco resumed his seat. He was still scowling, but opened up his textbook again and turned to page twelve obligingly.

'So how do you usually read, then, if it causes you so much difficulty?' she wondered. Draco rolled his eyes.

'I can read, you know.'

'You know what I meant,' said Hermione, sighing. 'When it's bad, how do you cope?' The Slytherin seemed to regard her for a moment, then leaned forward and took his wand from his pocket, holding it out before him.

'Loquimini Verbum,' he said clearly, tapping the book. A pleasant female voice came from the textbook, voicing the words at a moderate pace, the words being highlighted with a yellow mark as they were read. Hermione leaned back, impressed. She waited until Draco ended the spell by tapping the book once more before speaking.

'I hadn't heard of that spell before,' she said. 'It's quite clever.'

Draco shrugged, unsure of what to say in reply.

'So you did know the material for test, then?' she asked, and Draco nodded.

'I just couldn't get it all down in time,' he explained, 'and reading the questions under the time pressure was a real pain.'

Hermione leaned back on her chair and seemed to consider this.

'Why don't you just try and ask for extra time during tests? I'm sure that if you explained that to Professor Snape, he would understand your special circumstances and talk to the other teachers for you.'

Draco frowned. 'Well, it's not that easy, is it?'

'Why not?'

'My parents don't know, obviously,' he explained. 'Do you think they would appreciate having a retard for their only heir?'

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and sat up abruptly. 'You are not retarded!'

Draco merely shrugged. 'Well, they would think that if they knew.'

'I actually think that you must be very clever,' retorted Hermione. 'It must have taken a lot of hard work to conceal something like that for your entire life.'

Draco shrugged again, embarrassed, and Hermione seemed to sense this.

'Well, in that case, we'll just review the material tonight and we'll figure out how you can cope with in-class tests in the next few weeks, then. How does that sound?' she said, reaching over and closing the textbook.

A nod from Draco, and they set down to work, with Hermione testing him verbally, and finding that he did, in fact, have a sound understanding of the material that had been tested. The pair moved on to the next topic, with Draco eventually testing Hermione instead. After a couple of hours, Hermione glanced down at her watch. It was later than she had thought – dinner would soon be over.

'We ought to get to the Great Hall for dinner, it's gotten late.'

Draco nodded in agreement, standing up and beginning to roll up the pieces of parchment they had used. He handed them to her. 'I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my – problem – to anybody.'

'I still think you should inform the professors,' Hermione protested, rising to her feet as well. 'We can only do so much, and there's no need to be embarrassed about having a learning disability.' She received a raised eyebrow and a trademark scowl in response, and quickly clarified, 'I'm not going to tell, don't worry.'

'Thanks.'

They exited together, and parted ways – neither of them would dare be seen associating with the other – but there was a certain feeling of accord between them. This continued for the week to come – as they passed each other in the hallways, a nod would be exchanged in acknowledgement. Not enough to be noticed by others – they weren't quite so bold as to even think about defying the unwritten rule that forbid Gryffindors and Slytherins from being friends – but they were friendly enough. Hermione spent some time in the library, researching cases of dyslexia in the wizarding world, and was appalled to discover that it was vastly undocumented. Still, she did manage to find something that might be useful – a wooden ruler she had brought with her to Hogwarts from the muggle world.

She brought it the next time they met, a week later, her birthday. It had been a depressingly uneventful day – she had gotten a letter from her parents delivered during breakfast, one that promised her presents upon her return as they did not want to burden the poor barn owl with carrying bulky packages. Sensible and understandable, Hermione thought, but still disappointing. Neither had her friends – not that she had many yet – thrown a celebration for her. In fact, only Neville knew her birthday, and he had forgotten until she had just been about to leave for her meeting with Malfoy, when he had passed her a crumpled little card with a cupcake drawn on it. When the Slytherin entered the room, she was examining the drawing. She quickly put in her pocket, which, of course, immediately piqued his curiosity.

'What's that you have there, Granger?' he said, flinging himself into the seat beside her and making a grab at her robe pocket. 'Got a love letter, have you?'

Hermione frowned and turned away, but he managed to get hold of it and wrenched it from its hiding place, opening it. His eyes darted over the words inside, then his eyebrows furrowed and he closed it, examining the cover. He looked up and gave her a look that she could not quite decipher, and then frowned slightly.

'It's your birthday,' he said, a statement more than a question. Hermione nodded, her cheeks colouring as she grabbed her card back from him. He let her take it, and there was a pause of silence, which Draco eventually ended. 'Err, happy birthday.'

'Thanks,' said Hermione. 'Shall we get to work?'

A nod from Draco, and Hermione straightened her robes, pulling out the wooden ruler from her other pocket and setting it on the table in front of him. 'This is for you.'

'Your birthday, and you're giving me a gift?' he asked, half joking. He took the thin sliver of wood and eyed it suspiciously, turning it over in his hand. 'What is it?'

'A ruler,' explained Hermione, 'I figured you could put it below the lines you're trying to read, so that you can keep track of what you're reading more easily.'

Draco got out his textbook and opened it to a random passage, using the ruler as the muggleborn had suggested. It did help, slightly – the words still moved, but just as she had said, they were far easier to keep track of. He smiled, and looked up at her gratefully.

'Thank you,' he said. 'This'll help a lot.'

'No problem,' replied Hermione, beaming back at the Slytherin.

Since they had established that Draco did indeed know the material for his upcoming re-sit of the Charms test, the meeting evolved into one of mutual study, primarily comprised of revising the theory covered about levitating charms covered in class that day. It was their last official session that Hermione would tutor him, but they parted just before curfew that night with an agreement to meet up, regardless, next week, at the same place and time.

Draco bumped into her on their way out of Charms the next day, and Hermione felt something heavy deposited in her pocket. She reached in and felt a rectangular package tied with a ribbon – a present from the Slytherin? If she had not caught the glint Draco's eye, she would have sworn that she was mistaken. But this was not the case – upon further inspection in the privacy her room that evening, she found a note scrawled on the wrapping paper.

A belated birthday present, hope you like it.
From, Draco.

She carefully peeled open the paper and opened the flat silver box it contained. Inside was a silver necklace with a small jade stone in the shape of a flame, or perhaps a droplet – it was cold and heavy in her hand. A symbol of a most unexpected friendship kindling, she mused, smiling to herself.

From there, the friendship blossomed. They met for the next few weeks, a friendship that was kept hidden from the others – amity between Gryffindors and Slytherins was rare, and neither wanted to risk their other friends. But still, there was a sense of solace in their alliance – an unacknowledged agreement that they were friends that could share their true feelings without fear of judgement. Their meetings moving from pure study to sessions littered with chatter – talk from Hermione of how she had thought the wizarding world would be easier to adjust to than it had turned out to be, talk from Draco about expectations as a child from a wizarding family of pure blood.

'Some wizards are just better than others,' he had told her. 'Or at least, that's what I've been raised to believe. Now, I'm not so sure. You're muggleborn…and you're alright.'

This doubt could not have been raised at a worse time. Theodore Nott was trying harder and harder to take over as the dominant Slytherin in their year, and Draco was suspecting that some of his followers were being poached. And so, when Nott finally made a move by making a scene that cold evening near the end of October, Draco could not afford to concede – not if he wanted to stay on top.

'Muggle-lover,' Nott had sneered.

The room stilled and quieted. The gauntlet had been thrown. Draco stood and turned to face the other Slytherin boy.

'What did you just call me?'

Draco's eyes were cold and full of fire – Nott flinched, but stood his ground. 'You're a disgrace to Slytherin, to the Malfoy name. You're a muggle-lover.'

Draco laughed dryly. 'I can assure you that that's not the case.'

'If that's not so,' insisted Nott, 'then why are you so friendly with that Granger girl?'

'We're not,' said Draco, rolling his eyes and carefully controlling the slight waver that had entered his voice. His heart was racing. 'Are you out of your mind? When have I ever even said a word to that girl?'

But Nott was not backing down. 'That's the point. You're supposed to be making her life hell, she's a mudblood.'

Draco started, but stood his ground. His family was one of the most vocal supporters of blood purity, yes, but his mother had always disapproved of such foul language – language that could used by his father, but not by him. Away from his mother and her constraints, though, he was still hesitant to use it, especially in reference to Hermione.

'Did you ever think that I considered her too far below me to even bother with her?' he bluffed, sneering and raising an eyebrow, tilting his chin slightly upwards in what he hoped would look like condescending dismissal. 'Piss off.'

Nott glared at him and did as he said, but Draco knew that he had already gotten what he wanted. The seed had been planted – the other Slytherins would be watching him closely. As much as he hated it, he had to prove himself.

He avoided Hermione for the week, not even meeting her eye in the corridors. He missed their session, not even risking sending her an owl to let her know. He felt bad, but it was better than the inevitable – he would have to cut ties with the Gryffindor girl.

It was just over a week after the incident with Nott, Halloween morning, when it happened – after Charms. Hermione had just proven herself, again, to be the smartest and most skilled witch in the class, the levitating charm cast on her feather immaculate. Draco's own charm had been almost as good, and she looked so happy. and it was a charm they had prepared for together in one of their sessions – he didn't think. He caught her eye and shot her a smile. And they noticed.

He could feel their eyes on him, Nott smug, all waiting. He had to do it now, he had no other choice. With a sigh, he put his mask in place. As they exited, Draco prepared to sever his short-lived friendship with Hermione Granger. Please, he thought. Forgive me for what I must do.

'Watch where you're going,' he spat out harshly, a scowl distorting his face, eyes flickering back to his posse to make sure that they were watching. 'Know-it-all. Mudblood.'

The look on Hermione's face would haunt him forever. He had been the one to explain the severity of that particular insult to her – and now he was using it on her. The betrayal, and most of all, the disappointment – it was all clear in her eyes. Immediately, Draco knew that he had made a mistake. But it was too late.

She took off faster than he had ever seen her walk, and he as he lost sight of her, he could feel his approving housemates band closer to him, surrounding him, his glory as the Slytherin Prince restored and confirmed. Nott hung back, eyes on the ground. But Draco could not gloat. He had won back their loyalty, sure, but at what cost?

He wanted to apologise, but his eyes searching the crowds in the corridors and the library amounted to nothing – she was nowhere to be found. Even the Halloween feast that night could not cheer him up. He sat, sipping on his pumpkin juice, eyes flicking back to the Gryffindor table every few minutes. But still, nothing. Parkinson noticed.

'Are you looking for the Granger girl?' she asked loudly and leaning in, smirking in a way that he supposed she thought must be seductive. 'You messed her up real good, she's been in the girls' bathroom crying all day.' She laughed, and so did majority of the table. 'Pathetic muggle.'

Draco could not have felt worse. But just at that moment, Professor Quirrell burst into the room, announcing a troll in the dungeon and collapsing on the floor. Pandemonium. Dumbledore gave the order that they were all to be hurried off to their common rooms, and were forbidden from leaving until the troll was captured. Too scared of punishment to sneak off, Draco made a decision – he would apologise to Hermione the following day.

He never got the chance. The next time he saw Hermione, she was in between Potter and Weasley, all three walking in step and chatting like they had been friends for years. He learnt later that they had supposedly gone off to capture the troll – supposedly being the operative word. The school believed it, and there they were – The Golden Trio. Draco didn't buy it – surely they hadn't been foolish enough to really do so.

But he was the real fool, and he knew it. His brief friendship with muggleborn Hermione Granger was the first real friendship he had had, and he blew it – all for the sake of house politics and power. It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, one that grew increasingly bitter.

After all, he didn't need her. Why would he ever need a mudblood like her?

He still used that ruler, though.

A/N: I've been on hiatus for a couple of months due to my N.E.W.T.s, and I'll be getting back to writing my other story Muggle Studies soon – this plot bunny just refused to get out of my head, and it took agonisingly longer than I thought it would to write. That said, this is the longest one-shot I've ever written!

A little backstory – this is purely a story I've imagined for Draco, but there are some similarities with my own. I was diagnosed with dyslexia when I was eleven, after struggling incessantly in school and feeling like an absolute idiot. I remember feeling relieved and deciding to embrace my diagnosis, thankful for an explanation as to why I worked at a different pace to my peers. Now, eighteen and a high school graduate, I've developed lots of coping mechanisms that help me to (kind of) excel in school. My word recall is still terrible, I struggle with reading aloud, and I rely too heavily on Spell Check – but there's no doubt that I've come a long way.This piece was born out of a moment of exceptional frustration – then it simply would not leave.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know if you did by reviewing!