Hey guys! New story...well, not really new :P I wrote this back in 2005, but started re writing the crap I used to write. :P Obviously that was before HBP came out, so I'm sorry it's not compatible to the 6th or 7th book. This is fan fiction after all :) This one is also up under my old pen name, but no worries I will delete those other ones as soon as I can.

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Chapter 1: The First Incident

She is so beautiful…Picking up her book gracefully of the floor…Placing it in her bag. Harry looked at her for a long second and then hoisted his own bag over his shoulder; they were on their way to their Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

"Hermione lets go," Ron started. "We're going to be the last ones for Hagrid's class," he said irritably.

"Sorry, Ron, I just couldn't find my book for it," Hermione snapped.

"Yeah, well, must be hard to keep track of a billion books," Ron muttered, but only so Harry could hear. "Not that I would know." He smirked at Harry.

They said nothing else and walked along the grounds towards Hagrid's hut. The day was as cheery as any January day could be; cloudy white, the sun hid beyond all the clouds, unseen by the students.

"Gather 'round an' quiet down now," Hagrid started once all the students had congregated near the wilted pumpkin patch. "I know yeh've seen these last year, o'ny today we'll be goin' a bit further with 'em. We'll be startin' a review unit this term. Now take a bowtruckle from these crates here. I got enough fer one to three of yeh." Hagrid looked around happily, as if he could not give the students a greater treat on such a gloomy day.

After they greeted Hagrid, Ron got the nearest bowtruckle he spotted and picked it up rather carelessly. He began crushing it in his large hands, trying to tame it because it kept trashing its thin, sharp limbs.

"Ron, stop squeezing it!" Hermione squealed, looking at the bowtruckle in between Ron's hands. Ron gave the bowtruckle to Harry who didn't exactly want it. They always seemed to manage to get the angriest creature in this class. The bowtruckle had long needle like, albeit fragile arms and legs.

Half an hour later they were doing what Professor Hagrid had instructed them to; they were to use their books if it helped them, and what they had learned the year before, which made Harry very glad to be partnered with Hermione, and thought that Ron would most likely be thinking along the same lines. Hagrid set them to examine the bowtruckles. This task, he said, would be useful so they would know how to deal with them if they needed to in the future.

"I still can't believe that that oaf is still here teaching us," Malfoy's voice came to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. They turned their heads back to see that Malfoy and his two cronies were not far from them.

Harry's face contorted with anger. After Sirius' death and lashing out at Dumbledore last June and learning everything about the prophecy, he still wasn't quite the same. It was a lot to take in for him and since then he lived life one day at a time, trying very hard to control all his inner demons on a day-to-day basis.

"I thought that with Umbridge here he'd be long gone," Malfoy was saying derisively. "But that hag went and got herself kicked out of here, too."

"Harry don't pay attention to him, just ignore them," said Hermione putting a hand on his shoulder in a placating gesture. Harry wished she would of kept talking so he could focus on something else rather than Malfoy's cold voice. He was just making him so angry, but Harry told himself to try to get a grip on who he was.

He wasn't really seeing the things around him. Hermione could tell by his gaze. Sometimes things like this happened, that's why Hermione was positive that Harry wasn't back to normal, although she didn't know the extent of it; Harry had yet not told his friends about being the Chosen One. Harry didn't notice he was now nearly crushing the bowtruckle in his hands.

"Hey, Ron, yeh ain't doin' nothin' come an' help me with these," Hagrid asked brightly pointing to a box. Ron looked at Hermione who was still trying to soothe Harry. His mouth puckered in a rueful way and went to help Hagrid.

"My father is trying out a few different tactics to get him kicked out along with other useless lumps—"

Harry's blood was boiling; he knew that Malfoy was talking about Lupin, who'd accepted his new teaching post in spite of protesting parents because he thought it would help give Harry a smoother transition from a life with Sirius to one without him, his death being just the year before.

"Harry, please, careful with the bowtruckle," Hermione's voice cut through both Malfoy's voice and Harry's thoughts. Harry tried to stop his hands from shaking with the anger he felt.

Hermione was examining one of the bowtruckles fingers carefully trying to detect whether it was broken.

"You know how my Father is really good friends with the Minister." Harry could hear the smugness in Malfoy's tone. "He says that the Minister himself will most likely be interfering into Hogwarts matters any day now. He wont be leaving it to another incompetent idiot like that Umbridge woman—"

"Harry, please! Concentrate—"

"Bet you anything this oaf's the first to get the sack—"

"Harry you're squeezing it. Stop it!"

The bowtruckle's long fingers ripped Hermione's robe at the bottom of the sleeve and cut her fingers deeply. "Ow!" she gasped. Her fingers were bleeding freely down to the tips and blood was drooping on the grass.

"Hermione, I'm sorry!" said Harry fully alarmed now after seeing the damaged he had caused.

"It's fine." She knelt by her bag and tried to pull out a Gryffindor colored handkerchief with her good hand. "Here, your hand is bleeding, too." Harry brought his hand closer for a quick inspection and Hermione seized the opportunity and put the square cloth in his hand. Harry wasn't aware of taking the handkerchief from her; he was too stunned by what he had done and the calmness in which she handled herself with. All he could do was look at her as she covered her injury with the torn piece of fabric from her sleeve.

He shook his head slightly trying to get back his thought process. "No. You're hurt worse than I am, Hermione." But the handkerchief was already ruined by Harry's use of it.

"Here, Granger, you can have mine." Malfoy was handing her a very clean and white handkerchief that was outlined in Slytherin green. On a corner there were his initials stitched in cursive, the bottom of the letters outlined with a slithering snake. Hermione was about to take it, but something told her clearly that it wasn't like her to do so. She knew perfectly well that Harry and Ron would be angry if she did. Besides she definitely didn't trust anything Malfoy would give her, or any other Slytherin for that matter.

"But then you might want to take yours back since it's covered with his half blood. That can only be an improvement to your dirty blood—"

Hermione blinked, taking in what he had said and glared at him hard.

Harry's fists were clenched and he automatically stepped in front of Hermione. He was very angry; it had been building up all class period. He knew he couldn't pick a fight with Malfoy though, not in Hagrid's class. He had to get a grip on himself.

Sensing trouble she looked around to see where Hagrid had gone. Her eyes found him across the clearing too far away for them to hear anything; Ron was still helping him stack up crates with various unknowns in them.

"Malfoy, get out of here!" demanded Hermione, stepping in front of Harry. She was well aware of what could happen. "I don't need anything from you. Just leave!" she hissed. She stood tall; she was quite petite, but not when she was angry. Her stare would make a lesser man squirm under it, but Malfoy was not fussed. He liked the mudblood when she showed her temperamental side. Her mood swings made her unpredictable, which was funny, since in a sense she was the most predictable type of nerd; she was a book-loving, know-it-all. But Malfoy found out three years ago that if you were reason for her wrath, you might just get smacked squarely in the jaw. Her stare might make you take a lynching instead, but still, she wouldn't dare try and touch him this time. When she hit him that night three years ago she had made him furious. Could he feel so incredibly incensed unless he felt something for her? He hated her, he realized. That was the night he had stopped thinking about her as a bushy-haired, geeky sidekick. He knew someday he would get back at her, and he liked to think he had been systematically working at it for the past three years.

Malfoy's silver hair fell into his matching pale eyes as he looked down at her. She was a good head shorter. His furtive face turned into an evil little smile that made Hermione shiver with an odd sense of fear, almost paralyzing her. He did nothing more and just walked away.

"Hermione let me take you to Madam Pomfrey so she can fix your hand," said Harry, scratching the back of his head and cutting into her thoughts. He felt guilty for not being able to control his anger. Again.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said, appeased. "I'll go now after I tell Hagrid. The bell will ring in a few minutes anyway. I'm sure Pomfrey can sort this out quickly," she said cradling her hand closer to her chest. "I'll meet you back in the common room." Harry watched her go up the grounds to the entrance of the castle. He had unconsciously always watched her leave his sight safely before returning to whatever he was doing.

Hermione was down the corridor leading to the Hospital Wing when she heard the distant bell go off. She went inside and Madam Pomfrey was there.

"Miss Granger, what's that in your hand?" Hermione held out her hand and shrugged.

"Bowtruckles," she answered. Madam Pomfrey nodded, understanding and motioned for her to sit on the bed the older woman had just finished making.

She began unwrapping the soaked fabric of Hermione's robe from her hand. "This is a nasty cut," she tsk-tskd in disapproval. "I'll be right back," she said briskly and walked away to gather bandages and a disinfectant to heal Hermione's hand.

"Oh, Hagrid," she said shaking her head, muttering angrily to herself. She poured some strong smelling green liquid on a patch of white cloth and started dabbing at Hermione's deeper cuts. The younger girl looked down at her bloody hand and then looked back up when she heard someone sniffing.

"Yes?" Madam Pomfrey asked the intruder.

"Mam, I hurt my finger," said the pretty but pug-faced Pansy Parkinson in her stupid girly, baby voice. Hermione was annoyed to see Malfoy accompanied her. She just didn't really want to see him right now; after all it was his fault she was in this hurting predicament.

Hermione looked back down to her cradled arm. Malfoy's eyes wandered to her bleeding hand before settling on what he could see of her face, which was half hidden behind a few locks of her soft chestnut curls.

Madam Pomfrey sighed in an annoyed sort of way. "Excuse me, Miss Granger. Just hold this to your hand." Hermione nodded and held the wet cloth to her injury.

"Now, Parkinson, let me see your finger..."

Malfoy kept watching. Hermione could feel someone's gaze on her, and although she suspected it would be his gaze she would meet she still looked up. And although it was also predictable that he would be looking at her with great coldness, she was still a bit startled by it. His grey eyes bore into her brown ones and she looked back down quickly. Slow moments went by and she could still feel his gaze on her and it made her shiver.

"Parkinson, this is nothing," said Madam Pomfrey dismissively.

"But Mam, it hurts a lot. It was those stupid bowtruckles in Hagrid's class. Look at it, it's huge." Indeed Pansy was an idiot. The 'huge cut' was nothing but a tiny speck, like the prick of a needle or safety pin at the tip of a finger.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head impatiently. "Then you'll have to wait until I'm done with Miss Granger." She walked away from them intending to finish helping Hermione.

"Madam Pomfrey it really hurts. I'll bleed to death before you're done with her." Her bottom lip trembled dramatically. Madam Pomfrey shook her head and left to heal Hermione first anyway. Malfoy had to admit Pansy was very stupid. He even wondered himself why he was even there, but then he looked at the reason across on the other bed.

Something made him want to keep looking at her. He didn't really know why. He loathed her. He was superior to her. His father always said scum like her didn't deserve to live or even breathe the same air he did.

When Pomfrey finished healing Hermione's hand she gave her a polite 'thank you' before leaving. She didn't even look at Malfoy, she only thought about the Transfiguration homework she had to finish the conclusion of. It was due in a few days and she really needed to buckle down and get serious about it.

Obviously Pansy's finger had stopped bleeding long before Madam Pomfrey had finished with Hermione, so Malfoy and the pug face left the wing seconds after.

Malfoy could just make out her form turning a corner, walking out of his sight. Something made him want to follow her but he resisted thinking he was being very stupid for letting his mind wander off on nothing but the most useless of thoughts.

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Give it a shot, it's only the beginning after all :) Please review! ^_^