Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any character or anything related to the Harry Potter universe. Mores the pity.
From the moment Hermione Granger slapped him across the face back in third year, Draco Malfoy knew that things were going to change. She'd knocked him on his ass in doing so, flipped everything he'd known on it's ear.
He'd seen the pain and rage in her eyes when he'd called her mudblood. It wasn't the first time he'd done it - after all that's what she was, wasn't it? Surely someone as logical as Granger knew better than to get so worked up by the truth. And yet, she'd been angry enough to strike him.
Now why was that?
He spent the whole night replaying it, unable to shake the event from his mind. His whole life, he'd been taught that mudbloods were inferior. That being a pureblooded wizard made him, quite simply, better. It was only then that he stopped to ask himself why exactly that made him better than her.
It couldn't be brains because despite her muggle parentage, Granger was quite intelligent. In fact, she was the only one in their year to habitually score higher than him in their classes, much to his chagrin. It's couldn't be appearance either because loath as he was to admit it, Granger wasn't unpleasant to look at. True she had somewhat buck teeth and was gangly in the way that 13 year olds are, to say nothing of that unruly mop of coffee colored frizz she called hair, but she also had an easy smile and kind eyes, and the way her expressive brows furrowed when concentrating on her studies was unexpectedly appealing.
So what exactly was it that made her less than? Why had his father taught him that she and her ilk were filth when he could find no true reason for it?
That was the first time he thought that maybe...maybe his father had it wrong.
That was a turning point in his life. He was still Draco Malfoy, still smug and arrogant - though if you asked him, was it truly arrogance when it's well deserved? But he had started to investigate principles he'd previously just taken on faith, and found them sorely lacking. He was an intelligent person who placed a lot of stock in logic and proven facts, and the more he searched the more the truth became glaringly obvious.
The only difference between muggleborns and purebloods was that one simply grew up not knowing about magic. That was it.
The revelation had shocked him at first, then angered him. Not because he discovered that muggleborns were not inherently lesser but because he discovered that he came from a long line of unwarranted bigotry. It infuriated him that his ancestors besmirched the name of Malfoy with such foolishness. He had no problem with being superior, enjoyed it in fact, but only for legitimate reasons. He still found himself superior to a majority of his peers for their lack of wealth or intelligence or ability to reason for themselves.
There were very few he found equal to himself. Blaise Zabini was one such equal. A fellow Slytherin in his year, the tall dark boy had become his closest friend, inasmuch as either of them had friends. The two had rarely crossed paths before though, Blaise was intelligent and cunning, since he had never bought into the pureblood bias or the Slytherin tenancy to follow the Dark Lords teachings. After his discovery, Draco found himself drawn to seek out more intelligent companions than the eager-to-be-death-eaters Crabbe Goyle. Vince Greg had never really been his friends anyhow, not in ways that mattered.
Another such equal, though he'd never cop to it aloud, was none other than Hermione Granger herself. She continued to best him in classes and challenge him whenever there were debates in class. It seemed almost as though their classrooms became their own personal battlefield on which they tested their wits against each other. He'd be lying if he said he didn't grudgingly admire her dedication to the pursuit of knowledge. Why she hung around with that half wit Weasel the only marginally brighter Boy Who Lived To Annoy Him was beyond Draco.
Not that he'd been asked.
During their 4th year, at the Yule Ball, yet another thing changed. Draco had been sitting at a table, half listening to whatever Pansy was saying, when the champions walked in with their escorts. On the arm of the Durmstrang champion was none other than Hermione Granger. Her curls were glossy and frizz free, and she was wearing a gown of the softest periwinkle. Draco was sure he'd never thought of a color as specific as periwinkle, but there didn't seem to be another way to describe it. She looked older than the girl who not a week before had traded insults with him in transfiguration class. More elegant. She looked, he realized with no small amount of shock, beautiful.
Granger, the muggleborn know it all, one third of the insufferable golden trio, was stunning.
He'd quickly schooled himself into a bored facade, but inside he was spinning. Had he really thought she was beautiful? Maybe it was the dress or the hair or the atmosphere the ball created. That must be it, he reasoned. He knew he respected her intelligence, and it was likely that he was just being caught up in the moment confusing beauty with shock. Yes, that was it. That's what he told himself every time he stole a sideways glance at her that night.
Yet every time he saw Krum lean in to whisper to her or take her hand for a dance, he felt a stab of something. Annoyance? Yes, that felt right. She was, after all, the only one who he could test himself against. And this was his school. That's what it had to be. Territorial instincts. Right. And when she tore past him in the hall crying after a fight with Weasel, he had to remind himself that she was his adversary. Right.
The true turning point though came the summer before sixth year. Voldemort had returned. His father, ever the faithful death eater, had offered up his son as a spy and willing sacrifice. Draco would never forget the fanatical gleam in his fathers eye when he presented him to the Dark Lord, or the overwhelming feeling of wrongness that washed over Draco as he beheld him. He was horrifying. Draco couldn't see how anyone, let alone the proud Luscious Malfoy, could stand to grovel at the feet of the dark wizard. He could hardly stand to be in his presence.
He was tasked with finding a way to get death eaters into Hogwarts, and then he himself was to kill the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. Dumbledore. He knew immediately that he couldn't go through with it. He also knew that it would be suicide to refuse the assignment. He accepted, and upon returning for his sixth year did something he'd never imagined himself doing. He turned for help to the very man he was supposed to kill. Dumbledore helped him work out a plan, one to keep Draco and his mother safe from the Dark Lords wrath.
His father was beyond saving, but his mother was just an unwilling ride along thanks to her husband. To his eternal surprise, the headmaster revealed that Severus Snape was working as a spy for the Order of The Phoenix. He was to help Draco enact Dumbledore's plan.
In the end, he lead over twenty death eaters into Hogwarts, and right in to the clutches of the Order. It was a brutal fight, one Draco was surprised to see Potter and his band of do gooders fighting. Though he supposed he wasn't much better. Unwilling to be taken as prisoners, all but one of the death eaters met their demise at the end of a wand. Some even at the end of their own. One survived though, long enough to apparate away from the castle back to his master. Latching onto his apparition trail, the members of the Order the students fighting along side them were suddenly face to face with Voldemort and the remaining death eaters. The appeared just in time to watch Voldemort fire a killing curse at Draco's father, before Potter and Dumbledore killed him in turn.
He still wasn't sure how he felt about the events of the past year. His father was dead, his mother was under house arrest, and he was inexplicably a hero. Dumbledore and Snape had made his involvement known, and he'd been hailed by the papers for his bravery. Frankly, he wished they'd stop treating him like some sodding Gryffindor parading about for glory. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't really sure he'd deserved the accolades. He'd believed all of the same things the death eaters had just a few short years ago. Had it not been for a hotheaded witch with a wicked right hook, he would have gladly obliged his assignment. It didn't sit well with him.
Nor did the fact that many of his housemates were dead or on the run, having thrown their lot in with the wrong side. He'd known Crabbe and Goyle since they were in swaddling and they were both dead. Just like he could've been.
He was also very uneasy with the fact that he'd somehow been made Head Boy. He wanted to attribute it to his nearly flawless marks but he knew it had more to do with his new status as a staple of team good. That brought him back to the present. He was ambling down the corridor on the Hogwarts express, making his way to the Heads cabin for the meeting with his female counterpart and whatever prefects they'd selected this year. He just hoped it was someone tolerable, and someone easily manipulated. After the stress of sixth year, he was greatly looking forward to spending most of his time relaxing and therefore planned to push most of his responsibilities on whichever witch they'd scrounged up for Head Girl.
But of course, when is it ever that simple? He let out a long breath as he opened the Heads compartment, drawling in a way that he knew she'd hate, "Granger. I should have guessed."
A/N: Hello there! I'm not a fan of long authors notes, so I'll keep this short and sweet. This is my first time writing a fic of any kind. You know the saying "If there's a story you want to read that you can't find, write it yourself"? Well, that's what this is for me haha. Hope you enjoy!
