When I first met Hermione Granger, I was relieved to discover that not everyone besides myself was a clueless imp who didn't take schooling seriously.

Sadly, I found out that she didn't come from Magical parents. I was shocked, yet mortified at the news. The girl knew as much as I did, and so much more than the sorry excuse of the Magical children that I had the unfortunate luck to have met (and been forced into a friendship with, simply because of their blood type).

Finding an acceptable peer in my age group was seemingly impossible. Crabbe and Goyle were only good for one thing, blocking hexes directed at me. Besides that, they were incredibly boring.

I found myself staring at her more often than I should have. I thought about her more often than I should have. It was annoying: someone from such filthy blood… was at the very top of everyone in our year— this included myself.

I didn't understand it… Where did she get those smarts from? Her Muggle parents were useless in these subjects, and her friends were complete idiots. Like every other ruddy kid in this school, Potter and Weasley cared so little about their future.

Well, I didn't blame Weasley so much, it wasn't like he'd ever accomplish anything with his family's social status, but Potter could have. The-Boy-Who-Lived only had one thing on his mind though: Quidditch.

What a waste.

But it's not like I expected anything more from a Gryffindork.

Still…

She was definitely one of a kind...

I had to find out her secret. She had to have one. How else could she manage it? I wanted to know.

One day in February, while stuck inside due to the frigid weather, I saw her in the library—she should have been a Ravenclaw with as studious as she was— and I actually almost asked her how she was able to know and remember everything, knowing she'd tell me (she was exceedingly irritating when it came to showing off her intellects), but I quickly chickened out.

I wasn't supposed to associate myself with people like her.

Though, I knew, even in my young eleven years, that she was different.

I silently watched her from my corner in room as she turned one page after another, occasionally uprooting from her seat to leave the table and look for another book.

She should have been a Pureblood. No one would have ever known if she had just lied about it.

But no, she was proud of herself, proud to have no magical background in her whatsoever, scoring top marks. Out-scoring everyone.

Out-scoring… me.

I was supposed to be on top. I was supposed to be the perfect example of proper breeding.

If she took that away… What would I have…?

AN: Written for a Dramione group I am, suggesting us to write Drabbles in Draco's PoV during his school years. So... these are mine. There will be one for every year.

There MIGHT be 'romance' later on... IF I feel like it.