Draco grinned at the bushy-haired girl.
"No, of course not. What's your name?"
He raised one eyebrow.
"Hermione Gr-"
"Hermione!" A chubby boy grabbed the girl - Hermione's - arm. "I had him - he went that way - help me!" This last was said in a wail, and he began pulling her up the train.
"Good luck!" Draco yelled after her, and she waved in his direction.
At the Sorting, he watched "Granger, Hermione!" be called up, hoping silently she might be Sorted into Slytherin, as she sat with the Hat on her head for almost five minutes.
Eventually it coughed and said, "Gryffindor!"
When he was Sorted, the Hat barely touched his head before yelling, "Slytherin!" and he glanced over to her. Their eyes met, and she looked a little confused that he wasn't with her.
In their second year, when he called her a Mudblood, he was just parroting his father. He didn't see it as a bad word, but he used it as an insult for the first time. She looked so hurt, and for a second he felt a perverse satisfaction that he'd finally knocked her down, perfect little Potter's best friend. Then that stupid Weasel had pulled his wand out, trying to curse him, and he'd been laughing but feeling awful for it. Not about the Weasel, obviously; Hermione.
In third year, he called her a Mudblood again. He didn't know why he did it. It was probably that she was still hanging around that stupid Weasel.
He found her later that day and apologised.
She bit her lip like she was trying to decide something, then she tugged a necklace out of her pocket.
It was a dragon, gold and silver.
She showed him her own - tucked beneath her robe - and tapped it with her wand. The tiny dragon's mouth opened and she pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from another pocket in her robes, scribbling hello and touching it to the dragon's open mouth. It vanished.
He frowned at her and she said breathlessly, "I enchanted the quill so I - I mean - um - if you tap yours-" she swallowed and met his eyes.
He tapped his one and the piece of parchment fluttered into his hand.
"I was going to give it to Ron earlier but he-" she caught herself, as if just realising who she was talking to.
"What's the Weasel done now?" There was the hint of a laugh in his voice, and she gasped, half from laughter, half from shock that she was having an actual conversation with Draco Malfoy.
"He - he thinks my cat ate his stupid rat. And Harry's taking his side, too."
"Tell me about it - in writing, okay? I've got to go."
"O-okay," she sniffed.
He awkwardly hugged her and darted off.
She stared after him for a second, then walked back to Gryffindor, and began writing.
