A/N: Thanks to everyone who favourited and followed this!

Author: TheCrownprincessBride

House: Ravenclaw

Prompt: Undervalued

Theme: Air

Word count: 1472


On my way to the library, I had only managed to make it to the marble staircase before Harry and Ron caught up with me. I was seething with anger, but at the same time, I felt like Draco had punched me. His comment had hurt, and he knew it. Maybe he wasn't prone to physical violence, but words as weapons weren't alien to him.

They echoed in my mind like the silence after an avalanche. "Think you could do much better Mudblood? Go on then, use Potter's broom and fly up to the tallest goal."

He'd still called me Mudblood, and it had still hurt as much as it had the first day he'd said it.

And despite all of that, I found Draco attractive, liked the way his hair curled when it was wet, admired that passionate gleam in his eyes when playing Quidditch or brewing potions, caught myself staring at him in class. He wasn't all bad – otherwise I certainly would do nothing but despise him wholeheartedly. He had kind sides, too. Once, he had saved my Anti-Hair Loss Potion by reminding me – not very nicely of course – that I had forgotten to add Boomslang skin. He had helped me up when I had slipped on the frozen steps of the Owlery. I had caught him staring at me when he clearly thought nobody was watching, and when our gazes had met, something akin to smile had sneaked onto his lips. But those were rare moments. Mostly, he acted full of malice towards me.

That didn't stop me from noticing tiny details of his behaviour: he only drank Earl Grey and never ate a Full-English Breakfast; he had mastered the art of raising one eyebrow to convey a multitude of emotions – from surprise, to disapproval, to scepticism; he was more a cat-person than a dog-person; and if he felt threatened, he reacted with condescension or anger.

And just a moment ago, I had threatened him, threatened his superiority, and he had reacted the only way he could: with cruelty. Merlin, Draco liked to hurt me by insulting my lineage, by provoking me. How could I find someone attractive who obviously enjoyed seeing me cry?

I didn't know.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry called, reaching for my elbow to stop me.

I turned my head away from them and let my hair fall over my face, so they wouldn't see my angry tears. But they noticed them anyway.

"You're not crying because of that git, are you?" Ron said, stepping closer so that he and Harry were shielding me from curious eyes.

"Don't listen to him," Harry added, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "We know you don't like flying. You don't need to prove yourself to Malfoy, of all people."

My head snapped towards him. His face was gentle, sympathetic, but there was something in his voice that threw me off. He sounded too reassuring. False, somehow. And then, I understood. He didn't believe I could do it – fly, I mean – even if I tried.

"But I need to, don't I?" I said tonelessly, stepping away from him. My anger had evaporated as quickly as it had come. "I need to prove myself constantly. Prove that I'm the smartest witch of my age, prove that I'm just as good in magic as the high and mighty members of pureblood families, and prove that I'm brave enough to be sorted into Gryffindor." This revelation left me hollow inside, and my voice shook a little when I continued. "Even to you." I swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from my face. "I'm more than just books and cleverness, you know?"

Harry paled, opening his mouth to protest, but Ron was faster. "This is nonsense, Hermione. We know that you could do it if you set your mind to it."

I turned to him. "Really? Would you let me borrow your new Cleansweep?" I asked, arching one eyebrow in an attempt to mimic Draco's patronising expression.

Hesitation flickered across Ron's face before he forced it into an impassive mask. "Of course."

But it was a lie, and I knew it. Even my friends didn't believe in me, didn't think I could fly a broom. They just valued me as a walking library and as help with their homework, but they didn't think I was capable of anything else, and certainly not of facing something that terrified me.

I had never felt more disappointed of anyone in my life. Clenching my hands into fists, I turned around sharply and began to climb the stairs. I was their friend, and they still underestimated me. I felt more undervalued than ever before.

I was a lion, a bloody Gryffindor, and I could easily fly up to the highest goal if I wanted to. I had been flying before, if they'd forgotten. Thestrals certainly weren't the most secure way of travelling, especially if you couldn't see them. Just because I hated these teeny tiny twigs of a deathtrap – also called broomsticks – didn't mean I couldn't do it.

The logical part of my mind understood the laws of magic behind brooms and knew that they were pretty safe. But when I sat on a broom, high up in the air, there was only one law I remembered and that was gravity. I could feel the ground come rushing at me, and there was no magic that was able annul to the laws of physics forever – as I'd had to learn painfully when I was younger.

And Draco … well, he obviously also didn't believe I would dare to climb on a broom or he wouldn't have said so. Had he been feeling so unbalanced by my remark that he had to lash out at me? It was his way of putting me back in my place and gaining advantage over me. I knew that; but still … how was he ever going to like me back – if that was even what I wanted – if he thought me incapable of handling anything other than books?

Was I expecting too much when I wanted to be appreciated by my friends or have a boy who I liked like me back?

Apparently.

I drew my cloak tighter around me. One of the windows on the first floor had been left open and the cold air made me shiver.

Oh, I was going to show Draco not to mess with me – a witch of utmost skill and incomparable intelligence. I would steal that flipping broom of his and teach him a lesson. And Harry and Ron, too, while I was at it.

I rounded the corner to the library, suddenly filled with grim determination, and skidded to a halt when I recognised the pale figure standing near the doors.

Draco.

He was leaning casually against a pillar, as if it was totally normal to hang out in front of the library. I noticed that he was alone – no Crabbe or Goyle at his side. He looked up and our gazes locked. Silver with amber.

Before I knew it, my wand was in my fingers, and for the first time in my life, I felt the urge to hurt him back. I had probably only imagined the nice things he had done. Draco thought I was beneath him, less important than dirt on his shoes, and he had shown it to me over and over again.

Suddenly, I was almost running towards him, and shock crossed his face when he noticed the wand in my hand.

"Hermione –"

It took me a few seconds to register that Draco had used my first name. My mind was reeling when I came to a halt a few metres in front of him, my wand outstretched. I hated him. I must have been delusional in thinking that I liked him, that he was capable of liking anyone but himself.

Draco didn't even reach for his wand, just looked at me. There was something broken about him that would have made me lower my wand, if he hadn't spoken.

"I didn't mean what I said."

The words plunged into the silence between us like a knife. That lie, that last lie made me snap.

"Avis," I whispered, not averting my gaze from his for one second. His eyes flickered up to the flock of yellow canaries above my head, and he frowned in confusion.

Still training my wand at him, I said coldly, "Oppugno."

The little flock of birds sped like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Draco, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach. I didn't care what he would do next, curse me or run.

Abruptly, I turned and entered the library, its door closing behind me with a final clack.


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