Draco Malfoy stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, with mixed feelings, as always. He enjoyed the school holidays; being back in the Malfoy Mansion, with his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, fussing over him. He didn't particularly enjoy his father, Lucius Malfoy, tearing him to shreds over the fact that Hermione Granger, Muggle born Granger, was still beating him in the yearly tests – him, a pure blood wizard!
But then again, his father wasn't around much. He was usually at the Ministry of Magic, or with high up, important people, lending them money so he could get personal favours and then screwing them around. He was always on the move, traveling to distant places, stopping by at home every now and again. On the rare occasion he was home, he was usually in the secret drawing room, where he kept dark and dangerous possessions, entertaining strange guests. Lucius Malfoy was rich, powerful and, as he and the rest of the Malfoys liked to think, well bred and and a good two classes above the half Muggle or Muggle born wizards and witches.
Malfoy knew his father was up to no good, but neither he, nor his mother, ever questioned him. Malfoy enjoyed being at home, where he got his own way with everything, but then again, he enjoyed school too, for the simple fact that he was clever, fairly good looking, popular amongst his fellow housemates, the Slytherins and got along with his housemaster, Potions teacher Severus Snape.
The holidays had been slightly boring; Malfoy and his mother had traveled to the South of France for a few weeks and had his fathers' guest, Igor Karkaroff in their home the rest of the time.
And now he was back, back on the train that would take him to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was looking forward to catching up with his two best friends, Crabbe and Goyle, who although were stupid, thick and gormless, did what he said and looked up to him no end.
He paused as he climbed aboard the large, old fashioned steam train and looked back onto the platform. His mother was there, of course, tall, bony and dressed completely in a black suit and fashionable black hat with a string of pearls around her neck. She waved at her only son, who did not return the wave – he had gotten tired of his mother over the summer.
Malfoy heaved his large school trunk up after him and started off down the train, looking for a carriage of his Slytherin friends. He passed a few Ravenclaw students, who he ignored as usual. Finally he stopped outside a carriage where his friends, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Zabini Blaise were sitting.
"Draco!" Pansy leapt up to hold open the carriage door for Malfoy, her pug like face shining with glee. "How are you, Draco?"
"Fine," he muttered in reply, rather unenthusiastically; Pansy had been crushing on him since the first week of school – and that was five years ago. He never knew why he, or any of his friends, entertained Pansy, but then again, she really was the only girl who would ever talk to them, plus Draco liked the feel of someone worshipping and admiring him, even if she was an annoying and pug faced. He liked admiration and respect – he was not so different from his father after all.
Malfoy nodded to his friends in greeting, words were hardly ever exchanged between them. He sat down beside Blaise, who offered him a Chocolate Frog and opposite Pansy, who immediately stood up to come sit beside him with the excuse of wanting another Chocolate Frog.
Malfoy wondered again, for the hundredth time, why Pansy was the only girl who had ever really shown interest in him. There were the few Slytherin girls who had – all as ugly as Pansy and worse – but where were all the talented, smart and pretty girls? Malfoy knew he came across as slightly arrogant, conceited and even sometimes, mean, but he was good looking, like his father, with his sleek blonde hair, sharp eyes and pointy face. He had brains, money – so why didn't he have girls fawning all over him like they did that stupid Potter?
He exhaled deeply. Potter. Potter with his dark scruffy hair, green cats' eyes, broken glasses and ugly lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Malfoy could not help but let out a little snort of disgust at the title. Potter was nothing more than a swollen headed schoolboy, no more special, talented or clever that any other kid and certainly not any more than Malfoy himself was. Sure, Potter had gotten himself out of a few tight scrapes, rumored to be concerning the Dark Lord himself, but that had to be, as his father and Snape put it, no more than extremely good luck and the presence of friends more talented than he.
Not Ron Weasley, that was for sure. Tall, freckled, gangly, red headed Ron with his great big clumsy feet and army of red headed brothers and sisters with that Muggle loving fool of a father? The idea was amusing. Weasley had been Potter's best friend ever since their first day and the two were loyal to each other – but Malfoy knew Weasley was nothing, nothing more than a poor, clumsy sidekick.
And then there was Granger. Mudblood Hermione Granger. Now she was clever – but her knowledge only came out of textbooks and the school's library. Her family were Muggles, plain common Muggles, who had probably never even heard of magic until the letter from Hogwarts came. Granger could memorize enchantments out of a book, learn entire chapters by heart and maybe even perform the spells to perfection – but what did all that matter when the blood coursing through her veins were not ones of real witches and wizards? She had no more magical blood in her body than Malfoy had Grindylow blood in his.
Still, she was fairly presentable, Malfoy mused. Nerdy yes, with her horrible bushy hair and formerly bugs bunny teeth – but that had been rectified by the matron, Madam Pomfrey in time for last year's Christmas ball. Even Malfoy had to admit, as did many other boys, that Granger had looked respectable and maybe even pretty on that occasion. And she was smart. Which was more than he could say for the thick as a troll girl sitting beside him. In fact, if Granger hadn't been a Mudblood, a goody goody, Potter and Weasley's best friend and one of his mortal enemies, he might even have gone for her himself. Of course, because of those reasons, he knew the two would never have anything more than deep disgust and resentment for each other.
It was just too bad.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!"
Hermione Granger stepped off the Hogwarts Express with her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. It was a cold September night and rain was drizzling softly down, dampening the ground beneath her. Shivering slightly, she pulled her black wizards' robes around her tighter. All the students of Hogwarts were crowding the platform, waiting uncertainly for the carriages that would come and take them to castle that was the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione could easily make it out in the distance, across a vast black lake, a towering castle, with golden lights flickering inside it.
The first year students traditionally reached the school by crossing the lake in boats with the Hogwarts Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid. Hermione could see him too, on the other side of the platform, holding a heavy lantern, his loud voice booming out to all the terrified first years, "Over 'ere!"
Hermione, Ron and Harry made their way to the horse driven carriages waiting for them. Out of experience, Hermione knew the carriages were pulled by horse like creatures called Thestrals, although she could not actually see them – only people who had witnessed death could. She glanced over at Harry who was gazing intently at the space in front of the carriage where she knew the Thestrals must be – Harry could see them clearly, his parents having been murdered in front of him when he was just a year old. Instinctively, Hermione moved towards him and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Get a move on Hermione!" called Ron, who was already seated in comfortably a carriage and looking down at his two friends as if they were mad for not being beside him in the warm. "It's freezing out. You couldn't whip up a little warming up spell or something, could you?"
"No, I couldn't Ron," she answered, testily, her hand reaching out for her wand anyway, "because as you very well know we're not allowed to perform magic outside school, and anyway, you're a fifth year, for Heaven's sake, you should know the charm yourself by now, we learnt it in Charms ages ago, it's Fuori, remember and – wait! Where's my wand?" She patted her robes' pockets, searching. "Oh no! I must have left it in the carriage when I cleaned up Neville's stupid cactus gunk!"
Ron chuckled. "And Hermione, the brainy organized one? Better get a move on – either the train or the carriages will be leaving soon!"
"Wait for me, will you!" Hermione was calling, as she dashed back to the train, cursing silently for being so careless. Her wand was one of a kind, "the wand chooses the wizard" she remembered that creepy wand seller, Ollivander, telling her when she had first bought the wand. What if the train's already left? She panicked. Then I'll be stuck, wandless – and this year we're going to perform really complicated spells – what'll I do without one?
She climbed back on the train, and hurried to the compartment she, Harry, Ron, Ron's sister Ginny and their friend Neville Longbottom had shared on the ride down. The compartment was empty, no sign of Hermione's eleven inch, mahogany, dew and sphinx skin wand.
Panicking, Hermione turned and ran up and down the train, searching in any place she might have dropped the wand. She climbed off the train to check the platform – just as it let off a whistle and shoot of steam and started the long journey back to King's Cross Station in London. The platform was almost empty, most of the kids were already in the Thestral pulled carriages, waiting to depart for Hogwarts. Dropping to her knees, Hermione began crawling around in a desperate search for her missing wand. How could she have lost it? Please let someone find it, she pleaded. Please, please. Anyone. Well, anyone, except -
"Looking for something, Granger?" said a cold voice behind her.
Oh great, Hermione thought, shaking her head and clambering to her feet. I know that voice. Too well. So the person who has to find my wand is none other than that horrible, disgusting Malfoy. Now maybe he'll think I owe him something for finding it. I'm surprised he's even letting me know he's found it. Knowing him, he'd probably have wanted to chuck it into the lake or something.
"Yeah," Hermione managed to say evenly. "That's mine. I must have dropped it coming off the train." She held out her hand for it.
Malfoy didn't return it though. He continued twirling it in his hand, that infuriating smug look on his pale face. "What will you give me if I give it back to you, huh, Granger? Or should I say mudblood?"
Hermione could feel the anger boiling up inside her. I don't see why I should be taking this, she fumed inwardly. It's MY wand. I might have dropped it and maybe he found it, but that doesn't give him right to demand things from me in return for my wand. I'd like to punch his repulsive pure blood obsessed face.
"Give it back, Malfoy. Or I'll call a teacher."
Great one. I'll call a teacher? What kind of first grade threat is that? Hermione kicked herself. No matter how hard she tried to keep her cool, she always managed to utterly embarrass herself around Malfoy. Maybe she felt inferior to him in someway. It couldn't be that his stupid Mudblood comments actually GOT to her?
Malfoy's smirk grew even wider. He let out a sharp gasp of frosty breath. "Call a teacher? Who? That great oaf Hagrid?" He laughed cruelly. "Or maybe you'll call Weasel? He'll rush to save you.. If he doesn't trip over his own big feet first. What about Potty? Oh wait. He's too busy saving us all from the Dark Lord."
"Shut up. And give me my wand back." Her fists were clenched. She remembered two years back; she had slapped Malfoy across the face for insulting Hagrid. She felt much the same now, yet, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. "I mean it, Malfoy. Give me my wand back."
"What'll you do for me, Granger?"
"What we won't do is kick you in the face!" Ron and Harry had appeared at Hermione's side, their wands drawn. "Give her the wand, you git, or we'll hex you."
It was pouring with rain now. Hermione shivered, soaked to her skin. She couldn't help noticing that a lock of Malfoy's blonde hair was plastered wetly to his forehead and trickles of rain were running down his face. It was just so..
"Cute. The Chosen One and his sidekick." Malfoy sang in a falsely sweet, sing song voice. Then his grey eyes hardened as he whipped out his own wand. "I can take you any time, Potty. Right now, if you like. And you too, Granger." He tossed her back her wand, and she clumsily caught it.
Harry and Ron looked ready to fight Malfoy, but just then, from behind them, came a loud yell of "Harry! Ron! Hermione! We're leaving now! Get a move on!" Neville Longbottom was leaning out of his carriage, beckoning to them as the eerie carriages began to move, seemingly being pulled by nothing.
"Don't," said Hermione, laying her hand on Harry's arm. "He's not worth it. Come on, Ron." She turned around and began heading for the carriage.. Ron however, was still standing there breathing heavily, his wand drawn, eyes fixated on Malfoy.
"Come on, Ron! We're going to be late!"
Pocketing her wand, Hermione clambered into the slowly moving carriage with Ron and Harry behind her, feeling decidedly unsettled, something every encounter with Malfoy left her feeling. She couldn't decide why. He was handsome, true, and yet he was so steely and hard and cold. Hermione knew that although he, Crabbe and Goyle appeared joint at the hip, Malfoy detached himself from them. He was almost afraid to let someone get close to him – and yet, would anyone ever want to get close to him? He's such an awful person! All these years all he's done is cause trouble for us. He's such a liar, a cheat, a suck up, a snob – and yet, Hermione thought, is any of this really his fault?
We're raised by what we know, and all Malfoy has ever known is the coldness and hardness of his father, who, judging by what Hermione had heard, was a former Death Eater or Lord Voldemort follower. And his mother, who probably feels powerless and spoils Malfoy rotten. He's never had any real friends – so is it really his fault he's like this? If he had been brought up in a loving caring family, with real friends, would he be like he is? Everyone deserves a chance to be happy. Malfoy didn't get this. Instead of cursing him and insulting him all the time, maybe I should try and help him.. And maybe even get to stroke his blonde hair and look into his grey eyes while I'm at it..
Wait, Hermione realized suddenly. Why am I even debating this? Have I gone mad? She subconsciously shot a glance at Harry and Ron who were furiously thinking up animals they'd like to transfigure Malfoy into and shuddered to think what they would say if they knew what she was thinking right then. She imagined the look of horror and repulsion on their faces, and quickly snapped out of her good witch mode. All Malfoy deserves, she thought, more forcefully now, is a good punch in the face and a liberal dose of Ginny's bat bogey hex.