Draco tried to take it all as stoically as possible, but being around his father when he was in one of those moods made everything thrice as hard. Shards of glass were raining all over, impulsed by the wrath of Lucius Malfoy's very own magic. Draco stood in the middle of the room, watching as his father exploded windows, china, and anything else that got at the wrong end of his wand.

He just stood in the middle of the room, eyes widened in horror, lips pursed in fear.

"I will ask you one more time, son. How is it possible that a filthy little Mudblood got higher scores in every single subject, including potions?" His voice was low, yet the usual coolness of his tone had been replaced with vicious anger.

"The teachers like her, father. She is very smart-" he started with a tremulous voice, only to be interrupted swiftly.

"SILENCE!" Lucius struck him on the cheek with his bare hand. "You are a disgrace to this family."

Lucius Malfoy paced around the room, his eyes narrowed in fury. He had been at it for a while, ever since they received the fated owl from school with his end-of-year results. Draco was shaking like a leaf, not at all unused to his private displays of malice.

"You're going to spend the Summer studying with the best private tutors our galleons can buy. You cannot — and will not — be bested by that- thing."

"She's a human, father, not a-"

"What did you just say?" Lucius interrupted once again, pointing his wand at his son. "Have you learned nothing at all, you fool?"

Draco swallowed, remembering the words he'd been told to repeat only in the presence of certain acquaintances.

"I'm sorry, father. I will try harder."

"See that you do."

Hours later, back in the safety of his room, Draco lay in his four-poster bed in the dark. He had been trying to sleep for a long time, but the scolding he'd got during the evening still cut deep.

Her mother had healed his bruised face, giving him hot chocolate before she retired for bed. She'd spent the rest of the day with her son, trying to keep his mind away from her husband's irrational behaviour. She'd also tried to speak about the Granger girl with Draco, to no avail. After a long, frustrating while she left, kissing his cheek and promising all would be well in the morrow.

It was well past midnight then, and Draco was sure nothing would be well in the morrow.

His summer would be ruined doing extra work he really didn't want to do. He'd got excellent marks, coming second only to Granger. However, he was sure no amount of studying would help him. There was no competing with her — not even the Ravenclaws could. Wasn't it enough to be the second best? The girl was a prodigy.

Draco scoffed. What in Merlin's name was Granger, anyway? He couldn't match the picture he had in her head with the one his father had painted of Mudbloods all his life. She truly was a gifted witch who overcame any obstacle that life threw her way. If the stories that had run around all year were true, she had accomplished incredible feats, unthinkable for a first year even if they came from a magical family.

He was angry and confused. He wished he could talk to Blaise and Theo about her, aside from the envious remarks they traded when she was the topic of discussion. He'd been super close to doing it, but decided against it every time. They occasionally sneaked out to an empty classroom in the Dungeons to spend time together after everybody else had gone to sleep, but he knew his feelings for her were too dangerous to say out loud. He'd better keep them close to his heart and pray to Circe that they'd be gone soon.

He'd tried to be horrible to her all year round, but his heart sometimes won over and he decided he'd rather ignore her presence. He got better at goading Potter and Weasley, for he was jealous of their easy friendship. Yet, no matter what he did, after Pansy threw a jab at her appearance that very first day on the train and he pretended not to know her, Granger never looked back at him.

Their fateful encounter on Flourish and Blotts seemed like a memory fresh from a delusion. They could never even be friends, no matter how better than everyone she was at magic. If his father wouldn't let him hang out with a blood traitor, he would never approve of Draco even being in the same room as her.

So, what options did he have left? Pathetic attempts at drawing her attention, longing gazes and frustrated retaliations she didn't really deserve. He couldn't really blame her — after all, who would want to be friends with the tosser who teased her nonstop?

His memory wandered back to the fateful day in the Forbidden Forest. He really wanted to damage the trio's friendship by ratting on them — for what, he wasn't sure. Then, he'd been given detention with her and Potter, along with Longbottom.

He was sure the Keeper had something against him when he was paired with Longbottom instead of Granger. He'd scared him off with the hope they changed partners, but the brute sent him off with Scarhead instead.

Then came the thing. The horrifying figure drinking the slain unicorn's blood — he shivered whenever he reminisced about that night. He'd been ashamed to admit he'd run back to the Keeper, scared out of his mind… but there was something about it that triggered a primal part of his brain. Staying around to see what it could do to him would have certainly been a death sentence.

He had been so happy when he was finally alone with Hermione, yet she had dismissed him entirely and literally ran to Potter's arms the second he came back to them. Draco hoped the thing would've offed him, but he had no such luck. He seemed to be destined to live his life completely apart from Hermione Granger, as if they were walking along parallel paths, only able to take a glimpse of each other occasionally.

He hoped the next school year would be better.

Destiny was a strange concept, one Draco wasn't entirely sure he believed in. However, fate seemed to mock him by making them meet once again at Flourish and Blotts. The circumstances were all too different, however: Saint Potter was having his picture taken alongside Lockheart, accompanied by the Weasleys and Granger's parents.

His face flushed red with rage and envy. How come Potter had everything he wanted? He was famous without lifting a finger, he usually got away with every stupid decision he took, he was fucking rewarded for flying out of turn and even allowed to play even when first years were not allowed to, he had real friends — unlike him with Crabbe and Goyle… perhaps the only things Draco owned that he did not were his impeccable blood and mountains of galleons. Certainly that would be appealing for a young witch?

Maybe, but not to Granger. He'd give her the entire library at the Manor if he could spend one day with her, just the two of them, no expectations, obligations or bad memories. Just like a year ago, in that very same shop. It almost seemed like a dream.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" Draco called out from the stairs, irritated at his presence there. It was like they were tainting his memories with Granger, who was looking at him with an expression akin to disgust.

"Famous Harry Potter, can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page" he spit, his voice filled with disdain.

Suddenly, a raging red-headed girl was retorting back.

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!"

Well, well, well — another Weasley. His father was nearby, Draco, mused, and he was sure to enjoy the show. If he played his cards well, perhaps he'd even be proud of his attitude. It was worth the try.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!"

With that he had finally goaded Granger over, basking in her presence like a thirsty beggar to a well. Unluckily for him, she was flanked by the ginger menace, whose face was as red as his hair.

With renewed malice he bit once more, uncaring of the consequences his actions would spark regarding his and Granger's already strained relationship, unwillingly drawing the attention of the other adults in the room. What quickly followed then, was a heaping mess.

His own father had got into a fistfight with the Weasley patriarch, making books fly as the audience watched in dread. Granger's parents were frightened, looking at him like the little shit he truly was. What a way to earn a witch's grace, wasn't it? At least they'd get a lasting memory out of it.

As the fight broke off and Lucius urged them to make their leave, he saw Granger holding the third installment of The Crimson Keep, hugging the tome closely to her body as she glimpsed at his own copy in his hands.