Ever since my first year at Hogwarts, I have had an unspoken, unacknowledged tradition. One I haven't told Ron about, or even Harry. One I haven't drunkenly admitted to Ginny or Luna. It isn't even a big deal, really, but it's become a constant occurrence over the years.
It first started when I stepped up into the Hogwarts Express, bag in hand, hair all over - frightened and nervous at the new time to come. I entered the small hallway, with the coaches on the side, and when I passed the third one, a pale, blonde boy, already in Hogwarts robes, sneered at me and laughed. He was by himself, arms crossed, perfectly manicured nails poised just so on his elbows. He was taller than me, and seemed… better than me. I felt small as I passed him, but chose to ignore it, and then passed the fifth coach and a brown haired boy stumbled out, muttering about a toad. Desperate to forget the hostile encounter, I decided to help the boy - who breathlessly introduced himself as Neville - and later met two other boys.
The next year, I had friends, and a bit of a reputation as well. Ron hopped up the steps, Harry close behind, both eagerly discussing the snacks and candies they were hoping to order from the cart. I dropped one of the big books I was carrying, and fell behind. So I climbed up the steps, hoping to catch up with them to see the coach that they picked, and I passed the third coach again. Draco Malfoy, now that I knew his name, leaned against the door of it. Arms crossed, he sneered and laughed, this time tossing out a brief Mudblood as I walked by him. I sent him a glare and ignored it, quickly scanning the coaches until I found my friends, Chocolate Frogs somehow already in hand, in the sixth coach.
Third year, a certain buzz was about the air. Whispered murmurs of Sirius Black were thrown into the soft summer breeze. I got up into the train, Harry and Ron close behind me, when Molly called out for the boys.
"We'll catch up, Hermione!" Harry called, jogging back with Ron.
I nodded, playing with the ends of my braid as I boarded. I spotted Neville and Dean in the second coach and waved, and then continued on to find an empty coach for us all. I passed the third coach, and a familiar laugh reached my ears. I paused. The second time it happened was just coincidence, but the third? It didn't seem plausible. Sparing a glance disguised as a glare at Malfoy, I kept walking. But this time, a paper airplane hit the back of my head. Hearing Malfoy's continued laughter, I picked it up. There, in what I would hope was just red ink, was scrawled Mudblood whore. I stared at it for a moment. I was only thirteen. I had never been called a whore before. Tears appeared in my eyes, but I blinked them away quickly. I balled it up, not looking back, and tossed it into a nearby bin.
The next year, we all entered the train excited for the surprise that Dumbledore had in store for us. Harry had a hand on my lower back. After the previous year's events, with us two narrowly escaping the Dementors and poor Professor Lupin, Harry kept me a bit closer. Ron seemed to as well. Ron raced to find us a seat, while Harry stayed with me. The third coach seemed to approach me, rather than the other way around, and a blonde head appeared in the doorway.
"Nice to see you again, Granger. With your little boy toy Potter, no less! I guess you really are a Mudblood whore after all." Draco had taken to calling me this over the past year, after our encounter on the train.
I tensed, Harry's arm leaving me as he reached for his wand. Draco laughed.
"How dare you speak to her like that!" Harry said.
"Harry, it's fine. He's not even worth it anyway."
Harry raised his wand, but I pressed his arm down, shaking my head. He frowned, flipping off Malfoy as he brought his arm back to my waist and ushered me along. When I looked back at Malfoy, he was smirking. He rolled his eyes and turned back into the coach.
Fifth year, there was a strain. Voldemort was back. Harry was in danger. And Cedric was dead. Harry and Ron were back with Ron's parents, making promises to not get into trouble. Mrs. Weasley had simply given me a small kiss on the cheek goodbye and told me to go ahead and fetch us a seat. So I gathered my bag and went up the steps, wondering if Malfoy would even be there. Wondering if there was even a tradition at all. Wondering if it could even be considered a tradition. I held my breath as a approached the third coach, breathing out a bit as I realized the doorway was empty.
A hand shot out, grabbing my elbow. I shrieked, wand drawn, and saw it was Malfoy, laughing as he made a show of wiping his hand off on his cloak.
"A bit jumpy, hmm, Granger? Are you scared when your boyfriends aren't around to keep watch?" he sneered, looking me up and down. "I wonder what they even see in you."
I took a breath, putting my wand in my pocket. Just like last year, I decided he wasn't worth my time. I would love to hit him, though.
"And I wonder what Pansy sees in you," I say. I pause. I smile. "Have a nice day."
Ron was with me when we got on for sixth year. Harry was flirting with Ginny up ahead. Malfoy, as usual, was waiting at the third coach. Ron scowled, opening his mouth to insult him, to maybe tell him to stop staring - when Malfoy spoke.
"Switching it up, Granger? Potter for the Weasel?" He laughed, tucking his hands into the front of his pressed black suit. "Tell me, Weasley, what is it that you see in Granger? Is it the puffy hair or her freckles that look like dirt? Maybe she just has fantastic tits and has been keeping it a secret."
Ron got up into Malfoy's face, sticking a finger into his chest.
"The bloody hell is wrong with you? You're a useless little ferret with nothing better to do than poke fun at your 'superiors'?" Ron laughed. "Must be lonely when you don't have a pink toad to kiss ass with."
Malfoy rose to his full height then, taking his shoulder off the doorway. Ron was tall, but Malfoy had a few inches on him. He looked down his nose at Ron, and then he spat. He bloody spat in Ron's face.
Ron paused. Then he raised a hand to wipe the spit off his nose, and pulled that same hand back, and slammed Malfoy straight in the eye.
Seventh year, Harry, Ron and I weren't at the station, or on our way to Hogwarts at all. And neither was Malfoy, considering his stance as a bloody Death Eater.