This was inspired by art by dara_art, it's currently pinned at the top of my tumblr page (sodamnradd) if you're interested in seeing it, it's absolutely stunning.

Note: Draco is older than Hermione in this story


Draco had read the same line in his textbook three times. Restless energy churned in his chest, zinging through his limbs to the very tips of his fingers. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap he fidgeted. Brimming with boredom, he asked, "Want to take laps around the pitch?"

Viktor didn't reply, keenly fixated on something behind Draco's shoulder.

"Hello?" Draco waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Krum? Laps? Pitch?"

Viktor blinked. "Hm?"

Curiosity burning, Draco spared a glance behind him. A mousy girl sat in front of a latticed window, a chessboard of books sprawled before her, each open on a different page. She shoved one away and replaced it with another, scrawling furious notes, then repeated the cycle.

"Her?" Draco asked. "Really?"

"I like her focus," Viktor said. "Every time I see her, she's completely awake. Does that make sense?"

He shrugged. "I'm awake, mate. Let's go riding."

Viktor's brow furrowed. "You don't have a poetic bone in your body."

"And you do?" He snorted.

"Look at her. She actually cares about what she's doing."

"I didn't pin you for a bloke who fancied bookish types."

"I don't," he acquiesced. "But she has fire. I can tell."

Draco looked at the girl again. Smirking, he did what Draco Malfoy did best. "Hey, you there!"


Hermione was crossing a 't' on her parchment when a voice shattered the silence of the library, startling her so thoroughly that the t looked more like a positive slope on a line graph. Lips puckered, she looked up to shush the offending table and saw two Durmstrang boys staring at her.

Not just any Durmstrang boys.

Draco Malfoy and Viktor Krum.

Why were they looking at her like that? Viktor seemed mortified and Draco looked… mean.

He's a blood supremacist, you know. Parvati's voice rang through her ears. Wealthier than everyone in our class put together. Heard his family hates Muggleborns.

She pointed a finger to her chest and mouthed me?

Draco nodded, smiling at her. But it wasn't a pleasant smile. It reminded her of when Crookshanks used to catch a whiff of Scabbers last year. What could he possibly want with her? "Join us for a second?" Draco asked in perfect posh English.

She considered ignoring him but knew she'd kick herself for it later. No matter what Parvati had told her, two attractive boys were calling her over to speak to them, one of whom was participating in the Triwizard Tournament.

Pushing her seat back, she rounded her table and strolled over. Draco pulled out the chair beside him and patted the seat. "Sit down." It was more a demand than a question.

Hermione didn't sit. "Yes?"

A flicker of amusement passed over his eyes, cold as a lake in December. "What's your name?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied. "You?"

Draco smirked, likely knowing she knew their names but was feigning ignorance. "Draco Malfoy. This is Viktor Krum."

"Pleasure," she said, though it sounded anything but. "Did you need help with something?"

Draco looked at Viktor, Viktor glared at Draco.

After an awkward lapse of silence, Viktor cleared his throat. "Forgive me," he said in accented English. "But red and gold means Gryffindor, yes?"

She frowned, running her fingers down her tie. "Yes, I am a Gryffindor."

He brushed a beefy hand through his hair, likely double the size of her own. She imagined pressing her palm to his. His first and second knuckles would fold over hers easily. "I thought Ravenclaw read a lot? When I see you, your head in book."

Heat gathered on her cheeks. He'd noticed her? When had he been watching? Oh Godric, what might she have looked like? What did she look like now? She considered freeing the tie from her hair but was worried her loose curls would seem more erratic than her half-arsed ponytail.

When Hermione didn't respond, Draco asked, "Say, which house do you think Viktor would've been sorted into?"

She frowned at the suggestive tone in his voice. "I hardly know him well enough to judge."

"Chance a guess?"

She ran her eyes across Viktor's rugged shoulders. Red suited him. Bringing out the olive tones of his skin and his dark hair. Bold, stern-looking eyebrows. But kind eyes, judgement-free. Not to mention how his cheeks were pinking beneath her inspection. Given his fame, she never imagined he'd be the sort to blush.

She softened. "He'd have made a fine Gryffindor."

"Hear that, Krum? A fine Gryffindor." Draco wagged his pale brows. "And how about me?"

"Slytherin," she replied without having to think about it.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Hermione, but you seemed to say that with disdain. Is there something wrong with Slytherin house?" he challenged, eyes glittering. "My parents were Slytherins, in fact, and their parents before that."

"You asked me a question and I responded. The way you interpret my tone is no fault of mine."

Unlike Viktor, Draco Malfoy looked odd in red. Hearing that his family members were former-Slytherins made sense. Cool tones, greens, silvers— she could see him in her rival house robes. But bold red against his pale features was oxymoronic. It gave him warmth where she sensed none, a hint of nobility that suited his accent and the choice of his words, but that conniving grin and the smugness in his voice turned the notion hollow. There wasn't a chivalrous bone in that pompous body.

"There you are, Hermione." Ron sauntered down the nearest row of books. He came to a screeching halt the moment his gaze landed on the Durmstrang boys. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all." She headed back to her table to gather her books. "Just making new acquaintances." Her eyes lingered over Draco, but Ron was too busy mooning over Krum to notice.

Draco, on the other hand, grinned at her. She imagined an arctic wolf on the prowl, sharp canines and a calculated gaze. A shiver slithered down her spine. She sent him a firm glare before dragging Ron out of the library.


Draco hated to admit it, but Viktor was right. Hermione Granger had fire in her. Though he hadn't noticed her when they'd first arrived, she was the only Hogwarts student to catch his eye anymore.

Instead of spending time at the quidditch pitch, he occupied the library. Always choosing a table where he'd have a good view of her. Viktor did the same and Draco suspected he knew he wasn't the only one harbouring a crush.

Crush.

Juvenile word. But there was an attraction there. She wasn't the most remarkable female in the room, but Draco liked that. Already, Krum had staked his interest and that ginger cunt she spent half her time with gawked at her when she wasn't looking. If she'd been the overly beautiful sort, her admirers would've multiplied exponentially.

Krum stood a better chance. He was kind, popular, and a participant in the tournament. But Draco welcomed friendly competition. The more he watched her nibble her quill or wrestle her hair into shape, the harder his stomach clenched.

Besides, what Krum didn't have was an edge. Hermione seemed like the kind of girl to want a nice bloke. Someone to hold her books and walk her to class and plant a kiss on her cheek when they parted ways. But Draco also knew the girls who seemed to like nice boys often harboured secret desires for boys like him. Especially when their tongues were as dagger sharp as hers was. She enjoyed a challenge.

When Draco entered the library, he found Hermione basked in afternoon light. Behind her, a beam of sun speared through the window, making the stray curl contouring the edge of her face look copper and gold. She twirled it around and around with her quill, lost in her studies.

It took three heartbeats for Draco to make a decision.

"Hello, Hermione," he said, taking a seat at her table.

She looked up, eyes dulling when she saw him. "Yes, Draco?"

"Mind if I sit here?"

She shrugged. "It's a communal space." But didn't move her things to make room for him.

He turned one of her books around. "Potions? Ever tried Polyjuice?"

She smirked. "In Second."

"You're lying."

She snatched her book back. "You can ask Ronald or Harry if you don't believe me."

He grimaced at the names as he cared for neither of them. Especially the red-haired fellow. "They teach Polyjuice in Second here?"

"No," she said slowly as if he were obtuse. "I brewed it on my own time."

"Why do I get the feeling you were doing something you shouldn't?" he teased. "Tell me more."

A rush of red crept across her cheeks. He resisted the urge to feel whether her skin was as warm as it looked. "There were disturbing attacks against Muggleborn students and we used it to investigate." She shot him an odd look when she said Muggleborn.

He ignored it. "In Second Year?"

"Yes, I said that."

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Find the culprit?"

"We did." She said no more.

They hit uncomfortable silence. Draco wracked his brain for something to say but came up blank. He was about to leave when she looked up from her notebook and asked gingerly, "Are you interested in Potions?"


There was something about Draco Malfoy, and it wasn't necessarily bad.

It started the day they'd talked about Polyjuice. She soon discovered that he was not only avidly interested in Potions, but was also good at them. Flipping through her recipe book, he highlighted his most successful brews and told her something life altering: stop following the rules.

Hermione had scoffed. Hadn't he listened to her Polyjuice story? But he'd only shot her an amused look and started scratching out words in her textbook. Don't chop, slice. Stirring the brew for sixty minutes was too long, fifty-three tops and yes it made a difference.

In return, Hermione made a copy of her notes from her extracurricular studies and gave them to him. Ways in which he might make his draughts last longer or which parts of the Forbidden Forest to find the most potent Leaping Toadstool should he brave a visit.

During meals, her eyes often wandered to him. His pale hair a glowing beacon of light on the other end of the room with the Slytherins. Krum sat with him but she didn't stare at the quidditch star the way she used to. Not like others at her table did. There was a regal air about Draco Malfoy. In red military-cut robes, form fitting and ritzy, he looked like a prince. One who led his army to victory with strategy and cunning and it made her hot and bothered to think about.

"Hermione's staring at Draco Malfoy again," Ron announced bitterly, loud enough so everyone in the vicinity heard.

Her ears burned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not blind!" he bit. "I see the way you look at him."

"And how's that any of your business, Ronald?" She slapped her hands on the table, shooting him a challenging look, half-tempted to start chucking bread rolls at his overgrown hair.

"He's a Malfoy, Hermione. He hates people like you."

A lump formed at the back of her throat. "And what does that mean? People like me."

Ron didn't reply. They stared at one another, seething. Harry cleared his throat, looking back and forth between them. Unable to stand the scrutiny of her housemates' eyes, she stood from her seat, leaving her Yorkshire pudding and chicken pot pie untouched, and bolted from the Great Hall.


The moment Draco saw Hermione running from the room, face crumpled in pain, he stood. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he looked at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley prat glared daggers at her retreating back, and celebrity Potter fussed with his spectacles as if they held the answers to his life's problems.

As he began to follow her, a meaty hand clamped around his wrist and yanked him back down to the bench. Viktor's dark eyes came to focus. "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

He tugged his arm free, scowling. "Don't know what you're bloody on about."

"I saw her first."

"It's finders keepers now?" Draco asked, imagining Hermione's reaction if she'd heard him say that. She'd likely sock Krum in the mouth. He'd certainly pay a pretty galleon to see that.

"You're supposed to be my friend."

"And you're supposed to be mine!" Draco exploded.

Chatter at their table lowered to a hush, keen eyes pinned to them. Draco shot the Slytherins on the other side of the feast his most menacing glower, managing to turn most of their prying eyes elsewhere. Nevertheless, he didn't like everyone nosing about his business so he stood again. "We can discuss this outside."

They left the hall and found a deserted alcove to reconvene. "I thought you called her over that day at the library to encourage me to talk to her. Now you're inseparable," Viktor accused, speaking in Russian because he knew it better and was too pent up to yell at Draco in English.

Responding in perfect Russian, Draco said, "I did at first. But then I got to know her." He tugged his fingers through his hair, heart thrumming anxiously. "Just let me have this one."

"Why should I?"

"Why should you?" Draco scoffed. "Is star seeker not enough? Triwizard champion? You can have anyone you want. I only want her."

"What makes her so special? Besides the fact I wanted her first."

"You're really asking me that?" Draco raised a brow. "Were you not the one who spoke about her fire? She's so much more than that. If you knew how her mind worked… I suppose you wouldn't care as much but she's a whiz with potions. Brewed Polyjuice in Second. Never cared much for freckles and innocence but now..."

Viktor swallowed, watching Draco oddly. "Never say I'm not a good fucking friend."

The tension in Draco's shoulders eased. He nodded his head, then spun on the heels of his lace-up boots and went looking for her.


Hermione sat at the bottom of the steps to the Astronomy Tower, watching three birds dance circles around her. She'd conjured them with her wand as a distraction. But their tiny figures looked like smudged ink as tears trickled from her eyes.

People like you.

Sodding Ron and his thoughtless words. He knew how she felt when people segregated her because of her family, yet he had no problem lashing wounds to make his point.

Confident footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, palpable over the birds' twittering. She rushed to wipe tears from her eyes then curled her arms around herself, trying to look invisible.

But he saw her.

"Hermione," Draco's voice was thick with concern. "Hey, what's wrong?" He sat beside her, knocking his knee into hers. He smelled nice, like cold air and peppermint hot chocolate.

"It's nothing," she croaked, wishing he'd leave her alone. It was one thing for Harry and Ron to see her cry, they'd known her since she was eleven. But Draco Malfoy?

"Did that Weasley wanker say something to you?"

She giggled despite herself. "He's the annoying, little brother I never wanted."

He snorted. "I strongly doubt he considers himself your brother."

They fell into silence, watching her cheerful birds fly around the room. Draco sat close to her but they weren't touching. The sleeve of his uniform hovered inches from her arm. If she tilted her head she could lean on his shoulder, feel the wool beneath her cheek, encompass herself in his scent.

He asked carefully, "Is there anything I can do?"

Tell me you don't care that I'm Muggleborn.

She shook her head. "No, thank you."

He stood. "I know this might be rotten timing but… the Yule Ball is coming up and I was wondering if you might want to be my date?" The toe of his shiny black boot kicked dust as he fidgeted. Long, slender fingers clasped and unclasped at his navel, platinum rings catching dim torchlight.

She gulped, heart stuttering. But instead of jumping at the chance like she wanted to, she blurted out, "I'm Muggleborn."

He blanched.

A fresh wave of tears formed in her eyes. Knew it. With a harsh slash of her wand, the birds burst into feathers pop-pop-pop and disappeared from sight. Silence ensued. "Does the offer still stand?" she asked in a shaky voice, hating the vulnerability she heard in it.

He looked away, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.

"Right." She knocked his shoulder as she left.


Viktor shot Draco an odd look when he appeared at the ball solo, but otherwise focused on his own date. A pretty girl from Beauxbatons in a peony pink dress. Technically, Draco could've told Viktor he'd changed his mind about Hermione after all. He had a strong suspicion Viktor wouldn't care about her blood status. But a niggling voice in the back of his mind hissed betrayal.

The Great Hall had become a loud and crowded affair. Food was abundant, the scent of buttery sweets in the air. A live band performed formal dance music while young couples filled the room with laughter. Holding one another more intimately than they were supposed to.

Draco was part-surprised and part-relieved to find the ginger twat had arrived with a girl from his class. One who wasn't Hermione. Harry Potter escorted a carbon copy of the same girl and for a moment he thought of Polyjuice. And soon after, the witch he so thoroughly associated with the potion.

Remembering the tremor in her voice when she broke the news to him about her blood status made his gut twist. At first, he'd been horrified. If his father found out he'd been spending time with a Mud-Muggleborn witch, he'd cuff him in the head with his cane until he saw sense.

But watching her run away from him in tears when his whole intention had been to comfort her didn't sit right. It wasn't as if he was planning to marry her. Why would his father need to find out?

And since when were Mud-Muggleborns brilliant? And ambitious? And—

Hermione entered the room in a periwinkle gown.

Beautiful.

Thick curls were pulled from her glowing cheeks, tumbling down her back and shoulders in perfect ringlets. Diamond studs shimmered in her ears, catching the light as she floated across the floor. The sweetheart cut of her dress hinted at early feminine curves and snow soft skin.

She lifted her chin when she caught Draco's stare, thinly veiling her disapproval. Shame surged up his throat, threatening to spill the firewhisky he'd choked down on the ship earlier. He remembered how he'd labelled her unremarkable when they'd first met. How she wasn't one to catch someone's attention right away. Tonight, he was proven wrong.

All eyes followed her sparkling figure as she weaved her way through the crowd. Krum did a double take when she passed him, a flash of longing in his eyes that made Draco's hand form a fist. Ginger prat dropped his punch on his date's shoe, splattering purple everywhere. An older bloke from her house approached her for a dance.

Draco watched as Hermione lit the dance floor. Exchanged from one set of arms to another all evening. Igniting the room with her formidable smile and striking umber eyes. All the while knowing it could've been him dancing with her. Holding her. If only he'd reacted differently when he found out she wasn't like him.


Though Hermione was doing an exceptional job of feigning happiness, she felt like a rose captured in a block of ice. Pretty to fawn over, vulnerability veiled, but lacking her vital essence.

The look on Draco Malfoy's face as he discovered her blood status flashed in her mind over and over like a haunting photograph. Realizing she'd lost him, then realizing he was never really hers to begin with.

Growing tired of dancing and putting up a front, she slipped out of the Great Hall for fresh air. It was snowing outside, crystalline clusters suspended in navy night. She stretched out her palm and reached for one, watching it melt against her heated skin.

Music reached her ears, the sound of laughter and applause. She wrapped her arms around herself when her teeth began to chatter. Shutting her eyes, enduring the frost against her bare skin, to remember she was real and had feelings and was allowed to let outside influence hurt her sometimes. She didn't always have to be brave or strong.

Thoroughly chilled to the bone, she finally reached for her wand to perform a warming spell, but an oversized coat draped over her shoulders, heavy and drenched in a familiar scent.

Hermione turned, breath catching in her throat.

Draco stood behind her. Head tilted curiously, a rare look in his eyes. Her brows knitted together at the sight of him. Utterly handsome, hair methodically coiffed so a couple of playful strands fell across his brow—toeing the line of picture-perfect propriety. His red uniform stood out starkly against the snowscape like a nutcracker prince in a fairy tale.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, tempted to shove his coat to the ground, but it was soft and warm and she was loath to get rid of it.

His sigh formed a cloud of breath in the air. "I owe you an apology."

Thinking she'd misheard him, she asked, "What?"

Unable to tear his gaze from her, he admitted instead, "You were the most beautiful person in the room tonight."

Understanding dawned on her. "So, because I seem visually appealing to you, I deserve an apology? And if I were the same girl you rejected in the corridor the other day? What then?"

"You are that girl," he said with a timid smirk.

"Exactly. I'm still her: the Muggleborn witch you deem beneath you. In a pretty dress."

All traces of amusement left his face. "You must understand, Mu-ggleborns have been a topic of contention in my family and at school since I was a child. I never imagined meeting one like you."

Hermione's cheeks went red and not because of the cold. "I know who you are, Draco Malfoy. Cocky grins and cold eyes, you consider yourself a rebel among your classmates. Unlike a noble Viktor Krum, you're the wolf who lurks in the shadows luring fair maidens to their doom."

"Is that right?" His eyes glittered.

"At least," she resumed, "it's who you want to be. But when forced to face your fears, you run. You've never met a Muggleborn witch, fine. They've taught you to fear us, to loathe us, I understand. But since when does the big bad wolf cower so easily? You're a fraud."

He bowed his head. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"And? Am I the evil witch who intends to sully your mind?" Twin flames twinkled in her eyes, challenging him. "Did you make the right decision turning me away?"

He stepped forward, closing the foot of space between them. Expression poised and patient, swallowing her criticism. "No, I regretted it almost immediately."

His placid countenance made her pause. In a low voice she asked, "Are you afraid of me?"

His silver eyes softened, catching the light of the moon. "Terrified," he admitted. Then smiled. A smile so warm and raw, she felt her icy walls drip to nothing.

She reached out her hand and slowly placed it on his waist. Courageously stepping into him until the leather cross-strap of his uniform dug into her ribcage. He exuded heat, simultaneously somatic and caprice. Their eyes locked as they stood nose to nose, hot breath mingling in the winter air.


Draco thought his heart would explode. There was something fundamentally warm about Hermione, even when she was yelling at him. She embodied everything he shouldn't want. Besides the blood status, she was a good girl. One who cared about school, had kind eyes, and was offering him a second chance.

Slipping his hand from his pocket, he pressed into her lissome frame and placed a palm on the curve of her cheek. She felt cold so he wrapped his arm around her, sandwiching her between his body and the fur coat he'd placed over her shoulders.

As snow shimmered in the static atmosphere, covering the grounds like miniscule fragments of glass, Draco and Hermione melted into one another. His lips softened over hers. She kissed him back with a contagious smile. Addicted to her fire, Draco tightened his grasp and sank deeper.

"I'm sorry," he said between their mouths, his whisper fogging in the wind.

She brushed a frigid hand across his freshly shaved jaw. He shivered but didn't pull away from the shock of cold. "I forgive you."

Three words was all it took for Draco to pin her against the nearest stone pillar, hungry and unwound. He swallowed every inch of her exposed skin. Sweet as spun sugar, he kissed her again and again. Claiming the arch of her neck and the dip of her cupid's bow, the hollow beneath her jaw and her flushed freckled cheeks. She was like liquid gold in his arms, glowing beneath his ministrations.

Somewhere above the weeping clouds, a constellation of stars winked back at them. Draco mentally thanked each one that he'd gathered the courage to find her and set things right.


A teary-eyed Hermione refused to unwind her arms from around Draco's neck. His face was nestled in the L of her shoulder, mouth spread open, inhaling her where he'd left a stepping stone trail of love bites.

"Write to me," he breathed against her skin.

"I will." She wiped a tear from her eye. "I wish you didn't have to go."

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, gaze as feathery as the fur trimming his robes. Her arctic wolf tamed before her eyes. "I'll wait for you," he promised.

Hermione knew dozens of obstacles obstructed their path, from his family to imminent darkness to a lifetime of pureblood prejudice. Yet, she kindled a spark of hope for the regal boy with the wicked stare, will of steel, and heart of flame.