The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning activity as students filled their plates with breakfast. Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Harry. She picked absentmindedly at her toast while Ron scoffed down a huge plate of sausage, bacon, and eggs as if it were his last meal. Harry was reading the latest copy of the Daily Prophet with a grim expression.
"Look at this," Harry said, passing the newspaper to Hermione, who took it with a curious glance.
"Lucius Malfoy Sentenced to Azkaban for Life." Hermione read out loud before reading the article.
Ron shoveled endless forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, barely pausing to take a breath. "Shame, he was such a nice bloke."
As Harry laughed at Ron's response, Hermione couldn't help but think about Draco. She looked over at him across the hall. He was sitting alone, staring blankly at his plate, seemingly lost in thought. "Do you think this will change things for Draco?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Ron shrugged, "Who knows, maybe he'll be next in Azkaban."
Ginny walked up to them and took her usual seat next to Harry, she glanced at the newspaper and took one guess to figure out who they were talking about.
Ginny chimed in "Apparently he was told not to come back this year."
"Really?" Hermione's curiosity peaked.
"Yeah, but he insisted. At least that's what I heard Pansy saying in the prefects' bathroom two nights ago."
Ron raised an eyebrow, his mouth still full of food. "Better he's here than taking over his Daddy's role as right hand man"
"Maybe he is, maybe he's a spy." Harry urged.
Hermione could feel herself getting annoyed "Harry, you're jumping to conclusions. You can't just assume—"
"I'm not assuming, Hermione!" Harry's voice rose, his anxiety showing as the other students glanced their way.
"I mean it would make sense as to why he was so nice to you in potions yesterday. Get close to you, get close to Harry." Ron said.
"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed.
"Just because we worked well together in Potions doesn't mean he's a spy!"
Harry's eyes narrowed, and his voice was tinged with frustration. "You're only defending him because he's been nice to you."
"You think I'm that naive?!" Hermione slammed her hand on the table, her patience wearing thin. "I'm just saying, you can't start accusing people of stuff without cold hard facts."
"His dad is a Death Eater!"
"That doesn't mean he is."
Hermione looked at Ginny with pleading eyes. Ginny understood and started rubbing Harry's back. "Harry, calm down. We can't assume anything. Plus it's Draco he's all talk and no walk."
Harry stood up, too stubborn to back down. "I'm going to Hagrids. I'll see you later." Ginny and Ron watched as he stormed out of the hall. But Hermione's eyes were on someone else across the room.
She watched as Draco reached across the table to snatch a newspaper from the girl sitting opposite him. In a swift, unexpected motion, he drew his wand and set the newspaper on fire.
The flames danced and flickered, illuminating the surprised expression of the girl. As the newspaper turned to ashes in his hand, Draco's silver eyes met Hermione's gaze for a fleeting moment. He broke their contact and swiftly left the Great Hall.
Hermione had spent many a late night in the Hogwarts library, engrossed in her studies or looking up the latest spells. She'd always found solace in the library, a sanctuary of old books, parchment, and aged wood. The hushed silence and soft glow of lamplight provided a calm oasis, inviting her to explore the rows of bookshelves and lose herself in centuries of accumulated wisdom. She usually had to drag herself away when her eyes began to blur the words and her head threatened to hit the pages in front of her. Despite her reluctance to leave the library she did love walking back through the dimly lit hallways at night. All alone, no firsts years bumping into her or Slytherin's knocking her books out of her hands. It was just her and the hallowed halls.
But on this particular night, as she round a corner, Hermione's footsteps faltered, and she came to an abrupt halt. There, slumped against a statue, was Draco Malfoy. His head was buried in his hands, and she thought she could hear the faint sound of sobbing. She stared at him. She couldn't recall ever seeing him look so vulnerable, so undeniably human. Draco Malfoy, who was known for his meticulously put-together appearance, and his hardened exterior, always seemed untouchable.
But at this moment, all of that facade seemed to have crumbled away. He sat there, shoulders hunched, and the tension that typically defined his posture had dissolved into an air of smallness and fragility.
Her instinct was to approach him, to offer some form of comfort or understanding. But she stopped herself, he didn't deserve her comfort. Did he? Maybe Harry was right, maybe she was that naive.
Hermione tried to remind herself of all the terrible things he had done. One nice exchange in potions class didn't make up for all the cruel taunts and insults he had hurled her way. She firmly told herself that he was the one who had gone out of his way to make her life miserable. She couldn't let herself be swayed by this moment of vulnerability. With a resolute turn, Hermione walked away, leaving Draco to his thoughts. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not with someone like him. But as she retreated down the corridor, a sliver of guilt wormed its way into her heart.
She hurried back to her dorm room and went through her usual bedtime routine, changing into her pajamas, trying to tame her unruly hair, and sliding into bed with a good book.
However, she found herself re-reading the same sentence over and over again. For once in her life, she was unable to concentrate on a book. Instead, the image of Draco Malfoy slouched against the statue with his head in his hands, continued to haunt her. The faint echoes of his sobs lingered in her mind, refusing to fade. She put the book on her nightstand and hoped that sleep would quickly overcome her. But she was granted with no such luck. She tossed and turned, for what felt like hours, unable to find peace as her thoughts circled back to the blonde boy sobbing all alone.
She lay awake, wracked with guilt for the empathy she just couldn't shake.
Draco felt the wind rushing past him as he soared high above the Quidditch pitch, his fingers gripping the handle of his broom tightly. The Snitch, with its glinting golden wings, danced just ahead. The whispers about his father's arrest and the worry of watching his mother falling apart were pushed to the back of his mind. For these fleeting moments, nothing else mattered but the exhilaration of the chase.
He had been the Slytherin seeker for four years but the rush of adrenaline he got when he closed in on the Snitch was exactly the same as his very first game. His heart pounded as he got closer to the golden ball. He knew he was in for the win.
About 50 feet below him Hermione watched closely as Malfoy sped after the snitch. Surrounded by her fellow Gryffindors who booed in unison. Hermione, however, did not join in.
"Where's Harry?" Neville Longbottom stressed behind her.
"Yeah, where is he?! He can't let him get it that easy!" Seamus Finnagen shouted.
Up in the sky, Draco inched closer and closer to victory. But the snitch had other plans, it suddenly dove downwards. In a split-second reaction, Draco nose-dived his broom towards the pitch, following it. The wind was deafening around him as he pushed his broom on. A rare sense of pride swelled inside him as he extended his hand, ready to wrap around the snitch.
One minute the tips of his fingers brushed the golden ball and the next he found himself hurtling towards the ground. He tried to reach for his broom but he couldn't move, his robes had wrapped themselves tightly around him. Succumbing to his fate, he looked up to see Harry Potter, triumphantly holding the Snitch in his hand.
Hermione looked in horror as she watched Draco's body plummet to the ground. Everyone else around her erupted into deafening cheers.
"Did you see that?!" Neville roared.
"Oh man, that was epic." Seamus laughed. "He had it come the slimey git."
Draco lay still on the sandy pitch, pain seared through his body with an intensity that caused his vision to blur. He felt as though a vice had clamped around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. The last thing he heard before the darkness overtook him was a calm honey-coated voice, "Draco? Can you hear me?"