Five o'clock in the morning. The alarm woke Hermione from a restless, dreamless sleep. She stood up immediately, almost like a wizarding automaton. She had exactly twenty minutes to get ready.

She headed to the bathroom as discreetly as possible, trying not to wake her roommates. Once there, she cast the Muffliato spell, then dove under the freezing water of the shower. She looked and felt dreadful. She had lost a lot of weight. She could feel her ribs when she pressed her skin with her fingertips.

No time to waste. She had to hurry.

Hermione's obsession with Draco Malfoy had reached a point where she meticulously tracked his every move. She had memorised his daily routine down to the minute. He would rise promptly at 5:30 in the morning, and by 5:45, he would exit the Slytherin common room. Hermione, concealed from sight, watched as he walked briskly through the castle's corridors.

Her heart raced as she followed him from a distance, careful not to let him catch even a glimpse of her. Draco's path led him to the edge of the Great Lake, a place of solitude he seemed to favour. Hermione knew precisely that it took him fifteen minutes to reach this serene spot, where he would stand at the water's edge, gazing out in deep contemplation.

As he stood there, she observed his every move, her obsession driving her to know him better than anyone else. She timed his moments of reflection, noting how he would eventually succumb to the allure of the lake, plunging into its depths for a desperate swim that would last twenty minutes exactly.

Hermione's obsession with Draco consumed her, compelling her to unravel the mystery of his daily rituals, even if it meant trailing him like a phantom through Hogwarts, a silent observer of his every action.

At precisely 6:20am, he would perform a quick drying spell on himself, then pivot toward the castle, retracing the same path without fail, day in and day out. It was a routine Hermione had committed to memory. She knew he would return to his dormitory, presumably to shower and change. By 7:00am, like clockwork, he would set off for the Great Hall.

At this early hour, most of the students remained in the embrace of slumber. Hermione waited patiently, biding her time, before slipping into the Great Hall, as well. She chose a seat at the Gryffindor table, ready to have her breakfast.

For her, these were among the most cherished moments of the day, the ones she treasured above all else. They were the only instances when she allowed herself to openly observe him, studying his every move. It was during these moments that Draco was often lost in thought, his gaze fixed upon the plate or glass before him.

He appeared incredibly fragile, utterly adrift. She couldn't bear to see him like this. But there was nothing she could do. He wouldn't allow it. He held such a deep dislike for her, bordering on outright hatred.

But today was different. Today would be the sole occasion when she allowed herself to transcend the role of his silent observer.

At precisely 12 noon, the owls swooped back into the Great Hall. Hermione's eyes were glued to the entrance, her anxiety mounting as she eagerly awaited the arrival of the specially selected silver owl she had chosen to carry out her mission.

She observed the Malfoy family's majestic owl as it gracefully deposited a small package along with a letter before him.

Shortly thereafter, the petite silver owl made its way to the Slytherin table and gently dropped its cargo down on the table before him.

Malfoy was taken aback, his usual composure disrupted. Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself, a sense of accomplishment washing over her. For the first time, she had succeeded in evoking an emotion from him that wasn't the fear or the resignation he only seemed to know.

He lifted his eyes, scanning the room as though in search of an explanation, yet, he remained silent. He set aside the package and the letter from his mother, then eagerly seized the small package dropped by the silver owl, tearing it open with a hint of urgency.

In a matter of moments, Draco's gaze landed on the book.

'The Catcher in the Rye,' by J.D. Salinger. It was one of the first editions that Hermione had managed to locate, and more significantly, purchase.

Making sure no one was looking at him, he quickly put the little book in the pocket of his robes, before continuing with his meal as if nothing had happened.

7pm. The final table in the section of Germanic and Celtic runes. His usual spot in the library.

She settled in behind a shelf, observing him.

As she had hoped since noon, he took out her gift from the inner pocket of his robes.

He flipped through the book, undoubtedly searching for any trace of the sender.

Hermione shivered. She had hesitated for many days about leaving an anonymous note, or even a card, inside the book to reveal her feelings to him. But he would recognize her handwriting. She didn't want to take the risk.

But not this time.

So, for this occasion, she disillusioned herself and silently observed as he immersed himself in the pages, reading and savouring every word for hours on end.

That evening, she didn't return to her dormitory until the clock struck three in the morning.