Chapter 1
The biting cold of December swept across the Hogwarts grounds as Draco Malfoy leaned against the stone parapet of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze fixed on the flickering lights of the Great Hall far below. Winter had come early, dusting the castle with a thin layer of frost, and as he stood there, the wind tugged at his robes, chilling him to the bone.
He liked the cold. The stillness of it, the way it cut through the noise of his thoughts. Lately, his mind had been anything but calm, and this particular evening had only made things worse. The Yule Ball was in two nights, and already, students were pairing up, excited whispers about dresses and dates flooding every corner of the castle. Normally, he'd have found it easy to sneer at the frivolity of it all. But not this time. Not when he knew exactly what was making him restless.
Hermione Granger.
He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it had been months since the image of her had wormed its way into his thoughts and refused to leave.
Draco Malfoy hadn't forgotten the sound—the sharp, satisfying crack of his nose breaking under Hermione Granger's fist.
That punch had been a shock to his system in more ways than one. He'd stood there, stunned and disoriented, his mind racing to catch up with the pain flooding his face. Blood had rushed from his nose, hot and fast, but what burned most wasn't the physical injury. It was the humiliation.
Draco had been raised in a world where power was everything, where pureblood status placed him at the pinnacle of society. He was a Malfoy. He didn't lose. He didn't falter. And yet, in a single moment, Hermione Granger, a Mudblood, of all people, had shattered that illusion. She'd done more than just break his nose; she'd broken something deeper, something Draco hadn't even realized was fragile.
He remembered the way she had looked at him, her eyes blazing with anger, not a trace of fear or regret in them. It wasn't just the physical pain that had stunned him—it was that defiance, the sheer audacity of her standing there after the fact, as if daring him to retaliate. She had wiped her hands clean and walked away, leaving Draco to face his own anger and humiliation, alone.
And from that moment, everything had changed.
At first, Draco's feelings had been simple: hatred. He had sworn to make her pay for embarrassing him, had fantasized about ways to get back at her for making him feel powerless. But hatred was easy. Too easy. The more he tried to focus on revenge, the more complicated his thoughts became. Because despite everything, despite who she was and what she represented, Draco couldn't stop thinking about her.
It was like she had lodged herself into his brain, a constant, unwanted presence that he couldn't shake. In the months after the incident, he had found himself watching her in ways he never had before. It wasn't just the usual disdainful glances he threw in her direction, but something else. Something deeper, more unsettling.
He started to notice things. The way her hair would fall in her face when she bent over her books. The way she would chew her lip when she was nervous about an answer, even though she always got it right. The way her eyes lit up with that same fire when she argued with Weasley or Potter, never backing down. The fierceness in her, the intensity.
He had never noticed any of it before that punch. And now, it was all he could think about.
The Yule Ball was fast approaching, and the castle buzzed with excitement. It was all anyone could talk about, the dresses, the dates, the decorations. Normally, Draco would have found it trivial, something to mock while pretending to care about the social status it offered. But this year was different. This year, he had a reason to care, even if he refused to admit it to himself.
He'd seen her with Viktor Krum, the famous Durmstrang champion. It was impossible not to. The entire school had noticed the way Krum had taken an interest in Hermione. He'd seen them talking in the library, walking together on the grounds, and it had stirred something ugly inside him. The thought of Granger with Krum, laughing, smiling, enjoying herself,made Draco's blood boil in a way he couldn't explain.
He was supposed to hate her. He had convinced himself for months that his feelings were nothing more than lingering resentment from that humiliating day. But it was more than that. It had grown into something darker, more consuming. A fixation that clawed at him every time he saw her with Krum, every time he heard her name, every time he remembered the feel of her fist breaking his nose.
Pansy Parkinson was draped on his arm as they entered the Great Hall, but Draco barely registered her presence. She had practically forced herself as his date.
The Hall was transformed into a winter wonderland, with shimmering icicles hanging from the enchanted ceiling and snowflakes drifting gently through the air. Couples were already on the dance floor, laughing and spinning in time with the music. It was a scene that should have made Draco feel in control, dressed in his finest robes, the heir to the Malfoy legacy, and the center of attention.
But all he could think about was her.
His eyes scanned the room, searching for that familiar mess of curls, and then he saw her. Hermione stood near the entrance, her hair pulled into elegant waves, wearing a pale lilac gown that shimmered in the light. She looked… different. More composed, more confident. And standing beside her was Viktor Krum, his hand resting protectively on her arm.
Draco's jaw clenched. The jealousy he felt was immediate, sharp, and burning. It wasn't just anger,he had felt anger before. This was something else. Something he couldn't control. He watched as Krum leaned down to whisper something in Hermione's ear, watched as she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way they did when she was truly amused.
He hated it.
"You're staring, Draco," Pansy said, her voice cutting through the haze of his thoughts. She tugged on his arm, her smile sharp. "Honestly, why anyone would waste their time on Granger is beyond me."
Draco tore his gaze away, forcing himself to smirk. "She's pathetic," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Krum's only interested because he's too thick to know any better."
But the words felt hollow, even as they left his lips. He couldn't tear his mind away from Hermione, from the way she looked with Krum, from the way she had looked at him that day in third year.
Then, as if the night wasn't already unbearable enough, Draco saw Weasley storming across the Hall, his face red with anger. He watched, his interest piqued, as Weasley confronted Hermione near the edge of the dance floor. Their voices rose in a heated argument, though Draco couldn't make out the words. But the look on Weasley's face was unmistakable, jealousy. He was furious about something, probably Krum, and Draco could see the frustration in Hermione's eyes as she tried to reason with him.
Finally, Weasley stormed off, leaving Hermione standing there, alone, her face flushed with anger and hurt.
Before Draco could think better of it, his feet were already moving. He crossed the room in long strides, pushing through the crowd until he was standing in front of her.
"Trouble with Weaselbee?" he drawled, the familiar smirk tugging at his lips.
Hermione turned to him, her eyes flashing with irritation. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
Draco shrugged, his expression cold and aloof, but inside, his pulse was racing. "Just enjoying the show," he said smoothly, his voice low. "Didn't think even Weasley could be that thick, but I guess he's full of surprises."
Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, Draco thought she might hit him again. Part of him wanted her to. But instead, she just shook her head, turning away from him.
"Leave me alone," she muttered, her voice tight with emotion.
Draco should have left. He should have walked away, thrown a parting insult, and gone back to his group. But something stopped him. That same something that had been gnawing at him since she broke his nose, the same thing that had kept him watching her for months.
"You deserve better than that," he said quietly, his voice slipping into something more genuine before he could stop it.
Hermione turned back to him, her eyes narrowing. "What?"
Draco hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he wanted to take it back, to say something cruel and wipe the look of confusion off her face. But he didn't. He couldn't.
Instead, he just stared at her, the weight of the moment sinking in.
"I said, you deserve better."
And for the first time since she'd broken his nose, Draco Malfoy didn't feel powerful. He just felt exposed.
