Chapter 5: Beneath the Surface

The days blurred together in a haze of monotony for Draco Malfoy. It had been over a month since the Yule Ball, and nearly a week since the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, but nothing had changed. Every day felt the same. He moved through his routine like clockwork—breakfast in the Great Hall, classes, Quidditch practice, and letters from his father that arrived like clockwork.

Yet, there was an undeniable shift beneath the surface. The sharp, biting edge of his control was slipping, dulled by the weight of his obsession with Hermione Granger. She had become a constant presence in his mind, her face, her voice, her movements occupying the corners of his thoughts in a way that made him feel weak—and that weakness terrified him.

Draco sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, his breakfast untouched as he watched the Gryffindor table from across the room. Hermione was there, sitting with Potter and Weasley as usual. Her head was bent over a textbook, her hair falling in soft waves around her face, obscuring her expression. But it didn't matter. Draco knew her expressions by now. He knew the way she furrowed her brow when she was focused, the way her lips pressed together when she was thinking deeply.

What he didn't know, what he couldn't stand, was how she felt about Ron.

Ron was watching her, his eyes filled with the same longing that Draco had grown sick of seeing. Weasley hadn't made his move, but Draco knew the feelings were there, simmering just beneath the surface. And it made him furious.

"You're staring again," Blaise said casually, cutting through Draco's thoughts like a knife. He didn't look up from his own breakfast, but there was a knowing edge to his tone.

Draco's fingers clenched around the goblet in front of him, his jaw tightening. "I'm not staring."

Theo, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow but didn't comment immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the Gryffindor table. "He stares every day."

Draco shot him a sharp look, but Theo didn't back down. He was calm, as usual, his face unreadable, but there was a quiet concern in his eyes. It wasn't the first time either of them had mentioned it.

"You two need to stop overthinking," Draco said, his voice cold, though his fingers twitched with unease. He hated how easily they saw through him.

"Overthinking?" Blaise finally looked up, his dark eyes locking with Draco's. "It's not overthinking when it's obvious, Draco."

Theo gave a small nod, his expression still calm but pointed. "You've been distracted. We've all seen it."

Draco's jaw clenched, the frustration bubbling up inside him. He didn't want to admit that they were right. That every day, every hour, his thoughts drifted back to her. To Hermione. "It's nothing," he muttered.

"You keep saying that," Blaise said, his tone measured but firm. "But that whatever it is, it's been getting worse."

Draco's eyes flicked back to the Gryffindor table, and sure enough, Ron was still sitting there, talking to Harry and stealing glances at Hermione when she wasn't looking. It was pathetic. Weasley hadn't even made his move, yet Draco could feel the tension between them, and it grated on his nerves.

Theo noticed Draco's gaze shift again, and after a long moment of silence, he said quietly, "If this is about Granger…"

Draco's head snapped back to Theo, his eyes narrowing. "It's not."

Blaise didn't say anything, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He exchanged a glance with Theo, and the unspoken words between them hung in the air.

"We're not judging," Theo continued, his voice even. "But it's because of her, isn't it?"

Draco's hand tightened around his goblet, his knuckles whitening. "I said it's nothing."

Blaise leaned forward slightly, his voice softening. "Look, we're not here to push you. We just—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We're your friends. You don't have to carry it all by yourself."

For a moment, the tension in Draco's chest tightened unbearably. They weren't pushing him. They weren't accusing him. They were just offering him something he hadn't realized he needed—support. Draco let out a slow breath, his eyes flicking to the ceiling, avoiding their gazes.

Before he could respond, an owl swooped down and landed in front of him, the letter it carried marked with the familiar Malfoy crest.

Draco's stomach twisted. He didn't need to open it to know the contents. His father's letters had become a constant reminder of the weight he carried, the expectations he was supposed to fulfill. Lucius Malfoy wasn't a father in the traditional sense. He didn't ask about Draco's well-being or his thoughts. All that mattered was information—about Potter, the Triwizard Tournament, and their family's future.

He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the sharp, precise handwriting.

Draco,

I require updates on Potter's activities. His connections with Dumbledore are becoming more of a concern. Any interactions between them or discussions related to the tournament must be reported immediately. I expect you to remain vigilant.

Lucius Malfoy

Draco folded the letter with deliberate care, his jaw tightening. His father didn't know, didn't care, about Draco's internal struggle. All Lucius ever wanted was information. Updates. Answers.

Theo noticed the change in Draco's expression and spoke softly. "What's he saying this time?"

Draco shook his head, shoving the letter into his pocket. "Nothing important."

Blaise didn't press, but his eyes flickered with understanding. "Your father's keeping an eye on things. It must be exhausting."

Draco leaned back, trying to mask the weariness that had crept into his bones. "He expects everything," he muttered, his voice tight. "And I can't afford to slip."

"You won't," Theo said, his voice calm and certain. "You've never slipped before. Not once."

Draco's eyes flickered to Theo, grateful for the vote of confidence, even if he didn't fully believe it. "We'll see."


Later that day, Draco found himself wandering the corridors of Hogwarts, his mind still clouded by the letter from his father and the weight of Hermione's presence. She was always there, always lingering in the back of his mind like a shadow he couldn't shake.

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with the trio—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—who were deep in conversation. Harry spotted him first, his expression immediately hardening.

"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice cold and defensive.

Draco smirked, his eyes flicking over the three of them. "Potter. Weasley. Granger. Always together, aren't you?"

Ron's fists immediately clenched, his eyes narrowing at Draco. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco's smirk widened. "I just can't help but notice, Weasley, that you seem awfully attached to Granger. Still hoping she'll notice you?"

Ron's face flushed bright red, his temper flaring in an instant. "Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know anything."

"I know more than you think," Draco said, his voice low and taunting. "It must be hard for you, Weasley, always being second best. To Potter. To Krum. Even to me."

Ron lunged forward, but Harry stepped in front of him, holding him back. "Don't, Ron," Harry muttered. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

Draco's eyes flicked to Hermione, who had remained quiet during the exchange. Her expression was unreadable, but she was watching him closely, her gaze piercing. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and Draco's smirk faltered. There was something in her eyes—something he couldn't quite place.

But then it was gone, replaced by the same cool indifference she always showed him.

"Walk away, Malfoy," Harry said firmly, his hand still on Ron's arm. "Come on Ron."

Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say. But instead, he gave a mocking bow, his smirk returning as he turned and walked away.


By the time Draco returned to the Slytherin common room, the weight of the day had settled over him like a heavy cloak. He collapsed into one of the leather chairs by the fire, his mind buzzing with frustration and confusion. The warmth of the flames did nothing to ease the chill in his chest, the weight of the day pressing down harder with every breath.

He had confronted the trio, said the things he always said to rile up Ron, to get under Potter's skin—but something about the encounter gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the way Hermione had looked at him. It had been brief, fleeting, but it had felt different. For a moment, she hadn't looked at him with contempt or irritation, the usual indifference that twisted the knife deeper inside him. Instead, her gaze had been… thoughtful. Curious, even.

But then it had vanished, and Draco had walked away, pretending it didn't matter.

It mattered more than anything.

The door to the common room creaked open, and Draco looked up to see Blaise and Theo entering, their usual calm expressions replaced with something more serious. Blaise gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before crossing the room to sit across from Draco, while Theo lingered by the fire, watching Draco closely.

"You look like hell," Blaise said, his voice as casual as ever, but the concern was there, just beneath the surface.

Draco smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks for the compliment."

Blaise leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied Draco with the same sharp, perceptive gaze he always had. "You going to tell us what's really going on?"

Draco tensed, his fingers curling into fists on the armrests of the chair. He wasn't in the mood for this. Not now. Not when his mind was still spinning from the confrontation with the trio, and his father's letter felt like a lead weight in his pocket.

"There's nothing to tell," Draco muttered, though even he could hear how hollow the words sounded.

Theo, still standing by the fire, raised an eyebrow. "We've known you long enough, Draco."

Draco's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I said I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Blaise said, his voice steady but firm. "You haven't been fine for weeks."

Draco shot him a sharp look, but Blaise didn't flinch. Theo moved to sit beside Blaise, his expression unreadable but his tone soft as he spoke. "Just tell us if It's her, will you?"

Draco froze, his heart skipping a beat at the question. He knew exactly who Theo was talking about, but he wasn't ready to admit it. Not to them. Not to anyone.

"What are you talking about?" Draco said, his voice low, dangerous.

"Hermione Granger," Theo said, his gaze unwavering. "You've been different ever since the Yule Ball. And since the second task… well, it's gotten worse."

Draco's hands tightened into fists, his knuckles whitening. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," Blaise said quietly, leaning forward slightly. "Look, we're not here to make this worse. We just want to help."

Draco's chest tightened at their words. Help. It was such a foreign concept—accepting help from anyone, even from Blaise and Theo. He was their leader, the one who always had control, the one who never slipped. But now, he felt like he was slipping further and further into something he couldn't stop.

"I don't need help," Draco said through gritted teeth. "I need to focus."

"Focus on what?" Theo asked, his voice calm but pointed. "Your father's letters? The tournament? Or is it something else?"

Draco's mind raced, the weight of his father's expectations pressing down on him like an iron hand. Lucius didn't know. He didn't know about Draco's struggles, about the internal war raging inside him. All he cared about was the Malfoy legacy, the larger political game they were all a part of.

But that was the problem. Draco wasn't focused. His father expected perfection, control, and strength, and Draco was falling short on all counts.

Draco's eyes flicked to the fire, the flames dancing in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. "I have to focus on what matters."

"Does Granger not matter?" Theo asked, his voice quiet but piercing. "Because if she didn't, we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation."

Draco felt a surge of anger rise in his chest, but it wasn't directed at Blaise or Theo. It was directed at himself. At his inability to let go of this obsession, this need to have Hermione's attention, her loyalty, her focus.

But how could he admit that? How could he tell them that every time he saw her, every time she dismissed him, it felt like a punch to the gut? That no matter how much he told himself she didn't matter, she did?

Blaise watched him carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Well?"

Draco didn't respond immediately, his mind swirling with thoughts he didn't want to face. Blaise was right. It wasn't just about Hermione. It was about the expectations, the pressure, the weight of being a Malfoy. It was about the persona he had to maintain, the perfect son, the perfect leader.

And he was failing at all of it.

Theo leaned forward, his gaze steady. "We're your friends, Draco. You don't have to carry this alone."

Draco stared at them for a long moment, his chest tight with the weight of everything he was holding in. For a brief second, he considered telling them. Telling them everything—the obsession with Hermione, the suffocating pressure from his father, the constant feeling of being trapped in a life he hadn't chosen.

But then the moment passed, and Draco shook his head, the mask slipping back into place. "I can handle it."

Blaise and Theo exchanged a glance, but neither of them pushed further. They knew Draco well enough to understand that when he said he could handle it, he wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet.


The next morning, Draco woke up with the same sense of unease that had been plaguing him for weeks. The confrontation with the trio still lingered in his mind, along with the weight of his father's latest letter. He had always been able to compartmentalize, to push aside his emotions and focus on the task at hand. But lately, that skill had been slipping.

As he made his way to breakfast, Draco spotted Hermione again, this time sitting alone in the library. She was pouring over a stack of books, her brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment, Draco considered approaching her, saying something—anything—to break the silence that had grown between them.

But before he could make a decision, Ron Weasley appeared, dropping into the seat beside her with a loud thud. Hermione looked up, startled, but she didn't push him away. Instead, she offered him a small smile, though her focus quickly returned to her books.

Draco's chest tightened at the sight. It was always like this—Weasley, Potter, the trio together. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, Draco couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione would never see him the way she saw them.

He turned on his heel and walked away, the knot of frustration in his chest growing tighter with every step.


Back in the Slytherin common room later that day, Blaise and Theo were waiting for him. The tension in the air was palpable, and Draco knew they weren't going to let this go.

"Weasley's still hovering around her," Blaise said, his voice casual but laced with something more.

Draco's jaw clenched. "I noticed."

Theo leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Right"

Draco didn't have an answer. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine, that he had control. But he couldn't admit the truth either—that Hermione Granger had become his weakness, his obsession.

"I don't know," Draco muttered, his voice low. It was the closest he'd come to admitting defeat.

Blaise studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Then maybe it's time to stop thinking about what your father expects and start thinking about what you want."

Draco didn't respond, but the words lingered in his mind long after Blaise and Theo left the room.

Draco woke up the next morning feeling as though he hadn't slept at all. The same tension that had gripped him for weeks still coiled tightly in his chest, refusing to loosen its grip. He sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, trying to clear his thoughts, but it was futile. Hermione Granger was always there, lingering in the back of his mind.

He dressed quickly, hoping the familiar routine of breakfast would distract him, but even as he walked to the Great Hall, his mind was already racing. He hadn't seen her since the confrontation in the corridors yesterday, and the question of where she was gnawed at him. She was always around Potter and Weasley, but she wasn't there this morning.

As soon as Draco entered the Great Hall, his eyes instinctively scanned the Gryffindor table, but Hermione wasn't there. He sat down at the Slytherin table, forcing himself to look away, but it didn't take long before Blaise Zabini noticed his distraction.

"Looking for someone?" Blaise asked, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. He leaned back in his chair, observing Draco with a knowing look.

Draco didn't answer immediately, trying to keep his focus on his untouched breakfast. "What are you talking about?"

Blaise's smirk widened. "You've been staring at the same empty spot at the Gryffindor table for the past ten minutes."

Theo Nott, seated across from them, looked up from his book and glanced at Draco. "Still thinking about her?"

Draco shot him a sharp look. "I'm not 'thinking about her.' I'm just... noticing things."

"Noticing things?" Theo repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Like how she's been spending all her time with Krum in the library?"

Draco's grip on his fork tightened, and he set it down with more force than necessary. "It's nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Blaise didn't bother hiding his smirk. "Funny how that 'nothing' has been driving you mad for weeks."

Draco's irritation flared, but before he could snap back, Theo's calm voice interrupted. "We're not blind, Draco. What will you do about it" He trailed off, watching Draco closely.

Draco exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. "Lately, things have been complicated."

Blaise tilted his head slightly, the amusement fading from his expression. "Complicated how?"

"It's nothing I can't handle," Draco said, though the words felt hollow even as he said them. He didn't like where this conversation was going, didn't like the way Blaise and Theo had started paying closer attention to him in recent weeks.

Theo leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Look, we're not here to pry. But you've been... on edge."

"I'm not on edge," Draco muttered, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren't true.

Blaise gave a small shrug. "You've been losing your cool more often. First, it was the Yule Ball. Then the second task. And now, you've been keeping tabs on Granger like she's some kind of mystery you need to solve."

Theo didn't react outwardly, but his eyes flicked to Draco with quiet concern.

Draco felt the familiar knot of frustration tighten in his chest. He didn't want to have this conversation, didn't want to admit to anyone—especially not Blaise and Theo—that Hermione Granger had become the one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. But he also knew that denying it would be pointless. His friends had already figured it out.

"I don't expect either of you to understand," Draco said, his voice quieter now, but edged with irritation. "She's just... different."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Theo. "Different how?"

Draco didn't answer right away. How could he explain it? How could he put into words the strange pull he felt every time he saw Hermione, the way her presence seemed to affect him more than anyone else's? The way it gnawed at him that she was spending all her time with Viktor Krum in the library, as if she didn't notice Draco at all?

"She's not like the others," Draco said eventually, his voice tight. "It's not about blood status, or anything else like that. She's just..."

" Annoying? Powerful? Gets Under your skin?" Theo offered, his voice calm but knowing.

Draco's eyes flicked to Theo, and for a moment, he considered denying it. But what was the point? They already knew. "Yes," Draco admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Blaise studied him for a long moment, his smirk fading entirely now. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Draco didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. What could he do? Hermione Granger didn't even look at him the way he wanted her to. She was too focused on Potter, on Weasley, on Krum. Draco was just the boy who threw insults in the corridors, the Slytherin she was supposed to despise.

"I don't know," Draco said finally, the words feeling like a weight lifting off his chest, even if only slightly. Admitting his uncertainty felt strange, but it was the truth.

"You've never not had a plan," Theo said, his voice quiet but direct. "This is the first time I've seen you unsure."

Draco glanced at him, frustration and confusion swirling inside him. He wasn't used to feeling like this—out of control, uncertain. But there was no denying that everything about Hermione Granger had thrown him off balance.

Blaise leaned forward, his eyes sharper now. "You can't keep letting this eat away at you, Draco. Either you do something, or you stop letting it control you."

Draco didn't respond, his mind too tangled with conflicting thoughts. How could he just stop thinking about her? How could he stop the constant pull toward her, the way her presence seemed to affect him more than he wanted to admit?

Theo stood up, folding his book and tucking it under his arm. "We're not saying this to push you. We're saying it because you're starting to lose focus, and that's not like you."

Draco's eyes flickered with frustration, but he didn't argue. They weren't wrong. He had been losing focus. His thoughts had been consumed by Hermione and the way Viktor Krum seemed to be taking up all of her attention.

"You'll figure it out," Blaise said as he stood up as well, his tone softer now. "You always do."

Draco didn't respond, watching as his friends left the Great Hall, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


Draco spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone, trying to force his mind to focus on something else. But it was impossible. His thoughts kept drifting back to Hermione and Krum, to the way they always seemed so comfortable together in the library.

That evening, as the castle grew quieter and the corridors emptied, Draco found himself wandering through the darkened halls, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. He didn't want to go to the library, didn't want to see them together again, but something inside him—something darker and more possessive—pushed him forward.

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with none other than Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione. Harry spotted him first, his expression immediately hardening.

"Malfoy," Harry said coldly, stepping forward as if to block Draco's path.

Draco smirked, though it felt more like a mask than anything else. "Potter. Weasley. Granger. Gunning for a threesome, aren't you?"

Ron stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "Fuck off Malfoy, what do you want"

Draco's eyes flicked to Hermione, who was watching him with that same expression she always had—indifference, as if he didn't matter. But what bothered him more was that there was no irritation, no anger. She wasn't even engaging with him the way she used to. Instead, she looked bored.

"Just wondering how it feels to be the backup," Draco said, his voice cold as he looked at Ron. "Now that Krum has Granger's attention, what's left for you?"

Ron's face flushed with anger, his fists shaking. "Shut your mouth, Malfoy."

Draco smirked, though his chest tightened at the sight of Hermione glancing at Ron with concern. "Touchy, aren't we? Afraid Krum might steal her for good?"

"Enough," Harry said, stepping between them. "Walk away, Malfoy. We're not doing this."

Draco's eyes flicked to Hermione again, and for a moment, their gazes met. But there was no fire in her eyes, no challenge. Just cool indifference.

He felt the knot of frustration tighten in his chest, but he forced his smirk to stay in place. "I'd keep an eye on her if I were you, Weasley," Draco said smoothly. "You're losing ground."

Without waiting for a response, Draco turned on his heel and walked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He had expected the confrontation to ease the tension inside him, but instead, it only made everything worse.