Chapter 6

The castle was buzzing with rumors, and Draco Malfoy had heard every last one. The whispers of Barty Crouch Sr. staggering into the grounds—bloody, bedraggled, and raving—had spread like wildfire through the corridors of Hogwarts. Some said Crouch had lost his mind, others claimed he had been bewitched by dark forces. There were even rumors that he had attacked Viktor Krum.

Draco couldn't ignore the undercurrent of concern that tugged at him as he listened to the rumors swirl. Normally, he wouldn't care about someone like Crouch Sr., but this situation felt different. Crouch had been found near the Forbidden Forest, disoriented and violent. It made Draco uneasy—not for himself, but for one reason only: Hermione.

He told himself she wouldn't be involved. She had no reason to be. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind persisted, whispering that Hermione had a habit of getting herself into trouble. And if she was mixed up in this mess, it wouldn't be as easy to dismiss as her usual schemes with Potter and Weasley.

Draco leaned back in his chair at the Slytherin table, absently stirring his tea as his thoughts wandered. The rumors were troubling, but what bothered him more was that he hadn't seen Hermione yet this morning. She had been more distant lately, slipping away to the library with Viktor Krum, and it was driving him mad.

He was a Slytherin—calculated, strategic. He didn't act on impulse, didn't let his emotions control him. But ever since the second task, ever since Hermione had started spending more time with Krum, it had been harder to keep his composure.

"Thinking about her again?" Blaise Zabini's voice broke through Draco's thoughts.

Draco glanced at him, masking his irritation. Blaise had a knack for reading people, especially when it came to Draco. "You're getting tiresome, Zabini," Draco said smoothly, his voice low but cutting. "I'm not thinking about anyone."

Blaise smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Right. You've been brooding for weeks. I doubt it's over your Potions essay."

Draco didn't respond immediately, instead taking a slow sip of his tea. He wasn't about to give Blaise the satisfaction of confirming what they both knew. "It's nothing that concerns you," Draco said at last, his tone measured.

Theo Nott, sitting across from them, looked up from his book, his expression as neutral as always. "She's in the library. With Krum," he said simply.

Draco's grip on his cup tightened imperceptibly. Of course she was. The idea of her being with Krum, even in an academic setting, gnawed at him in a way he couldn't explain.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, watching Draco closely. "He's been hanging around her a lot lately. Getting a bit comfortable, don't you think?"

Draco set his cup down carefully, his face calm despite the irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "I'm sure Granger's just a convenient study partner," he said, his voice smooth and detached. "Krum isn't smart enough to handle Hogwarts' curriculum without help."

Theo nodded thoughtfully. "Still. He's a bit too close for comfort, isn't he?"

Draco didn't respond. He didn't have to. His friends already knew. The tension between them hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

But Draco wouldn't act rashly. No, he was a Slytherin—he played the long game. If Krum thought he could worm his way into Hermione's life, he was sorely mistaken. Draco had no intention of letting that happen. But he wouldn't confront her directly. Not yet.


Later that morning, Draco spotted them—the trio, huddled together near the courtyard. Potter and Weasley were deep in conversation, their expressions serious, and Hermione stood beside them, her arms crossed as she listened. Her brow was furrowed in that familiar way when she was deep in thought, and the sight of it stirred something possessive in Draco.

He wasn't in the mood to deal with them, but he couldn't resist. Tormenting Potter and Weasley was easy, and it always gave him an excuse to see Hermione—an excuse to watch her, to gauge her reaction. He never made the mistake of being too brash, of showing too much interest. He knew better. No, Draco preferred to operate from the shadows, controlling the situation from a distance.

"Plotting your next heroic failure, Potter?" Draco's voice cut through the air as he approached them, a slow, calculated smirk playing on his lips. He leaned against the stone wall casually, as if he had all the time in the world.

Harry turned to face him, his expression hardening immediately. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. "Nothing, really. Just curious if you're involved in all this Crouch business. Seems like exactly the kind of mess you'd get tangled in, doesn't it?"

Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't rise to the bait right away. "Stay out of it, Malfoy. It's none of your concern."

Draco's gaze flicked to Ron, who was glaring at him with barely concealed rage. It was always so easy to rile him up. "Oh, it's none of my concern, is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the Golden Trio is up to something. And when you lot are up to something, it usually ends in catastrophe."

Ron stepped forward, his fists clenched, just as Draco had expected. "You'd love it if we failed, wouldn't you?" Ron growled. "Always standing on the sidelines, hoping someone else will do your dirty work."

Draco's smirk sharpened. "I don't need to hope for anything, Weasley. You're perfectly capable of making a mess of things on your own. Although, if I were you, I'd keep an eye on Krum. Seems he's getting a bit... close."

Ron's face flushed red, his temper flaring instantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco shrugged, his expression carefully indifferent. "I just find it interesting that Granger's been spending so much time with him lately. I wonder what he's really after."

Hermione, who had been silent so far, finally spoke up, her voice calm but firm. "I can make my own choices, Malfoy. I don't need your opinions on who I spend time with."

Draco's eyes flicked to her, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. He felt that familiar pull—the frustration that came from her cool dismissal, the way she always seemed indifferent to him. But Draco didn't show any of it. He kept his expression smooth, as if her words didn't affect him at all.

"Of course, Granger," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with faux politeness. "I'd never dream of questioning your judgment. It's just a shame Weasley here doesn't seem to share your confidence."

Ron looked ready to explode, but Harry stepped between them, his voice low and firm. "That's enough, Malfoy."

Draco smiled, a slow, mocking smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If you say so, Potter. But I'd keep an eye on things if I were you. Crouch, Krum... you never know who's hiding secrets."

With that, Draco turned on his heel and walked away, his smirk still in place. The encounter had been satisfying enough, but it wasn't over. Not by a long shot. He knew how to play the game, and this was just the beginning.

As he walked through the corridors, his thoughts turned darker, more possessive. He couldn't keep watching from the sidelines forever. Sooner or later, Hermione would see him—not as the boy who tormented her friends, but as something more.

Something she couldn't ignore.

Draco strode away from the courtyard, his mind racing with darker thoughts. The confrontation with Potter and Weasley had gone as expected—Ron, especially, was so easy to manipulate, so predictable in his anger. But Hermione's indifference still lingered like a bitter taste in his mouth. Every time she dismissed him, it felt like a door closing, and no matter how hard he pushed, she always seemed unfazed.

His smirk faded as the realization crept in, he wasn't winning. Not with her. She barely acknowledged him anymore, except to shut him down. It was infuriating. He needed her to notice him, to care, to react. But all she seemed to care about was Potter, Weasley, and, most annoyingly, Viktor Krum.

Draco's jaw tightened at the thought of Krum. The Bulgarian Quidditch star had slithered his way into Hermione's world, and no matter how much Draco tried to deny it, the sight of them together in the library always left him seething with jealousy.

Why doesn't she see me the way she sees him?

As Draco rounded the corner into the empty corridor, his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, grating voice.

"Draco!" Pansy Parkinson's high-pitched whine echoed down the hall, and he instinctively grimaced before turning to face her. She hurried toward him, her face twisted in a pout. "You've been avoiding me all week!"

Draco sighed inwardly, steeling himself for whatever complaint she had this time. "I've been busy," he said curtly, not bothering to stop walking.

Pansy hurried to catch up, her hand reaching out to grab his arm. "Busy with what? You haven't even come to sit with me at lunch! Or breakfast. Or—" She hesitated, her eyes narrowing. "You're not still obsessing over that mudblood, are you?"

Draco stopped abruptly, his irritation spiking. His grey eyes flashed as he turned to look at Pansy, his expression cold. "I'd be careful about what you say, Parkinson," he said quietly, his voice laced with warning.

Pansy faltered, her hand dropping from his arm. "I... I just mean you've been distant. And everyone's noticed. Even Blaise said something about it."

Draco let out a slow breath, reining in his temper. He didn't want to deal with this right now. Pansy was always needy, always whining for attention, but lately, it had become unbearable. He didn't care about her, not really. She was just another part of the life he was expected to lead, another role to play.

But lately, that role had started to feel suffocating.

"I have more important things to worry about than sitting with you at lunch," Draco said, his voice flat. He turned and continued walking, not bothering to check if she was following.

Pansy, of course, hurried after him, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. "Important things? Like what? Tormenting Potter and his little friends? Honestly, Draco, I don't know why you waste your time with them. It's beneath you."

Draco's jaw clenched again. He had never been fond of Pansy's constant meddling, but right now, her words grated on him more than usual. She didn't understand. She couldn't. Everything he did—every taunt, every calculated insult—was part of a larger plan. A plan that she would never be able to comprehend.

"Maybe it's beneath you," Draco said coolly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "But it's not beneath me. And besides, it's none of your concern."

Pansy huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You're impossible lately. You never used to be like this. We used to have fun, Draco. What's changed?"

Draco stopped again, turning to face her fully this time. His patience was wearing thin. "What's changed?" he repeated, his voice icy. "Everything."

Pansy blinked, clearly taken aback by his tone. "What do you mean?"

Draco's gaze hardened as he stared down at her. "I don't have time for your whining, Pansy. Things are different now. There are more important things at stake than whatever petty games you're so concerned with."

Pansy's face flushed with indignation, but before she could say anything, Draco turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the corridor. He didn't care if she was upset. She was just another distraction, another part of the life he was trying to break free from.


By the time Draco reached the Slytherin common room that evening, the frustration from his encounter with Pansy still lingered, gnawing at him. He had hoped to shake it off with a distraction—anything that would pull his mind away from Hermione—but now that he was here, the tension only seemed to be getting worse.

Blaise and Theo were already seated near the fire, as if they had been waiting for him. But there was something different about their expressions this time—something more serious, more weighted.

As soon as Draco dropped into the chair across from them, Blaise spoke up, his usual laid-back demeanor tempered with an edge of caution. "You've been getting the letters too, haven't you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, his frustration momentarily replaced with curiosity. "What letters?"

Theo leaned forward slightly, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. "From our fathers. Blaise's, mine... yours too, I'd imagine."

Draco frowned. His father hadn't sent him anything unusual lately—not that he was aware of. "Lucius hasn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary," he said slowly. "What's going on?"

Blaise exchanged a look with Theo before continuing. "It's not just about the tournament anymore. There's talk—among the families. The usual suspects. Something's coming."

Draco's frown deepened, the weight of Blaise's words settling heavily in his chest. He had known for a while that there were plans in motion, whisperings of darker things on the horizon. His father had been preparing him for that all his life. But if Theo and Blaise were receiving letters about it too, it meant things were moving faster than he realized.

"What exactly are they saying?" Draco asked, his voice quieter now, more serious.

Theo pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and tossed it onto the table between them. "My father wrote yesterday. He didn't give many details, but he made it clear that something big is about to happen. The families are getting restless. It's only a matter of time."

Draco stared at the parchment, his mind racing. His father hadn't mentioned this in any of his recent letters, but it wasn't unusual for Lucius to withhold information until the time was right. Still, the fact that Blaise and Theo were hearing it too meant it was important.

Blaise leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "There's talk of gathering again. The old alliances being reformed."

Draco's eyes flickered with recognition. He knew what Blaise meant. The old alliances—the ones that had been dormant since the fall of the Dark Lord. If they were coming back together, it meant something.

"Do you think they…that he's..?" Draco asked quietly, though the answer seemed obvious.

Theo's gaze was steady, but there was a hint of unease in his voice when he spoke. "It looks that way. My father's been more cautious lately. More... watchful."

Draco didn't respond immediately, his thoughts swirling with everything this would mean for them, for their families, for the world they were part of. He had always known his role in this—what his father expected of him, what the future would hold. But now, with it all becoming so real, so close, the pressure was starting to weigh more heavily.

"You're quiet," Blaise observed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I figured Lucius would've been keeping you in the loop."

Draco gave a small shrug, masking the uncertainty he felt. "He hasn't said much recently. But I'm sure he'll let me know when the time is right."

Blaise nodded, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. "Maybe. But it's coming, Draco. We're going to be part of this, whether we're ready or not."

Draco felt the tension settle more deeply in his chest. He had always known he was meant for something more, that his family's legacy demanded it. But with every passing day, it felt like that future was becoming less of a distant possibility and more of an inevitable reality.

And then there was Hermione.

Draco's thoughts shifted abruptly, the familiar frustration clawing at him once again. How could he focus on the larger picture, on the future that was being planned for him, when Hermione kept occupying his every thought? She was a distraction—a dangerous one. And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop the possessiveness that had taken root inside him.

Theo's voice cut through his thoughts. "This is what we've been waiting for, isn't it? Everything our families have worked toward."

Draco nodded slowly, though his mind was still elsewhere. "Yeah. It is."

Blaise watched him carefully, his gaze sharper than usual. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Draco's eyes snapped to Blaise's, his expression hardening. "No. I know what's expected of me."

"Good," Theo said, though there was a slight pause before he added, "Because it's coming whether we're ready or not. We've been raised for this. And when the time comes, we'll have to play our part."

Draco knew he was right. They all had a role to play in what was coming. But the question that gnawed at him wasn't whether he was ready—it was whether he could keep his focus when everything around him seemed to be unraveling.

"I'm ready," Draco said finally, though the words felt more like an attempt to convince himself than anyone else.

The conversation shifted after that, moving away from the letters and the inevitable future they were facing. But Draco's mind stayed tangled in thoughts of Hermione and the growing storm ahead. The idea that she might be caught up in whatever was coming worried him more than he wanted to admit.

As the fire crackled softly in the common room, Blaise and Theo resumed their quiet conversation, but Draco remained silent, lost in his own thoughts.


That night, as Draco lay in bed, staring up at the dark canopy, his mind refused to settle. The weight of his family's expectations pressed down on him more heavily than ever before. His father's plans, the whispers of the Dark Lord's return, the old alliances being reforged—it was all coming to a head. And yet, all he could think about was Hermione.

She doesn't belong in this world, Draco thought, his fists clenched at his sides. But if she gets caught up in it...

He didn't finish the thought. He didn't want to.

But one thing was certain: he had to find a way to protect her from what was coming—even if it meant keeping her at a distance, even if it meant doing things that would push her away.

Draco closed his eyes, his jaw set with determination. The world was changing, and they all had a part to play. But Hermione... she was his weakness, and he couldn't afford any weaknesses now.

She'll see, Draco thought darkly, his mind drifting to sleep. She'll understand. She has to.