Chapter Twenty-Three
Draco woke slowly, keeping his eyes closed and wishing desperately to fall back asleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept that soundly or the last time he had woken up feeling rested.
Something heavy jumped onto his legs and he reluctantly opened an eye, expecting to see Blaise or Theo sitting at the end of his bed. Instead of Blaise's familiar grin and a cup of coffee he was met with the very squashed face of a ginger cat heavily breathing into his face.
He blinked, staring at the cat.
He didn't own a cat.
Fully awake Draco looked cautiously around the room. The potion he took the night before had made his head fuzzy and it took him a moment to remember where he was.
Quietly and slowly so as to not upset the cat who was now making himself comfortable near Draco's feet, Draco sat up. He hadn't meant to fall asleep on Granger's couch, either the potion was stronger than he anticipated or he had been exhausted then he had thought.
A sleepy mumble turned his attention to the armchair beside the couch. Hermione was curled up, fast asleep with a rather odd looking lumpy blanket wrapped around her. She must have fallen asleep in the chair to keep an eye on him.
It was disconcerting to see her so still. She was like a hummingbird or a shark, always busy, always in perpetual motion. Even when they had been at school she was always bossing people about or practising spells, the only time she ever seemed to stop bustling around was when she was studying.
Watching her now brought back memories of him stealing glances at her in the library, which he had done far more than he would ever admit to. It had been hard not to watch her though, she had been an enigma to him when they were at school.
All his life he had been raised to believe that muggle-borns and muggles alike were beneath him.
In his world there has been an order, a hierarchy of magic in his upbringing that made sense to his young mind.
The pureblood families were at the top, dedicated to upholding ancient traditions and keeping their lines unpolluted. With their pure blood, it was believed that they had the strongest connection to magic and a duty to continuing and protecting their families legacy. They were the sacred twenty eight, entrusted and bestowed with a glorious and almost divine responsibility.
Muggles, naturally, being devoid of magic they were missing a critical part of what made them people. They were essentially another species, a lower life form to be pitied or used.
Then of course there were the people who married muggles or came from mixed homes. The children of these unions were considered magically inferior, watered down, polluted. The unions themselves were highly disgusting as it was a betrayal for a true wizard, even if they didn't directly come from the 28, to bring such shame to their families.
And then of course there were the mudbloods or squids.
While squibs were considered a stain upon the family name, there was more condicention and pity for their families than actual malice, especially if it came from what was considered a 'good family'. Squibs were spoken of in hushed tones as one would talk about someone with a terminal or debilitating condition and looked down upon.
Mud bloods though, were the lowest. Even lower than squibs or blood traitors or muggles. There was no pity or understanding for them.
To the pureblood families, a mudblood was an accidental smattering of magic bestowed on unclean and unworthy, they were freaks of nature. A hiccup in the order and perfection of magic, an unworthy and imperfect host for the gift of magic.
His parents had warned him that Hogwarts had some progressive ideas and beliefs. It was one of the reasons Lucious had been so keen on sending him to Durmstrang, but Narcissa knew that both Blaise and Theo would be attending Hogwarts and had begged Lucius to let Draco go to Hogwarts as well. Lucius had never been one to deny Narcissa anything, and while he made sure Draco knew the school was full of blood traitors and mudbloods and would try to change the values he was raised with, he allowed Draco to go.
He had walked into Hogwarts with the moral superiority and confidence his upbringing had embedded within him and run smack dab into Hermione bloody Granger.
Granger, with her bossy know it all attitude and her frizzy hair and too big teeth.
He had hardly noticed her at first,but then she beat him during their first exams. Not only did she beat him at every class but potions, but she bested pretty much everyone from his circle, no matter their blood status.
She had been the first crack in his world view, the first doubt he had in his own self worth and importance.
And how he hated her for it.
He tried to ignore her and when that didn't work, he tried to break her spirit, to put her in her place. But no matter what he threw at her, the bullying, the slurs, the teasing all seemed to roll right off her. She certainly didn't act as if she was beneath him. If anything she looked down her nose at his behaviour as if he was childish and pathetic and for the first time in his life Draco had felt shame.
There were loads of muggle born students at Hogwarts, plenty of insecure and weak targets for him to put into their rightful places but Draco hardly noticed them. It was always Granger.
He caught himself staring at her in classes, noticing when she walked into the library or the Great Hall, finding her face in the stands at Quidditch matches.
Blaise finally brought it up at the end of year three, after that business with the hippogriff when Granger had punched him. Blasie jokingly told him that he was more obsessed with Granger than Potter. He snapped at Blaise that it was because she didn't have the decency to know her station in life, that he hated her and her insufferable attitude and he intended on being the one to enlighten her. Blaise had exchanged a look with Theo and dropped the subject.
Between his rivalry with Potter, his obsession with Granger and his loathing of the Weasel, Draco spent a disconcerting amount of his time thinking about Gryffindors. At least he could get a rise out of Potter and the weasel, which had been vindicating, but Granger had remained aloof and unphased.
At least until their fourth year when that charm had hit her outside the potions classroom. Blaise thankfully had been the only one to see Draco involuntarily take a step towards her when she had whimpered and covered her face, his eyes wide in horror.
When tears had fallen from her eyes and she had rushed off to the nurse Draco had barely been able to think for the rest of the day. Theo had to physically bar him from sneaking out of the common room and up to the infirmary to check on her. He had been irritable and sullen for the rest of the week trying to rationalise why it had bothered him so much.
Later that year, at the Yule Ball, Draco finally had been forced to admit to himself that he didn't see Granger as quite the inhuman abomination he had been raised to.
It hadn't been when she had floated down the stairs in that beautiful blue dress that made her skin glow. Or when she smiled and her teeth had been shrunk, it wasn't even when she had danced with Krum and looked so gorgeous Blasie had to keep hissing at him to stop staring at her.
No, it had been when he found her crying, curled up in an alcove near the grand staircase after having a row with the weasel. Instead of feeling elated to find her immovable composure compromised and taking the opportunity to torment her further, Draco had felt the unsettling urge to march into the Gryffindor common room and break every single finger the weasel had.
Hermione had looked up at him suddenly, her face tearstained, her makeup running and she looked so miserable, vulnerable and defeated and… beautiful.
They had looked at each other for a quiet moment before Draco pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She hesitated before accepting it, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Draco didn't trust himself to speak and instead turned on his heel and stalked into the ballroom.
He had done his best to torment the weasel and Potter as much as possible for the rest of the year. Because he hated them, yes but also because the weasel was an absolute wanker for ruining that evening for Granger, who was supposed to be his friend, and Potter was just as bad for allowing it.
If anyone had ever treated Pansy that way, Theo would dig a grave, Blaise would kill him and Draco would make sure no one ever found out. In his circle you took care of your own.
Fifth year had been difficult. As it turns out, after the Dark Lord had risen from the dead and has started his unholy crusade against the wizarding world is a rather bad time to be having an existential crisis. Especially when the person your paradigm shift revolves around is the exact type of person your dad's boss is trying to eradicate from existence.
Crookshanks hooked one of his claws into Draco's foot and dragged him back to the present. Which was probably a good thing because he really didn't want Granger to wake up and find him staring intently at her while she slept.
Quietly as he could Draco slipped off the couch and retrieved his jacket. He hesitated, wondering if he should wake Granger before he left but also desperate to escape her apartment. Granger moved, pulling the blanket up and snuggling into the armrest but she was still fast asleep. A rouge curl of her hair fell onto her cheek and Draco, unable to stop himself, reached down and tucked it behind her ear before striding to the door without another look back.