Hermione Granger was lonely.
It had been three weeks since she had started at Hogwarts, and it wasn't at all what she'd hoped for. She had imagined a place filled with people like her: people who loved books, who valued learning, who would want to be her friends. People who wouldn't mock her or whisper behind her back, or act like her cleverness was something to be ashamed of.
But her hopes had been in vain. Hogwarts, for all its magic, wasn't so different from the Muggle schools she'd left behind. She tried everything: helping people with their lessons, giving advice, sharing her interests. But nothing worked. Her enthusiasm always seemed to push people away.
Her dormmates barely spoke to her, and when they did, it wasn't anything Hermione cared about. Just endless gossip about boys and silly things that made her eyes glaze over. Not that they wanted her opinion anyway. They laughed at her for keeping her nose in a book, called her stuck-up when she tried to talk about something interesting, and shut her out at every turn.
She was tired of being shut out.
And then, one afternoon after Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall asked her to stay behind. Hermione's stomach clenched. Had she done something wrong? But no. McGonagall's expression wasn't stern, it was… approving.
"Miss Granger," she said briskly, "I thought you might be interested in joining a study group. It's being led by Mr. Malfoy. He's quite accomplished for his age and has invited students from all houses."
Hermione blinked in surprise. A study group?
AndDraco Malfoywas leading it?
Draco Malfoy, the boy whose name seemed to be on everyone's lips. The smartest student in their year. She'd heard the professors' endless praise for him, their murmured remarks about his talent and focus. He was practically a legend already. Even the Gryffindors, reluctant as they were to compliment a Slytherin, admitted he wasn't half bad.
Still, Hermione hesitated. Malfoy was in Slytherin, after all, and everyone knew what people said about them. Ambitious, cunning,evil. But when Hermione really thought about it, it didn't make sense. Could an entire house of students really be evil? They were just children like everyone else. If they were so terrible, surely Hogwarts would have gotten rid of Slytherin by now. No book she'd read ever said the house was evil, it was justdifferent. Like her.
And Malfoy couldn't bethatbad, could he? Not with the way the professors spoke of him.
The idea of being in a study group with someone so brilliant, someone who might actually understand her drive to learn, was too tempting to resist.
For the first time in weeks, Hermione felt the faint stirrings of hope. Maybe this would be different. Maybe she wouldn't have to eat lunch alone anymore or pretend she didn't hear people whispering about her.
So, of course, she said yes.
The group was set to meet twice a week: Wednesdays after classes and Sunday mornings. It was a lot, but it wasn't meant for the average student. This was for the academically ambitious, those who thrived on challenge. Hermione understood that perfectly.
Their first meeting was scheduled for Sunday, and Hermione could hardly contain her excitement. The anticipation carried her through the week, making her practically buzz with energy. Even her dormmates noticed, and for once, they actually asked her about it.
When she explained that she'd been invited to join a study group, they had rolled their eyes and dismissed it as boring. But when she mentioned it was led byDraco Malfoy,their reactions shifted immediately. Malfoy had a certain reputation, even in Gryffindor: intelligent, polished, and, as one of her dormmates put it, "dreamy."
But when Hermione revealed the group mettwice a weekand required plenty of prep work before each session, their enthusiasm vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Sounds dreadful," one of them said, turning back to their conversation about Quidditch players.
Hermione had been left alone again. But that was fine. This group wasn't for them. It was forher.
When Sunday finally arrived, Hermione made sure to get there early. The unused classroom was empty when she entered, the desks arranged in a loose semicircle. She chose a seat near the middle, carefully arranging her books and parchment. Slowly, other students began to trickle in, but no one spoke or acknowledged one another beyond an occasional glance. Everyone kept their distance, maintaining the invisible lines drawn by their Houses.
And then Draco Malfoy arrived.
He entered with an air of effortless confidence, flanked by Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, two other Slytherins who seemed to orbit him. His robes were impeccable, his hair perfectly styled, and his sharp, calculating gaze swept over the room as if he were taking inventory of everyone present.
Hermione sat up a little straighter.
"Good morning," Draco began, his voice clear and steady. He didn't waste time with pleasantries, immediately launching into the purpose of the group and outlining their agenda for the day.
The way he commanded the room was nothing short of inspiring. He spoke with clarity and authority, answering every question with precision and without hesitation. Hermione found herself absorbing his every word, her quill flying across her parchment as she took notes. Even though much of what he said was already familiar to her, there were moments when he shared insights she hadn't come across in her books. Those tidbits alone made the meeting worthwhile.
As the group transitioned into working on their assignments, Hermione found her attention wandering, not to her work, but to Draco. She caught herself sneaking glances at him as he moved between desks, offering advice or clarifying instructions.
And every time she looked his way, she found him staring back.
His expression was unreadable, his pale gray eyes fixed on her in a way that made her stomach twist. She quickly looked back at her parchment, pretending to focus on her notes, but her thoughts raced.Why is he staring at me like that?
Could it be possible that he liked her? The idea made her cheeks flush, but she dismissed it almost immediately.
Don't be ridiculous, Hermione,she told herself, tugging self-consciously at a strand of her bushy hair.No one likes a bucktoothed know-it-all like you.
He probably thought she was weird, or maybe he'd already decided she didn't belong.
Hermione bit her lip and forced herself to focus on her work, refusing to let her imagination run away with her. Still, her heart fluttered nervously each time she felt his gaze linger.
Fortunately, Draco didn't ask her to stop coming, and their meetings continued regularly over the next month. Each session became a highlight of Hermione's week. The structured discussions, the challenging questions, the rare camaraderie... it felt like a world apart from the loneliness of her dorm.
She even began talking to some of the Ravenclaws outside of the sessions. They weren't exactly friends, but it was nice to have someone nod in recognition when she passed them in the corridors. It felt… normal, in a way she hadn't experienced since coming to Hogwarts. Or ever.
But then there was Draco Malfoy, or justDraco,as he'd insisted they call him. He continued to watch her during their meetings, his eyes lingering on her with an intensity that made her heart flutter. At first, she thought she was imagining it, but over time, the weight of his gaze became impossible to ignore.
She wanted to say something, to ask why he kept staring, but… she didn't want him to stop. A strange warmth spread through her chest whenever she caught him looking, a tiny spark of something she didn't fully understand but wasn't ready to lose.
So, she said nothing.
Then Halloween came.
That day, their morning Charms class had been particularly lively. Hermione had already mastered the Levitation Charm weeks ago thanks to the study group, so she spent most of the lesson helping her classmates. She thought they'd appreciate her efforts. Her instructions were clear, her demonstrations flawless. She wasn't trying to show off, just trying to help.
But after class she overheard Ron Weasley's voice.
"She's a nightmare, honestly! No wonder she hasn't got any friends."
The words hit her like a physical blow, sharp and cold. Hermione froze in place, her heart sinking into her stomach. She felt a hot sting behind her eyes, but she forced herself to hold back the tears. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
Clutching her books tightly to her chest, she away past the boy as quickly as she could, her head down to avoid the curious stares of passing students.
She wandered the castle aimlessly until she found an unused bathroom on the third floor. Pushing open the heavy door, she stepped inside, her footsteps echoing off the tiled walls. The quiet was a relief, a sanctuary. She entered a stall quickly. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, the tears came, hot and uncontrollable.
She sank to the floor, letting the sobs wrack her small frame.
Ron was right. She didn't have any friends. Not real ones. Even the study group, which she'd clung to as a beacon of hope, was little more than a gathering of acquaintances. She thought she'd been making progress, that people were finally warming up to her, but it was all in her head. Nothing had changed.
After what felt like an eternity, the tears slowed. Her chest ached, her throat was raw, and her face felt tight and sticky from crying. She wiped her nose with the edge of her sleeve and sniffled, trying to collect herself. Sitting here in a damp bathroom stall, feeling sorry for herself, wasn't going to fix anything.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a book.
Reading had always been her escape. It didn't matter that her peers ignored her, that her parents couldn't understand this new magical world she'd entered, or that she felt like a perpetual outsider. As long as she had a book, she could disappear into a place where things made sense, where problems had solutions.
Hours passed as she devoured the familiar pages, reading and rereading her favorite passages. The words soothed her, wrapping around her like a warm blanket, and the sting of Ron's cruel remark began to fade. She even skipped her classes. It wasn't like anyone would miss her.
By the time she looked up, her stomach was growling insistently, and the dim light streaming through the high windows had disappeared. She hadn't realized it was already night.
With a sigh, Hermione closed her book and packed it carefully into her bag. She stood, stretching her stiff legs, and stepped out of the stall. Only to freeze mid-step as her nose was assaulted by the most putrid stench she had ever smelled.
Her heart leapt into her throat as the ground trembled beneath her feet.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then, to her horror, a massive troll lumbered into the bathroom, its club dragging noisily across the floor.
Hermione's breath caught. She backed into the stall, her eyes wide, as the creature's hulking form filled the room. She closed the door of the stall quickly behind her as the door of the bathroom slammed shut with a loudbang.
She pressed her back against the wall, clutching her bag to her chest. This couldn't be happening. This had to be some kind of nightmare.
Hermione shrank down, making herself as small as possible, but it wasn't enough. The troll swung, and the stall exploded into splinters above her head, raining debris around her. The sound was deafening, and she curled into a ball as bits of wood and tile pelted her.
This was no nightmare.
She was going to die. Too young. Too scared. Too full of regrets. Her parents' faces flashed through her mind. What would they think when they found out?
The troll raised its club again, its beady eyes fixed on her as if savoring the moment. Hermione shut her eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
And then, the bathroom door flew open.
Hermione blinked through the dust and splinters, her heart pounding as she peeked out from beneath the shattered remains of the stall. Her breath caught again, but this time in disbelief.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway.
Hermione gasped under her breath, terror twisting in her chest. He was going to get himself killed!
The troll turned to face the new intruder, letting out a deafening roar as it raised its club to strike him down. But Draco didn't even flinch. His pale face was set with fierce determination, and his wand was already raised.
Hermione watched in stunned silence as the troll's club, mid-swing, warped and twisted in its grip. The wood stretched and coiled, transforming into thick chains that sprang to life. The chains slithered like serpents, wrapping themselves tightly around the troll's massive arms, torso and legs. The creature bellowed in rage, struggling against its bonds as the chains tightened, forcing its arms to its sides and its legs together.
For a moment, Hermione couldn't move, couldn't think. The boy she'd barely spoken to outside of study group had just walked into the room, faced a troll without hesitation, and saved her life.
The troll thrashed and roared, but fell down, sending vibrations through the ground. The chains held firm, glinting faintly with the magic that bound them. Draco didn't lower his wand, his arm steady, his sharp gaze fixed on the struggling creature.
Hermione pushed herself out from under the shattered remains of the stall, her hands trembling. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stand, clutching the edge of a broken sink for balance.
"Are you hurt?" Draco asked, his voice calm but edged with urgency.
Hermione shook her head quickly, unable to form words. Her throat was dry, her heart still pounding from the close call.
Draco stepped closer, his wand still pointed at the troll. "Good. Then stay behind me."
Draco muttered something under his breath, and the magic seemed to intensify, binding the creature until it was completely immobilized.
For a moment, the bathroom was silent except for their ragged breathing.
"You… you saved me," Hermione finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. For the first time, the sharpness in his expression softened. "Obviously."
She opened her mouth to say more, but her words faltered as her heart gave a strange, unfamiliar flutter. He looked… different up close. His face was flushed from exertion, a stray lock of pale hair falling over his forehead. For a brief, irrational moment, she thought he lookedcool.
Before she could say anything, though, the bathroom door burst open once again. Hermione's heart lurched as Professors McGonagall and Snape stormed in, their wands drawn, followed by a disheveled Professor Quirrell.
That night, as she lay in bed, Hermione couldn't stop replaying the events in her mind. The sound of the troll's roar, the crack of the stall splintering, the way Draco had stood so calmly against the monster. Her cheeks heated at the memory of him turning to her, wand raised, his gray eyes sharp and confident.
Her heart fluttered again, and she pressed a hand to her chest.
"What is this?" she whispered to herself.
For the first time, she couldn't focus on her books. The words blurred together on the page as her thoughts kept drifting back to Draco Malfoy.