Chapter Text
There was a moment, sharp as lightning, that seared itself into Draco Malfoy’s memory with the precision of a cursed blade. He had been twelve years old, cocky and cruel in the way that only privileged boys can be when armed with too much money and too little emotional maturity. The setting: the second-floor corridor outside the Potions classroom. The victim: a Hufflepuff first year, sobbing over a broken wand, his cauldron leaking a purplish ooze.
And Hermione Granger, wild-haired, fire-eyed, terrifyingly righteous — had stormed up to Draco with all the fury of a vengeful Valkyrie and punched him square in the face.
He hadn’t even had time to move.
Just --- bammm.
His lip split. His back hit the wall. Crabbe and Goyle blinked, stunned, as he slid down the stones, eyes wide, face flushed, pride annihilated.
She’d said nothing. Just turned on her heel and marched away, curls bouncing behind her like the mane of a mythic lioness.
He had never been the same since.
At first, he had thought he hated her. That was simpler. Neater. Hatred was a blade he understood — wielded by generations of Malfoys, passed down like a family heirloom. Hatred was elegant.
But Hermione Granger… wasn’t.
She was messy. Intense. She raised her hand so much in class it seemed fused to the air. She corrected professors. She made lists about her lists. She read during lunch. She sniffed disdainfully at his sneers, treated his jabs like buzzing flies, and carried an invisible shield made of moral superiority and sarcasm.
And Draco?
Draco had spent the rest of second year scribbling her name in the margins of his textbooks and then violently scratching it out. He stared at her across classrooms with the kind of fascination usually reserved for cursed objects. He pushed his seat closer during group projects, even when Snape scowled at him.
He paid attention.
To how she chewed on her quill when she was thinking.
To how she pinched the bridge of her nose when frustrated.
To the quiet smile she gave whenever she read something brilliant and couldn’t wait to share it.
He noticed.
And the noticing only got worse.
By fourth year, he was fully doomed.
She’d grown taller. Sharper. Her voice had softened into something lyrical, and her robes fit better. Her hair still rebelled against gravity — but he had long since decided it looked like spells and constellations tangled together.
Blaise had called it “bushy.”
Draco had called it “poetic.”
He never said that out loud, of course.
Instead, he insulted her.
Endlessly.
It was the only way she ever looked at him, really looked — with eyes that flared and focused and pinned him to the moment like he was worth her time.
Crabbe and Goyle didn’t notice his downward spiral.
Blaise did.
Blaise Zabini, half amused and half exasperated, had once cornered Draco in the Slytherin common room and said, “Mate. Either hex her or snog her, because this weird pining-through-verbal-abuse thing is exhausting.”
Draco had thrown a cushion at him and said something about not fancying Gryffindor swots.
He was lying, obviously.
Because he fancied Hermione Granger so much it hurt to breathe when she walked by.
And now?
Now they were seventeen. Seventh year. N.E.W.Ts loomed. The war that might have been had long since dissolved into dust, leaving in its place a Hogwarts filled with uneasy truces, improved House unity, and awkwardly inter-House study groups.
Hermione had a permanent seat at the front of every classroom and a standing invitation to every intellectual club on campus.
She also had absolutely no idea Draco Malfoy had been hopelessly in love with her for five whole years.
And he was very, very tired of suffering in silence.
Tomorrow, he decided, would be the beginning of everything.
Tomorrow, he would do something.
Something mad.
Something bold.
Something unforgettable.
Because there was only so long a man could pine after a girl before the universe demanded he do something about it.
Even if she still thought of him as an obnoxious blond nuisance who smelled faintly of sandalwood and snobbery.
Even if she would probably hex him.
Even if she never looked at him the way he looked at her when she wasn’t watching.
Draco Malfoy was in love.
And tomorrow?
He was going to make Hermione Granger notice.
Even if he had to set fire to the Great Hall to do it.