Draco found his task far more demanding than anticipated. Initial confidence had eroded, replaced by a gnawing doubt. How, in Merlin’s name, was he to repair a vanishing cabinet? The very thought of admitting defeat sent a chill through him.
Contrary to popular belief, Draco Malfoy had always aspired to be an Auror – not merely one, but a Senior Auror. A position of authority, of respect. He’d envisioned a career dedicated to upholding the law, not dismantling it.
But he was paying for his father’s failures. Sometimes, Draco found himself wondering how different his life might be without Voldemort’s shadow looming over everything. His parents had once shared a genuine happiness before the Dark Lord’s rise. Now, even their love felt lost amidst the violence and cruelty that defined their lives.
A simmering resentment burned within Draco. He hated being his father’s puppet, the willing executioner. He hated himself for complying. But he hadn’t chosen to be a Malfoy. Sometimes, Draco wished he could shed his lineage entirely—be an ordinary wizard, pureblood, halfblood, or even Muggle-born—anything but a Malfoy.
He was heading towards the staircase when he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he found the corridor empty. He could have sworn he’d seen a flash of curly brown hair vanish behind a pillar, but it was gone in an instant. He resumed his walk, his thoughts drifting to Hermione Granger—bushy-haired, no longer buck-toothed, infuriatingly brilliant. A sigh escaped him. Just *thinking* about her stirred a complex, unwelcome heat.
For his entire life, Draco had been taught that purebloods were superior. But this witch had challenged that belief, dismantling his parents’ prejudices and his own with relentless logic. She *was* the brightest witch of her age, and Draco found himself unable to banish her from his thoughts. In truth, she’d occupied a corner of his mind since their third year…
He remembered the proud creature that attacked him, the disdainful snarl. None of his sidekicks had offered assistance. But Hermione Granger had rushed forward, demanding their Professor take him to the hospital wing immediately. To say he was shocked would be an understatement.
His father had always refused to heal his injuries, dismissing them as weakness. “Only cowards feel pain,” he’d sneered, and Draco Malfoy was determined to appear fearless. But Hermione had shown concern. She had sought him out.
His respect for Granger deepened further when she’d punched him, right in the face. She’d been so kind, even towards animals, that it made his heart clench. How could a single human being be so relentlessly kind? It was a question that haunted him.
To be Continued.