Chapter Text
November 3rd was the first time she saw him again. She was rushing down the hallway on her way to class, shoving papers into her bag. She couldn’t believe it: it was only the first week of classes and she was already late. Hermione Granger was never late for class. Her roommate had thrown some sort of ridiculous get-to-know-everyone party and had kept her awake much later than she should have. She had hoped the frivolity had ended in Hogwarts, but apparently muggles got even crazier after leaving secondary. And with the amount of Americans on her floor, it was sure to be a year of dealing with loud, obnoxious music and pressure for her to goof off.
She had just turned a corner, when she bumped her shoulder against someone’s. The angle of impact caused her to spin and fall flat on her ass, papers escaping from her overstuffed bag. A small “oof” flew out of her mouth as pain spread up her back.
“I am so sorry,” a male voice apologized. It was a nice voice: gentle and polite. His enunciation suggested an aristocratic upbringing, but it wasn’t arrogant; it was soothing. A pale, well manicured hand moved into her line of sight, offering to help her to her feet. “I tried to move out of the way.”
“It’s my fault,” she sighed. She was always bumping into people. Grateful for the help, she accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Quickly releasing his hand, she reached to smooth down her skirt. “I really should be mo-” She had looked up at the man she had hit and her jaw dropped in astonishment. “Malfoy?” she sputtered.
The kind, open expression that had lit up his face immediately hardened. “Oh, hello, Granger,” his haughty drawl had returned.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Confusion clouded Hermione’s thought process. What could Draco Malfoy possibly be doing at Oxford, a very muggle university. He had to have gotten lost. Or maybe he had come here to kill her. The only people who knew she was going to college were Harry, the Weasleys, and McGonagall. It would have been very difficult for him to have found out where she was. THe former Death Eater sneered at her.
“That’s none of your bloody business, is it, Granger?” His voice had dropped to a hostile whisper. The disappointment was clear on Hermione’s face. She had hoped that the animosity they held towards each other as children had disappeared after graduation. Or after she testified on his behalf during his trial. Harry and she had argued relentlessly to soften Draco’s sentence and had been able to change the Wizengamot’s minds from sending him to Azkaban to house arrest pending parole. But, despite all of that, it was clear that Draco still clung to his blood status superiority. The scar on her arm throbbed dully.
“Right,” she bristled, “because a filthy mudblood like me-”
“Don’t,” Draco’s voice came out small and strangled.
“Sorry?”
“Don’t say that word,” Draco sounded like he was in pain. “Don’t call yourself that.” His gray eyes looked straight into her brown ones. Hermione was stunned. Draco had called her a mudblood more times than she could count, but now the word made him uncomfortable? What had changed? Thinking back, he had completely stopped calling her that during their eighth year at Hogwarts. Instead, he became very quiet and studious, and any attempt to ridicule her fell short, like his heart wasn’t really into teasing her anymore. Most people had chalked it up to him being depressed that his family’s good name had been tarnished by their involvement with You-Know-Who, but Hermione had a feeling it went deeper than that.
Coming back to reality, she opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Draco jerked around and walked away, leaving her standing there, more confused than before.