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Past Life Story — Part Eight: The Ignorant Granger
Time: Summer holiday after fourth year, during the Quidditch World Cup
Location: The Top Box of the Quidditch World Cup stadium; the campsite woods
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Draco Malfoy had always believed that Professor Trelawney's words were not to be taken seriously. She had never once said anything right.
So, after a brief period of panic, he quietly resolved to go on being the young master of the Malfoy family — and to let Granger go on fending for herself.
Ignore her. That was his only thought as he walked into the Top Box at the Quidditch World Cup stadium.
When he saw her, Draco was certain he had let go of the prophecy entirely. He followed his father into the box and, as usual, directed his best glare at Potter, Weasley, and Granger.
Granger glared back — at him, and then at his father — with no trace of courtesy.
Ignorant Granger. She never seemed to grasp the importance of showing respect to the head of the Malfoy family, always recklessly pushing Lucius's limits. Had it not been for Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge standing nearby, Lucius would undoubtedly have stepped over and made her regret that one insolent look.
She and he were on entirely different wavelengths. He told himself so, firmly.
Doesn't she know what it means to be powerful and well-connected?
They would keep to themselves. There was no need to give her a second thought. Wearing the new robes his mother had gifted him, a smug smile fixed in place as always, Draco gave her Muggle jeans a critical once-over — determined never to admit that such clothes could convey any sort of youthful energy — before walking past her, completely unmoved.
Draco Malfoy, as always, had the entire situation well in hand.
On the night the Quidditch World Cup ended, Lucius and Narcissa hurried back to the tent and led their son to the edge of the woods.
"Little dragon, go deeper into the trees and stay well away from the crossfire," Narcissa said softly.
"Where are you going?" Draco asked.
"There are matters to attend to," Narcissa replied, exchanging a quiet glance with Lucius.
"Don't ask unnecessary questions," Lucius said. "If things turn dangerous, say your name — no one will trouble you."
They left.
Draco peered through the gaps between the trees at the chaos sweeping through the campsite and frowned.
He could see what was happening to the Muggle campsite manager and his family. They were suspended in the air — the keeper's wife hanging upside down, her nightclothes trailing around her head. Below, hooded figures screamed and jeered.
Even Draco, no stranger to mischief himself, found it repulsive.
His parents had never raised him this way. One ought to maintain a degree of dignity and principle even toward one's enemies. Scheming, deception, a well-placed frame — those were understandable. But this? This was nothing short of shameful.
In an instant, he thought of Granger.
That ignorant, reckless girl. If she dared talk back to anyone tonight, or showed even the faintest sign of her Muggle origins, she would find that not everyone would settle for a disdainful glare the way his father had.
She might be in serious trouble. He frowned, unsure why the thought unsettled him.
Then he heard Granger's voice.
It was easy to recognise — not unlike the sound she made when she had been searching for her cat near the lake last year. Anxious. Panicked.
"What's going on?" she said breathlessly, followed by the sound of footsteps. "Ron, where are you? Oh, we were so stupid — the wand-lights are visible to everyone."
By the light at the tip of her wand, he could see that she was wearing robes thrown hastily over what appeared to be a white lace nightgown. Below the hem, he caught a glimpse of a slender leg and bare ankles.
Hardly a safe state to be in. If she caught the eye of any Death Eater — he sincerely hoped she was wearing something underneath those robes.
Before he could even work out why he was concerned about Granger's attire, he had already stepped out from the bushes and launched into provoking Potter and Weasley.
Weasley was furious and hurled a crude insult. Any other night, Draco would have answered it with full enthusiasm. Tonight, he had no appetite for a fight.
"Watch your mouth," Draco said pointedly. "I'd advise you to start running. Unless you want her to be discovered."
He jerked his chin toward Granger, not intending to speak to her directly. He only wanted her to understand the danger. That was all. It didn't mean he wanted any direct involvement with her.
"What do you mean?" she asked, stepping forward, chin lifted in that infuriating way of hers.
Draco couldn't help glancing at her. Their eyes met.
Her eyes shone in the darkness — bright as a cat's, full of an innocent, stubborn fearlessness. He was suddenly reminded of her voice saying, *"You still have some compassion, even if it's just a teaspoonful. You're not completely hopeless."* Back then, the two of them had worked together to rescue a dragon's egg.
He thought he must be losing his mind. He suddenly didn't want that light snuffed out — at least not tonight.
"Granger, they're hunting Muggles," Draco said, aiming for nonchalance and hoping it concealed whatever ridiculous feeling was stirring inside him — certainly not worry. He let his gaze drop briefly to her calves. "Or would you rather be dangled upside down in your nightclothes for all to see?"
He forced his eyes away and blinked. *Far too dangerous.*
He shifted his gaze toward the campsite, his unease mounting as he realised the hooded crowd was already moving in their direction.
Merlin. The situation was more critical than he'd thought. His tone sharpened. "If you'd like, stay here — they're heading this way and we can all have a grand laugh."
*Just go, Granger. Get away from here.*
"Hermione is a witch!" Potter roared.
Draco was utterly exasperated. Talking to Potter and his lot was always a trial; they had no idea how dire tonight truly was for Granger. He felt his mask of composure beginning to crack.
He needed to push harder.
"Do as you please, Potter," Draco forced a sneer. "If you think they can't tell Muggle-borns apart from the rest, by all means, stay put."
"Watch your mouth!" Weasley bellowed.
Another round of shouting followed. Draco kept his smirk in place, but his words grew sharper, faster — while a tide of real, frantic irritation rolled through him.
*Why can't they understand what I'm telling them?*
They needed to leave — now — all of them, and *her* especially. His hand, buried in his pocket, curled into a fist. His composure was almost gone.
At last, Granger seemed to understand. *Thank Merlin.* Whatever she lacked in bloodline, she had never lacked for brains.
His unnecessary provocation had not been wasted. Not that it earned him any gratitude — on the contrary, she shot him a look of pure contempt and said to the others, "Come on, let's go find everyone else."
Several explosions cracked through the woods. Draco had no way of knowing whether his father was among the hooded figures, or whether he would even recognise Granger. He had no way of knowing if his father's companions — those ruthless Death Eaters — would show mercy to one small girl.
"Keep that bushy head down, Granger," Draco called after them, affecting a mocking tone.
*Keep your head down, Granger. Arrogance won't protect you tonight. There is no shame in staying safe.*
*Whatever you do — don't let anyone see your face.*
"Come on," Granger said, pulling Potter and Weasley along as they disappeared into the darkness.
He watched them go in silence, his expression unreadable.
*Yes. Hurry up and run, you ignorant Granger.*
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Past Life Story — Part Nine: The Show-Off Granger
Time: Fourth year, first week of term
Location: Care of Magical Creatures classroom
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Once fourth year began, every student quickly discovered they were drowning in homework.
When the class erupted in complaints about Professor McGonagall's excessive Transfiguration assignments, she declared, "You are entering a crucial period of your magical education! Your O.W.L. examinations will be upon you before you know it—"
"We don't sit O.W.L.s until fifth year!" a Gryffindor student protested.
"Which is precisely why you must be fully prepared! In this class, only Miss Granger has managed to produce a satisfactory Hedgehog-to-Pincushion Transfiguration..." Professor McGonagall's eyes gleamed behind her square spectacles.
Draco glanced at the girl receiving the praise. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was doing a poor job of hiding her satisfaction.
*That girl and her insufferable cleverness — she practically owns the entire classroom.* He thought it resentfully.
It wasn't just Transfiguration. Professor Binns — that droning ghost who taught History of Magic — had praised her essay on the eighteenth-century goblin rebellions in front of the whole class. Professor Flitwick, who assigned three books on Summoning Charms, used her as a living example to shame the rest of them: "You ought to take a page from Miss Granger — she has finished all three volumes and gone on to read several more besides!"
And then there was Hagrid.
In Care of Magical Creatures, she behaved as though she were the one teaching the lesson.
When Draco loudly mocked Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts for "burning, stinging, and biting everything in sight," she rounded on him immediately.
"Just because something looks unpleasant doesn't mean it's useless," she said sharply. "Dragon's blood has extraordinary properties — but I don't see you keeping a dragon as a pet."
He could hear Potter and Weasley sniggering nearby. He ignored them.
He knew he should have moved on. She had just contradicted him in front of everyone. But instead he found himself studying the defiance in her eyes, convinced she was implying something. She already knew his feelings about dragons, didn't she?
"And what do you know?" He gave her his most dismissive smile. "You throw around technical terms, but do you actually know the properties of dragon's blood?"
He was then astonished to hear her recite all twelve uses of dragon's blood without a single hesitation.
This had once been a question that stumped many — one Draco himself had always considered difficult — and she rattled off the answer as though she'd known it since birth. She was the only person he had ever met who could recite that particular piece of knowledge both fluently and completely.
"Very impressive," he said, adopting a lazy drawl to conceal his genuine surprise. "Clearly copied straight from a book, wasn't it?"
She gave him a haughty look, chose not to dignify that with a response, and turned her attention back to coaxing the Blast-Ended Skrewt with ant eggs, frog livers, and earthworms.
*Is she showing off her fearlessness now, after showing off her memory?*
"Granger, if your mind is as sharp as you'd like everyone to believe, you'd realise these Skrewts are entirely worthless compared to a dragon," Draco said, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Though they do have one thing in common — they grow at an alarming rate. You haven't even worked out what they'll eat before they're already two metres long."
"Shut up, Malfoy," she said, her cheeks going red, looking suddenly as though he'd hit closer to the mark than she wanted to admit.
"So you don't actually like them either." He eyed the slippery frog livers with barely concealed disgust, noticing how close her fingers were to the snapping ends of the Skrewts. Far too close. "What's it to me, you ask? Well — if you don't even like them, then everything you said before was purely to shut me up." He tossed his parting words over his shoulder. "If you don't want it to blow up in your face and land you in the Hospital Wing, you'd do better to pin it down before it strikes — instead of wasting time trying to silence me."
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Past Life Story — Part Ten: The Blinding Granger
Time: Fourth year, shortly after Harry Potter was named a Triwizard champion; following a hexing incident outside the Potions classroom in which Draco's Densaugeo jinx rebounded off Harry and struck both Hermione and Goyle.
Locations: Slytherin common room; the library; outside the Potions classroom; the Hospital Wing
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Granger ended up in the Hospital Wing.
Surprisingly, it wasn't due to one of Hagrid's three-foot Blast-Ended Skrewts, but the result of a rebounded Densaugeo jinx — courtesy of a confrontation between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.
Draco had intended to teach Potter a lesson. Who else had used some underhanded trick to slip his name into the Goblet of Fire and come out a Hogwarts champion?
Going to such lengths just to enter the Triwizard Tournament — even Draco, a Slytherin, thought it was beneath contempt.
*Potter.* Always exploiting Dumbledore's favour, trampling over the rules and dragging Hogwarts' reputation through the mud without a second thought.
Everyone agreed it was a disgrace — a scandal. The whole school was furious.
His idol, Krum, had been in a sullen mood for days, sparing no goodwill for any Hogwarts student, not even those from Slytherin.
Everyone was keeping their distance from Potter. Even Weasley, who fancied himself Potter's devoted best friend, had pulled away.
"Serves him right!" Draco declared from the Slytherin common room, though if he were honest, he was also desperately curious as to how Potter had managed it. "He deserves to be left on his own."
"Exactly!" Pansy agreed, dropping onto the sofa opposite him. "My friends are absolutely furious! Compared to Cedric, Potter's a wet noodle. Cedric is a real champion — he actually represents Hogwarts!"
"Since when have you lot started championing a Hufflepuff?" Draco looked at her sideways.
"Oh, Draco, don't tell me you haven't noticed! Cedric is gorgeous — straight nose, dark hair, grey eyes... Hogwarts' heartthrob, a Seeker, a pureblood — who wouldn't fancy him? My friends are completely obsessed..." Pansy sighed dreamily, earning a look of pure disdain from Blaise, who was passing through.
"You absolute fangirl."
"What did you just call me?" Pansy snapped.
"A hopeless romantic with no standards beyond a pretty face," Blaise said flatly.
"One word and you've insulted every girl in this school!" Pansy jumped up indignantly. "I challenge you to find one — just one — girl in this whole school who doesn't fancy Cedric Diggory!"
"You've forgotten Granger," Blaise said with a disdainful shrug. "She's joined at the hip with Potter. I don't think she has much time for fawning over Cedric."
"That Mudblood? Is she even worth counting? She buries herself behind books all day. Beyond that mop of hair, what is there to see — her big front teeth? I bet she looks like a chipmunk when she surfaces." Pansy let out a short laugh. "Is she with Potter? Well, Potter certainly isn't fussy."
*Granger.*
*Right.*
The girl who stung his eyes.
The girl who never failed to go against him.
The only girl who had not abandoned Potter — who stood beside him and faced the rest of the school down without flinching.
People had even begun whispering that the two of them were together. Draco frowned.
"So, you and Potter then?" He couldn't stop himself from asking when he came across her in a quiet corner of the library.
"Of course not — he's my friend!" She looked up from her book and fixed him with a wary look.
"Friends," he repeated slowly. "Funny — I seem to recall Potter completely ignoring you last year. Something about a broken broomstick, wasn't it?"
"It's a Firebolt," she said, ignoring the bait, "the finest racing broom in production."
"I didn't know you followed brooms. Have you even been on one since first-year Flying lessons?" He gave a dismissive sniff.
"None of your business," she said, her expression sharpening. "Malfoy, what exactly do you want?"
"I'm curious," he said, with a measured calm. "Even his best mates have had the sense to distance themselves from Saint Potter. But you're still there, right beside him. Why? Have you lost your mind, or are you simply trying to make yourself stand out?"
"Because I believe him." She lifted her chin, eyes bright and utterly certain. "He didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire. I believe in him."
The words knocked the wind out of him. The light in her eyes was blinding.
*Damn Potter.* After everything — after all of it — how had he managed to earn faith like this? Sincerely. Passionately. *From her.*
*You silly girl.*
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Potter isn't worth your loyalty. He's a cheat who stole this from Cedric and the other champions. You'll regret it."
"A Slytherin who'll stoop to anything lecturing others about being unscrupulous?" She tilted her head. "Were you behind it, Malfoy? Trying to frame him?"
"How dare you—" He could feel the heat rising in his face. "Does he deserve that kind of effort from me? I don't even consider him a real threat!"
"Don't consider him a threat — and yet you're the one who's always provoking him. Wasn't it you, just the other week, who tried to ambush Harry and was transfigured into a ferret by Professor Moody? Would you like a second go?" Hermione retorted.
"Shut up, Granger!" he snapped, a flush creeping up his neck. Snatching at the first insult that came to mind, he threw back bitterly, "You insufferable little chipmunk!"
"You enormous, bouncing ferret!" she shot back, glaring at him.
He was shaking with fury.
She seemed determined to dismiss him entirely and turned her attention to a box sitting beside her, examining the colourful badges inside with great focus.
The way she ignored him was somehow more galling than the way she argued with him.
Something in the sight of her deliberately turning away sparked a stubborn rebellion in him — a need to make her look at him.
"What are those?" He reached over and plucked a badge from the box before she could stop him, trying to read the inscription — but she snatched it back.
Her hand brushed his.
Just for a moment.
A faint current passed between them at the contact — Draco went still.
"None of your business!" She clutched the badge to her chest, apparently oblivious to what she'd just done to him.
Draco's hand was trembling, barely perceptibly. He stared at her, bewildered, while she stared back, furious.
"Was there something else?" she asked, her tone making it abundantly clear that he should go. "Or are you waiting for me to turn you into a ferret myself?"
His face had gone red.
He hovered for a moment, unable to produce a single word. He could only glare at her before turning and walking away.
Something was wrong with his hand.
Whenever he found himself thinking of Granger, his hand seemed to remember that strange current — that prickling sensation, as though she had somehow managed to sting him in passing.
*She doesn't just sting his eyes. She stings his hands as well.*
*Like a hedgehog. Covered in spines, pricking people at every turn.*
She must have hexed him — right in the moment she snatched that badge back. That was the only explanation. He thought resentfully.
He settled into an armchair in the Slytherin common room and stared at his fingers for a long while. They still carried a faint, annoying tingle that no amount of washing had managed to shift.
He exhaled in frustration, and found himself thinking again — against his will — of her glaring eyes, her hair, her infuriatingly sharp mind.
He wanted a moment of quiet to work out what was wrong with him. Pansy, however, was making that impossible, currently delivering what had to be her hundred-and-first vocal condemnation of Potter and a new round of jibes about Granger's teeth.
Draco, thoroughly fed up, suggested irritably, "Stop wasting your breath. Can't you think of something cleverer — something that makes your point without all the noise?"
"Such as?" Pansy asked, suspicious.
"Badges," Draco said, an image surfacing unbidden of that large, glaringly full box in Granger's possession. "Wear them on your robes. Everyone sees your position without a word."
"That's brilliant!" Pansy exclaimed. "I'll start designing them straight away!"
That idea set off a chain of events that ultimately led to the skirmish outside the Potions classroom.
Within days, every Slytherin student was sporting a large badge on the front of their robes. One side blazed in scarlet: SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY — THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION. The reverse flashed in green: POTTER STINKS.
"How very witty," Granger said, stepping out in front of Pansy and the others, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Truly inspired."
*Oh, Hermione Granger — at it again. Eyes wide open, chin up, defending that wretched Potter.*
The sight made something tighten in his chest.
*She loves badges so much —*
"Want one, Granger?" he said, holding one up with deliberate menace. "I've plenty to go around."
In the dim light of the underground corridor, he saw her look at him with undisguised contempt.
Such naked disdain, so plainly worn — it sparked a sharp, irrational anger in him.
*How dare she look down on him? He wasn't the one looking down on her!*
He kept his expression neutral, his grip tightening around the badge. "Mind you don't touch my hand. I've just washed it and wouldn't want a Mudblood dirtying it."
*There. That's why his hand went strange — an allergic reaction. That had to be it.* He thought furiously.
He had no time to read her expression, because an incensed Potter had already drawn his wand.
Draco drew his in return. His fury matched Potter's perfectly.
*Come on, then.*
A second later, the rebounded Densaugeo jinx struck Granger.
*She shouldn't have been standing next to Potter,* Draco thought arrogantly, keeping his eyes fixed on Potter without looking back.
He heard Pansy and the others laughing in hushed, ugly tones. "Look — her teeth are already past her collar!"
He heard Weasley shouting somewhere nearby, forcing Granger — hand clamped over her mouth — to show her teeth to Professor Snape.
*That idiot.* Did he expect Snape to show sympathy? To take her side?
As predicted, Professor Snape said coldly, "I see no difference."
Then he heard her cry out — a small, broken sound.
And he could no longer hold himself still.
He turned his head — just slightly, just enough — and found her eyes full of tears she was furiously trying to hold back. Then she turned and ran, swallowed by the shadow of the corridor.
He stood his ground, chin up, pretending the sight of her tears had not touched him in the slightest.
*She brought it on herself. He hadn't aimed at her.* He pressed the badge hard between his fingers, staring Potter down, thinking viciously. *She's Potter's friend. She doesn't deserve sympathy. She shouldn't have trusted him — and she shouldn't have stung him. His hands. His chest.*
*Her teeth were like this before today. That was nothing to do with him.* He told himself, jaw set.
"Professor Snape," he said, raising his hand approximately five minutes later, after sitting through the lesson feeling like he was slowly losing his mind, "I believe I ought to look in on Goyle in the Hospital Wing. He likely can't explain what curse he's been hit with."
Professor Snape, ever accommodating with his Slytherins, nodded and waved him out.
Draco walked out of the dungeon classroom at a measured, dignified pace.
He waited until the door clicked shut behind him.
Then, for reasons he absolutely refused to examine, he ran.
He took the stairs two at a time, pushed open the half-closed door to the Hospital Wing, and stopped.
Granger was sitting on a bed at the near end, alone, hand pressed over her mouth, eyes wet and miserable.
"Miss Granger, don't fret — I'll sort it out shortly," came Madam Pomfrey's voice from behind a set of drawn curtains. "I'm just dealing with Mr. Goyle's boils."
Granger made a muffled sound of acknowledgment, looking simultaneously ashamed and mortified.
*If he were sitting here, he would be ashamed too.* The bed had no curtains, no screen — anyone passing in the corridor could see straight through the gap in the door and satisfy every miserable, prurient instinct they possessed.
Worse, the tooth was still growing. No amount of covering her mouth was making the slightest difference.
"Stop trying to hide it." He walked over slowly and drew the curtain nearest the door shut. He looked at her — at the tooth she couldn't conceal — and found it utterly, inexplicably terrible to look at. "It can't be covered."
He'd intended, out of sheer habit, to say something cutting. He found he couldn't.
Some unfamiliar, unwelcome vulnerability made a cruel remark impossible.
*It wasn't guilt.* He was simply cataloguing what she looked like, so the next time she called him a ferret he could use it against her. That was all. Obviously.
Right now, because of that wretched tooth, she couldn't speak. Her face was scarlet. She was glaring at him with eyes full of tears she refused to shed.
He held her gaze for a moment, then reached over, picked up a large clean towel from the end of the bed, and dropped it in front of her. "Cover up, then."
She pressed it over the lower half of her face immediately, leaving only her large, brown, glittering eyes visible above the hem.
He pulled a chair over, sat down, and slouched against the back of it to look at her.
"Beat me," she muttered into the towel, glaring daggers at him.
He was fairly certain she meant *get out.*
He should have been offended — no one spoke to him like that and got away with it. Instead, her muffled, unintelligible fury made him laugh.
"Listen," he said, composing himself, watching her with something that might, in poor lighting, have been mistaken for almost-kindness. "I didn't intend for any of it to hit you."
He ignored the outraged garbling that rose from beneath the towel.
"Here's a thought," he continued, the ghost of a smirk returning. Then he recalled every remark Pansy had ever made about Granger's teeth in the Slytherin common room — and something in him wanted, badly, to undo every single one of them. "While Madam Pomfrey is reducing the tooth — you could ask her to make a proper job of it. Size them however you like. An improvement. Something perfect, even." He let the smirk settle into something a little less comfortable than usual. "I'm frankly exhausted hearing the same tired jab about your front teeth. I can't even mock you properly anymore for the other things."
Then — before she could scramble off the bed and make good on whatever she was planning to do to him — he stood, flashed her his most insufferable smile, swept out of the Hospital Wing, and let the door swing shut behind him.
He didn't even glance back at Goyle.