"Have you chosen a Quidditch team yet?"
"What's Quidditch?"
"Now that's just mean," Draco grimaced at the back of her head. "I know you've read Quidditch Through the Ages, it's on the list."
She sighed, closing another compartment door. No toad. A moment later, it occurred to her that he'd said something she genuinely didn't understand. "List? What are you talking about?"
"The list of what you've read," he shrugged, flippant. "I've always been sent an updated one, every week, sometimes more if it's too long to fit on one page."
She shuddered slightly at the idea that someone was watching her every move. She'd always known, of course, but had never seen the results. It was creepy. "Well, stop it."
"What? No. How else am I supposed to learn anything about you?" Draco sighed a little.
"You think you're learning about me by keeping track of what I read? Honestly, are you always this arrogant, or is it just because I'm here?"
"I'm not changing myself for you. I don't have to."
She shook her head, astounded by his arrogance. "I chose the Chudley Cannons."
She didn't really; she didn't care. But she'd read through the texts with the same amount of attention she paid everyone else, and the orange and black clad team were by far the worst in the league, apparently. So she'd said it to irritate him, shocking him into silence while she turned to the next compartment. It opened with a screech. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
Two boys looked up from their seats opposite each other. One had jet black hair and glasses, and the other had red hair, freckles and a rat at his side. The latter was the one who spoke: "We've already told him we haven't seen it."
"Oh," she said, her eyes on the wand in his hand as she shifted closer, perching on a vacant seat. She might have had various books about the magical world for years, thanks to the texts the Malfoys supplied- but she'd never seen a spell cast, except the ritual one when she was almost nine. A lot of things seemed to go back to that time, but curiosity distracted her for the moment. Real magic? "Are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."
"Er-all right," said the red-head, obviously uncomfortable as he cleared his throat, then recited his spell. He held his wand with an unsteady hand; it didn't surprise her at all when the 'stupid, fat rat' didn't turn yellow. She couldn't help herself, though, and began her own spiel:
"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? If you were going to try a spell before starting learning properly, then why wouldn't you pick something easy, something you knew for sure would work? I suppose if you grew up with a magical family you might have the chance to watch other witches and wizards work proper magic, but my family aren't magic at all. I mean, I knew about it, of course I knew," she watched out of the corner of her eye as the other boy jerked in surprise. Perhaps pureblood girls didn't get to choose, not the same way she had been chosen and pulled out of her mundane world? Even if it was for only a few hours, and the time it took to read a few hundred books. "But I've never seen any spells performed, really, that would be incredibly improper, at least according to what I've read. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"
""I'm Ron Weasley."
"Harry Potter."
"Are you really? I know all about you, of course, everyone does. You're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. There're about a dozen others you're mentioned in too, of course, but I read them so long ago I'm afraid I can't quite recall them all."
"Really?" The boy-Harry Potter, she wasn't sure she believed that-seemed unfocused.
"How can you possibly have read so much in a month?" The other boy frowned at her.
"Who said anything about a month? They've been sending me books every since the decision was made."
"They?" Harry sounded as though he thought she might be talking about a cult. But the instinctive movement of her right hand to her left caught the red-heads eye; he frowned at it, his eyes on the ring.
"It's more like a sponsor than whatever you're thinking. The boy who chose me, his family pays for my books, or at least provides the magical ones. Apparently, it would be unfitting for his future wife to not have access to every piece of information she could want." Not that anyone had ever asked her what she wanted. Doesn't everyone get the same treatment? she wondered.
"The boy who?"
Ron's eyes widened, and his confused frown quickly became hostile. He knocked the rat aside as he stood up, gesturing jerkily between her and the door. "Get out."
She looked up at him, surprised by the demand. "Excuse me?"
"Get out of this compartment!"
"Er, Ron? You alright there?" The bespectacled boy seemed genuinely concerned, frowning at his friend. "What's wrong with a sponsor?"
"It isn't a sponsor, it's a betrothal. The ring's the seal, says that the ritual's been carried out completely. She belongs to the Malfoy heir. Must be some half-blood cast off from a 'respectable' family."
He said this like it mattered, but both Hermione and Harry stared at him, no understanding in their eyes. Hermione was fuming. "Belongs to? I'm not some boy's toy, to be chucked away in a moment of boredom. How dare-"
"Finished my side. No toad, lots of talking. They're saying Harry Potter's here-I know, unbelievable, right? Anyway. Are you ready to go to the next carriage?"
He couldn't have arrived at a worse time: if Ron Weasley had been angry before, he was positively livid now. His face turned as red as his hair- an incredibly unattractive look, actually; Hermione was surprised when steam didn't pour out of his ears. "Get out!"
Draco slowly looked past Hermione. He didn't even notice Harry, only Ron, as he narrowed his eyes at him: Draco Malfoy was possessive and controlling, or at least so the rumours said. No one, not even the friend of The Boy Who Lived, had the right to boss him around. "No, I don't think I will. My parents warned me about you Weasleys, don't think for a second you go unnoticed. Red hair, freckles, and anger management problems worse than aunt Walburga. But you're not important enough to know more about than that, Weasley You don't order her around, and you certainly don't give me orders. Don't you dare."
"Or what?"
"Or, Weasley, I will have you pulled out of Hogwarts. I will have you disowned. I will strip you of whatever things you have- all of them. Even if there are only a few. And then I will laugh."
"You bloody insufferable git."
"Ron, that's not-"
"And who are you, then?" Draco snapped, his eyes going to the other boy for the first time. By now he'd moved further into the carriage, standing beside Hermione's seat. He was pressed against her leg, and, Hermione thought, he was oddly warm for a boy with skin practically the exact colour of a piece of paper.
"Harry Potter," Hermione muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Draco's silver eyes went round as twin moons, his temper dimming for a moment as he processed that.
"The Harry Potter? The famous baby hero from the first Wizarding War? Are you really? I don't believe it. I thought the Harry Potter was off living with muggles."
"What's it to you?" Harry was defensive, his suspicion obvious behind his glasses.
"I just thought you would be taller. Or smart enough not to adopt a pet weasel." Trying to add insult to injury, he curled his lip and shot a sharp glare at the rat on the seat. "I see he's managed to find the only pet that could ever possibly be worse than a toad. Good job, Weasley- as if I needed another reason to escape this stench. Come on, Hermione." And he pulled her out of the compartment.
"What was that?" she asked when they reached the next carriage, after asking a few more people for news of Neville's toad.
"What was what?"
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know, Draco Malfoy. That Ron Weasley- he looked at you like you were some demon, come to drive him mad. What was that about?"
Draco looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they'd been forced to complete the ritual the day after their first meeting. Her brown hair was bushy as it had been then, wild and a complete disaster zone, one that would require a phenomenal amount of attention to tame. Her eyes were brown, too, and she was lightly tanned- he guessed from reading in the sun. He wondered what she'd read in her garden over the summer, waiting for the term to start.
"During the War, my family were on what most people today call 'the dark side'. The Weasleys' are just one part of 'most people'- just the first you met who actually recognised the crest." He shook his head. "I don't see why they hate us so much, not really. So we made different choices. So what? The war ended years ago, the last of the really dangerous people are gone. It was ages ago."
Hermione watched him as he spoke, wondering if his arrogance might taint his description. It was rather blunt-he probably left out some of the facts. Then again, he was eleven, he couldn't possibly know everything. "So it's history."
"Almost ancient."
She frowned, then nodded. "Alright."
A few minutes later, they had reached the end of the train. They stared out the window, watching as the sky darkened, becoming a mix of deep purple and midnight blue. The colours merged together, trees and mountains mere silhouettes beneath them. "We must be almost there."
"We didn't find the toad," Draco pointed out. Hermione smiled, scoffing to herself.
"I don't think he wants to be found. Maybe he doesn't like Neville."
"I don't think I'd want to be owned by someone like him, either."
"Oh, don't be mean. We should go back, though. All my things are in my compartment."
"We have to carry these things ourselves?" Draco's expression told her he believed nothing, literally nothing¸ could be worse than carrying his own belongings. In the face of that reaction, how could Hermione, used to carrying practically half her weight in books, not laugh?