Beyond The Looking Glass | DMHG

Chapter 1

— 1991 —
D.M.

The first thing he noticed about Hermione Granger was her eyes. Not the outrageous lion's mane she called her hair or those buck teeth she was so insecure about— no, the first thing Draco Malfoy noticed was her eyes.

They commanded his attention the moment she barged into his compartment, politely demanding the whereabouts of a toad (Honestly, who had a toad for a pet?) named Trevor. It was odd— the way he was drawn to them. They were brown, the colour of mud after a rainy day, the kind one avoided lest they risk soiling their robes. But there was something about them. He stared longer, deeper, and realised that her eyes were the richest of brown, reminiscent of the hot chocolate he tricked the elves into giving him for Yule morning each year. Her eyes invoked a weird sort of warmth over his body— the good kind of weird.

Draco had often been praised for his eyes, striking silver that they were. His mother said they were a testament to his impeccable heritage, to centuries of meticulous breeding, to the magic that ran through his veins, the magic that made up his very soul. He'd been proud of them then, perhaps not outwardly boastful but proud all the same. He was special, unique— one of a kind.

But then the sun shone into his compartment, its rays catching her eyes. His breath caught in his throat at the sight, and at that moment, he knew that his eyes were nothing compared to hers.

Merlin, her eyes sparkling in the sun. They were golden.

He wouldn't admit it until much (read as: years) later, but he thought she had the most beautiful eyes. They were a hidden treasure; one he intended to hoard for himself.

But then they introduced themselves and it all went downhill from there.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he greeted, ignoring her inquiry about the toad.

"Draco," she said as if testing the way his name rolled off her tongue. He gulped, not just because he liked the way she said his given name but also because of the inherent intimacy that came with her addressing him as such. A tilt of her head accompanied by a curious twinkle in her eyes forced his attention back on her, not that it ever left. "Like the constellation?"

Maybe it was the tone of her voice or maybe he really just wanted her to like his name, but he immediately went on the defence. "What?" he sneered, "Think my name's funny, do you?"

She giggled. His ears zeroed in on the twinkling sound that he nearly missed her next words. "Not at all. I would have liked to be named after the stars. It's rather pretty."

Pretty.

Had his father heard her comment he would have scowled. Malfoy names weren't pretty. They were regal, dignified, commanded power, and compelled submission.

But he wasn't here to listen, and Draco was floored by a warmth that coursed through his veins before settling in a part of his chest that was suspiciously close to his heart. He'd dwell on it later. For now, he focused on what she'd said.

His name was pretty.

Pretty.

He didn't think such a plebeian word could affect him so much, but it did.

"And you are?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione?" he repeated, both asking for her family name and testing the way her name sounded. He liked it, maybe a little too much. Perhaps he could ask his mother to look into—

"Granger. Hermione Granger."

He paused. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger?" The words were tense with dread and hope. He shouldn't have prayed the latter would be true. Perhaps then the fall wouldn't have been so damning.