Chapter Six: Encounter on the Express
Draco had not expected to see Granger again so soon.
It happened at King's Cross Station, on the crowded platform.
In his first life, he had been too eager to find the barrier to Platform Nine and Three‑Quarters, too consumed by excitement to notice her. But now, with her name lodged in his mind, she seemed to appear everywhere.
He spotted her instantly—who could miss that unruly mass of brown hair? She stood with her Muggle parents, their anxious faces turned toward a station guard, trying in vain to explain.
Draco smirked inwardly. Foolish new students, lost as always. Every year, Muggle‑borns stumbled, bewildered, unable to find the hidden platform. As a prefect, he had grown weary of their endless questions.
This time, he decided to help—indirectly. He could not simply walk over; Lucius and Narcissa would never allow it. But an indulged eleven‑year‑old could get away with noisy antics.
He pushed his trolley closer, raised his voice, and complained loudly, "Mother, there are far too many Muggles here!"
From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger glance at him, curious. Perfect.
"It's Platform Nine and Three‑Quarters, isn't it?" he shouted again.
Lucius frowned, displeased. "Draco. Mind your manners."
Narcissa squeezed his hand gently. "Darling, not so loud. Don't draw attention."
Draco nodded obediently, pretending not to notice Granger's wide‑eyed stare. He followed his parents through the barrier, catching one last glimpse of her astonished face. Her expression—mouth agape, eyes round with wonder—was worth the performance.
He boarded the train, found Crabbe and met Goyle, just as before. They filled a compartment with food and noise, loyal shadows more than equals. Draco remembered too well how their stupidity had cost him dearly in his past life. Crabbe's reckless Fiendfyre had killed him, and Goyle had never been more than dead weight.
Yet, in his heart, Draco admitted they had been companions. He had mocked them, ordered them, dismissed them—but they had stayed. Until the end.
Now, reborn, he resolved to change. He would temper his arrogance, treat them with a measure of respect. But he would never again trust blindly. No one would be given a second chance to betray him.
Leaving them to their feast, he wandered to the rear of the train. The countryside blurred past, golden fields under the setting sun. He leaned against the wall, weary, burdened by memories too heavy for a boy's body. Nights brought nightmares of fire and failure; days demanded cheerful masks. Only his determination to protect his family kept him from collapse.
He thought of Quirrell's turban, hiding Voldemort's soul. Of Dumbledore's traps, the Philosopher's Stone bait. Of the Chamber of Secrets, the basilisk, the diadem. Danger lurked everywhere—within Hogwarts, within his family, within the shadows of war.
His mind spun with plots and doubts until the weight of it all pressed him into silence. He closed his eyes, brow furrowed.
That was when Hermione Granger found him.
She paused in the corridor, watching the pale boy with platinum hair, his sharp features softened by fatigue. The sunset painted shadows across his face, making him look proud, yet fragile.
She had seen him twice before—once in Ollivander's, once at the station. He had seemed aloof, but not unkind. And he had helped her, in his own strange way.
Now he looked unwell. Concern stirred in her.
"Are you all right?" she asked gently.
Draco opened his eyes. Chocolate‑brown met steel‑grey. Her gaze was close, filled with unexpected warmth.
"Just a little stifling," he said, straightening, a faint blush rising.
Hermione blinked, embarrassed by her own staring. She stepped back, tossing her hair, masking her concern with a touch of pride. "If you're unwell, there's a matron at the back. I could take you."
Draco shook his head. "No need. Thank you."
Her kindness unsettled him. They had always clashed, yet here she was, speaking like a stranger offering help.
"Then perhaps you can help me," she said briskly. "Neville's toad is missing. I've searched everywhere."
Draco raised his wand lazily. "What's its name?"
"Trevor."
"Trevor, Accio."
The toad shot through the compartments, landing in his hand. Draco grimaced at the slimy creature. "Honestly, who keeps this?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "That was incredible! I thought I was clever, practicing spells all summer—but compared to you…"
Draco handed her the toad quickly. "Keep it quiet. I don't want anyone knowing."
"I'd boast if I could do that," she said, puzzled. Then she smiled. "But I'll keep your secret. I'm Hermione Granger." She offered her hand.
Draco hesitated, then slowly extended his own. "Draco Malfoy."
Her grip was warm, her smile bright. "Pleasure to meet you, Draco. Truly."
She chattered on, words tumbling like beads from a jar—about books, spells, libraries. He should have been annoyed. Instead, her energy pushed away the shadows in his mind. For a moment, he felt lighter.
He watched her animated face, her eyes shining with hope. And he envied her. She was alive in a way he had forgotten how to be.
"You'll love the Hogwarts library," he said quietly. "It has more books than you can imagine."
Her eyes lit up. "You sound like you know it well. You must be from a wizard family. I'm Muggle‑born. I worry I'll fall behind."
Draco almost laughed. You, fall behind? She would outshine them all.
But he only said, "You'll catch up quickly."
And for the first time in years—perhaps lifetimes—he almost believed it himself.