Veins of Iron

Draco paced the Slytherin common room, his mind buzzing with thoughts of the cursed necklace. *Katie Bell... she shouldn't have been the one to touch it. It wasn't supposed to happen that way.*

Despite how much he tried to tell himself that her accident wasn't his fault, a gnawing sense of dread crept up his spine. The pressure of his task, the one Voldemort had entrusted him with, weighed on him more heavily every day. The Vanishing Cabinet still wasn't fixed, and his every failed attempt only reminded him that time was slipping away. He hadn't even managed to take out Dumbledore yet, and now, with Snape breathing down his neck and everyone else ignorant to his struggle, he felt utterly alone.

Katie's accident had nearly exposed him. Snape had found out far too quickly, and Draco was starting to think the older man had eyes and ears everywhere. But more than Snape, it was the thought of disappointing his family—his father in Azkaban, his mother relying on him—that terrified him the most. *If I fail...*

He shook his head and stormed out of the common room, not knowing where he was heading, only that he needed to move, to think. Anything to stop the panic that throbbed inside him.

As he walked through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, Draco's thoughts whirled. Every time he felt like he was getting close to solving his problems, they'd slip through his fingers. And the stress of it all was suffocating him. He rubbed his temples in frustration.

Then, he turned a corner and almost collided with Hermione Granger.

For a split second, both of them froze. Her wide eyes met his, and Draco noticed something he hadn't expected: she looked... surprised. No, more than that—almost embarrassed.

Hermione quickly composed herself, but the momentary lapse didn't escape his notice. Normally, she carried herself with an air of confidence, always too sure of herself for his liking. But this time... this time she seemed flustered. It amused him, for some reason.

"What's the matter, Granger?" he sneered, slipping into the familiar role of tormentor. "Surprised to see someone like me roaming the halls?"

She stood up straighter, rolling her eyes as if she couldn't be bothered with him. "No, just... you startled me, that's all."

His lip curled in a mocking grin. "Off to Slughorn's dinner, are you? Blaise was on his way there too. Shame, I thought he might've had better company."

Hermione's face flushed, just slightly, and Draco couldn't help the small spark of satisfaction it gave him. He hated how calm and composed she usually seemed around him—like he didn't bother her at all. He'd spent years trying to get under her skin, to remind her that she was nothing but a Mudblood, and she barely even flinched these days.

"Still as rude as ever, Malfoy," she said coolly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. Her voice was steady, but there was a sharpness to it that grated on his nerves.

He shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. "Just keeping up appearances, Granger. Can't have you thinking I've gone soft, can I?"

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze hardening. "I wasn't thinking about you at all."

Draco scowled, though he quickly masked it with a sneer. *Of course she wasn't bothered. Why should she be?*

"Well, don't let me keep you," he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Wouldn't want you to be late for your fancy little dinner."

Without waiting for her response, he stalked away, his heart pounding in his chest for reasons he couldn't quite understand. He had wanted to irritate her, to remind her of her place, but instead, her unbothered expression had left him feeling... unsettled.

As he rounded the next corner, Hermione's face remained etched in his mind, despite his best efforts to push it away. He couldn't shake the image of her standing there, flushed and flustered. She was supposed to be nothing—just an annoying, insufferable know-it-all with dirty blood. But for some reason, the way she had looked at him earlier—it stuck.

*What the hell is going on with me this year?* Draco's mind raced, confusion gnawing at him. It wasn't just her, either. Everything had been off since the start of the year. His focus had wavered, his mind constantly returning to pointless thoughts that had no business being there.

He scolded himself, feeling disgusted. *She's a Mudblood, Malfoy. Doesn't matter how she looks, or if she seems... different this year.* He almost gagged at the thought. But deep down, some part of him knew that it was human nature to notice. It didn't mean anything. Just an annoying distraction.

Shoving the thoughts aside, Draco found his feet carrying him toward the Room of Requirement. It had become a refuge of sorts for him, a place where he could disappear from the world for a while, pace and plan and fret over his impossible task without being interrupted.

---

Draco's mood didn't improve the next morning. The pressure of his mission was mounting, and now the cursed necklace had only added more complications. As if that weren't enough, his Slytherin friends were being particularly irritating today, especially when it came to their comments about Gryffindor's Quidditch team. He wasn't playing this year—he didn't have time to think about trivial things like Quidditch matches—but they insisted on dragging him along to watch.

Blaise, Theo, and Pansy were especially keen on mocking Ron Weasley. Pansy, of course, couldn't stop talking about how ridiculous Weasley looked in his Quidditch robes, and Blaise made snide remarks about Gryffindor's chances of winning. Draco found himself tuning them out, their laughter grating on his nerves more than usual.

As he settled into the stands, Draco's eyes swept over the pitch, and almost immediately, they landed on Hermione.

She was sitting with Ginny Weasley, cheering on the Gryffindor team. Her face lit up as she shouted words of encouragement to Ron, and Draco felt an irrational wave of irritation surge through him. She looked... happy. Completely unaffected by everything going on around them. She had no idea of the weight he carried, of the pressure building up inside him like a ticking time bomb.

*What does she have to be so happy about?*

He tore his gaze away from her, but moments later, he found himself glancing back. She was still there, her eyes glued to the match, clearly invested in Weasley's performance. And when Weasley made a decent save, she jumped to her feet, cheering loudly.

Draco clenched his jaw. He didn't understand why it annoyed him so much, seeing her like this. He didn't care about her, or Weasley, or any of their little Gryffindor games. But the fact that she was so... so... *unbothered* by everything—by him—only made his frustration grow.

He quickly averted his gaze when she turned in his direction, meeting his eyes briefly before she looked away again, unfazed.

*What is wrong with me?*

Draco leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, trying to force the image of her out of his mind. But even as the match continued, and his friends continued to mock and laugh, his thoughts kept wandering back to Hermione Granger—her stupid, concerned look from the day before, her too-cheerful presence today. And it infuriated him.

As the match drew on, and the Gryffindors celebrated another goal, Draco's fists clenched at his sides. He didn't know why she was bothering him so much, and that only made it worse. He didn't have time to think about Hermione Granger or her stupid face. He had much more important things to worry about.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake her from his thoughts.