Playlist
This is Me - Keala Seattle (The Greatest Showman)
Experience - Ludovico Einaudi ( In A Timelapse)
Shooutout - Izzamusic, Julian Marchal (Shootout)
Elastic Heart - Sia (1000 Forms of Fear)
Somebody You Loved - Lewis Capaldi (Divinely Inspired)
Fix You - Coldplay (X&Y)
Rise Up - Andra Day (Cheers To The Fall)
Constellations - Jade LeMac (Constellations)
Black Friday - Tom Odell (The End)
1-800-273-8255 - Logic, Khalid, Alessia Cara (Everybody)
PILLOWTALK - Zayn (Mind of Mine)
Scars To Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara (Know-It-All)
Surprise - Jeremy Zucker (Surprise!)
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It was a chilly winter day at Hogwarts. Snow dusted the stone windowsills like icing on a cake, and the scent of cocoa and cinnamon drifted from the Great Hall where students laughed over the latest issue of The Daily Prophet. Most were basking in the calm before the next storm of coursework. But not everyone found warmth in firelight and sugar.
Hermione Granger walked through Hogsmeade with Harry Potter, her boots crunching through ice and slush. Her scarf was wrapped tightly around her, but the cold wasn't just from the wind. It had been a long, bitter week — the worst she'd had since the war. Letters, cruel ones, howlers with voices that echoed old, familiar slurs. "Mudblood." "Traitor." "You don't belong here." The echoes had burrowed into her chest, and despite her best efforts, they'd started to grow roots.
She had broken down twice in the last few days. Once in the library, shaking, unable to breathe through the storm of shame and rage. The second time was in the girls' bathroom, cradling a mirror that reminded her too much of a past she wanted to leave behind. Only Harry had seen both moments. He hadn't said much — just sat beside her, quiet and still, letting her fall apart safely.
Harry had never judged her pain. Perhaps that was why they'd grown closer this year, even as Ron drifted further away. Ron had written her — twice — cruel words, masked under the illusion of drunken jokes or impulsive bitterness. He'd chosen sides. And those sides hadn't included her.
Still, the tangled mess of their trio's friendship stung. Ron had moved on quickly, wrapped in the shallow comforts of Lavender Brown's affection. The school had watched in strange silence as he flaunted his romance like a trophy, while Lavender whispered venom behind Hermione's back.
Harry had finally snapped when Lavender called Hermione a Mudblood again — this time in public. The duel between Ron and Harry in the courtyard had been brief but brutal, ending with Ron stumbling to the hospital wing, swollen and humiliated.
The aftermath was quiet.
Hermione retreated again, spending her time in the library or patrolling the castle alone — until someone unexpected started to appear.
Draco Malfoy.
It started with silent glances. Then nods. Then brief conversations about ancient runes and arithmancy — topics that were safe, intellectual, and devoid of the past. He wasn't cruel anymore. He was... calm. Observant. Careful with his words. And Hermione, tired of always being the one on guard, let herself soften. Just slightly.
Harry noticed. He said nothing.
Then, one late evening, under the enchanted ceiling in the Astronomy Tower, Draco said what she never thought he would.
"I'm sorry. For everything I ever said to you. For every name I called you."
She didn't forgive him right away. But she remembered it.
The Slytherins surprised her too — Parkinson, who had once sneered every time Hermione raised her hand, now gave her a small nod in the hallways. Zabini greeted her politely. The tension was still there — of course it was — but there was something different. Like the ice was beginning to thaw. The moment things began to shift was during the final Quidditch match before the break. Ron — against all odds — played like a star. Hermione hadn't planned to watch. But she came anyway, hidden in the stands, scarf pulled over her chin. Gryffindor won. The crowd roared. And for the first time in months, Hermione smiled.
That night, something happened. Draco found her in the common room of the Heads' Dorm. She was curled up near the fireplace, pretending to study.
"I heard you were there," he said.
She looked up. "At the game?"
"Yeah."
"It was... fine," she said awkwardly. "Ron played well."
"You don't have to say that," he smirked. "I still think he's a prat."
That made her laugh. A real laugh. It echoed in the silence, surprising them both.
And then — a beat later — she said it. Quietly.
"I like you."
His eyes softened. "I like you too."
From that moment on, everything changed.