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The Stormborn - Chapter - 54
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 15:52:04 +0000 UTCThe Sorting Feast had already been a spectacle. Students had whispered furiously when Draco Malfoy, heir of one of the oldest pure-blood families, was placed beneath the bronze eagle instead of the green serpent. But the real shock came in the days that followed.
Because Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa, walked side by side with Hermione Granger, the Muggleborn girl.
In their first week of classes, it became impossible to ignore them. While other first years struggled with their new schedules and basic charms, Draco and Hermione seemed always a step ahead. They raised their hands in every lesson, earned nods from professors, and even startled a fifth year when they leaned over his parchment in the library.
“No, no, that rune’s translation isn’t balance—it’s harmony,” Hermione corrected gently, tapping the page.
Draco smirked and added, “And if you invert the sequence like that, your ward will collapse within minutes. You’ll want to use this configuration instead.”
The fifth-year stared at them, dumbfounded. “But… you’re first years.”
“Yes,” Hermione said primly, returning to her own book.
Draco shrugged. “Ravenclaws aren’t bound by age. Knowledge is knowledge.”
The story spread like fire through the house. Soon, even upper years were whispering about the new first years who had helped with Ancient Runes homework before they’d even finished their first week.
By then, everyone understood why the Hat had placed them in Ravenclaw. Hermione’s relentless hunger for learning, Draco’s sharpness and wit, their shared precision and ambition—together, they embodied the house’s ideals.
Their professors showered them with praise, points piling high in Ravenclaw’s hourglass. The bronze eagle banners in the common room seemed to gleam brighter every time one of them answered a question no other student could.
“Ten points to Ravenclaw for Miss Granger,” Flitwick squeaked, beaming.
“And another five for Mr. Malfoy,” he added moments later.
The Ravenclaw table swelled with pride at every meal.
Yet, for all their brilliance, Draco and Hermione remained something of an enigma even to their housemates. Ravenclaw valued independence—everyone was free to work in their own way—but whispers followed them.
“They’re always together, heads bent over parchment.”
“What are they scribbling when no one’s looking?”
“Why would Malfoy spend so much time with a Muggleborn?”
Draco brushed it all aside with his usual smirk. Hermione ignored it, burying herself in her notes. But neither offered answers.
For when the books were closed and the common room emptied, they continued their secret work—the work Harry had started with them. In the quiet hours, their quills scratched across diagrams of runes, designs for lenses and crystals, and enchantments for devices that had no place in any Hogwarts curriculum.
Only they knew what they were building. And only they knew who they were building it for.
Draco had always been good at finding leverage. He could read what someone wanted and figure out how to turn it into opportunity. That was how, within weeks of starting Hogwarts, he found himself in easy conversation with Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw second-year.
Cho was a Quidditch fanatic. She could talk endlessly about Chasers’ strategies, Keeper reflexes, and Seeker duels. The moment she learned Draco also had a keen interest in Quidditch, her guarded politeness softened into excitement.
One evening in the Ravenclaw common room, she leaned forward across the table, eyes bright. “I want to be a Seeker one day. I know I’m only in second year, but I practice all the time on a Cleansweep. It’s not fast enough, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Draco smirked knowingly. “A Cleansweep? Please. That’s practically an antique.”
Cho flushed. “Well, not everyone can get the latest model.”
Draco leaned back casually, as though the thought had only just occurred to him. “What if I told you I had a Nimbus 2000?”
Her jaw dropped. “You—you’re joking.”
He gave a small, triumphant smile. “Not joking. Brand new. Sleek, perfect bristles. It’s mine. But as a first year, I can’t take it on the pitch.”
Cho stared at him, almost breathless. “You’d… let me use it?”
“I would,” Draco said smoothly, “on one condition. You let me borrow it whenever I want. You get to use it for practice, I get to enjoy it when needed. A win-win.”
For a moment, Cho was too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, she smiled. “That’s… actually fair. And it would be amazing for practice…”
Draco extended his hand. “Deal?”
She took it without hesitation.
From then on, Cho became something of an acquaintance-turned-friend. She joined them occasionally in the library or common room, though she still gave Hermione puzzled looks at first—after all, Draco Malfoy and a Muggleborn working together was the last thing anyone expected.
But one late evening, after Cho had finished another rant about Quidditch tactics, Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance.
“Cho,” Hermione said carefully, “you should know something. Draco and I—we’re working on something big. Not schoolwork. Something… secret.”
Cho tilted her head. “Secret?”
“Not just secret,” Draco said, lowering his voice, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Revolutionary. A project that will change the wizarding world entirely.”
Cho blinked, surprised. “What kind of project?”
Hermione’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “You’ll see, someday. For now, just know that it’s bigger than Quidditch, bigger than Hogwarts. And you’ll want to be part of it when the time comes.”
Cho hesitated, curiosity burning in her eyes. She knew they were hiding something, but the spark of truth in their tone made her believe them.
“Fine,” she said at last, grinning. “Keep your secrets. Just don’t forget who helped you with that Nimbus.”
Draco smirked, tapping his temple. “Noted.”
And so, with a broomstick deal and whispered promises of a secret project, Cho Chang slowly wove herself into their strange little circle.
Sundays at Hogwarts were always a relief. No classes, no professors drilling charms or transfiguration, no parchment piling up with assignments. Most first-years spilled into the corridors, eager to explore the castle’s hidden staircases, moving portraits, and endless mysteries.
But Hermione Granger had other plans. She sat cross-legged in the Ravenclaw common room, a tower of books surrounding her. Ink smudged her fingertips as she bent furiously over her parchment.
Draco Malfoy groaned. “Granger, it’s Sunday.”
“I know.” She didn’t look up.
“That means no classes. A day to breathe. A day to be human, in case you forgot.”
Hermione sniffed. “Knowledge doesn’t take a day off.”
Draco leaned closer, smirking. “Usually it’s Potter who drags you away from your books when you’re about to collapse. Guess I’ll have to fill in for him. Get up—we’re going flying.”
Hermione froze, quill hovering mid-sentence. “Flying?”
“Don’t act so scandalized. You’ve already flown with Potter. And you didn’t die, did you?”
Hermione bit her lip. “No… but—”
“No buts. Come on. I already borrowed Cho Chang’s broom.” Draco held up the long, cloth-wrapped Nimbus with a flourish. “She practically hugged me when I handed it over. This is the real deal, Granger. Faster than anything you’ve touched before.”
Hermione sighed, setting her quill down. “You’re insufferable.”
“Thank you,” Draco said brightly, handing her a broom. “Now let’s go before you change your mind.”
The two slipped out of the tower and made their way toward the grounds. But just as they reached the entrance hall, a voice stopped them cold.
“Malfoy. Granger.”
A tall figure in green-trimmed robes blocked their path. The Slytherin prefect, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.
Draco raised his chin. “What?”
“You’re first years. No broomsticks allowed. I’ll be taking those.”
Hermione froze, but Draco smirked. “Correction. The rule says first years can’t bring broomsticks to school. This one belongs to Cho Chang. A second year. I’m just borrowing it.”
The prefect blinked, thrown off by the precision.
Draco pressed on smoothly. “So unless you want to punish Cho Chang for lending her broom to a housemate, I’d suggest you let us pass. Unless, of course, you want me to mention how unfair Slytherins are to Ravenclaws. I’m sure Professor Flitwick would love to hear that.”
For a tense moment, the prefect glared down at him. Then, with a muttered curse, stepped aside. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me if you fall off and break your neck.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco said smugly, leading Hermione past.
Hermione hissed under her breath. “That was risky.”
Draco smirked. “That was strategy.”
They reached a secluded stretch of the Hogwarts grounds, where the grass rolled in gentle hills and no one was in sight. Draco unwrapped the Nimbus 2000, its polished handle gleaming in the afternoon light.
“Ladies first,” he said with mock courtesy.
Hermione mounted nervously, her fingers tightening around the handle. She kicked off—and the broom surged upward, smooth and steady. Wind whipped through her hair, her heart pounding.
“Oh!” she gasped. “It’s—stable.”
“Told you,” Draco called out from the ground. After some time Draco took the broomstick from Hermoine, and the broom shot ahead like lightning. “Now this is flying!”
He dove, twisted, pulled sharp turns that made Hermione’s stomach lurch just watching. “Look at this—Wronski Feint!” He plummeted toward the ground, only to pull up at the last moment, spraying grass with the rush of air.
“That was… actually fun,” she admitted.
Draco grinned. “Told you. Sometimes, you’ve got to stop reading about life and live it.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade.
The flight had left Hermione flushed and Draco smug, but both were in better spirits than they had been in days. They were about to head back to the castle when the sudden flap of wings made them look up.
An owl swooped down, landing gracefully on Hermione’s shoulder. She gasped, steadying Crookshanks in her arms while Draco reached out to untie the letter from its talon.
He unrolled it quickly, eyes narrowing. “It says… If you are free, go near the Whomping Willow. That’s it. No signature.”
Hermione frowned. “Whomping Willow? What on earth is that?”
They turned to a cluster of older Ravenclaws lounging nearby, who looked up at them with raised brows.
“The Whomping Willow?” one boy said. “You don’t want to go near it. It’s that huge tree by the edge of the grounds. It attacks anything that comes close. Whip-like branches, fast as lightning.”
A girl added, “It was planted years ago. No one knows why. But people say if you get too close, you’ll end up in the hospital wing—or worse.”
Draco’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “Sounds like a challenge.”
Hermione groaned. “Sounds like danger. Why would anyone want us to go there?”
“Only one way to find out,” Draco said, tucking the broom under his arm.
The grounds sloped down to the far end of the castle lawns, and there, towering against the horizon, was the Willow. Its trunk was massive, gnarled, its branches sweeping back and forth like serpents searching for prey. The moment they stepped into view, the tree shivered as though sensing them.
“It looks… alive,” Hermione whispered.
Draco took a cautious step closer. The branches stilled—then, with a violent crack, one swung like a whip straight toward him. He yelped, leaping back as the air split with the force of the strike.
“Bloody hell!” Draco snapped, retreating. “It really is trying to kill me!”
Hermione grabbed his sleeve. “Get back, you idiot! We can’t just walk up to it!”
The Willow thrashed furiously now, branches lashing, gouging deep marks into the earth. Neither of them dared to step closer.
Breathing hard, Draco scowled. “Well, if someone wanted us here, they picked the worst place in Hogwarts.”
Hermione bit her lip, eyes locked on the tree. “No… someone wouldn’t do this without a reason. There has to be something we’re missing.”
They stood together at the edge of the grass, the Whomping Willow looming before them, daring them to come closer. The letter crumpled in Draco’s hand. Whatever the stranger meant to show them, it was hidden in the shadow of this monstrous tree.
And neither of them knew how to reach it.
