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—Chapter One—

Hermione glanced at the bookstore in shock, impressed by the audience the mere presence of Lockhart had garnered. Flourish and Blotts was filled well beyond its intended capacity, witches and wizards bustling about with their children, paying no attention to the people around them.

When the accidental push of an over-excited witch sent her forward, Hermione closed her eyes, anticipating inevitable impact. She let out a sharp breath of air at the moment of collision, before she stumbled back and lost her balance.

Looking up, a fervent apology on her lips, she stopped abruptly when she met the gaze of one of the people who had ruthlessly tormented her during her one year at Hogwarts.

"At my feet," Draco Malfoy sneered silkily, eying her position on the floor with a look of utter satisfaction, "you seem to be in your natural state, mudblood."

"Don't delude yourself, Malfoy." Hermione responded heatedly, "You lack compassion and a sense of morality, and that makes you inferior to me."

"Morality is a fickle thing, subject to the times, the culture, the political climate," Malfoy replied, a mocking curve to his lips, "You fancy yourself a person of logic, don't you, mudblood? Does logic dictate that one should put stock in such an unstable compass?"

"Logic dictates that I should not believe anything you say. You are most certainly not one of my friends. You do not have my trust." Hermione snapped, already moving away.

"Malfoy!" a voice called from behind them. Harry looked at her with concern, his eyes focusing on Malfoy's aggressive stance.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" Malfoy jeered. "Harry Potter, it seems, can't even go into a book shop without making the front page!"

"Leave him alone!" Ginny shouted, coming up behind Harry in his defense. Her red hair swung violently in response to the sudden lurch forward, her freckled, pretty face reddened with anger.

"Why, Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend," Malfoy drawled, his sharp eyes apparently picking up on the adoration the youngest Weasley held for the Boy-Who Lived. "A little young, though, isn't she?"

"Really, is that the best insult you can come up with?" Hermione sniffed, lifting her chin high. "I really do wonder where your delusions of supremacy come from. Obviously not from intelligence."

"Don't overreach your place, mudblood." Malfoy replied, eyes frigid, "You may have been lucky enough to tie with me so far in school, but you are by no means equal to me. Take us out of the classroom, and you would be dead within five minutes at my hands."

Hermione stared at him, unflinching, though inside she drew back a little in shock. In the year since she had met him, she had categorized Malfoy as nothing more than a cowardly bully, a lot of talk but no action. She had assumed his talk of blood purity and superiority to be nothing more than the conceited trills of an overconfident peacock.

But something in his gaze now warned her that, perhaps, there was real danger in his threats. There was certain vehemence in his gaze, a cold-hearted ruthlessness bolstered by unyielding ambition that made her wary.

"I would like to see you try," Hermione said calmly, ignoring her own trepidation, "Are you willing to get your hands dirty, Malfoy? Will you lower yourself to the level of a mudblood to finish me off?"

"Now, now, what do we have here?"

A tall man, clearly from whom Draco had gotten his height, walked into sight. Cold grey eyes—which while Hermione noted were surely impressive in their aesthetic value (and this was purely factual observation), lacked the chilling intelligence and sharpness of their descendant's silver ones—looked disdainfully out of a pale, pointed face. Lucius Malfoy stood stiffly, bedecked in expensive robes of black and deep red silk, smelling sharply of some perfumed scent that stung Hermione's nose, and clutching tightly at a cane with an ornate silver serpent head with glittering emerald eyes.

"Harry Potter," the senior Malfoy stated slowly, his eyes fixing upon the mark that defined the Boy-Who-Lived, "We meet at last. Forgive me, your scar is legend. As was, of course, the wizard who gave it you."

"Voldemort," Harry stressed, and Hermione had to admit that she enjoyed the subsequent flinch from the older man, "killed my parents. If that makes him legendary, then I doubt I want my scar among your collection of legends."

"Well, Mr. Potter, you are undoubtedly either very brave," Lucius recovered smoothly, "or very foolish to be using such a…feared name."

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione interjected, her tone lofty.

"And you must be Hermione Granger," Lucius drawled, his voice barely keeping secret the disgust directed towards her muggle last name. "The…muggleborn tied with my son at Hogwarts for first. I have been assured by the school governors that the both of you are two of the most gifted Hogwarts has ever seen. They seem to be under the belief that you will go on to do great things together in the wizarding world."

The word 'great' was said with great disdain. The word 'together' with even more.

"Children," Mr. Weasley said, coming up behind them and interrupting any further connection between them, "it's getting pretty rowdy in here. Let's head outside and wait for Molly there."

"Mr. Weasley," Lucius greeted silkily. The equally tall red-headed man froze, turning to look slowly at the figure he had previously missed.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley replied, his face strangely blank. He adjusted his glasses slightly, before proceeding to gaze almost analytically at the man before him.

The senior Malfoy smiled nastily. "Busy time at the Ministry, Arthur, all those extra raids? I do hope they're paying you overtime. Though judging by the state of your children's clothing, I'd dare say not. Do tell me: what is the use in being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Despite the cruel insults leveled at him, Mr. Weasley stood tall and replied with pride and dignity: "It is a shame, that for all your supposed purity and superior knowledge, Malfoy, you cannot comprehend what truly disgraces a wizard's name."

"We clearly share different opinions on the matter," Lucius replied silkily, "After all, it was my belief that the Weasleys could sink no lower. And yet you have surprised me again, Arthur. Consorting with muggles and mudbloods."

Hermione would swear later that she had heard a tangible snap when Mr. Weasley finally lost control of his temper and lunged forward. It seemed an eternity lasted between the moment in which the elder Weasley drew his arm back and the moment in which the blow connected, sending the refined pureblood to the floor, pale hair in complete disarray and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Ginny had dropped the cauldron containing her books in shock, the resounding clang of metal against wood silencing the entire store. Books scattered across the floor, and Lucius reached to pick one up.

"Second hand copy," Lucius goaded, holding it with two fingers as though it were tainted by some unspeakable substance, "How do you come home to your wife every night and reconcile your ineptitude to her? She was a Prewett, wasn't she? She must have gone from riches to rags after marrying you."

Mr. Weasley moved forward again, but Mrs. Weasley herself, hearing the racket, had come over and now placed a restraining hand on her husband's arm.

"I am happy and in love; Arthur has been the perfect spouse and owes me nothing," Mrs. Weasley replied frigidly, "How do you reconcile your insufficiency as a decent husband to your wife? Have you ever offered her anything of substance, other than your petty family heirlooms?"

"Now, that's unfair," Malfoy interjected coolly, silver eyes cutting, "You make my mother sound like a tragic figure in this story. I assure you, when she married my father, two parties benefited from the union. I believe my mother even smiled at the wedding. And of course, their marriage produced me."

"To the world's eternal regret," Ron muttered.

Malfoy's expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to look at the red head. Concerned, Hermione moved closer to Ron, as though to protect him.

With a superior sneer, the Lucius Malfoy leaned on his cane to pull himself, returning the book back to Ginny's cauldron, before gathering the others swiftly and returning them as well. At such unusual behavior, Hermione analyzed him closely, watching suspiciously as he slipped a book she had not seen in Ginny's possession previously into the cauldron as well. It looked like a diary.

As they moved away, Hermione directed one last glance backwards, her eyes meeting silver for one long moment, before she put the whole encounter out of her mind for the rest of the summer.