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Hermione was once dubbed the brightest witch of her age. She was never one to conform to the norms and expectations of those around her. She made her own legacy. People would call her all kinds of names for her smarts. They were jealous and Hermione knew it. They didn’t have to be, though. What a lot of people misunderstood, was that Hermione wasn’t born naturally smart. She didn’t just know everything. It’s not like it all came to her easily. She wasn’t born with brains like Einsteins, but she was born with the determination of Stephen King. She made herself the brightest witch of herself.
It was hard work and sheer determination that got her where she was. She was proud of herself. Her parents were proud of her. It was a lot of pressure. Sometimes she hated herself for being this way, because she knew if she even let loose for one second, everything would come crashing down.
Hermione always gave everything her all. Ever since her first year at hogwarts. Naturally though, things became harder and suddenly her all wasn’t enough. The first thing to go was what little social life she had. Then what little effort she put into her looks. Then went her sleep and with that her sanity. Her poor mental health resulted in mood swings and personality changes. Her friends brushed it off and kept doing so even when it became noticeable to people outside their inner circle. It’s not that they didn’t care, it’s that they didn’t understand.
How could they? Hermione didn’t blame them. It was complicated. She barely understood herself. She didn’t even notice herself changing until her parents pointed it out in an argument that sent her thinking of how she used to be and what a mess she was now.
She tried to fix it. She needed a coping mechanism. She tried so many things. She got a stash of comfort food, but she only found out she was a stress eater. She didn’t have the time to read books for fun anymore. She took up drawing, but she was too much of a perfectionist not to put all her effort into making every drawing perfect. It was just another stress factor and not so much a reliever.
Hermione ended up settling on running. The endorphins that her brain released were enough to keep her sane. Sure, there was still the voice at the back of her head telling her that if she was going to do something, she better be the best. She had to be fast. She had to be fit.
The dopamine, the rush, came with a price. But Hermione felt it was worth it when she weighed out the pros and cons. The only con was her unquenchable thirst for perfection, which she would have to endure either way. But the pros were immeasurable. It was an escape from all her other responsibilities, it was a drug, it was a way she could take care of herself and her body. She was killing dozens of birds with one stone.
Her friends started noticing she was acting nicer, like a shadow of the girl she was when they first met. After all, biology dictated her new self. It was a fact that exercising made you a more pleasant person. But then again, it might’ve just been a placebo.
Draco would’ve been dubbed the brightest wizard of his age if it weren’t for the curse of his name. Sure, others would argue that he shouldn’t complain. Anything he could ever want, he could buy. He was richer than most of the people on earth and he was spoiled. But Draco didn’t want anything money could buy. He wanted freedom and unfortunately for him, that was priceless.
He lived in the shadows of his ancestors, trapped by the Malfoy name. People didn’t see him for his smarts or natural talents. They just saw him as evil. He was praised for his fathers’ achievements and deeds, and ridiculed for them too.
More than anything, Draco was angry. Angry and envious. Envious that others could live in the glory of riches, but still be free. Draco would never be free. His whole life has been planned out for him. No decision was his, and his alone. Even the little things like drinking and sleeping around were expected of him. Not that it stopped his father from lashing out at him for it.
Draco’s relationship with his parents was strained. His father was always strict and never satisfied. Lucius Malfoy treated his son like a pet. He used his son like a political stepping stone when it came out in his favor. People love family values nowadays, but it was always just a show, a facade.
Draco resented Lucius for this. All the photo-ops and interviews in which Lucius raved about his son were a lie. At home, Draco would always be a disappointment. But he could never complain, because his father was a good enough liar that no one would ever question his role as a parent.
Draco inherited his father's short temper. Although it was less violent. The amount of times Lucius would take out his anger on Draco’s face was astonishing.
His mother, Narcissa, was made so little by Lucius over the years, that she couldn’t do anything but watch as her husband beat her son to a pulp.
Fortunately, the beatings lessened as Draco grew older. It seemed something clicked in Lucius. He knew his son’s voice only became stronger as he got older. Draco had the power to tear down all that Lucius had worked for. The business deals, their image.
The physical pain stopped, but Draco would mentally never recover. His heart still stopped every time his father called for him, even if it was just to inform him of their vacation plans. Every time Draco heard his father’s voice, he was scared. With his fear, grew his anger.
Narcissa was a caring mother. Always tending to Draco’s wounds. Always asking him about his day and school. She was curious about his friends and hobbies. Draco was always too scared to go against his father or lash out at him. He was silenced by the elder Malfoy. So he took his anger out on her. She didn’t deserve it and he knew it. He loved his mother he truly did, but it was so hard for him not to lash out every chance he got.
Draco hated himself for it. With his anger only growing, he took it out on his peers, but mostly on himself. He didn’t take care of himself like he should’ve. He went out often, slept with countless girls and would forget their existence the next day. He would wear his clothes to bed, and show up in the same clothes at school when he woke up, not bothering to change. If his name weren’t so well known, you would’ve thought he were poor.
In the end, the anger Draco felt was all about control, and the determination Hermione felt was all about control. The pair were different in so many ways, but the same in one: their thirst for control.