I must look like a fool. Scratch that, I know I do, but I need that book. Oh, Ron would laugh himself silly if he could see me right now: up on the balls of my feet, stretching for my tip toes, bouncing from one foot to the other like it might give me the inch or two of height I need to grab the leather bound spine taunting me from the top shelf, my arms outstretched, my front teeth biting into my lip in an attempt to keep back the groans of frustration and effort, yet still I issue a few. If only I had his height and his ridiculous long, windmill arms right now.

My middle and forefinger graze the binding. Success! But my pushing and wielding prove fruitless as it dances away from my hands again.

I don't even hear him approach. It isn't until I see his arm extend gracefully before me, his long, slender fingers gripping the book with ease, that I even know he's there.

"Oh.. just… almost. Come on, come on!"

It's coming from the other side of the book shelf I've been scouring the past ten minutes through in disbelief that I could have lost, or pawned, my copy, and now the library doesn't have one to replace. McGonagall with land me in detention for sure.

I give it up a bad job and start towards the end of the row to investigate. It's Granger, I should have known. But then in the back of my head I see a highly animated alternate reality where she practically runs this little dusty book hole, no book gone unread for the countless hours she's spent here, her bushy head hung low over limitless pages.

I peer around the corner as she strains to reach something on the top shelf. Her arm outstretched, the other clasping onto a lower shelf so that as her plain, black shoes stretch upward, forward, almost climbing the shelf at hand if it weren't for her prefect restraint, she won't lose her balance and topple backwards into the hard, unforgiving mahogany.

I stride forward, head high, stopping just before my chest would bump her shoulder, and reach for the book she has been straining for.

I turn in shock, ready to confront the half giant who's seeking to swipe my book from me. For a moment my guess is that it's Ron, come to the rescue and to never let me forget it. Or Harry, just passing through, he'll say, as Ron comes bounding in behind him with familiar look of I didn't do the essay due first thing tomorrow so help now please! panic, still streaked with mud from the Quidditch pitch.

However, I turn, my face set, and instead I am met with the steely eyes and pale visage of none other than Draco Malfoy.

If the thrashing and taunts Ron would have delivered is bad, things just hit a whole new lever of ten times worse.

"That's… er.. my book," I manage, shock preceding my fiery rebuttal to his assumed thievery.

I want to laugh, but I don't. Instead I smile what I hope is kindly but I am betting comes off as condescendingly, as she looks up at me with her deep brown eyes, first with shock, then an attempted defiance that flickers and dies before it begins.

Wordlessly, I swing my arms around so as not to displace our close proximity, betting I look like Weasley trying futilely to stop the quaffle, and hold it out to her, a simple smile still on my face.

She looks down at the book and then back up at me, right up at me, might I add, because we're practically chest to chest.

"Th-thanks, Malfoy," she muttered, taking it lightly from my hand, of which I am grateful because that blasted thing must have weighed more than thirty pounds, and holding it by one hand it was all I could do to keep my arm from shaking.

I take the book gingerly from his hand. It's heavy, which makes me wonder how he was holding it to begin with, which leads to an unsettling thought of what Draco Malfoy must look like under those black and green robes.

I blush at the very thought, and drop my eyes as if I am studying the book's cover, but I know it's the right one. I have, after all, only been struggling after it for what seemed like ages.

I turn to slide it into my bag, bumping his chest with my shoulder as I do, and then again with the volume as I lift it into my bag that I balance precariously in front of me.

She blushes, her cheeks bursting with rosy color. Her face is so near I can almost feel the heat radiating off of her. She's uncomfortable. This brings a bigger smile to my face. Again I fight the urge to laugh out loud as she bumps into me reaching for her bag.

"Sorry," she mutters, and when she does it again her blush deepens, "Sorry."

She faces me, her bag slung over she shoulder, her business attended to.

"Thanks for…" she begins, her eyes traveling up my chest, my face, my features, landing on mine.

Not that I would tell anyone, not that they would guess, but I've thought about this moment for years: tucked away in a secluded corner of the library where without judgment or fear I'd announce how she captivated my every waking moment, and in return she'd kiss me, deep and passionately. No one would have to know, we could carry on in secret. I'd protect her from the uprising, we could run away together…

I stopped, hoping she couldn't read it in my eyes. I attempted to remain composedly cool, mysteriously distant, but the longer I looked down into her lush brown eyes the more I found myself wanting to kiss her, the fight growing and burning in my chest.

We stared at each for a long time. The silence of the library permeating around us. I could almost hear his mind whirling, the thoughts building, and my ignorance at what he was actually thinking began to build on me.

Surely he'd have stepped away by now, thrown some snarky remark over his shoulder as he went just to ruin the peace we shared and taint it with trickery. But his face was imploring, searching, his eye reminded me of the sea after a storm: burning with restraint and captivity at their reach.

I longed to move into his, press myself into him, lay my head against his chest, feel his arms enfold me, to know what it was like to be with Draco Malfoy.

Sure, I'd thought about it. There were times when I'd catch his glimpse across the classroom, or the Great Hall, feel his eyes on me and wonder what it would be like to look up into them, interrupted, like now.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned into him, placing my hand on his shoulder, pressing my lips to his. They were surprisingly soft. I felt his hand snake up my shoulder, into my hair, touching my tangled mess lightly. His kiss was something I didn't want to have to come up from, his touch was so light, yet caused my body to tingle, like a jolt of electricity.

A jolt that reminded me just what I was doing.

I broke away, interrupting our kiss. I met his eyes briefly once more, his lips were still slightly parted, his finger still wrapped in my hair.

I brushed past him, pushing my way through the rows of books and out of the library. Away from what I wasn't allowed to want and could never have.

Just as I was about to take a step back I found her leaning into me, her light touch on my shoulder froze all but my thoughts. Could this be happening?

It barely crossed my mind before her mouth was on mine, her lips pressed against me with an eagerness that was better than all my wildest dreams.

I slid my hand up her arm, behind her head, weaving it into her hair, pulling her nearer without believing this could be true. Her body was flat against mine, I could have felt her heart beating if it weren't for the pounding in my own chest. If at all possible I wanted to pull her closer, be nearer to her, to hold her tightly so she wouldn't…

She broke away.

Her eyes were set whereas I knew mine were lost, confused… vulnerable. All the things I didn't want to be, especially in this moment.

Without a word she pushed past me, her shoulder making contact with mine, spinning me to witness her harried exit. I wanted to call her back. I wanted to chase her down, push her up against the stone walls of the corridor and kiss her again.

But I didn't. I couldn't. That kiss, on her part, would be treated like a mistake, even if on mine it was long over due.