The sun was silhouetting the dark shadow of a castle upon a rising hill, a magnificent sight was Hogwarts Castle in the autumn evening. Stars were dimly seen, sprinkled across the misty blanket of a dark sky, and Hermione Granger of Gryffindor was on her own again, within the dark stone walls of the library. Indeed, studying was her favorite past-time, but she was rarely seen without her two best friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.
Today was different. As the two merely wandered the halls, no doubt causing trouble, she did something worth-while. Study, which perhaps, she thought vaguely, they should try once in a while.
She turned the tattered pages of her twenty-four chaptered book, entitled 'Which Witch; A Book of Transformations', which she found extremely interesting, when all of a sudden, a cold voice peirced like crystal through the quiet library hall.
"Why, hello Granger. Rarely see you without Potty and Weasel these days," she recognized the voice at once as Draco Malfoy's, and hardly in the mood for his bickering, she exhaled a shakey breath of pure aggrivation, and jotted down a few worth-while notes onto her parchment.
"Yes, and I would like to see you once in a while without your group of idiot groupies, Malfoy," her voice was fairly pleasant, despite the spiteful glare within her carmel eyes as she coated more ink onto the tip of her quill.
"Oh, but do you see Crabbe and Goyle here, mudblood?" his voice held a small smirk, and she didn't raise an eye to notice that they weren't backing him up, but merely shrugged. She couldn't of shown less interest.
"What do you want, Malfoy? As you can see, I-"
"You know, Granger. It is plainly rude when you do not look at me as I speak to you," He interrupted, flattening a few wrinkles in his robes, before she could feel his eyes burning into hers. This made her face grow hot. She then slammed down her quill, and with a loud noise of her chair scraping the hard wooden floor as she brought herself to stand. She shuffled through her papers, and slammed shut her book, but then felt a hand tighten on her arm. Angrily, she shoved backward, forcing her eyes to look into his cold, snakish glare. "And where do you think you're going?"
"Away from you," she bellowed through gritted teeth, and with a struggling motion to back away, he only gripped tighter.
"I do have a reason for being here, you know," he said, with slightly less spite, she noted, but wondered if it was sarcasim.
"What, Draco?" She let out an exhasperated sigh.
"I... You see," He cleared his throat, and suddenly his face looked scrunched in thought of how he was going to say his next words, and with a slight cough, and in a low mumble, he said, "Needy ourh.. elp." She perked an eyebrow.
"WHAT DRACO?" She got a rather cold look from Madame Pince, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths.
"I need your help, Granger, so keep it down!" He repeated, the tips of his ears burned slightly as a few Hufflepuffs turned to glare at them both.
"If this is your idea of a joke, Malfoy," she asked, softer this time, but with a small laugh, though not very much a pleasant one, "Then ha-ha!"
"Granger, don't make this harder for me than it already is," he said, rather sheepishly, speaking viciously through gritted teeth.
"I am not permitted to help you," she replied rather hastily.
"Oh?" and at this a vicious grin twisted on that slimey face of which Hermione's hand was aching to slap. Then, he handed Hermione a slip of parchment, before crossing his arms smuggly. "Read."
She glared at him with the most dislikness, her face greatly resembling one of which was seething a giant lemon, before her eyes fell to the parchment.
" Miss Hermione Granger,
Due to your grades of excellence and your prior experiences as a Gryffindor Prefect, we are greatly in need of your assistance.."
Hermione felt the apples of her cheeks flush. She read on.
"Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, during the dates of October the seventh through October the twenty-third, I have allowed Mr. Draco Malfoy tutering sessions of what he is need of assistance to excel the upcoming O.W.Ls, from his previous three-week absence. You will keep in mind that this is essential to your own grade average of Potions.
Your tutering sessions will take place in the Potion's Dungeons, seeing as they do not enterfeir with Slytherin Quidditch Team Practices.
Professor Severus Snape, Potion's Master"
Hermione bit her bottom lip, feeling greatly defeated. She noted Draco's eyes seemed to have great enjoyment to feel so superior toward the hardest working student he knew.
"Tuesday, then," she told him, with a hint of coldness to her voice, as she tossed carmel hued tendrils of hair behind her left shoulder, and marched straight out of the library, only her wand and that peice of parchment - which she held as though she were grasping a Blast Ended Skrewt - in her arms.
The weekend had seemed to stretch on forever since she had previously finished all of her homework and then-some. Every time she had passed Malfoy within the halls, he would eye her with a smirk and a smug expression, and she would just stand tall, her nose vertical to the ceiling and walk off with dignity.
"What is he going on about?" asked Ron that Sunday evening, peering while Draco shot Hermione a vicious grin, which Hermione plainly ignored. They now sat at the Great Hall for supper, Ron and Harry sitting across from her, while she was seated between Ginny and Neville.
"He always acts so immaturely, Ron. Why should today be any different?" Hermione replied, her cheeks had flushed a pleasant color of light crimson.
"You're hiding something, Hermione," Ron told her, eyeing the flush of her cheeks.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your cheeks. They always turn that specific color when you're lying or keeping something from Harry and I," Ron retorted, as Hermione felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. She hadn't told Harry and Ron of the tutering sessions, and plainly didn't feel like bringing it up now. "Doesn't she, Harry?" Harry turned to face her, pulling his eyes from his potato.
"Yes, that's the color," Harry replied, grinning. Hermione shook her head slowly, turning down to her lemon custard and taking in a bite.
Draco, meanwhile, seated between his usual group of Slytherins, took in every motion of Hermione when no one had stolen his gaze. He peered as her she took in every slow bite of her food, the hair that swerved in locks of that deep honey color of which she had pulled behind her ears, her face now in perfect view. She had such a gentle face, but still with stern features. Taking in each of these delicate movements, he wished -beyond his reason- that all in the Great Hall would disapear somehow, all but her. So that the Slytherin 6th year could feast his eyes upon the Gryffindor without the fear that he would be caught staring at her that lurched within his stomach.
Was it fear?
Hatred was how he understood it. Though the longer he took in every inch of her face, the more confusion swelled his mind and he wished to look away. Why can't I? Why is it so damn hard to study my food, rather than her? With the greatest strain and difficulty he had remembered for a long while, he tore his eyes from her face and neglected the now bewildered look upon Pansy Parkinson who sat beside him.
"So, Granger knows of her tutering sessions with you now, Draco?" Pansy asked through a bite of potato, which she swallowed. "I don't understand why Snape had to chose her. I could have perfectly well taught you myself."
"It's only because she has the best grades in our Potions class," Draco shrugged without an ounce of sarcasim in his voice, in which Pansy sort of perked a brow. She had always known that Draco competed with Hermione's grades, being it an expectation from his Father. "The only difficulty I see is how I will be forced to listen to her and take her orders. I'm only positive that she will become even more greatly stuck up at having to teach me, it will swell her arrogance as large as Potter's head."
That night, Hermione lay in her soft, four-poster bed, those magnificent honey brown eyes to the crescent moon. Somehow, she could not bring herself to sleep, as though she tried but failed greatly. Though in the darkest corner of her mind, dwelled the thought of Malfoy. His smirked expression came into view, and realizing that she could not handle seeing his face even when she was not in class with him, she turned, shutting her eyes tightly as though to rid a threatening pain.
Draco, on the other hand, sat alone near the soft flames of the fire in the Slytherin Common Room. Those cold pair of silver eyes nearly closed as he sat, his robes now removed, his long-sleeves now rolled sloppily to his mid-arm, his shirt unbottoned just slightly as that silver and green tie lay un-tied around his shoulders. He nearly dozed, the only sound within his ear was the soothing crackle emerging from the fireplace. From the windows shown a glowing moon, magnificently shown the tired features of his face, and that untidy silver-blonde hair.
Now on the verge of sleeping, within his tired mind formed a shadow. Full figure molded into view, with womanly, feminine features, and locks of brown coils formed atop her head. Though her face was unseen, his hand now outstretched toward her, he, despite himself, wanted nothing more than to just touch her. To embrace her. Who was she? If only he could see her face... Her vibe was alluring his senses, as he wished to merely stoke that soft cheek, hold her...
He suddenly awoke, his breaths dull, but heavy. He to find his arm before him, reaching out into the midst, but only to find himself back in the Slytherin Common Room. His face twisted in confusion, as he shook his head, and walked slowly and tiredly back to the Boy's Dorms, not bothering to change into his bedclothes.
Today was different. As the two merely wandered the halls, no doubt causing trouble, she did something worth-while. Study, which perhaps, she thought vaguely, they should try once in a while.
She turned the tattered pages of her twenty-four chaptered book, entitled 'Which Witch; A Book of Transformations', which she found extremely interesting, when all of a sudden, a cold voice peirced like crystal through the quiet library hall.
"Why, hello Granger. Rarely see you without Potty and Weasel these days," she recognized the voice at once as Draco Malfoy's, and hardly in the mood for his bickering, she exhaled a shakey breath of pure aggrivation, and jotted down a few worth-while notes onto her parchment.
"Yes, and I would like to see you once in a while without your group of idiot groupies, Malfoy," her voice was fairly pleasant, despite the spiteful glare within her carmel eyes as she coated more ink onto the tip of her quill.
"Oh, but do you see Crabbe and Goyle here, mudblood?" his voice held a small smirk, and she didn't raise an eye to notice that they weren't backing him up, but merely shrugged. She couldn't of shown less interest.
"What do you want, Malfoy? As you can see, I-"
"You know, Granger. It is plainly rude when you do not look at me as I speak to you," He interrupted, flattening a few wrinkles in his robes, before she could feel his eyes burning into hers. This made her face grow hot. She then slammed down her quill, and with a loud noise of her chair scraping the hard wooden floor as she brought herself to stand. She shuffled through her papers, and slammed shut her book, but then felt a hand tighten on her arm. Angrily, she shoved backward, forcing her eyes to look into his cold, snakish glare. "And where do you think you're going?"
"Away from you," she bellowed through gritted teeth, and with a struggling motion to back away, he only gripped tighter.
"I do have a reason for being here, you know," he said, with slightly less spite, she noted, but wondered if it was sarcasim.
"What, Draco?" She let out an exhasperated sigh.
"I... You see," He cleared his throat, and suddenly his face looked scrunched in thought of how he was going to say his next words, and with a slight cough, and in a low mumble, he said, "Needy ourh.. elp." She perked an eyebrow.
"WHAT DRACO?" She got a rather cold look from Madame Pince, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths.
"I need your help, Granger, so keep it down!" He repeated, the tips of his ears burned slightly as a few Hufflepuffs turned to glare at them both.
"If this is your idea of a joke, Malfoy," she asked, softer this time, but with a small laugh, though not very much a pleasant one, "Then ha-ha!"
"Granger, don't make this harder for me than it already is," he said, rather sheepishly, speaking viciously through gritted teeth.
"I am not permitted to help you," she replied rather hastily.
"Oh?" and at this a vicious grin twisted on that slimey face of which Hermione's hand was aching to slap. Then, he handed Hermione a slip of parchment, before crossing his arms smuggly. "Read."
She glared at him with the most dislikness, her face greatly resembling one of which was seething a giant lemon, before her eyes fell to the parchment.
" Miss Hermione Granger,
Due to your grades of excellence and your prior experiences as a Gryffindor Prefect, we are greatly in need of your assistance.."
Hermione felt the apples of her cheeks flush. She read on.
"Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, during the dates of October the seventh through October the twenty-third, I have allowed Mr. Draco Malfoy tutering sessions of what he is need of assistance to excel the upcoming O.W.Ls, from his previous three-week absence. You will keep in mind that this is essential to your own grade average of Potions.
Your tutering sessions will take place in the Potion's Dungeons, seeing as they do not enterfeir with Slytherin Quidditch Team Practices.
Professor Severus Snape, Potion's Master"
Hermione bit her bottom lip, feeling greatly defeated. She noted Draco's eyes seemed to have great enjoyment to feel so superior toward the hardest working student he knew.
"Tuesday, then," she told him, with a hint of coldness to her voice, as she tossed carmel hued tendrils of hair behind her left shoulder, and marched straight out of the library, only her wand and that peice of parchment - which she held as though she were grasping a Blast Ended Skrewt - in her arms.
The weekend had seemed to stretch on forever since she had previously finished all of her homework and then-some. Every time she had passed Malfoy within the halls, he would eye her with a smirk and a smug expression, and she would just stand tall, her nose vertical to the ceiling and walk off with dignity.
"What is he going on about?" asked Ron that Sunday evening, peering while Draco shot Hermione a vicious grin, which Hermione plainly ignored. They now sat at the Great Hall for supper, Ron and Harry sitting across from her, while she was seated between Ginny and Neville.
"He always acts so immaturely, Ron. Why should today be any different?" Hermione replied, her cheeks had flushed a pleasant color of light crimson.
"You're hiding something, Hermione," Ron told her, eyeing the flush of her cheeks.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your cheeks. They always turn that specific color when you're lying or keeping something from Harry and I," Ron retorted, as Hermione felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. She hadn't told Harry and Ron of the tutering sessions, and plainly didn't feel like bringing it up now. "Doesn't she, Harry?" Harry turned to face her, pulling his eyes from his potato.
"Yes, that's the color," Harry replied, grinning. Hermione shook her head slowly, turning down to her lemon custard and taking in a bite.
Draco, meanwhile, seated between his usual group of Slytherins, took in every motion of Hermione when no one had stolen his gaze. He peered as her she took in every slow bite of her food, the hair that swerved in locks of that deep honey color of which she had pulled behind her ears, her face now in perfect view. She had such a gentle face, but still with stern features. Taking in each of these delicate movements, he wished -beyond his reason- that all in the Great Hall would disapear somehow, all but her. So that the Slytherin 6th year could feast his eyes upon the Gryffindor without the fear that he would be caught staring at her that lurched within his stomach.
Was it fear?
Hatred was how he understood it. Though the longer he took in every inch of her face, the more confusion swelled his mind and he wished to look away. Why can't I? Why is it so damn hard to study my food, rather than her? With the greatest strain and difficulty he had remembered for a long while, he tore his eyes from her face and neglected the now bewildered look upon Pansy Parkinson who sat beside him.
"So, Granger knows of her tutering sessions with you now, Draco?" Pansy asked through a bite of potato, which she swallowed. "I don't understand why Snape had to chose her. I could have perfectly well taught you myself."
"It's only because she has the best grades in our Potions class," Draco shrugged without an ounce of sarcasim in his voice, in which Pansy sort of perked a brow. She had always known that Draco competed with Hermione's grades, being it an expectation from his Father. "The only difficulty I see is how I will be forced to listen to her and take her orders. I'm only positive that she will become even more greatly stuck up at having to teach me, it will swell her arrogance as large as Potter's head."
That night, Hermione lay in her soft, four-poster bed, those magnificent honey brown eyes to the crescent moon. Somehow, she could not bring herself to sleep, as though she tried but failed greatly. Though in the darkest corner of her mind, dwelled the thought of Malfoy. His smirked expression came into view, and realizing that she could not handle seeing his face even when she was not in class with him, she turned, shutting her eyes tightly as though to rid a threatening pain.
Draco, on the other hand, sat alone near the soft flames of the fire in the Slytherin Common Room. Those cold pair of silver eyes nearly closed as he sat, his robes now removed, his long-sleeves now rolled sloppily to his mid-arm, his shirt unbottoned just slightly as that silver and green tie lay un-tied around his shoulders. He nearly dozed, the only sound within his ear was the soothing crackle emerging from the fireplace. From the windows shown a glowing moon, magnificently shown the tired features of his face, and that untidy silver-blonde hair.
Now on the verge of sleeping, within his tired mind formed a shadow. Full figure molded into view, with womanly, feminine features, and locks of brown coils formed atop her head. Though her face was unseen, his hand now outstretched toward her, he, despite himself, wanted nothing more than to just touch her. To embrace her. Who was she? If only he could see her face... Her vibe was alluring his senses, as he wished to merely stoke that soft cheek, hold her...
He suddenly awoke, his breaths dull, but heavy. He to find his arm before him, reaching out into the midst, but only to find himself back in the Slytherin Common Room. His face twisted in confusion, as he shook his head, and walked slowly and tiredly back to the Boy's Dorms, not bothering to change into his bedclothes.