DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't own any characters you recognize, etc.
Row after row, aisle after aisle, the familiar smells of leather binding and time-worn pages comforted Hermione like the warm smells of home cooking or a new box of crayons might comfort other children.
In Muggle grammar school, Hermione hadn't had a single friend, save her beloved books. She could still remember their faces - the mean boys who put gum in her hair and called her "Gopher-head" and "Bucky;" the crueler girls who pretended to be her friends only to talk about her viciously behind her back; the cold-faced teachers who had looked the other way. No, books were safer than people. They didn't make fun, or play spiteful games with her heart, or trap her in the loo and refuse to let her come out, which she had relived on a larger scale with the troll last year... Hermione sniffed and squinted her eyes shut, blocking away the memory.
A lonely and ostracized little girl, she had learned to defend herself with the only weapon she then possessed - her wits. Bossiness and a fierce sense of independence kept most people away. Hermione had learned the hard way that if people couldn't get close to you, they couldn't hurt you. It was only when two young boys risked their lives to save hers that Hermione chose to make an exception to the "never trust anyone" rule she had set for herself. Even so, she made a point of not letting Harry and Ron know more about her than she chose to let them, and that was precious little.
I should have seen it sooner, Hermione thought, recognizing that manner of brushing-off to avoid hurt in Malfoy as well as herself. Yes, he had Crabbe and Goyle to boss around, but he didn't have any real friends at Hogwarts.
As I so meanly pointed out before, implying that he had to buy his way onto the Quidditch team, Hermione scolded herself. Of course, I didn't know then what I know now… Besides, I'm Harry's friend. I was just standing up for him, that's what friends do… But the nagging ache of guilt remained. It seemed the only way to ignore it was to focus completely on her chosen task.
Now, I need a book on Wizarding law. Muggles have laws against child abuse; surely we do as well. I just have to find them. It wouldn't come together in her mind until later that night that if Lucius Malfoy was unafraid of using a curse that would get him sent straight to Azkaban, he wouldn't fear any law at all. Here we are, let's see… Estate Law for Magical Homes and Establishments… Goblin Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP)… The Grande Olde Code of the Wizengamot… no, no…
She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't see the person coming at her until she had run smack into him. "Oh, so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was - you!"
Draco Malfoy glared at her from under his golden-white crown of hair. "Yes, me. What's the matter, Granger? Hoping it was old Lockhart come to sign autographs, sealed with a kiss?"
Hermione flushed scarlet. How on earth could Malfoy have known about her schoolgirl's crush on the dashing blond professor - or cared? "Of course not. I was distracted, that's all."
Draco snorted. "So I noticed."
Draco is not like his father. He is not evil. His heart is not filled with hate. Again, Dumbledore's words echoed in her mind. A sudden twinge tightened her chest. "So… is everything all right?"
Draco raised a pale eyebrow, then glanced around uncertainly. "What are you talking about?"
Uh-oh. She hadn't meant to voice her concern; it just slipped out. Dumbledore had sworn her to secrecy. She had to say something - fast. "I meant, um… are you finding everything all right?"
Malfoy sneered. "I didn't know Madam Pince hired an assistant. Helping Weaselby raise some extra pocket money, are you? A little too noble of you, Granger, even for a Gryffindor. If he needs the gold, he should work himself and stop depending on you and Potter for handouts."
"I -" Hermione steadied herself, trying not to make the blunder her friends had in responding to his rise. "You're mistaken, Malfoy. I'm not Madam Pince's assistant."
He seemed surprised that she made no argument in defense of Ron. "Ah, well, no matter. I've already found what I was looking for."
"And that is?"
Draco held up the book he was carrying, an enormous black-bound volume that Hermione could have sworn was making a low gurgling noise. Mazalov's Guide to Obscure Potions and Dangerous Draughts was enscribed on the spine in faded white letters. "Extra credit for Professor Snape. You?"
"Oh, erm… something for Charms," she lied.
"Shows how distracted you are. You're in the wrong aisle. You should be over there." Malfoy thumbed in the opposite direction. "Wouldn't have thought you'd ever get lost in here."
"Have the library memorized, do you?" Hermione asked, not aware until it was too late that it came out like an insult.
"Probably about as well as you," he rejoined nastily. "Don't look so shocked, Granger. I do know how to read."
Hermione closed her eyes. "Malfoy, I never said that -"
"The library will be closing in five minutes," Madam Pince's harsh voice interrupted over the loudspeaker.
Hermione inwardly groaned. Malfoy had meant to be helpful by steering her in the right direction, but instead of apologizing as she'd planned, her antagonism had gotten them into another row. Come to think of it, it wasn't the first time. That day when he'd called her a Mudblood, she had been discourteous to him first.
"Better get a move on," Draco drawled then, "or they'll lock you in here for the night - not that you'd mind." With a snide laugh, he sauntered away.
That was close, Hermione thought with a sigh of relief. She hadn't realized until now what a delicate line she would have to walk. She could no longer insult Malfoy or return his barbs with enthusiasm. Then again, if she were too kind, he would get suspicious, and so would Ron and Harry.
Hermione was suddenly impressed with what a strong wizard Albus Dumbledore really was. No doubt he carried many secret burdens, all the while flattering with delicacy and showing the world nothing but a smile.
Malfoy exited the library with a skip in his gait. His father had frightened him nearly out of his wits, but taunting Potter or his friends always lifted his spirits. At least then he didn't have to be alone in his misery. Malfoy - one, Mudblood - zero, he tabulated with a vicious smirk, pleased that he'd gotten in the last word.
Whatever was the matter with her, anyway? Come to think of it, he had never seen her so unfocused. And when she had realized it was him she bumped into, her large brown eyes hadn't rolled with their usual look of self-righteous disdain. They'd looked full on him without the slightest trace of loathing. They had been wide, sympathetic, almost commiserating.
Probably just pining away because I mentioned that idiot Lockhart, he thought with a superior sniff.
Draco vividly recalled that day in Flourish and Blotts when he had first set eyes on the debonair, if dim-witted, blond wizard who would become their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Draco had been watching an unsuspecting Granger from the balcony as she waited in line to get his autograph. He remembered the feeling of disgust that had washed over him as she simpered and sighed over that sham of an author, as though he were anything but a bloody useless buffoon. Her bucktoothed smile had widened still further for that scarhead Potter… but the smile had faded to a look of apprehension as he himself descended the stair towards her.
Oh, who cares how Granger looked at me? Malfoy determined, putting it out of his mind. He had work to do. He hadn't lied about doing extra credit for Snape from Mazalov's Guide, but another spell in the same book had caught his eye - one for temporary invincibility.
That night, Draco would read and research into the early morning hours with a devotion that would have rivaled Hermione's. To be invincible for a moment - to see his father's face twist when he realized he couldn't harm him! Finding the possibility of such a momentary revenge was definitely worth going without a night's sleep.
The next morning at the breakfast table, Harry was back and good as new, glad to be drinking pumpkin juice instead of Skele-gro. Hermione gave him a faint grin, but it faded when she looked over at Malfoy. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was taut with concentration. Pity welled up in her. Had fears of going home for the holiday been keeping him up at night?
"More kippers, Hermione?" Harry asked.
"No, thank you," she smiled abstractedly. Thankfully the boys were distracted by the excellent food. Had they not been, they might have noticed that Hermione couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the Slytherin table… or a certain person who sat in the center of it.
Hermione etched in her mind as if to memorize them the angular lines of his cheek, the carefully combed-back strands of cornsilk hair, the odd silver-grey color of his eyes. She had never noticed it before, but there was a handsomeness to him that was nearly too perfect. Seemingly, his only flaw was the dark sort of sadness that lingered in his eyes, and even that only made his visage all the more bewitching. All this time I've hated him… and I never even knew him. I wonder if anyone really does.
"Whuff wong, Hmmi-ney?" Ron wondered then, his mouth crammed full of toast and jam.
Hermione gasped, forcibly drawn back to the present. "Nothing," she lied, pretending to study her open Charms book. But when the red-haired boy shrugged and dug back into his breakfast, she cast another glance upward. Malfoy, she thought, almost willing him to look up at her. Are you all right?
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco slammed the black-bound book shut and shoved it into his bookbag.
"I should have known it would be out-of-date," he growled. Part of the invincibility potion had called for organs from an animal native to Africa that had went extinct a hundred years before. Great, he thought miserably, just great. Now all I need is a Time Turner, a pith helmet and a rifle. Tally-ho.
His clever plan was ruined, and with it his mood. He stood to leave, then noticed that someone at the Gryffindor table had the audacity to stare at him. He blinked his sleep-deprived eyes, then squinted.
It was Granger, all right. Even tired as he was, he could never mistake that wild bush of mousy-colored hair. She had that look on her face again - the wide eyes and pursed lips she had worn in the library. He could almost hear the worry in her voice, the words so softly spoken as she had asked him: Is everything all right? Remembering it now, it had almost sounded sincere.
Any other time, he would have engaged in a stare-out with her, wearing her down with an insensitive glare. But not now. Breaking the connection, he turned and headed for the Slytherin dormitories to sulk.
