Black

Funerals. The color black always reminded Hermione of funerals. That was until she came across Draco Malfoy in the library. She had been eyeing him from afar for weeks as he sat alone in the back corner, his books, and parchment strewed about the table before him. When he wasn't in his tidy Slytherin uniform, he was exclusively done up in all black ensembles—on weekends, the finest suits money could buy; on weekday evenings, a pair of trousers and a cashmere sweater.

The way the dark ebony contrasted with the milky white of his skin was absolutely tantalizing. He was ashamed of the Dark Mark he still sported, now a white raised outline on his otherwise flawless skin. But alone in the farthest corner of the library, he'd let his guard down, completely engrossed in his studies. On Tuesday, she watched as he pulled his sleeves up to his elbows while he leaned over his cauldron to complete his homework assignment, the steam rising from the cauldron's contents making his hair fall across the grey eyes that haunted her dreams.

Hermione watched him from between books and behind shelves. She took in the way his lips moved subtly as he read over notes, how he would bite his bottom lip as he stirred the cauldron, the satisfied smirk he'd give when the potion was perfectly executed.

On Thursday, she watched as he skimmed the shelves, looking for a tome that might help him with their Charms assignment. She took in the way his nimble fingers grazed the spines as he read and wondered silently if the coolness he exuded in his everyday life would carry into his touch. Would his skin be surprisingly warm? Or would it be cool as the marble it mimicked? He reached above his head to retrieve a thin book from the top shelf, and that black sweater rose just enough to show a thin strip of contrasting pale white skin.

On Friday, he strode past where she sat, heading to his usual refuge. He had changed once more into a pair of black trousers and a simple black jumper with the zipper pulled down to expose a little more of his neck.

While everything wasn't black and white—Hermione flourished in shades of grey, actually—she knew one thing for certain: black no longer reminded her of funerals. Black brought along the smell of broom polish and spearmint. Black was the color of the sky outside of the library windows as she spent countless hours watching him. Black brought along mystery and intrigue.

And Hermione was always up for solving a particularly intriguing mystery. She rose from her desk and sauntered to where he sat. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked, and he gestured absently to the empty chair across from him with a half-smile.

"Did you understand that lecture in Arithmancy?" he asked, pulling his notes on the subject.

She smiled and began explaining the intricacies of numerology.

o-o-o

A/N: Please review! This falls into The Princess and the Pariah.