hello there !

This one is from Hermione's point of view. A little bit of Malfoy in there, mysterious little one. haha.

THANK YOU to the reviewers, favoriters, and anyone who had story alerted me. Please--if you read, review.

DISCLAIMER; I do not own harry potter. but Draco wants to do a re-count ;)

CHAPTER THREE.

Sympathy

Hermione held her umbrella tightly above her head, her eyes narrowing as she moved through Diagon Alley. Despite the rain, it was rather busy that day—children from Hogwarts running up and down Diagon Alley, jumping from one store to the next. She avoided any collisions and kept to herself, muttering slightly as the crowd thickened and thinned throughout her walk through. Her hair was frizzy, escaping her thick gentle curls and replacing them with a frizzy untamable mane. She slipped her fingers upwards towards her hair and tugged on the knit barrette Molly made for her during last year Christmas. It slightly hid her hair and flattened the top of her hair; preventing her thick mass of curls to grow. She gritted her teeth and closed the umbrella, a small wooden store before her.

She began to slip into the one of the smallest stores in Diagon Alley. Raven Rowlers Book Shop. The store was rather intimate; dimly lit with tables made out in the middle, rows of books on shelves piling up just feet away. She tapped her umbrella with her wand and watched the water drip away. She breathed in the musky old scent of the book shop and exhaled, content with the fact she was alone for the first time that day. The doorbell rang lightly as it opened and closed.

This was the second day left for Hogwarts students to get their books, robes, cauldrons, and other school necessities. Days of the summer were quickly passing them by, and students were going to pile into the Hogwarts Express in no time. Hermione sighed and did her best not to bitterly think about going back to school; she could only imagine the surprised look on her friends faces when they hear she'd much rather stay up late and talk to Ronald Weasley. She shook her head, pushing farther the fact that their friendship has strengthened throughout the summer.

She shrugged off her coat and pulled it over the back of a chair, admiring the way several others were hunched over their books, the candles on the tables lit up and the chandeliers hovering above them. She put her umbrella on the seat of the chair and took one last glance at the fellow readers.

She began to stroll down the aisles of books, her small beaded bag held tightly in one hand as the other ran its fingers gently down the spines of each book she passed, the names of the books slipping from her lips. There was no specific book she was searching for, though one that held useful charms and spells were among the vast list in her mind. Maybe something that fell along the lines of Defense against the Dark Arts. With the teaching she received last year, she knew she was going to need it if she wanted to get through the class. She passed a few romance and mystery novels before moving towards the educational portion of the shop. She felt an air of relief as the words dark arts were written above the shelves. She dropped down on her knees and rested her bag on the ground, gently pulling books from their place.

History of the Dark Arts.

Dark Arts: Charms Edition.

Knowledge of Dark Arts; Spells, Charms, Hexes, Curses, and Jinxes.

Dark Arts Spells and Their Specialties.

Origin of Spells.

Quietly, opened each book and spread them out before her. Her eyes moved from book to book, brown meeting black and white—some pages aged to a cream and even a yellowish or brown color. Most of the information given to her were things she's already studied; some were a special case where the spells she's never heard of. Gruesome some were. She felt chills run down her spine as she read through random pages of each book; Dark Arts and Their Specialties seemed to praise the creators and the way their spells were used.

Dark Arts: Charms Edition stated facts. Opinions didn't leak from the book, unlike the other. She leaned closely and narrowed her eyes reading the small print. The Charms seemed to have the same origin of the charms she had learned in Hogwarts, some words changed and some words seemed to have to be pronounced different to create the dark effect. It shook her to know that the slightest chance in pronunciation would change the whole effect of a certain charm. All this time in class she could've easily created a simple object to become a dark murderous object. She wondered if she never tutored Ron and Harry—if their objects would've become deadly. It made sense why Professor Flitwick did his best to show the class just exactly how to pronounce a certain charm, or why Neville's feather blew up in his face the first day of class.

History of the Dark Arts exuded appreciation. Each sentence of every paragraph praised their creators—maybe even more than Dark Arts and Their Specialties. The author held a certain twisted insight on the spells. She bit her lip as she read on about the unforgiveable curses; The Cruciatus, The Imperius, and The Killing Curse. They seemed to be created by two wizards and one witch. Upon accident, they spoke the words vaguely, but created an effect. Then again they recited the curses, clearly, and begun their research; testing out the curses on Muggles—using them as test subjects for every dark spell they begun to create. She felt a shock of electricity go through her blood, nothing less than pure disgust.

Footsteps were heard just behind her, shoes brilliantly shining as they tapped against the wood beneath them. She watched in amazement, following the long lean legs that were covered in a pair of black trousers. A white button down appeared, the sleeves rolled up to elbows and a tie loosely hanging from the neck. From below, the man looked strong, but as he head slowly dropped she could tell from the dark circles he was tired. As he got closer she kept her eyes on him. A head of slightly shaggy blonde hair covered his face; the blonde so light—almost platinum or white blonde. His skin was rather pale, holding little color. A wand was held in his hand farthest from her, along with a book, his head looking up as he passed Hermione. Quickly he passed her.

The light surrounding them blended in his eyes. The silver color now visible for her to see. The define jaw line and tipped upwards nose was familiar and he looked back, his eyes down at Hermione. Eyes tired; maybe even tortured, sad—however she refused to go that far for the pure-blood before her.

Draco Malfoy. She pulled her eyes away from him and shook her head. Why was she so surprised to see him here? She took a breath and shook her head; it was the last days of summer of course he was going to provide himself with books. She pulled her head away from its lowered spot and stared at the book in his hand. He was walking further away and the name of the book was far from her sight—his arm covering have of the book. The colors, however, were identical to History of the Dark Arts. She dropped her brown eyes back down to the book before her, as well as the other Dark Arts books before her. The doorbell rang lightly, indicating someone had left abruptly. She didn't dare look up, afraid Draco Malfoy was watching her.

However, he didn't speak an insult at her—was he avoiding her as well? Curiosity pulsed through her veins.

She piled the books together and pulled her beaded bag on top of them. She could barely see her path clearly; trying to direct herself through the aisles and toward the register. Finally she reached the small front counter and plopped her books down.

"All these?" The old wizard looked at her with slightly widened eyes, the green irises now surrounded by a larger portion of the whites of his eyes.

"Yes," she pulled her bag from the top and pulled out her small woven pouch that held her galleons, "May I have a bag?"

"Of course."

He pulled his thin wand from behind the register and tapped the books; a bag appearing from the top and the books from the bottom slipping gently into the bag. The bag seemed to be charmed to be enlarged on the inside—seeing as the books did not bulge or create a problem of the bag's size.

"Thirty galleons," he spoke clearly as he handed her the bag. She slipped the handles through her wrist, the fabric of the bag was delightfully soft. The bag seemed to have weight to only one book, despite the five that hid inside.

She counted the galleons and put them on the counter; not even a grimace as she emptied half of her pouch. Money didn't matter to her when it came to books. She grabbed her coat from the chair she settled it on and pulled it back on and grabbed her umbrella. Without hesitation she left the store, gripping her bags and the umbrella in her hand.

The rain greeted her as she began to yet again push passed her way through the crowd. As she entered back into the busy streets of Diagon Alley, she searched through the windows of the stores for the familiar clan of red heads and the raven haired boy that accompanied them.

ooo

"So Draco was in…a book shop?" Ronald asked Hermione, his blue eyes narrowing as he eyed the bag that was settled on top of the table the two of them sat at. She sighed impatiently and tapped her fingers against the History of Dark Arts book.

"You needed to be there," Hermione lifted the cover of the book up and down, "It's more than the fact he was in a book shop."

"It's not that uncommon for him to be in a bookstore 'Mione, we are a day away from September." He ran his hand through his red hair, his nose crinkling as a waitress passed him with a platter of food.

"Let's just wait for Harry," she readjusted her hat and watched as their waitress placed three butterbeers before them. Her eyes lifted and noticed Ron was staring, "What?"

"You seem so flustered by this," he said softly, "I just thought…nothing. Never mind."

"What? What are you getting at Ron?" She felt herself ready to snap at him, as if she was a rubber band being pulled and ready to set its flying course.

Harry returned to the two, his glasses fogging as he entered the warm pub. He took a seat beside Hermione. However she went on, "Hmm Ronald?"

"It's just—what if the war began tomorrow?" Ron said in a small voice, "I don't want to see you like this. You look out of your element."

"The war started way before we were born Ron," opening the book she glared at the name of the author, "Ervin Eaglewood—this…this…git."

"History of the Dark Arts?" Harry looked at the old looking book. "Was that on the list of book we needed? I haven't seen it in Flourish and Blotts."

"She picked it up by that beaten down store," Ron nodded towards the left, "The last one at the end of Diagon Alley."

"Flourish and Blotts were too crowded to have a look around huh Hermione?" Harry teased lightly as he grabbed a cup and sipped the liquid.

"They didn't have many Defense against the Dark Arts books," Hermione said slightly embarrassed.

"You probably read them all," Ron mumbled.

"Stop it," She finally snapped—the rubber band flying. "Listen, I saw Draco at Raven Rowlers."

Much to Ron's dismay, Harry's ears perked up and Hermione continued. "Alone. When do you ever see Draco Malfoy alone?"

"That is a bit odd," Ron agreed, trying to keep on Hermione's good side.

"He was holding this book," she pointed at hers, "It's quite sick, actually."

"Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"The book, Ronald—please doesn't interrupting me," Hermione tried her best to keep herself from snapping at him, "Listen to this: The three creators strengthened their skills, and begun their research on the unforgiveable curses, testing on unworthy Muggles. Olivia Salamander tested her Imperius curse, Muggles filing before her obeying the commands that she thought of, and finishing them off by directing them towards a ledge outside her home."

She paused, that shock of disgust running through her veins. Ron pulled his hand over hers and urged her to go on. "Sav Aldred used the Imperius to gather a set of his own Muggles, and began testing The Cruciatus curse. Crucio began to torture the Muggles, driving them to the ground—their weak bodies turning fragile as many of them gave up their lives, and some foolishly brave ones gripping the ground, clawing to crawl away however in seconds they were lifeless, ground into the grass they tried to dig under. The term Mudblood had also been created by Aldred.

"Magoon Dugan, the oldest of the trio had used both methods from Salamander and Aldred. Penetrating the disgraceful minds of the Muggles. Oldest and strongest, Magoon was, he held power over the muggles, torturing the strongest with his Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra. He left the muggles before his feet, dead."

The three were quiet. Their vocabulary escaping them. Silently, Hermione gripped her butterbeer and drowned empty mouth. The other two following shortly—stealing glances at the only Muggle in The Leaky Cauldron; Hermione Jean Granger.

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