Hermione stared at the splotch of green ink that was forming, her quill hovering over the unmarked parchment. She had her entire essay planned out by section in her head, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She was painfully aware of Ron, who sat in the far corner of the library, tickling Penelope Clearwater, who emitted high-pitched giggles that reached glass-breaking decibels.
"Hermione," Harry said gently, sitting down beside Hermione. Still, she jumped visibly.
She was nervous, frazzled, and on edge. She hadn't gotten a full night's sleep for the past week, since she'd walked in on Ron and Romilda. The images plagued her mind, far worse than those of Ron and Lavender. The rumors that whirled around Ron's recent behavior tortured her the most. Hermione had far too much dignity to inquire into the scandalous stories that she heard about Ron and his latest girl. She knew that the majority of them had to be false, yet the possibilities drove her crazy.
The gossip that buzzed around Ron's completely turned new leaf had drowned out most of the drama over Hermione's photograph. Still, more people frequented the library than usual, and Hermione often caught girls staring at her with their heads tilted to the side quizzically, and guys leering at her as she walked past. Head up, eyes forward, books clutched to chest, she was Hermione Granger.
"Hello, Harry," Hermione said. The quiver in her voice betrayed her as she rapidly began scrawling across the parchment.
Harry sighed. So much for helping,he thought. Ron had really messed up this time. Harry was getting sick and tired of Hermione acting all distant and false with him. He was sick of having to run back and forth between his two friends. He was sick of Ron acting like an egotistical playboy. He wanted his friends back.
"Hermione. This has got to stop. This is getting ridiculous!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," Hermione said. The parchment was now halfway covered in luxurious, tiny green script.
"Hermione!"
Hermione looked up, as if the mere action of doing so exhausted her.
Harry looked into her deep brown eyes for a moment. She stared resolutely back. He could see the layers of pain, despair, regret, lonesomeness, and anger. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione's friendly warm eyes narrowed into such as Mrs. Weasley-like stare that abruptly snapped it shut. Harry shook his head and left the library. He had tried.
Hermione turned back to her essay and immediately her eyes filled with liquid, a single drop landing on the title and the green ink instantly began to expand into the white.
"Oops," a deep voice said, tinged slightly with proud sarcasm. "My bad."
Someone had barreled straight into Hermione's chair, and in the process of catching her from her fall, grabbed her ass. There was no way on earth that it had been an accident.
Hermione turned to release her pent up anger on the violator, her wand clutched in her left hand. Instead, she was met with a pair of deep blue eyes that were filled with what seemed like legitimate concern. And yet these eyes gazed out of the soul of none other than Draco Malfoy.
