After one week, they still did not speak to each other. Malfoy blatantly avoided her, he turned away and always got out of her way, during their classes, in the Great Hall, in the library...– so obviously that even students from younger years picked up on it. Although, it might had to do something with a fifth year eavesdropping on them during their row as the Hogwarts' gossip mill was on fire. Even Lavander approached her for an interview.

Pansy laughed in mirth whenever Hermione worked her nerves up due to this issue and a constant nagging of their schoolmates who still thought she was the less dangerous opponent to cross than the big, bad Death Eater. Oh, boy, they couldn't be more wrong.

Throughout the last week, Hermione debated, and thought: she kind of lost the hope of jumping forward the last one thousand of backward steps in one swift motion as Malfoy was adamant on getting himself out of her environment. Heck, he didn't even do that when they were hurling hexes in rounds during the years!

Hermione pinched her lips together tightly, as she was – exceptionally – not snuggled in her favourite alcove in the library, but rather seated at one of the tables, turning the pages of the current victim of her fury, namely The Book of Advanced Healing Potions.

She bit in the inside of her cheek when the paper cut in her skin.

"You'd better look up The Book of Lethal Poisons than sparing a glance at that waste of time," and there it was, her breath hitched and for a moment she thought the time stopped turning.

"Same author?" she asked, and was dumbstruck when instead of 'Malfoy', this came out. She turned back to take a peek at him, incredulous that he really did appear. He was leaning to the vast bookcase by the hips, his arms crossed before his broad chest, his stormy eyes watching her with intensity.

It made her gulp. He looked intimidating. Even thought she was half-way on persuading herself that he was just a hallucination caused by her exhaustion.

"Still not getting through the riddle, I see," he confirmed, though his words meant anything but. He swam in her line of vision as he was suddenly leaning to the neat, old table of oak, his ankles crossed with no weight put on his legs.

She didn't spare her a glance. And Malfoy was not bit of concerned as Hermione immediately shot up to look for the book. When she turned toward the right section, Draco turned her to the other way, to the Herbiology books. At the knotting of her brows he just nodded toward the top-shelf, and she found the sought volume in a second.

"Why do you do this thing, Malfoy?" Hermione asked as she reached for the book, she on her tip-toes and nearly climbing on the first shelf for better chances. Draco stood there, unfazed by her struggles as he fixed his gaze from the deputy Head Girl's ridden up skirt. "Suddenly appearing and talking non-related and never giving proper answers?"

Hermione didn't realize that the burning she felt was most probably not the effect of suffering for the damned book.

That made the blonde focus tilt and settle on her head instead of her bum, "It was a random turn of heart, to be precise. Pansy told me about your arm."

Hermione turned, back, locking eyes with her former archenemy, "So you are capable of being sober some of these days, hmm?"

She smiled wolfishly, aware of his narrowing eyes. Hermione knew this game he was so adamant on playing when approaching her – hitting around the bush, that is. The prat would get a spoonful of what he cooked for himself. But she knew he wouldn't back out easily.

"Same author, yes," he answered at her former question after a quick war with himself, nodding to her. "Snape told me about this book, said, it should have been in the Restricted Section. Though I haven't a shot how you hadn't found it yet."

"Do you think it would be good to pair up Parkinson and Neville for patrolling? The Head Girl threw the whole schedule at me for making it up as she was rubbish at organizing. Honestly, I haven't a shot how she got the position by the first hand," she rambled – using the same expression he had on purpose – as she flipped through the weighty book, full of potions that made her stomach roll in disgust. At least she was able to keep up pretence.

Malfoy audibly growled at the suggestion.

"Oh, you think that's so bad? Maybe I can arrange Ginny instead. At least she won't get chewed and spit out by Pansy, as I know them, they would be a terrifying combo if ever given a chance to work together. Although, they might not start jumping up and down in bliss fo—,"

Before she could have continued on, she had her book rudely snatched away as Draco was in the mere of two inches away from her, looking at her with a furious expression, and shortly causing a cramp in her neck as she intended to hold his gaze, not to give in.

"Quit the shit, darling. Just—!"

"Oh, call for the Prophet! The impossible had actually happened!" Hermione imitated poorly with a cruel smile dancing on her lips. It made his scowl deepen on his face, that deep that it looked it had been engraved in his features.

He took a long, suffering breath in, all while counting to ten in his mind to restrain himself. He sighed.

"Just read the damned book," he commanded, but his voice so much more tender, but still booming of force. "Page ninty-three, the Essence of Spurius."

"The Romans?" she asked, hoping dearly that that was the case.

Malfoy smiled at her wryly, "Should I snatch you a dictionary, too?"

Something snapped in place in her head when hearing the thud of his steps, muted by the – now – blurry, colourful carpet. She didn't need the dictionary anymore.