A/N: Thank you for the reviews! To make up for what a bad updater I am, here's a new chapter Hope you like it, and don't forget to review! I'd really appreciate it ... thank you. I didn't know if Michael Corner was pureblood or not, but for the sake of this chapter, and possibly story, I'm going o make him a pureblood.
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Hermione stifled a yawn for the third time during the first twenty minutes of her lesson. She knew about plugs, for crying out loud! And yet, there were countless students around her who sat with their jaws dropped open in wonder – some in confusion – as their Muggle Studies professor, Professor Pinkle, demonstrated how to connect a plug to a socket.
The boy next to Hermione, Michael Corner, who was taking down notes, muttered to Hermione, "How does she expect us to understand this? She's going too fast!" He dropped his quill, and massaged his temples; Hermione suspected that he had a growing headache. She rolled her eyes.
Another yawn threatened to break out, but before she could stifle it, it escaped from her mouth. Thankfully, it was about the same time that Michael sneezed, so the sound of her yawn was slightly muffled.
Professor Pinkle shot her an annoyed look.
So maybe her yawn(s) hadn't gone unnoticed.
Hermione attempted to concentrate on the lesson. Professor Pinkle was now re-demonstrating how to connect the plug to the socket. "It's simple, really," Professor Pinkle was saying. "You've just got to align the pins – that's these pointy things here – with the holes in the socket. Like so." She smiled triumphantly, as if she had just accomplished the unthinkable.
Hermione glanced around the class. A few people looked utterly befuddled. They had their foreheads screwed in concentration, and a few were anxiously nibbling the ends of their quills. Lavender Brown raised her hand. Professor Pinkle, delighted that she was being asked something, said, "Yes, Miss Brown?"
"Professor Pinkle, how would a light or something come on, then? Just by... just by connecting a socket to a ... plug?" Lavender didn't even seem to understand her own question. Hermione rolled her eyes again.
Professor Pinkle clapped her hands in excitement. "But you have it, Miss Brown!"
Lavender cocked her head. "I ... do?"
Professor Pinkle let out a chiming laugh. "Yes!" A few students turned around in their chairs to look at Lavender, impressed. "You did leave out one teensy little detail, but of course I can't blame you for that!" She let out another high-pitched laugh.
Hermione rubbed her ears, wincing.
Professor Pinkle continued, now speaking to the rest of the class, "Which brings me to my next point. Now if you could all turn to page forty-three of your textbooks ..." Professor Pinkle waited for the groans to pass before continuing, "You will find a diagram of a switch, which completely illustrates its sole function." She leaned forward, and whispered in an excited voice, as if speaking to a bunch of first-years, "This, my dears, is what we use to activate the whole thing!" She clapped her hands again, smiling enthusiastically.
Hermione groaned internally. What in Merlin's name was Professor McGonagall thinking when she employed this lady? Dear old Professor Burbage was much better – rest her soul. Hermione, resigned to her fate, and flipped the pages half-heartedly until she arrived at page forty-three. Her attention was diverted briefly as she heard a soft snore coming from her left. Turning, she found that Michael had fallen off to sleep. Hermione laughed, but stopped when Professor Pinkle shot another annoyed look her way. Hermione shook Michael awake, and he blinked his eyes open.
"Is the lesson over?" he mumbled sleepily.
"I wish," Hermione sighed. She showed Michael what they had to do, and shortly after that, the class fell into silence as everyone read their books intently.
Someone in the back called Professor Pinkle, and the professor immediately went over, her heels clacking loudly against the floor. "Yes, dear?" Hermione heard the professor ask. "I don't understand this." Then, Hermione heard the professor explaining.
A short while later, Hermione heard the professor's heels clacking loudly against the floor again, as another student also had a query. Soon, only the professor's clacking of heels against the floor could be heard as dozens of students couldn't refrain from voicing their puzzlement.
Professor Pinkle clapped her hands again, calling the attention of the class. She stood in front, flustered, and folded her hands into each other. She placed a wide smile on her face. "It seems that quite a few of you are a tad confused, so maybe we shall draw this lesson out a bit longer over the next couple of days– " At a few outrages gasps from the class, Professor Pinkle shook her head. "Now really, you are being quite disagreeable. How else will you be able to pass your final exams with flying colours if you cannot understand a few simple Muggle concepts?" The wide smile was back on her face, and Hermione briefly wondered whether the professor's muscles weren't aching.
Professor Pinkle took a quick look at the clock, many of the students did the same thing, and felt immensely grateful – and sighed, "Oh well, looks like there are just a few minutes left –" she was interrupted by the sound of all her students (Hermione the Perfect Student included) eagerly packing their books back into their bags, and taking out things to keep them entertained. Hermione took out a thick novel, and bowed her head over it as she began to read.
Professor Pinkle raised her eyebrows, but really, she shouldn't be surprised – her students had never shown her a smidge of respect. She wondered why. "Ahem," she said, in a high voice. Hardly anybody looked up. "Ahem!" she all but exclaimed.
A few looked up. She smiled.
"Now that I have your attention, I'd like to inform you about something that I've so brilliantly come up with," she said, adding a tinkling laugh at the end of her sentence.
This ought to be good, Hermione thought sarcastically, closing her book grudgingly .
"Not many students particularly like the subject I teach, for reasons unbeknownst to me, so I have come up with something that would encourage the younger students to take up the subject." She laughed again, but stopped when she saw the blank faces staring up at her, with the words "Get on with it, already" written all over their faces.
She cleared her throat. "There's going to be a school musical production," she declared, beaming down at them. Hermione sat up straight in her seat, her position alike to many in her class. Professor Pinkle felt satisfied that she finally had their proper attention. "There's going to be a school musical production," she repeated, "Of a Muggle fairytale."
Excitement bubbled in Hermione's body, and she waited with bated breath for the professor to continue. "The fairytale, as some of you might or might not be familiar with, is called Snow White and the Seven Dwarves." Professor Pinkle observed the students' faces to see any flickers of recognition at the title. Only a few – Miss Granger included – seemed to know what she was talking about. "Only, instead of the seven dwarves, we'll have a Prince Charming."
The bell for end of class went, but nobody got up. A few uninterested-looking boys looked like they wanted to get up from their seats, but seeing that they were part of the minority, reluctantly held their place in their seats. A lot of the girls, at the mention of a Prince Charming, perked up.
"For those of you who don't know, this fairytale has a lot of magic woven into it. The only difference," she looked at her class intently, a soft smile on her face, "is that we'll make it so that the magic really happens in the play!" She received a few looks of confusion – a look she was getting quite irritated by – and she said, "Look, I'll just leave the books in the front here on Miss Granger's desk," the professor flicked her wand so that twenty odd books floated from the back of the classroom to land on Hermione's desk. Fortunately, Hermione ducked, or else she'd be up in the Hospital Wing recovering from a concussion. The professor continued, "Take one, and go through it. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
Hermione stood up from her seat, and took a book. She stared down at the shiny cover, with the beautiful dark-haired girl on the cover, and smiled to herself. Se stuffed the book into her bag, and although it was thin, the act proved difficult. It just wouldn't fit! After a few moments of struggling, she finally managed to get the book to fit into her bag. She grinned, satisfied.
People soon barged right into her, as they aimed to get a book for themselves. "These pictures don't even move!" she heard a boy yell in awe. Hermione laughed.
She glanced at the pile of the ever-diminishing stack of books, and briefly thought of Malfoy. Would he perhaps be interested? She wondered to herself. An image of Malfoy singing, acting out a scene, crossed her mind, and the idea seemed so implausible that she almost walked away. But she paused at the doorway, and glanced back at the stack of now, approximately, five books. She walked towards her desk, picked up another book. Just in case, she thought. She almost cried out in frustration when she realized she'd have to try forcing another book to fit into her bag. She battled, with great difficulty, but finally managed.
She ran off, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Third period had already started.
By the end of the day, Hermione officially hated her bag. Her bag had torn during sixth period, when Professor McGonagall gave them an additional Charms textbook, and Hermione had to try fitting that into her bag, too. The bag had burst at the seams, and Professor McGonagall had exclaimed, "Goodness, Miss Granger! What on earth do you carry in that bag of yours?"
Hermione's quick and used-countless-of-times reply ("Only the necessary things, Professor!") didn't impress the professor in the slightest.
So now, she was returning to the sanctuary of the Common Room. She couldn't wait to kick off her shoes, relax on the couch, and study for her final exams.
The portrait door swung forward as she muttered the password, and Hermione clambered into the Common Room gratefully. Malfoy was in the exact same position that he had been six hours ago, this time a different book in his hands. He looked up as she walked in, and then looked back at his book. Hermione stared at him with unvarnished disbelief on her face. "Did you bunk school today?"
Malfoy simply shrugged.
Hermione threw her hands up into the air. "Malfoy! You can't just bunk school like that! You're Head Boy!"
"I can do what I very well feel like doing, Granger," he muttered, not caring to look at her.
Hermione shook her head furiously at his words, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Malfoy! It's your last year at Hogwarts! After this you have to go out there and get a job, and you can't exactly do that if you fail this year!"
Draco raised his pale eyebrows. "And why would I fail?"
Hermione laughed incredulously. "Because you're forever bunking! You're not coming to classes; therefore you're missing out on vital education! You just sit there on that couch, and ... read!"
Malfoy closed his book. "And suddenly you have a problem with reading, is it?" he asked in a low tone, his silver eyes looking like a dull grey. His usual platinum-blonde hair looked almost without colour, and his skin was looking ashy.
Hermione's eyes flashed at his words. She dropped her bag to the floor and said, "No, I have a problem with you bunking."
Malfoy looked at her blankly, and then looked away to the fireplace, sighed and said, "It was just today, Granger."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "How dare you lie to me!" she couldn't help but yelling.
Malfoy didn't respond.
She continued, "I handle the school's attendance records, Malfoy! You've been absent for approximately twenty days so far, and the year isn't even half over yet!"
Malfoy still didn't respond. Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. When she was done, she took in a deep breath and released it through her mouth. Dragging her bag behind her on the floor, she made her way to the set of couches. She sat opposite him.
"Malfoy," she said in a calmer voice, "I understand that you're going through a rough patch, but you need to do this for you. How can you live in the moment when you refuse to stop living in the past?"
His eyes met hers. Hermione didn't know whether he was registering her words or not. She didn't notice the subtle stiffening in his posture. "You have to move on, Malfoy," she said softly. "They'll come back soon –"
"Granger," he growled. Hermione stopped talking. Malfoy had quite a frightening gleam in his eyes. "I asked you not to pry."
Hermione stuck her chin out. She faced him once; she could do it again. "Malfoy, do you realize that blocking out everybody won't help you at all? You're hurting yourself more than you would think. You need to accept what has happened; not reject it. You –"
Malfoy stood up suddenly, his eyes flashing. "Would you stop telling me how to live my life?" he shouted. There was so much pent-up emotion in his voice, raw, naked, and so self-revealing, that Hermione blinked in surprise.
She stood up, too. "I'm not telling you how to live it," she retorted. "I'm trying to tell you why you need to live it."
Malfoy glared at her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Hermione said in a strong voice, "You're completely devoid of emotion, Malfoy. Where's your bite? You don't insult. You don't talk. You don't answer. You don't ask." She looked at him closely. "Have you never wondered why it was you? Why it was your parents?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly. Hermione moved on. "Malfoy, if you carry on living like this, your life's going to pass by you in a whirlwind. And you're going to get lost in it. And if you keep closing yourself off to people, no one will be able to help you find your way." She let her words sink in. Maybe Malfoy's skin was too tough for her words to sink through. He'd already created such a hard layer.
Each word falling from her lips hacked at the thick walls he'd put up around himself.
Draco looked at the girl through his half-awake eyes. Why did she care so much? Was it in her nature to be like this? Her words had hit so close to home, that Malfoy had briefly considered the possibility of her being able to read his mind. Her words seemed to open a window in his mind, and now knowledge and insight was flowing in. A breath of fresh air; all the stale air was ever so slowly falling out of the small, new window.
Her words made sense. Would he really end up getting lost? Would there really be nobody there to draw a map for him? He shook his head in wonder. Yet, how could the emotion-driven words of a mere girl influence his thoughts and actions? Or was she just a catalyst to a reaction that was supposed to happen?
Draco's mind was clenched in a tight fist of questions, and it didn't seem as if the fist was loosening its hold anytime soon.
Granger was staring at him, waiting. Draco realized that he had been quiet for a long period. He regarded her coolly, yet the icicles borne into his body of late, slowly began to melt. Slowly.
He reached behind him for his book. When he had it in his hand, he said to Granger in a soft voice, "Goodnight, Granger." He turned and walked towards his room.
Hermione let out a low hiss of frustration. He was ignoring her again! My words have fallen upon deaf ears, she thought irritably. She stalked off to her bedroom, her bag completely forgotten on the floor.
But, if Hermione had indeed been able to read Draco's mind, she'd know just how grateful he was feeling deep down inside.
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