As soon as Divination is over, Malfoy practically drops through the trapdoor as he pushes past the flow of students towards the library. He can hear Pansy's shrill screaming behind him, and he grimaces, slipping into an alcove shrouded by darkness. She runs past his hiding spot obliviously, frantically searching the crowd for any trace of his unmistakable white-blond hair. He counts in his head, waiting one minute, then two, before emerging from the alcove. There are only two or three students lingering now, so he doesn't bother to try and blend in. Instead, he runs from the North Tower to the library, smart shoes smacking against the stone floor, robes billowing out behind him. He almost knocks into Professor McGonagall but quickly jumps out of the way past her, leaving her flustering behind him.

"Mister Malfoy! No running in the corridors!"

"Sorry, Professor!" He shouts back over his shoulder, but he doesn't slow down. He doesn't know why he's in such a hurry to get to the library; he doesn't know why he cares so much about being able to spend as much time as possible with the Gryffindor girl. He tells himself it's because he wants to snag the table in the corner, so that their studying (it will probably be studying (it will most definitely be studying)) isn't interrupted by any of the other annoying students. A grin spreads across his face, a laugh escaping him, his eyes glimmering. He looks genuinely happy – nothing like the sick boy who had entered Professor Slughorn's classroom that very morning.

The library doors hit the wall with a bang as he enters, and Madam Pince glares at him. He smirks to himself. "At least I slowed down," he mumbles under his breath, twisting and winding through the stacks, finally reaching the hidden table. There's no one else there (thank Merlin), and he dumps his bag on the table before slouching into one of the seats. He pulls his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and flips it open to the page Slughorn set for homework – at least three feet of parchment on transmutation – and begins skimming through the words on the page. While he waits for Hermione to show up, he begins the essay, his small cursive neat and precise. He gets about a foot into the essay by the time the girl plonks herself down into the seat across from him, pushing her unruly hair behind her ears. As she takes her robe off and drapes it across the chair, he glances at her bag on the floor and frowns; the bag was open, and inside there seemed to be a large throw blanket. "Planning on spending the night here, Granger?"

She cocks her head inquisitively, and when he nods at her bag she laughs. "Tuesdays are normally spent in my dorm, wrapped in a blanket, reading a silly teen novel." She shakes her head slightly, that trademark blush appearing on her cheeks. "Tuesdays are the only days I let myself properly relax."

"You didn't have to agree to meet me, you know. It isn't that big of a deal if you want to go do that -"

"No, no, don't be silly!" She pulls the pink blanket out of her bag, wrapping it around herself like a shawl and piling the excess into her lap. "We came to just exist, right? I'm certain we can exist like this." She pulls a book out of her bag – nothing like anything else in the library. It was small, not bound in leather, but in paper. The cover is dark, a man with his arms around a girl in the centre, and sharp lettering printed across the front of it. She places it down onto the table, tucking her chair further in, and her knees hit Malfoys. He jolts, feeling the tips of his ears heating up, and so he runs his hand through his hair to give himself an excuse as to cover the bright redness – though he knows they will probably show through the paleness of the hair anyway. She picks the book up and opens it to the first page, and Malfoy leans down to read the title. She sees him struggling due to how close to the table she's holding it, so she lifts the book higher, allowing to see it clearly. Secret Vampire. He wrinkles his nose, which makes her laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "I know, I know, but it looks okay. It came out in June, and I haven't really had chance to sit down and read it yet." She stands from her chair and sits on the floor against the wall behind her. The high windows cast long strips of light just in front of her crossed legs. "Come read it with me, we might both be surprised."

He slides from his chair, regarding her with an amused expression as he takes his robe off, carefully folding it and placing it on the table. He slowly lowers himself onto the floor next to her, his shirt pulling tightly against his lean torso and toned arms.

The bandage is ever present.

She takes her blanket off, before wrapping it again around the both of their shoulders. The comfort of the blanket makes Malfoys eyes flutter closed for just a second, and when he opens them, she's smiling at him. "It's a really nice blanket." He murmurs, voice low.

"I thought I'd give you an idea of what a proper Hermione Granger Tuesday is like."

"So far it's quite enjoyable." A smirk fleets across his face as he looks down at her. She balances the book on her knee, holding it between them, and they both begin reading at their own pace. Malfoy quickly realises that Hermione was the sort of person to absorb the story; she didn't read these pages as fast as she read the ones in their textbooks, instead she took her time in scrutinising each and every detail. While that was all well and good for Hermione, Malfoy found himself squirming to turn the page, and having to wait for her to catch up was testing his patience. More than once had he turned the page while she'd still be reading.

"Here, so neither of us get annoyed, why don't you read it aloud at your pace and I'll listen." She nudges the book closer to his knee.

"No, that's not fair. You won't get the same experience." He doesn't really care about the experience from the book – he doesn't really care for the book at all – he only cares that it means that he can spend more time with her.

"It's always calming to be read to. Lean forward," Hermione replies as she drags the blanket from around their shoulders. Before he can open his mouth to protest, she spreads it across their laps, tucking herself in up to her chin. "This is comfier," when she looks up, she sees his offended look before he is able to change his expression, and she laughs again, before snorting. Her eyes go wide and she presses her hands to her mouth in shock. Malfoy stares at her, mouth agape, before he starts laughing loudly to himself. Hermione joins in, and soon they are both doubled over – or as doubled over as you can be when sat crossed legged on the floor – in fits of laughter. Hermione slumps against his arm as Madam Pince marches angrily into the alcove, a look of shock passing her features when she sees that the girl making the noise is little Miss Hermione Granger, who is currently sat on the floor.

"If you two can't be quiet you'll have to find somewhere else to… whatever it is you two are doing."

"Yes, Madam Pince. We're both terribly sorry, we promise we'll be quiet." Hermione suddenly sits bolt upright against the wall, her face straight as the woman nods. She eyes them both suspiciously before leaving. As soon as Madam Pince is out of their eyeline, Hermione's shoulders sag as she sighs.

He watches her in silence – the way her joyful demeanour plummeted after the reprimand. Her eyes are trained on the floor as he slides the book from her hands, picking it up and clearing his throat. He is tempted to crack the spine, to really break the book in, but he doesn't know if Hermione would ever forgive him for doing so. She sighs and goes to stand, but he reaches out and grabs her wrist lightly. "Are we reading this or not?" He tries to keep his voice light as she looks wearily at him. He knows that she's about to say no, that they should probably just do their work, because Miss Hermione Granger will not allow herself to be kicked out of her safe haven. "Just for a while."

"We can read it for 20 minutes," As she drops back to the floor, she pushes her hands through the curls, smoothing them against her scalp only to have them spring back up when she takes her hands away. "Then we should probably go for dinner." Malfoy glances at his watch, shocked at how the past two hours have flown by.

She leans her head back against the wall, placing her arms under the blanket and pulling it up once more. Her eyes close as she waits for him to start reading, and he is taken aback by how peaceful and at ease she looks, curls falling into her face. Her eyelashes are thick and fluttering against her cheek. Her lips are a rosy pink, perfect and unchapped. It's as if time is frozen with her and him sat there together; he watches her and he feels a pain spreading through his chest as he thinks about a future – an impossible future – with her. A future that is stupid and unrealistic, but a future that he'd be happy to live in.

"Malfoy?" He's jerked back to reality, and she's looking at him through one opened eye. "Are we reading or not?" He smiles down at her, and she can't help but smile back.

"Okay, so…" He begins reading, his voice smooth and soft. He changes his voice for each character, and when he does a fake high voice for the girl in the book, he sees Hermione's lips twitch upwards slightly. He sees her out of the corner of his eye as he reads to her, never slowing his pace, and she is looking at him with what can only be described as adoration. Completely and utterly tender, she is gazing up at him, and she tells herself what that she's feeling is a forming friendship, though the butterflies in her stomach whenever he smirks at her might be trying to tell her otherwise.

The set 20 minutes come and go, and he keeps reading to her, her eyes fluttering shut as she imagines the world that he is describing. At 30 minutes, she leans her head on his shoulder, forgetting who she's with, and he stops. His cheeks begin to heat up as he looks down at her resting against him. He bites his lip as tears well in his eyes – tears of happiness, but also fear – as he realises this is nothing like when Pansy leans against him, he doesn't have to fight the urge to pull away and he hates it because he knows it could never be a possibility.

"Malfoy?" She whispers it against his crisp, white shirt and he swallows. He continues the story, trying to ignore when she nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder, or when she pulls her blanket further around herself. By the time they hit 45 minutes, he's completely blocked it all out, until her right arm wraps around his left, lightly hanging onto the crook of his elbow as she nuzzles against him once more, a slight smile across her face. She opens her eyes for a second, her hair blocking her view of him, and he pushes it back behind her ear. "Keep going," she murmurs, eyes fluttering shut once more. "Please?"

"Yes ma'am," he complies and reads to her until his throat becomes sore, and even then he doesn't stop reading. Occasionally she makes comments on the story, but if it isn't for the infrequent mumbled sentences (only half of which actually make sense to Malfoy) he would have been certain that she'd fallen asleep. She twists herself around slightly, the blanket slipping from her left shoulder. He reads until the book is finished (though he doubt she heard that far), then checks his watch and sees that it's quarter to 6, meaning they only have another two hours to get dinner. She doesn't complain about him stopping – her chest rises and falls steadily, and he inclines his head slightly, resting it on top of hers. His breathing begins to keep pace with hers; with every inhaling breath he smells her rose shampoo (another red thing that he will forever associate with the smartest witch in the year), her hair tickling his cheek. He thinks about kissing her on the top of her head, but that would be a rather creepy thing to do. Instead, he whispers down to her, practically talking into her hair.

"Granger."

She doesn't stir, so he clears his throat and tries again, the tiniest bit louder. "Granger." This time he says it like a song, the tune light and merry on his tongue. She still doesn't move. "Hermione." Her eyes slowly open as she adjusts to the now dim lighting of the library, still leaning against him, her arm still tangled in his. She's obviously groggy as she blinks slowly at him, her brown eyes unfocused.

"Mmm?"

"Granger, it's time for dinner." And just like that he's back to using her last name. She sits up, rubbing her eyes with her fingers (her right arm still looped through his) as she wakes herself up. "It's almost 6." She pulls her arm out from his, her fingers brush the edge of the bandage and Malfoys pulse quickens as he sees her eyes flicker down towards it. In his head he begs her please don't ask, because he knows that right now, in this moment, he will not be able to lie to her.

Thankfully, she doesn't. She stands up and she stretches, reaching towards the high ceiling and arching her back with a groan as her shoulders click. Malfoy gets off the floor, placing the book on the table so he can brush the backs of his trousers down; he doesn't want to be seen walking around the castle with dust covering his backside. He lifts his robe from the table, pulling it on as he watches her wake her body up. She pulls her hair up, wrapping it in a bobble so that it is out of the way in a messy (really messy) bun, before she folds her blanket carefully and squashes it into her bag. She takes her robe from the chair and slips it on, turning and smiling at him. "Hi," she's beaming, though he doesn't know why.

"Hi," his voice is low as he gives her a toothy grin, and she giggles. "Here, you might want this." He holds the book out to her and she takes it, her fingers touching his, which sends a tiny jolt of electricity down his arm. "Ooh, you bastard!" He gasps as he pulls his hand away quickly, before hearing her laughing. He looks down and sees that she isn't wearing her regulation black dress shoes, her socked feet against the floor. "You evil little…" He grins at her when he realises, and she just laughs more before slipping her shoes on. While she's occupied, he runs to the other side of the table and wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her with her back to his chest, and she shrieks, laughing and hitting his arms. "Say you're sorry!" He spins her around once, twice, and she kicks her legs, giggling, her head flung backwards.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" Her breath is coming in short bursts as she laughs harder.

"I'm sorry…?" He mocks, amazed at how light she is. He could hold her like this forever and it wouldn't hurt for a second.

"I'm sorry, Draco Malfoy!"

"Apology accepted, Hermione Granger." He puts her back down on the floor and she spins to face him, a massive grin across her face as she pushes him lightly on the chest. "Hey now," he holds his arms up in mock surrender. "We're even, don't do anything to make me get you again."

She takes a step forward, so they are stood practically toe to toe, and she has to look up at him. "What if I do?"

"Well I can't promise I'll be as kind as I was just then."

"Kind?" She laughs, and a hiccup escapes her, which makes Malfoy erupt into bright, warm laughter. They stand there for a while, toe to toe, him laughing and her hiccupping, until they both fall into a comfortable silence (occasionally broken by her hiccups), staring into each other's eyes.

She could do it. It would be so easy right now to fling her arms around his neck and pull him down to her height and just kiss him. But she shouldn't – if he doesn't like her the same way (even though she was still actively trying to convince herself she only felt a platonic love for him) then everything would go back to the way it was before, or it would be worse. She's still thinking when she hears him curse under his breath.

"Grab your stuff, come on," he's still smiling, and she's still hiccupping, and when she turns she sees why he's trying to hurry her.

Madam Pince is stalking towards their table with a dark scowl on her face, and for some reason Hermione is not afraid. It makes her want laugh more – to be kicked out of the library with Malfoy and not with Harry and Ron was something she'd never have guessed would happen. She quickly slings her bag over her shoulder as he throws his parchment and quill into his bag.

"We're very sorry, Madam Pince," he's saying to the woman's outraged face. "We're leaving right now, again we are so terribly sorry," Hermione is looking at her shoes to keep herself from bursting into laughter. They squeeze out of their sanctuary, and when he turns his head to her, she sees that he is biting his lip to contain himself, but that doesn't stop the smirk pulling at the corners.

She lightly bumps him with her shoulder, and he bumps her back, holding the door open for her when they leave the library. In the corridor, they both collapse into fits of glee, before pulling themselves together and walking almost drunkenly to the Great Hall. She slips her hand into his and he stiffens in shock. Their fingers aren't laced together, but the intimacy of it takes him off guard, and he doesn't realise she's started to skip beside him until she starts swinging their arms into the air.

"Come on, Malfoy, have some fun!" He rolls his eyes, but smiles at her with a fondness he's never felt for anyone else in this damned school, ever.

"I think we've had enough fun for a few days, Granger." His delivery is dry, to which she turns and pouts. A laugh escapes him and she keeps skipping, swinging their arms in time with her steps.

They reach the Great Hall too soon.

They part ways just before the giant doors so it doesn't seem suspicious, the two of them walking in together.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Granger." Her heart plummets, but his doesn't. He'll see her tomorrow, no matter what.

"See you around, Mister Malfoy." He gives her an over-exaggerated bow, kissing her hand before she turns and walks the last few steps to the hall alone, disappearing behind the open doors.

He waits a few moments, leaning against the stone wall and biting his nails until he thinks its an appropriate time to enter without it looking staged. Almost as soon as he enters the doors, Pansy flings herself into his arms, smothering him with kisses and dragging him to the Slytherin table, where he ends up squashed between her and Theo.

Hermione watches the exchange from the other side of the hall, pushing her food around her plate absently, still ignored by her 'best friends'. She watches Pansy kiss him on both cheeks, before planting a big sloppy one on his lips, right in front of everyone before he sits next to Theodore Nott.

Sat there alone, Hermione can't help but wish that she was Pansy – or Theodore, of course – so long as she actually had someone who cared about her presence.

He sits and stares absently across the room, until his eyes lock with hers. She sits up just a tiny bit straighter, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and he smirks, winking at her when the other Slytherins attentions are elsewhere. Her cheeks go red, and he grins. "Tomorrow," he mouths across to her.

"Tomorrow," she mouths back, before he turns to Pansy with as she goes to feed him a spoonful of apple pie. Jealously stabs Hermione in the gut.

She wishes she was Pansy.