The Reader of Books

Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (Except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures, from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)

A/N: Ok this is actually a rewrite of my old story, with a lot of enormous differences… so enjoy… (Flames will be taken preferably with marshmallows… mmm marshmallows…)

~^~^~Chapter One – Sleepless~^~^~

"Why can't I sleep!" Draco's mind raged, fuming in the cold night air. Despite his words, he knew very well what kept him from his peaceful slumber as he sat out on his head boy balcony, wearing only his dressing gown and slippers.

It had been seven years since Draco Malfoy had started at Hogwarts, but through the changing years he had scarcely changed from his first.

He still strutted through corridors, smirk well in place, and, of course, still despised "the dream team" Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was true his appearance had changed slightly, for he was now 5"9, gaining on six, but his silver- blonde slicked back hair was the very same, as were his silver grey eyes and sneering face. Though his reputation had principally changed, for instead of nearly every girl in school adoring him, they all did, despite what some might say. But despite the willingness of every girl in school to court him he dated few, and liked less.

The dates weren't his choice anyway, they were his fathers. For this year he had been chosen head boy, a fact he would have been proud of, if he knew it hadn't all been fixed that way, like everything in his life. It was never his life. It was his fathers. He was a damn puppet.

 The head girl was, of course, Hermione granger, the school "genius". And, to his irritation, she had also been given the room next to his in the head boy and girl dorms.

He thought Dumbledore would've known better.

If only someone else had been given that supposedly grand title of Head Girl! Even pansy Parkinson would have been better, though then he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep either, she would be wanting to join him. He shuddered at that thought. Over the years Draco had driven her off, saying he wanted to wait till marriage, but that had scarcely done anything, barely holding her off, and now that his father was thinking of his marriage…  Draco shrugged the thoughts away. If his father said he had to marry her, what could he do but obey?

It wasn't like he had a choice.

But unlike Draco, the school had radically changed. Attacks from Voldemort were becoming more and more powerful, and as Dumbledore weakened with age, the school under came sweeping changes. As they had in year 2, all students had to be accompanied with an adult between classes, and worst of all, the school houses were changed. Well, not exactly.

More and more space was needed in the castle for things unknown to the students, so the houses were moved. The Hufflepuffs were now with the Gryffindors, sharing a common room, dorms, classes, everything, and, to the disdain of many Slytherins, they had been paired with the Ravenclaws.

Not that it mattered to him. Draco had his own room now.

For nearly every class now it seemed, they were paired up, and for some all four houses were put in the same classroom. Luckily space wasn't as much a problem anymore, because the school was slowly emptying, as more and more students left, for fear of Voldemorts wrath.

Every summer holidays, less students returned, and teachers as well. Some had gone off to fight Voldemort, some joined him. But most it seemed, were in hiding, praying Voldemort would pass their houses by every night as the Deatheaters swept through the darkness, searching for new members or helpless muggles.

Draco almost felt sorry for them, the teachers, the muggles, all those who had died, and those to soon witness their fate. Almost.

After so many years, Dumbledore had finally let Snape teach the defence against the dark arts to the students, there was no one else there to take the place, and as Voldemorts forces grew stronger, it was needed more than ever, whereas Dumbledore had never thought potions essential for a wizard. They still had classes on it, of course, but less.

Students, teachers, muggles and wizards alike feared for their lives. Even Voldemorts own followers were not safe from the dark lord.

But Draco did not fear. Not much point. His life was not his to lose. In only 8 months he would be leaving this school forever, going out into the world to find his "destiny".  But he already knew his fate. He would be a death eater, as his father wished, be forced into a marriage with a woman he would most surely hate and either rule with the dark lord when they took over, or be killed with the nameless thousands of death eaters when their time came.

It was as simple as that. Or at least it was supposed to be.

Draco checked his watch irritably to find it wasn't there. Cursing he walked back to his room, searching for where it could have gone.

Ah, lying on his floor, twined in his silver-green striped tie, amiss the mess on the floor. Somehow it felt meaningful, as if maybe it was supposed to represent him or something.

Or maybe his watch was tangled in his tie.

Picking it up, he stared at the time, blinking in the dark, clouded night.

2:55 AM.

Almost three. Just wonderful.

Five more hours till the day would start. Five more hours of waiting, moping, and contemplating suicide. Yay.

He wished he could scream. Just break this goddamn silence, the suffocating, enveloping hush, laying thickly over the school, the forest, the world. He tried to speak, break the tension in the air, the pressure bearing down. But his voice was lost.

Trying to scream, he cried out silently in the moonlight. What was wrong with him? He hated her, but he had to know, why?

For unlike any other girl at school, she seemed immune to him. Money, power, fame. She just ignored them, and him. Possibly it was because she had a boyfriend, Seamus, but that had never stopped him before.

He had thought it was love, ever since last year, when she punched him in the face. I know, very romantic.

For most guys, this would turn them off a girl, but Draco was not like "most guys". It had felt good to him, having a girl not wanting him for once, like so many others did. He had thought he was in love, but now… it seemed he was out of love, or maybe he had been fooling himself. He had no feelings left for Hermione, but so many questions.

He just wanted to know why. Why when everybody else loved him she did not? How could she be supposed genius, yet never see so many things?

But he did not love her. That would have made it so much easier.

But instead of Hermione, his thoughts revolved around someone else. Ethany. He couldn't even remember her last name anymore.

 Ethany, was the reason he could not sleep. It didn't make sense. Draco didn't even know her.

All he could remember were her beginnings at the school. Ethany had joined Hogwarts at the end of Draco's fifth year, but nobody much had noticed, and she had done little but read since. Even Hermione, who was more than well known for her obsession with books, didn't come close to the amount of reading of that girl.

According to Dumbledore, she had been schooled at a small academy for witches in Scotland, but Draco doubted the likelihood of the story. There was always something strange about her. She was Teflon coated, eyes in the corridor slid off her, she left no trail. Nobody much asked any questions, of course. At the time hero-boy was in the hospital wing, after killing his godfather, so nobody had enough words to ask about some new girl when there was so much gossip fluttering around.

Of course, when she first joined, everyone sort of cared, probably guessing that she had something out of the ordinary with her, for it was seldom someone transferred to Hogwarts from another school, let alone at the end of the year, but eventually they found she had no personality, nothing. She wanted to be left alone, and they wanted to leave her alone, preferring to stick to their own kind. What kind she was they did not know. They didn't want to know.

Her face was seldom seen over the cover of her book, but Draco's mind wandered to a pale face, delicate hands. But anything else about her was swallowed up, deep into the abyss of his mind.

He struggled to focus, but all his mind would come up with was dark hair and an irritable way of responding if anyone interrupted her. But that happened seldom. Nobody seemed knew anything about her, and they were more than happy with that.

She had no friends he knew of, no enemies, not even that person you talk to occasionally. She was alone.

After a while, he realised the sun was rising, and decided to go down to the great hall for breakfast, an errand, something to consume the wearisome time that filled his sleepless nights.

The hall was empty it seemed, the four tables laden with breakfast. But there, hidden in a dark, enclosed corner of the Ravenclaw table… it was Her.

She was alone, as always, chestnut hair forming a curtain around her face, book in hand. He wondered what she would do if someone walked up to her, talked to her. It had never happened before.

He slowly walked over, his mind turning over words, wondering desperately what to say. But something else got there first.

A tiny owl, carrying a letter bigger than itself, spiralling down from the enchanted ceiling. It perched on the rim of her goblet, waiting for some kind of response, attention. It received none. She continued to silently read, her expression covered by the book, her unseen eyes never wavering. The minutes ticked on, and still she sat, still the bird perched, and still there Draco stood, looking stupider by the second.

 Finally, after an eternity of stagnance, she extended her hand to take a drink, and the bird cheerfully pecked at her wrist, believing her attention directed towards it.

Startled green eyes glanced up, surprised.

Green eyes, Draco's startled mind processed, her eyes are green. Bright green eyes, so clear they made potters look dull. He hadn't expected them to be so… alive. He had expected dull, muted eyes, giving him an unguarded pathway into a dull mind, obsessed with books. But they were bright, intense, and they gave away no secrets.

 She silently grasped the note, letting the owl fly back to its unknown possessor. Even as she opened the letter her book covered her face, allowing nothing but her eyes to shine through.

She read the letter without a sound, as she seemingly did everything, and when finished, threw it to the side, into the fireplace, as if it was no concern to her. But those eyes showed something else, but they were quickly hidden again, veiled by her book. He saw her head flicker to the side nervously. She was making sure the letter was burning.

And so quickly it was over, leaving him standing there, looking like an idiot. He couldn't walk up to her. Not now. He didn't know why, but he knew it was important. He couldn't.

And with that he left, walking back through the arch he had entered only minutes ago.

_______________________

He walked back slowly, the deserted corridors echoing every step until the castle seemed to resound with them, echoing into every room. Or maybe it was all in his head. Draco walked back to his room, his mind drifting, his senses… it was strange. Unreal.

And then he was there. Sir Gorbaid's portrait hung low on the wall, slightly crooked. Draco desperately searched his mind for the password, but nothing came. Well what could he do now? He couldn't get in. He wondered if kicking it would help.

Probably not. But it was worth a try…

But before he could even take a run up it opened before him.

"Huh?" he wondered. Then she stepped out. Unlike Draco, Hermione hadn't changed at all through the past years. She was still smart, ugly and annoying.

"What are you doing here" she scowled, glaring at him for no particular reason. Ignoring her he swept inside to the small common room, cold marble floors, not helped by the empty hearth. But he barely noticed.

In a trance, Draco walked up the spiralling staircase to his room, and for the first time in three days, slept.

________________________

He woke up 3 hours later, his face fused to the pillow, tangled in sheets.

"Wha..." he started, ending it quickly as he rolled out of the bed, hitting the ground with a crash.

"Crap" he muttered, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets. He blearily stared at his watch, taking minutes for it to sink in.

9:10

He was already late for class, and of course he was supposed to set a good example. If he didn't he would face his father, and they would have one of their "little talks". Those talks normally ended with a curse and a lot of pain.

So he had to work hard every day of his life, had to live up to the unliveable standards to make his father "proud". Screw that.

Cant I even do anything without my father taking part?, He thought, swearing as he bumped into a girl while hurrying down the corridor.

"Oh, I'm-" she started, spinning around.

He was already gone, off down the corridor.

Draco ran, bumping into people, statues, teachers. It didn't really matter. Shouts echoed down the corridors behind him. He was supposed to be setting a good example, which usually didn't involve doing a single thing he was. But who cared? He already had the damn job and the shiny little badge that came with it.

 Of course if it wasn't for his father he would have never even have been prefect, let alone head boy, Dumbledore favoured the Gryffindors too much, and he was a rather notorious enemy of Gryffindor.

He leant down to check his watch.

9:15

Shit. 15 minutes late. McGonagall would murder him. Again.

Flying down the corridor, he rammed into the large wooden door, shoving it open. Aware that every eye in the room was on him he hurried forward with his usual strut, to his seat at the back with Crabbe and Goyle, while McGonagall instantly fixed him with her iceberg-that-sunk-the-titanic look.

He was probably supposed to care.

 He had been receiving that look for years after years, by now he was totally immune to the glare that made most students tremble.

"Sorry I'm late Professor McGonagall" he drawled, putting on his innocent look. It didn't work.

"You're a prefect Mr. Malfoy! You should be setting an example," she said, putting more disgust into her voice than even Draco could muster.

He just sat there and stared back at her blankly, as always, tipping back his chair against the back wall.

"As I was saying before Mr. Malfoy interrupted," she said, glaring at him, "today we shall be transforming our screech owls to tabby cats. I assume you have all got your notes?"

On and on and on and on and on, Draco thought. Does she ever shut up?, It seemed not, because she was still talking. Hearing his name he looked up but of course it was just McGonagall droning on about how "if Draco had been here, he would of course know…".

Even if he had been there it's not like he would have listened. Or cared.

 I hate my life, Draco thought gloomily, wondering how much longer Professor McGonagall could drone on.

There will be more later! Review please!!!! PLEASE!!! (I don't mind flames, but give me a reason, ok? ok.)