DISCLAIMER: Quite unsurprisingly, Harry Potter and Co. do not belong to me. They are JKR's, and affiliates.
A/N: This is dedicated to WickedWitch, for her birthday!
Enigma
Draco had once watched a bird as it flitted about the
branches of a great oak near the Quidditch pitch. He
thought it interesting to note that the bird seemed to be completely focused on
doing aimless tasks where there was nothing to be gained. Finally, the bird
settled down on a branch and lazily filled the air with its tuneless song. Draco figured the bird had never done or said anything
productive, aside from surviving, and found its existence strange, though not
uncommon. It seemed like a lot of people tended to talk a lot without saying
anything at all.
Draco became quiet over that year, his sixth in
Hogwarts. People reacted to this gradual change differently: some grateful that
he would not utter a thinly veiled insult at their every encounter, others
suspicious of what could only be him plotting something heinous, and one was
simply perplexed by him.
Sure, it was nice not to have to endure a "Mudblood"
comment every Potions' class, but why was there no comment? Where he had once jumped at it, now it seemed as if he avoided
confrontation. Was he laying low on his father's orders, or perhaps Voldemort's, until the opportune moment? In a very slim
possibility, had he some sort of change of position? Whatever it was, Draco Malfoy's change was very
unsettling to Hermione.
It became something of a game for her to try to figure out what was going on in
the mind of the once-obnoxious Slytherin. She found
herself thinking of him when her mind had wandered. In classes, she became
prone to staring at him as if to provoke a reaction.
Nothing. He didn't even brush back his bright hair, as
it tended to fall in his face when he was bent over schoolwork. When he was
called on in class he coolly responded to the professor correctly. Hermione
assumed he knew most of the answers, if not all of the questions that were
asked in class, but he never offered one unless called upon. It didn't make any
sense to Hermione, who was always keen to express her knowledge. If you knew
the answer to something, why wouldn't you share it? She imagined his being not
forthcoming had to do with the last remnants of the petulance he'd basked in
before.
In true thorough form, she tested the limits of his silence, occasionally not
raising her hand in class (most often in Potions', since she wouldn't be called
upon then anyway) to see if he would feel encouraged to speak up more. It irked
her that it yielded no effect. She stopped preventing Harry and Ron from attacking
him verbally or otherwise to see what he would do. When he was pushed to
comment, he would effectively reduce Ron's weak barbs to cinders with a few
choice words and then move on, otherwise he would coldly glare at them without
response.
It got to the point where Draco Malfoy
became a distraction. Hermione was too bothered staring at him, contemplating
his actions, thinking of far-fetched plans to sort him
out, instead of focusing on work in class and out, as she had been wont to do.
On one such occasion, Hermione was in the library researching. The subject of
her studies had nothing to do with any topics in her classes, rather, the
subject was a certain blonde Slytherin and the
possibilities of manipulating will. She was heavily immersed in the effects of
a milder, but perfectly legal form of Imperius
when the very person who had occupied much of her homework time unwittingly
strode into the library. As had become the norm, Hermione's eyes fixed upon the
graceful, if imperious figure of Draco Malfoy, book forgotten, and she watched as he made his way
to the Restricted Section. Prefects were given special allowances for access
normal students couldn't enjoy, and it appeared Draco
was making full use of them. For all that she watched Draco Malfoy, Hermione had failed
to notice when he had ceased being "Malfoy" for "Draco" in her head.
She frowned as she lost sight of him and sat back in her seat, wondering what
to make of this new development. It was perfectly natural for Prefects to use
the privileges awarded to them – she herself made use of it often – but when
the person exercising them was Draco, she had always
and still believed there must be some ulterior, and most likely dark, motive.
She forced herself to read the content of the text without comprehending it for
all of a minute before throwing down the quill she'd been taking notes with and
pushing back the seat to stand up. She winced slightly at the creak caused in
her rush to get up.
Treading softly into the Restricted Section, Hermione's eyes grew wide with
alertness as she whipped her head from left to right, trying to see where Draco had gone. She saw him finally as she peered around
the corner of another row of books and quickly drew back for fear of discovery.
She made her way down the row until she was standing directly behind him, with
only the shelves between them. She tried to see around his lanky form to see
what book he was holding to no avail. Suddenly he turned back to replace it and
caught her staring directly at him. She turned away quickly, but not before
emitting a tiny squeak of surprise. She pretended to
browse the books while waiting for him to confront her, as she was sure he
would do. After a few seconds without hearing an angry tirade she peeked at
where he had been and found the next aisle empty.
Hermione rushed to the main part of the library, determined to find out once
and for all what was going on with Draco Malfoy. She caught a glimpse of a cloak swishing out the
doors of the library before pressing on after him. In the corridor, she sped up
to his retreating back until he suddenly stopped and turned around to face her.
She stopped two feet before him abruptly, gasping.
"What?" he snapped expectantly. "What do you want?"
It was somewhat of a shock to hear him speak in a manner to her she hadn't
heard in a while, and she found she had no answer to give him. Her mouth opened
soundlessly, trying to form the words to best describe what she wanted.
She didn't know.
His eyes narrowed at her lack of response, and he made to turn away. Somehow,
she found her voice.
"Wait! I… I wanted to know what the Arithmancy
homework was," she said, as the first excuse came to her mind. He returned a
look that said he clearly didn't believe her, after all, since when does
Hermione Granger not know what the homework is.
"I mean, I was wondering what you thought of the homework, seeing as it was,
um, really complicated…"
Hermione, her brain thought to herself, you should never be an
undercover auror.
"It was review. How could it have been complicated?" he asked acidly, sizing
her up.
Hermione stumbled upon her reply. "Well, I suppose I was just wondering what
you thought – of it, that is – the homework, and–"
"Granger," he interrupted, "Quit while you're ahead, not that you were," he added
condescendingly. "Don't ask me what I think, don't follow me around or stare at
me, and for Merlin's sake, stop trying to figure me out." He crossed his
arms over his chest, waiting for Hermione to stop staring incredulously,
slack-jawed.
Finally, she recovered and managed to stammer out, "That's not what I was
intending – I mean, that wasn't the point, I just wanted to know about Arithmancy and that's all, you see."
He nodded patronizingly at her. "I'm sure. Granger, I don't want you, or anyone
else to spend large amounts of time contemplating me, flattering as it is, and
I suggest you stop it before I go to Professor Snape
for intervention. Really, you must realize how pathetic you are." And with
that, Draco whirled around and stomped down the hallway
without looking back.
Hermione stared after him, realizing that she'd learned nothing except that he
was more perceptive than he seemed. Despite the blow to her skills in stealth
and discernment, Draco Malfoy
remained an enigma she was determined to solve.