"Shit, I don't recognize any of these books," Blaise muttered, running a hand through his dark, charcoal hair as he picked up the parchment one more time. He looked at his project partner for any indication that he at least knew some of the authors needed for this project, but the blonde beside him just raised an eyebrow at his questioning look.
"Recognizing a book would require reading some. Yeah, I can see where the problem would arise for you."
He should've seen that coming.
"I'll take that beautifully executed demonstration of how large of arse you are to mean that you'll find everything on the list that we need," Blaise replied irritably, shaking his head as he slammed the parchment on the opened book in front of Draco.
The blonde just sat back in his seat and folded his arms behind his head in a leisurely manner. His eyes briefly acknowledged the placement of the list in front of him before he turned back to randomly scanning the classroom of seemingly asleep students.
"Taking into account that I'm the only one interested in this project, it would make sense, yes," Draco replied slowly, his eyes finally settling on his misfortune: his project partner.
Blaise, though a close friend of his, was probably the laziest git to have ever graced planet Earth. While Draco thought himself to be cunning and mischievous, doing the minimal amount of work needed when others can be recruited to do it for him, he thought Blaise to be completely useless, always snaking around what has to be done and blabbering on endlessly about it. But that was just Draco—always thinking the best of people.
"You're saying you actually give a shit about some old bloke and his bloody mad family whose likes included chopping each other up to bits?"
Draco pursed his lips and continued to stare at the perplexed Blaise as he dropped his arms to his side, still leaning back in his chair. Honest question.
"No...I'm saying it's got a certain mysterious...quality...about it. They're all stark raving mad, no denying it, but..." he trailed off, yawning and slamming his book shut just in time for Professor Binns to dismiss the class.
Shrugging, he and Blaise stood up in synchrony, both pushing in their chairs before picking up their knapsacks.
"Whatever, mate," Blaise shook his head and patted Draco on the shoulder as he headed towards the door. "Starting to sound like Granger there."
At the mention of her name, Draco instinctively turned to the still seated Gryffindor, thoroughly entranced in her book, not even aware that class had ended. She sat all alone in the back corner of the class, nose usually buried in a non-educational text throughout the entire period. Today wasn't any different. Secluded and peaceful, she never stirred until she looked up to see no one present or the clueless Professor Binns finally noticed that there was still a student left in the classroom.
Draco shook his head and walked towards the door, not looking back a second time. He remembered a time when the girl was always surrounded with friends, whether it was the insufferable Potter or the pathetic by nature Weasley; even others. But that was before the war, before the death, before the separation of the Golden Trio and before the emotional breakdown of all that was good and evil.
The war had definitely taken its toll on Draco, definitely put pressures on him he wished he'd somehow be able to sidestep but was offered no such option. But afterwards, something so unexpected happened that took the entire wizarding community by storm. The news had startled everyone, that was an understatement, but it was obvious whom it had hit the most. Hermione was in that category.
That was when Draco remembered her separating herself from all that she knew and growing practically catatonic. He remembered her spending all her time researching, spending every possible minute in the library to investigate what had happened. She heard the story straight from Dumbledore but she didn't believe it. She didn't believe what most people had grown to accept over a few short months, and to this day he guessed that she still didn't believe it.
Hermione refused to believe that her best friend, golden boy to all but a few, and generally kind-hearted to all, Harry Potter, had taken his own life.
______
Draco sighed, his frustration threatening to take over the better of him, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not going to let Blaise prove him right about this. It was not that hard to find a couple of books. Okay, six.
Running his gaze over the different titles on the spines of the books in front of him, he finally noticed one that had been in front of him the entire time. Removing it, he noticed an occupant on the other side of the bookcase visible through the newly-formed gap in the shelf where Draco's desired book had been.
She was sitting at the table, hunched over a thick text, idly twirling her quill which had yet to be tainted with the unopened ink. Her other hand was holding up her head, eyes drooping ever so slowly, but it was obvious that she wouldn't let herself quit simply because of exhaustion.
Sighing, Draco collected the last book he was sure to find in that section and set off across the library to the biography section, eyes wandering across book spines once more.
Another half hour passed before his eyes began to blur and he felt the strong necessity to curse every single book he looked at that wasn't the one he needed. He felt they were all taunting him, their placement on the shelves plain for him to see, but all friends and hiding the one he was looking to check out. It was ridiculous; books didn't keep one of their own in hiding. But Draco was beyond logic at that point.
"Damn it," he hissed, brushing his hair back with his hand. Turning around and leaning against the shelf of books he'd searched at least four times over, he briefly glanced at his list of titles again, hoping the names would magically change. No such luck. "Sir Woudrow Caulston...where are you..."
For a moment, the silence seemed to mock him, and Draco leaned his head back closing his eyes temporarily. He wished this particular library visit to be over promptly, books in hand so that he could leave the horrid place that seemed to swallow the only books he wanted.
"Bottom row, third from the left," came the feminine instruction, voice interrupting his peaceful mental whine and causing him to snap his eyes open. Hermione motioned to the bottom left corner of the shelf. "The dark blue one."
Draco eyed her carefully, wondering when she'd managed to step in this particular row of books when he'd been in blissful solitude just a few seconds ago, but decided against staring at her too feverently and simply followed her instructions.
Bending down and plucking the book from its original place on the shelf, he eyed the blank blue cover and opened the book, only to be met with a satisfactory title he'd been searching for during the last thirty minutes. He couldn't help but think of how much time was wasted looking for a book that had apparently been there all along, but his overwhelming relief about getting to leave the library overcame his desire to whine.
Whirling around, he looked down at his list.
"Hey, do you know where Coveted Descents...is...?"
She'd just been there are minute ago. Furrowing his eyebrows, Draco just shook his head and cursed his luck at how close he actually came to being freed from the throes of the dusty library.
Walking into the centre of the library, it took him all of two seconds to spot her at the table he'd seen her previously, still twirling her quill absent-mindedly, although this time he noticed it had been dipped in ink. A few long strides presented Draco right in front of his target, his steely gaze staring down at her bent head, hair falling carelessly about her face and shoulders. She didn't look up as he approached, nor as he continued to stand in front of her, staring as though his glances were words.
After a few minutes of this, Draco began to wonder whether the girl was even in a right mental state. He knew she was aware of his presence. The fact that he hadn't said anything did nothing to appease her lack of response to him being there. The least she could've done was look up.
As he was finally preparing to speak, Hermione dropped her quill into her ink bottle and turned the page of her book.
"What?"
She didn't even look up or stop reading as she awaited an answer from Draco. Yes, she'd noticed his presence, but if he wasn't willing to act like a normal human being and speak when he approached her, neither was she. However, his stance in front of her and his hawk-like watch over her didn't appeal to Hermione at all. She'd always been a private person, especially about things she knew would only send students laughing or whispering after they found out what she was reading; researching.
Draco just stared at this girl's calm demeanor and wondered when exactly it was that he'd changed in respects to Hermione and his interaction with her. He felt no need to insult her anymore, to criticize or ridicule her. He also speculated that that the feeling was mutual, that they both wanted to stay out of each other's way. But that wasn't it. Draco supposed that somehow he'd mustered up understanding for this girl because of what had happened to her best friend. Loss was a bitch and he knew it.
Maybe the fact that Hermione was now always on her own, reading day and night, changed his attitude towards her. What fun would it be to make fun of someone who did nothing especially amusing? Or, Draco mused cautiously, I leave her alone because she's so fragile.
"Nothing," he answered, his stubborn demeanor taking over, despite his seemingly profound revelations about Hermione's unstable state of mind. Once a bitch, always a bitch, he figured. She was the one that didn't even acknowledge his presence.
Rolling his eyes, he whirled around and headed toward the library exit to check out his books, when he suddenly turned back.
"You know you can't keep doing this, Granger," Draco sighed, plopping his books down on the table, startling her ink can and the quill resting in it. Overall, it seemed that was all he'd startled. Hermione remained unphased by his sudden intrusion. "You can't keep living like a bleedin' log in the library. Are you even hearing this?"
"Due to my unfortunate possession of ears, yes," Hermione responded boredly, still not looking up, but Draco continued as if she hadn't even spoken.
"When you showed me where that book was—those were the first words I'd heard out of you all year ever since..." Shifting uncomfortably, Draco weighed his options of whether to mention Harry's name in front of her. "What the hell, I'll say it: ever since Potter died; ever since he killed himself."
"Shut. The hell. Up," Hermione uttered ever so slowly as she stood up in her chair to meet Draco's full height. She was shorter but at that moment, she felt no such thing as she met his grey eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about, little boy, so turn around, go back to the dungeons and frolic with your cronies or Pansy or whatever the hell it is that you do, but do not approach me and have the audacity to speak of Harry's death as if you were above it. Because you're so far from it. As far as I'm concerned, he was and always will remain the man you will never be."
Draco almost felt the need to step back to respect Hermione's angry villain kick-ass girl power attitude, but refrained from giving her little melodramatic scene anymore oomph than it had already accumulated.
Placing his palms down on either side of his books, he leaned in, his face getting closer to Hermione with every given centimeter before he finally stopped when he recognized the flame settling down a bit in her eyes.
"Go ahead, baby, tell me about the grand qualities of Potter that I lack. Tell me about all that he was that I'll never come close to because I'm a dreaded, evil Malfoy like no other. Preach to me about how he preached to others in a time of doom, but for the love of Merlin, stop referring to him in present tense," Draco growled, his voice low but heavy, accentuating every word with his tone and his piercing eyes. "He's gone. Dead. Passed on. Not here; will never be here again. Fuck, Granger, even the Weasleys understand that by now. It's been four months. At risk of sounding like I care, get yourself together and live your bloody life." Draco pushed off the table and shook his head. "For him if not for you."
Whirling around, Hermione watched Draco's retreating back as his Slytherin robes billowed behind him in attempt to keep up with his rapid exit.
She found herself standing in front of her thick text, parchment, and quill, more shaken up than she'd been since she'd stopped crying consecutively about Harry, a good month ago.
That bloody bastard. Her only comforting thoughts at that point were the rehearsed lines she'd shared with Ron and Harry so many times before: Malfoy is such a selfish prick, Malfoy, that flaming imbecile, that stupid git, Malfoy.
He wasn't the first to approach Hermione about her practically accurate imitation of a coma her life had become, but no one had come out and just said what had been on his mind. No one had said that about Harry; about her. They kept that to themselves, if they even thought that at some point.
Hermione found herself with an endless supply of unshed tears welling up in her eyes as she looked around the otherwise serene and calm library. Standing still, she let Draco's words sink into her further while trying to fight them off at the same time, before a tear finally slipped down her cheek.
Spotting the stack of abandoned books Draco forgot to take with him on the way out of the library, Hermione suddenly lunged at them, pushing them to the floor with all her might as if Draco was, somehow, being bruised with his books as they hit the ground.
Ignoring the deafening silence of her corner of the library as there was nothing left that she desired to push, Hermione plopped down back in her chair and wiped her eyes hurriedly before packing up all her things.
Standing up, she slung her knapsack over her shoulder before pressing both of her palms down on the cool table and leaning on it as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Hermione tried her best to ignore it, but still seemed to sense the nagging suspicion that, as fucking inappropriate and out of line his words had been, Draco Malfoy had been right.
________
Holla back to Priah for all her help.