Touch of the Hand, Flick of the Wrist

by oiseau de feu

Seventh year unfolds and a shroud of something is hanging over Malfoy's head only one certain bushyhaired knowitall can sense the difference. Hermione is concerned when her enemy number one has suddenly shrunk into something unrecognizable and masked.

She looked at him from across the tiny cramped hall of the train. In all of her six years of Hogwarts Hermione had never once sat in a compartment directly across from Draco Malfoy, her, Harry's and Ron's arch nemesis. He was nearly everyone's arch nemesis especially the Golden Trio as they were called soon after their first year for defeating Lord Voldermort with their combined strengths, Harry's indefatigable bravery, Ron's intense understanding of Wizarding Chess, and her acclaimed intelligence.

For a reason unknown to her she was staring at him. Him! The biggest, most selfish, most spoiled, most disgustingly handsome boy in their school. Wait, handsome? How about gruesome? Yes, that was better. Either way, she hated his guts, but as she regarded him from her twelve foot proximity she could see shadowy circles under his steely eyes and a distinct line between his brow that was not there last year and most noticeably his trademark smirk was nearly diminished. Merely a weak reflection of what it used to be.

She tried to look away, but something called out to her to try and catch his attention; to smile at him just a little bit to lift that deep crease or even make him sneer at her like his usual self and throw an insult from across the way. Instead he sensed her staring at him and merely looked back with blank, emotionless eyes. It wasn't until Crabbe nudged him that he turned away and put on a sudden mask. Within a fraction of a second he was back to being Malfoy, cold, cruel and undeniably haughty in his own eloquent way. His quick change caused her to turn back to and face her friends, her lovely and brave boys. She gave them a quick reassuring Hermione smile and soon engaged Ginny in a conversation on whether McGonagall would enforce a stricter dress code seeing that Ginny's skirt was a well three inches shorter that hers.

The train ride went by quickly then. The compartment doors got closed somehow and the two worlds of Gryffindor and Slytherin were detached and blissfully ignorant of each other for a few more hours. Hermione brushed the blank gray eyes that once held the curious malevolent glint, and the worried brow that was once smooth and flawless, out of her mind with a haste and impatience. There were no worries yet. Nothing bad had happened.