"Have you ever seen her with so many books?" Harry Potter stagewhispered to his friend Ron.
"Never, not even -" Ron said, cutting off in case someone was listening - they were in the library after all.
Hermione Granger's books did indeed cover the entire desk, and this wasn't just some simple carrel. It was a full desk wide enough for three abreast to sit, and two on the sides as well.* They were stacked neatly, and that made it even worse, somehow. More intimidating.
Not that Draco Malfoy was ever intimidated by anything, of course, but... The Gryffindors, of all people, seemed intimidated.
"All I wanted was to know what Bowtruckle juice could possibly do in a Strengthening Solution..." Harry whined.
"I wanted some help with my transfiguration homework. How are we supposed to know Kahnmann's law?" Ron whined.
Oh, I don't know, by reading, perhaps? Draco mentally drawled, only to do a mental spittake as Harry echoed him audibly, nearly word for word. Shite, he was really losing it if his insults were exactly what Potter used.
"It's not even December yet, how can she be studying so much stuff?" Ron continued.
"I can hear you, you know." Hermione Granger ground out. "You're distracting." Draco Malfoy wanted to guffaw in laughter at that, as it was an understatement. He'd have had trouble studying three rows away from them ... if he was three rows away. As it was, he was less than one row away... just, in an upward direction. That was the thing of it - people never looked up.
"Hermione..." Ron said, trying for puppy dog winsomeness, and mostly getting pathetic instead.
Potter, strangely, was a bit better at the lost puppy dog eyes (maybe it was the green), and Hermione finally just rolled her eyes, saying crabbily, "Fine, if it will get you out of my hair."
Somewhat surprisingly, Potter really did just have one question, although the answering of it still took twenty minutes of digressions (when Snape called Granger a know-it-all, it was less insult than pure unadulterated truth. Which, of course, is why it hurt. People hated it when Slytherins told the truth, it was why they had such a reputation as liars. Well, that and said reputation made it absurdly convenient to say "you're lying!").
Ron Weasley was a different story - far from needing "some" help, he needed "all" help. By the time he'd nearly convinced Hermione to actually write half the report for him, "your handwriting's so neat..." Draco was about to see if he could trick the Weasel into eating some waterbearing fruit right over his parchment, so it'd get completely soaked and he'd have to start over from scratch.
Unfortunately, that plan was scotched before it even began, because Ron was the kid brother of the WeaselTwins, and they were notorious for doing brilliant work with edibles (no doubt because their brother was a bottomless eating pit).
*This is just a bit big for a principal's desk. Picture the desk in the Oval Office if you must, for sizing purposes. Suffice it to say, that's a lot of books.
[a/n: this is monday. For those keeping track, roughly second week in November. Haven't written the poem yet, but this chapter's in thanks for the review of last one.
More reviews get this story more attention. Hinty hint hint.]