(Hermione)

It was five minutes until midday, and Hermione Granger was desperate to reach the library before it closed – she was absolutely dying to get ahead of Draco Malfoy (Who, for all of his half-witted remarks about her hair, had proven himself to be rather intelligent – for a Slytherin, of course) in Arithmancy. She checked the dainty silver wristwatch her Grandmother had given her, a congratulatory gift for doing well in her OWLs. Four minutes to midday. Hermione huffed.

She trotted through the corridor at a pace that was just a little too fast for her liking, and muttered flustered apologies to those she bumped library did not usually close so early on a Saturday, but Madame Pince had a date with Argus Filch, the caretaker, at Madame Puddifoot's Teashop. She smiled to herself; as past middle-aged and sour as they both were, it had been inevitable that the two of them would get together in the end.

Hermione twitched her nose and brushed her fingertips over her eyebrows in an attempt to neaten them, something she often did when she was worried or irritated. Arithmancy for the Advanced Witch or Wizard looked to be a wonderfully fascinating bit of light reading – Hermione considered any book with less than eight hundred pages to be 'light' reading – and she just had to have it. The library was just around the corner. Perhaps, if she was lucky, Hermione pondered, Madame Pince would stay for just a few more minutes so she could check out the book for her. They were on relatively good terms, she thought, of course, how could a librarian dislike –

An odd noise, which was not dissimilar to the wail Crookshanks emitted when he wanted to be fed, distracted Hermione from her bookish thoughts as she walked, nearly ran, past the disused boy's toilets. She tutted and rolled her eyes in frustration. Moaning Myrtle was probably floating around in there, complaining in her simpering, hiccoughy little voice to the u-bend about her tragic early death in the Chamber of Secrets, how everyone disliked her, and the horrifying ways in which she would kill herself all over again if she was given the chance. Hermione had no patience for the ghost – which was unusual, as Hermione loved to listen to the tales the ghosts of Hogwarts had tell. Like many things academic, she would describe them as wonderfully fascinating.

It was two and a half minutes to twelve when she finally burst through the door of the library, as silently as possible. Which, of course, was not very silently – Hermione was most definitely not many things, including silent, when in an erratic, hairbrained frame of mind. Ignoring Madame Pince's hateful glare, Hermione covered her mouth in an attempt to hide the smile brought to her face by the librarian's odd outfit (Which was more than certainly an attempt to impress Filch) and bustled over to the bookcase marked advanced. She stood on her tiptoes, tutted, did an odd little half-jump and grabbed for the book of her desires, which rested on the very top shelf.

Madame Pince scowled at Hermione, who had 'disturbed the peace of the library' as she carefully handed over the textbook. The librarian stamped the return date on it with vigour and thrust it back at a very shocked Hermione, scowling all the while. Even Madame Pince's favourites did not get treated well if they upset the woman. Hermione glanced at the wall-clock behind Madame Pince and breathed a grateful sigh; it was exactly midday.

Hermione strolled through the corridor on her way back to Gryffindor tower, absorbed by the thick book she held open in her hands. She had purposely taken the longer route back as it was Saturday and the common room would be full of distractions, and she wished to enjoy as much of her book as she could without Ron bleating in her ear to help him with his Potions work. Coincidently, the scenic route led past the toilets in which earlier Hermione was sure she had heard Moaning Myrtle. As she walked past the door she slowed down subconsciously – Hermione took a great deal of pleasure in telling others how they irritated her, and she would not miss a chance to upset one of her least favourite people.

It was not surprising to Hermione that Myrtle's lament had increased in volume; common knowledge was that the ghost would wail louder and louder until an unlucky person who needed the toilet would stumble upon her, and have to listen to her do what she did best. Moan. Hermione stowed her book in her bag, stomped towards the door and breathed in deeply, ready to verbally attack Myrtle. She poked her head around the door, now slightly ajar in order made sure it was indeed Myrtle who was crying in the lavatory. As bossy and ready to complain as Hermione was, she did not like to be embarrassed or embarrass others without cause.

To her utter shock and disbelief it was not Myrtle who was crying in the bathroom, nor was it anyone who Hermione would have expected to find indulging in Myrtle-like activities – namely girls similar to or Cho Chang herself. No, it was not anyone of the sort – in fact; it was Mister Emotionally Strong, Master of Cool, King of Composure, or the many other names he went by. It was, undoubtedly – she could tell this from his short, white hair and slender frame –

'Draco? Draco Malfoy?'

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So, now you all know why Hermione was snooping around in the boy's toilets! :) I'll hopefully update again in the next couple of hours, and it will be a Draco chapter - I think that's probably the best way to go about it. You might've noticed that I'm now putting a character name in brackets above each chapter, it's just to keep it clear who the chapter is following/narrating. In a desperate attempt to get reviews I've decided not to publish the next chapter unless I get 5+ more reviews, from 15 at this time, so get reviewing! Thank you to each and every one of you who've reviewed and/or favourited, you're all wonderful! -squeezes-

Laura