Well hey there readers! Sorry for the wait, work is (as ever) a bitch :P thanks to snapplexo and Hunter's Heir for the reviews - I really appreciate your feedback :) hope you guys enjoy the next chapter!
Draco knew where Hermione would be this time. He headed straight for the little corner table, tucked up against the doors to the Restricted Section, smirking to himself. She'd done her best to shield herself from view behind another wall of books, but her mane of wild brown curls was impossible to miss.
He slid into the seat behind her, ignoring the brief glare he received from Persephone Khong as he passed the third-year girl.
Hermione was fast asleep.
She was slumped over a pile of paperwork, ink smeared across her cheek. Her eyes were tight shut and she was breathing deeply, her mouth slightly open. Her wild brown hair spilled out across the table – the frizz levels were critically high. Draco hadn't seen it that bad since they'd sat their OWLs together.
He peered down at the sheets of paper. Prefect rotas, letters, internship applications, a mountain of essays and what appeared to be a pile of teaching notes… Draco shook his head. She never stopped working.
He put his hand on her shoulder – her breath tickled the back of his hand, sending shivers right up his arm – and shook her awake, as gently as he could.
"Granger?" he hissed, shaking her again, "Wake up! Granger –"
She jerked awake. "What? I – oh, it's you. What are you doing here?"
He glared at her. "I'm here for my lesson, remember?"
A slightly manic gleam appeared in her eyes as she sat up, running her hands through her wild hair. "What? It's that late already? Oh no, I had to hand out the rotas at seven! Oh, how am I going to get hold of everyone now…"
He snorted with laughter. "Relax, Granger. Just owl them out. No-one expects the great Hermione Granger to hand-deliver every single prefect rota."
A little of the panic left Hermione's tired, pale face.
"Now," he said, leaning back in his chair, "teach me."
She glared at him. "Have you done the reading I set you?"
He nodded. "All of it. And I summarised it too, in case I need it again. For homework, you know."
Hermione blinked at him. For a moment, she actually looked taken aback, but then she recovered, shuffling through her notes and blinking away the last traces of sleep.
"We'll move onto Transfiguration, then. I want to give you a basic grounding in all the theoretical stuff first, and then you can come back if you have any specific problems with anything particular. Right, let's start with Vanishing Charms…"
Once again, Draco was subjected to an hour of Hermione's rapid explanations and his own frantic note-taking. By the time the clock chimed nine, ink was splattered all across his arms and the side of his hand was worn to a shine from being dragged across the parchment. He reviewed his notes with a satisfied smirk – it wouldn't take him long to memorise them now – and grinned up at Hermione.
To his astonishment, she had ducked behind the wall of books, her face almost glued to the wooden desk. She flapped her hands at him frantically, pointing towards the desk.
"Err…Granger…" he muttered, bending down to whisper in her ear, "what are you doing?"
"Hide!" she hissed, "it's Charlie Jackson!"
"The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?"
"Yes! Now will you shut up and hide!"
Draco glanced over the top of Hermione's book-barrier. Charlie Jackson was prowling around the library like a caged tiger, his huge shoulders rolling with every step. He caught sight of Draco and scowled, but stalked off in the opposite direction, away from Madam Pince's beady, watchful eyes.
"It's all right," he whispered, "he's gone."
Hermione slumped on the table, breathing out a sigh of relief.
"Why are you hiding from your fellow Gryffindors, anyway? Aren't you all supposed to be one big, loud, stupid family?"
She shot a very sharp look at him. "It's none of your business."
He snorted with laughter. "Don't tell me you're ashamed to be seen in the company of a Malfoy. You should be proud, you know. Most people would consider it an honour."
She said nothing.
A cold, seeping realisation began to creep into Draco's chest.
"You are ashamed, aren't you?"
Hermione froze. Draco's hands balled into fists and he forced himself to keep his voice quiet and calm, even though his hands – and his tone – were shaking.
"You're ashamed to be seen with me!"
"What? No!"
"Then why are you hiding? Why did you pick a spot where no-one else could see us? Why did you do all of that, if you aren't ashamed to be seen with me?"
"It's not like that –"
His knuckles were white, the heat was rising in his face and hot, boiling anger was sweeping through his every vein. Hermione was just staring at him, her brown eyes wide, and Draco's insides felt like they were bubbling with guilt, shame and anger.
"You think you've got something to be ashamed of?" he spat, "you have no idea! Here I am, the last of the Malfoy line, reduced to asking for help from a common –"
Hermione straightened up. For a moment, Draco thought she was going to hit him again, but then he saw the brief flicker of sadness in her eyes and guilt twisted in his guts like a knife.
"Well," she said, snatching up her things, "consider yourself lucky. You won't have to reduce yourself any further!"
And with that, she stormed out of the library, head held high, slamming the door behind her.
For a moment Draco just sat there, seething and glaring at his own, still-clenched fists, but slowly the anger started to ebb away and he was left with nothing but his notes and guilt writhing in his stomach like a snake. He crammed the last sheet of notes into his bag, threw it over his shoulder and stalked out of the library, his hands deep in his pockets.
He was no further than two feet down the corridor when he heard the sound of somebody cracking their knuckles from over his shoulder.
Charlie Jackson stepped out from behind a suit of armour, his fists clenched.
"What did you do to Hermione Granger?"