Chapter 9 – Unlike Anyone Else

March 22, 2001

Her smile is like treasure; treasure found in the deepest and darkest of caves. Her eyes shine like priceless gold with unleashed joy. She glows. And I know, that smile is worth more than any magic, any artifact, any amount of money. I know, as long as that smile is in my sight, I can find my way out from the dark cave and into the light of day.

Hermione is dancing around the library, gliding gracefully from shelf to shelf, examining each spine, taking note of the vast information the room holds. Every few moments she looks over her shoulder to me and I catch a glimpse of that bright smile, that joy that seems to light up the entire room.

"This is amazing," she keeps whispering to herself. "I've never seen a library like this."

The Malfoy collection is quite extensive; from novels to mastery level potions, transfigurations, books on the Dark Arts, of ancestry, of history. She won't find another room stocked with more knowledge, with such exquisite selection. It is one of the only things I ever really prized about living here. It is a shame it does not get used much.

She is standing there, mesmerized by a book she just found, three more trapped under her arms.

"You can come back here any time you like. You don't have to rush through everything now," I tell her and she looks up at me from the book. Her eyes are wide and shining with delight.

"Really?" she asks, grinning.

I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. This Hermione Granger, I have not seen since Hogwarts. Nothing, not even talking about her job, has given this light back to her eyes. I love to see her like this.

"Of course. Just, choose one, sit down, and read. Tomorrow you can come back for a different one."

"Draco, this is –

"Incredible. I know," I interrupt with a smile of my own.

"Have you read many?" she asks.

"A few," I reply. "The collection is quite astonishing. I'm really the only one who consistently uses it, well, not as much nowadays." I pause. I'm not sure how far I should go with the question. Perhaps I should leave it there. I don't want to resurface any memories she isn't comfortable with remembering.

Her brows draw together a bit. "Don't your parents come here? I couldn't imagine being in the same building as this and not using it." She doesn't understand that there is much more to the room than simply a library.

My smile fades and I know she has noticed. Like my mother, she is perceptive of such things.

"What's wrong?" she asks. Her smile drops as well and I wish, more than anything, to bring it back.

I sigh. "There was a lot that happened during the war," I say, keeping my words vague.

"I'm not sure I understand," she slips the books from her arms into a neat pile on the floor and moves toward me, resting her hand on my arm.

"It was my escape. It, sort of became my own space during the war, somewhere I could hide away. I didn't get a whole lot of actual reading done in that time, too much on my mind, but my parents respect that it was my only way out of what was going on in the rest of the Manor, at least for a short time. Well, my mother did. She more convinced my father I needed this to keep sane." And some of the deep and dirty reaches the air.

"Draco. I'm sorry. This must be a hard place to come back to," she apologizes. "And here I am, saying how wonderful it is."

I shake my head. How could she possibly turn this around onto herself? Her eyes which held all that joy only moments ago, are now sad and tormented. Why does she do this?

"No Hermione. It is wonderful. It had become dark, I had made it practically a storage room in my mind, rid it of any significance. But somehow, you've brought back the life," I assure her. "You have no need to apologize. In fact, I should be thanking you. You, coming here, has made me realize what I've forgotten."

Her eyes fall from mine to the floor.

"Really," I continue. "I want you to enjoy it. Don't think anyone can enjoy a thing like this more than you."

She looks back up at me, eyes regaining a bit of that sparkle, teeth pulling once more on that bottom lip as she turns toward the shelves, then back to me again. I nod, gesturing to the books she left sitting on the floor.

Hermione's hand slides from my arm as she moves back to scoop up her finds and settle in one of the chairs, pulling her knees to her chest and opening the top book. I move over to a chair not far from the one she tucked herself into and pull out a book of my own; a very masculine choice of battles and strength and gore.

What am I really trying to prove here? I can't say I am reading the book for my own enjoyment, I have had quite enough of this content in my life outside of fantasy. Did I choose it to impress her? I glance up at Hermione, who is currently lost in her book. She is not some girl who would be pleased with my book choice, she is not concerned with such petty matters as a book choice.

I shut the book. I know, if I truly want to impress this particular girl, I must be myself, choose which book will put useful information into my mind; things that will make me a better man.

And there, on the very top of the pile beside my chair, is a mastery level potions script. Such coincidence. I glance once more at Hermione, who has a slight smirk lighting her expression. Then again, maybe coincidence is not what has occurred.

I shake my head, reaching down beside me to pull the potions book onto my lap, replacing it on the pile with my previous, laughable choice.

A choice.

I have a choice.

Again, I glance up from the book to Hermione. Is she attempting to tell me something? I look down at the other book, then at the one now on my lap. One represents who I was, who I thought I was, who I had to be, and the other, who I can be. I can choose to put down the fighting, the killing, the darkness, and pick up the intelligence, the light, the dreams I left behind long ago.

I stare at the cauldron on the cover and take a deep breath. I sit in the place where I began this internal journey; a place that helped form my identity. It's just a room, but also, somehow more. I spent many hours here during the war, contemplating what my future would hold. It was where I explored before Voldemort's return, fully convinced of my superiority and pureblood ideals. It was where I hid from the horrors Voldemort brought during his reign in the Manor, was where I escaped to after my first kill. And my second. And my third. And where I realized that a life, is a life, no matter what the heritage.

So now, it is quite fitting that my next self revelation will also occur in this library. This book, the one that sits on my lap, closed, is my choice. I know that once I make the decision to dive within the pages, there will be no turning back from what my heart yearns for.

Hermione has presented me with a door; a door that cannot be opened until I open the book, and a door that cannot be closed once it has been opened. For this book is much more than simply words on pages, but an ancient kind of magic. Inspiration. And inspiration can never be put back inside the box once it has been let roam free.

I take the plunge. With trembling fingers, I pull the door open and release what's behind it. And I devour the information I find, remembering the feeling of precision, of patience, of anticipation. I remember the beauty, the extraordinary wonder of creating magic from practically useless ingredients when apart. The bubbling mixtures, the pungent odours, designed to kill or to heal.

I read on and on, page after page, potion after potion, and realize, this isn't just any mastery potions book, it is a text of good. Not a single mixture creates something harmful, just healing, protecting, saving.

This is who I can be.

And I like it.

"Draco."

I look up when I hear Hermione call my name.

"Would you walk me back to my room? It's getting quite late and I have work tomorrow," she asks. "I'm not confident I know my way around, and it seems all too easy to get lost."

"Oh, yes, right. Of course," I reply.

I shut the book, knowing what it brought can never be taken away, and place it on the seat of the chair as I stand.

"Good book?" She sounds falsely innocent on the matter as we walk to the door.

"Yes," I chuckle, and she knows that I know her part to play.

"Good," she simply replies.

We walk, side by side, through the dark halls in silence. The only sounds are the whispering of portraits, our footsteps, and our breath.

"You know," Hermione starts, breaking the quiet movement. "I haven't really felt like myself in a while. So, thank-you. For bringing me there. For reminding me of who I am."

"I think I should be the one to thank you," I say.

"Maybe we both helped remind each other tonight," she remarks. "It was nice."

We reach her room and once again, it is time to part ways.

And here we are, another night, standing face to face in the dark doorway of the bedroom, wishing for more. Well, at least I am. But her eyes, they say that perhaps she feels it too. Perhaps she feels the undeniable pull, this powerful trance-like state, where all I can see is her.

I'm moving closer until I'm merely inches away, I can feel her breath against my face. But I freeze. What if she doesn't feel it? What if this is not what she wants? I pull myself back, just slightly, just enough to see. And I do. I see it in her eyes, that if I move in to kiss her, she will let me.

But are we ready for something like this? I want to say its just a kiss that it wouldn't mean much more, though, I know it isn't true. It would mean a shift in our relationship from friend to something else. It would mean expressing this force I feel pressing inside me, letting it escape and run forth. I don't even know exactly what that force is, but it's strong and I'm not sure I'm ready to explore its depths.

So I step away and feel as though some tiny person is pounding on the inside of my chest, yelling at me not to give up on this, screaming for me to just do it.

But I can't. Not yet.

It seems so strange that I can't even kiss this girl without the scene of perfection. Because it is the start of something bigger and I feel it. I don't want to mess it up.

"Good night, Hermione," I say, taking another step away.

She seems almost disappointed and I think, maybe this was right and I was blind to see it.

Suddenly, Hermione is raised on her tip toes and I feel the soft brush of her lips against my cheek before she quickly steps back.

"Goodnight," she replies quietly.

Its as though she has stolen the breath straight from my lungs. I can't move, I can't breathe, I should have kissed her. I should have kissed her but once again, I was too cowardly to act. But that small gesture from her gives me hope that next time, I will act. Next time, I won't let the opportunity pass me by. And perhaps, I won't destroy our future by doing so.

Now, I make my escape down the hall toward my own room, fingers ghosting up to brush along my cheek in the place where her lips touched, the skin that is still tingling as though tinged by some type of magic.

I vow to myself, that next time, I will kiss her. And it will be right.


Author's Note:

Sorry it took me so long to decide what to do with this. But here it is, finally! Let me know what you thought! Were you expecting something like this? At first I thought it was a bit strange for Draco to be acting this way, but then I thought about the war and how people treat him now, it would change him. That, together with the fact that Hermione is the first girl he's ever really cared about and it starts to make more sense. What do you think?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed this past week, I always love to hear what you think, get ideas, improve my writing.

I start work this coming week so I will be going back to posting on the weekends. I may move the posting date to Sunday now that my other story is finished and give myself Saturday to work on the chapter. If you happen to have a preference don't hesitate to tell me!

Thank you to all you amazing people for reading, following/favoriting, reviewing! I hope you have a great week!