-O-

Quidditch turned out not to be the distraction that Draco had hoped for. The second match of the year was by far the worst for him- picking a fight with Longbottom and Weasley and then losing that fight would have been fairly horrendous all on its own. But to do it all just feet away from Hermione had been highly embarrassing. This was made even worse than that by the fact that during the first match between their two houses, he spent more time watching her than watching the match.

It was for that reason that he witnessed the first of many surprises from Hermione. When she thought no one was watching, she had snuck away from her friends and snuck into a different section with several of the professors and prefects seated in it. She'd set Professor Snape's robes on fire. It was with complete disbelief that Draco watched as the flames licked higher, finally being put out by Quirrell and Snape himself. What the hell was that? he wondered. Even the anger over losing the match didn't penetrate the fog of his brain. Perhaps she really did belong in Slytherin, he thought.

As the Gryffindors celebrated with euphoria and the Slytherins argued their case for a rematch, Draco slipped away from the crowd on the pitch, noticing a certain bushy-haired someone hurrying off the with Scarface and the weasel in tow. He followed at a distance, not wanting to be seen as the trio climbed the steps to Hagrid's hut. Scampering down the hill once they were inside, he hurried round back and pressed himself against the wall near the open window. He had to know what she was thinking, but to his surprise the topic wasn't about the crazy quidditch match or even the fire that Hermione had conjured. It was about something being guarded in the school and someone named Nicholas Flamel.

As a boy who had spent time in Paris, had taken wizarding history lessons, and who spoke fairly fluent French, Draco had heard the name of Flamel. He remembered as a nine or ten year old reading a bit about him in an old book, but didn't recall much other than his name. He could tell from watching Hermione at dinner, however, that she was intrigued by the mystery of the identity of this Flamel.

As days went on, she seemed more and more fixated, spending hours in the library searching through biographies, nothing to do with her actual class work. Surely she would find it soon and move on, Draco thought. But as the Christmas holidays approached, she seemed to be still at a loss.

He had messaged his mother back home two weeks before, asking for their library's version of One Thousand and One Notable Names in Magical History. Not that he cared about this little quest, of course. It was for his own reading, he assured himself. Colwin had arrived with the giant tome strapped to his ankle, angrily flapping his wings at Draco as if to ask why he had needed such a heavy book. Draco read the lengthy passage about Flamel, noting the discussion of the philosopher's stone. Was this what had gotten them so fixated? What would three kids want with a philosopher's stone? Sure, it would be great to live forever, he supposed, but it still seemed like a strange and random, not to mention rare and possibly fictional artifact to want.

Still, it grated at his nerves to see her so flustered. The night before the Christmas holidays, Draco watched her tear through about 20 books in the library, flipping pages so fast it appeared that her copper eyes were a blur. He could no longer stand it.

He moved to the row of the stacks she was in, trailing his fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf next to the one at which she was staring intently.

"Granger, tell me you are not late finishing your History of Magic essay?" He tsked, looking sidelong at her. In this dim light, her hair seemed to absorb the tiny flickers of torch light and reflect them back in small curves. Draco found himself wondering if her hair was soft to the touch or coarse. He'd bet soft.

"For your information, I am searching for a notable wizard, just for my own knowledge. I turned that essay in weeks ago."

"Oh. A notable wizard? Perhaps this book then." Draco reached up on the shelf to pull down the library's copy of the very book his owl had brought him. He knew she would have gotten there eventually, but the library was closing very soon, and she was leaving for the holiday tomorrow, and it seemed important to her.

"No I think I've already looked in that one, so I don't think-" but she broke off, looking more closely at the cover, reading the title. Then she accepted the book graciously, tilting her head to the side in a contemplative way. "Thank you, I suppose. I will take a look at it along with these." She placed the book at this top of a short stack on a nearby table, stacking another five books on top of it and starting to gather them in her arms. But before she picked them up, she turned to him, as though remembering something.

"Oh, I have-" she reached into the cuff of her sleeve, pulling out a familiar white square of fabric, the tiny green initials DM barely visible in the torch light. She held it out to him with a half smile, looking down with suddenly pink cheeks.

"You keep it," he said, holding up his hand to stop her as she reached out with it. The tips of his fingers grazed her knuckles for just a moment and a jolt of static electricity traveled up his arm and into his shoulder. His breath had caught in his throat when she'd taken out the handkerchief. It had been almost 2 months. Had she carried it around all that time, waiting to have the chance to return it?

"You never know when you might need one, right?" he asked. His own cheeks had started burning a soft shade of pink as well. He coughed slightly, then raised his eyes quickly to see her eyes dash away just as they met his. On the whole, it appeared that she was just as uncomfortable as he was, and for that small commonality, he was grateful.

-O-