Lost

"Alright, say it again, slowly," Dean said, biting back a laugh. Hermione rolled her eyes above her book as Ron slumped back next to her, his dinner plate rattling on the table. He had this bewildered and horrified look on his face. He groaned, and Harry suppressed a grin.

"I said, I can't believe Pansy Parkinson was hitting on me in Potions!" 

Ginny, sitting across from Hermione, snorted. "Are you still on about that?"

"Don't encourage him," Hermione said dryly, looking up from her book. "I've had quite enough of Slytherins for a whole week."

Harry leaned forward, ignoring her. "Tell us again what she said, exactly?"

Ron waved a hand vaguely. "It wasn't just what she said, it was how she said it. Kept leaning in, twirling her wand in her fingers, all 'Oh Weasley, you're so good at Potions--'"

"'Oh Weasley'?" Dean teased.

"'Good at Potions'?" Hermione threw in and received a glare.

"That's what she said, and then, 'Maybe you could tutor me sometime,'" Ron shuddered, "Then she touched my arm. My arm Hermione!"

She rolled her eyes again. "You act like she set you on fire."

"She might as well have!" he spluttered. "It was Pansy Parkinson!"

Dean released an outright laugh. "Maybe she's had a change of heart. Maybe she's always had a thing for you."

Ginny made a disgusted noise. "If she tries to snog you, I'm setting her robes on fire."

Ron pointed at his sister. "Thank you!"

Harry chuckled, "To be fair, she was being pretty obvious about it. I could see her from the other side of the class, all flirt like."

Dean shook his head. "This is too good. I mean, come on, Ron. Pansy Parkinson? The same Pansy who used to call you a 'poverty-stricken disgrace to Hogwarts'?"

Ron groaned. "You see why I'm suffering?"

Ginny smirked. "Well, she does have a type. She spent years fawning over Malfoy, and he's about as pale and freckle-free as a corpse. Maybe she's trying out a new look."

Hermione suddenly stopped reading the line in her book and instead pictured Malfoy's skin. It was as if he banished sunlight from his entity--skin so moon drunk and clean and--

"Yeah, well, she can try it out somewhere very far away from me." Ron scowled. 

Hermione stood, her interest in the conversation waning. Judging by the light in the windows of the Great Hall, it was time to read in the library, where peace and privacy whispered her name. They'd been chatting at this table for hours.

"Honestly, you're acting like you were just propositioned by a Dementor," she said, packing her things away. 

Ron gaped at her. "Don't you care? Aren't you at least a bit weirded out by this?"

She gave him a sweet, innocent look. "Oh, no. I think it's hilarious." She then turned on her heel and whisked away, their voices growing muffled as she ventured to the library.

It was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of quills and the soft rustling of turning pages. The familiar scent of parchment, ink, and old magic wrapped around Hermione like a warm embrace. The last golden light of the evening cast soft shadows across the rows of bookshelves through the windows. Madam Pince was at her usual spot, eyeing students with a sharp gaze, but today, even she seemed in an agreeable mood. 

Hermione made her way to her favorite table in the back corner, where the light was just right and the noise almost nonexistent. She set down her bag, ran a hand over the smooth wooden surface, and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. She had come for research--of course, she always had a reason--but the simple act of being here, surrounded by knowledge, was a joy in itself. Selecting a few promising volumes from the shelves, she let her fingers trail over their spines, appreciating the history contained within. 

Once settled, she lost herself in the books. The hours slipped away as she scribbled notes in her neat, precise handwriting, occasionally tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Outside, the sky deepened to dusky lavender, but inside, the warm glow of enchanted lamps kept her little world illuminated. 

At one point, a house-elf quietly appeared with a cup of tea--something the library had begun offering in the late afternoons. Hermione hesitantly took the cup, biting back her urge to convince them that they deserve rights, and thanked them with a forced smile. She took a sip, savoring the gentle warmth as she turned a page. 

The peace continued, the softness of the lights pulling Hermione's drowsiness forward. She felt her eyelids grow heavy until something shifted--the air moved and smelled appetizing. Delicious, really. Pine, flora, and an afterthought of bright cinnamon... She looked up into the neutral fixation of Malfoy. He looked...relaxed? His shoulders, still broad and dominant, were softened. His hair was clean and loose, falling and ever so slightly curling toward the ends. His cheeks had a slight flush, the same that Hermione would see on Ron and Harry at the Three Broomsticks. They locked eyes and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

"Granger." He straightened up and sighed, looking at her below his white eyelashes. Hermione had to admit, under enchanted lamps and candlelight, he looked rather ethereal. Of course, she still hated him. "I've already got the potion ingredients. I begin brewing tomorrow in his office." 

She blankly stared at him, trying to figure out what was off about him... Waiting for more, she raised her eyebrows with a bit more attitude than she'd meant. His smirk disappeared and was replaced with irritation.

"This was a waste of my time." He shifted to stand, and she shut her book forcefully. 

"Why Veritaserum? It's incredibly difficult, takes far too much attention, and it's use is somewhat unethical!"

"Spare me the nagging, Granger, I'd be happy to go back to Hogsmeade than be here with you ranting about academic ethics." He's been drinking.

"Oh yes, righteous, royal Malfoy, only ever getting whatever he wants by a fabricated superiority complex. It's my grade too. I'm not letting it get affected by a hungover idiot." 

"Ah, there it is." The corners of his mouth cracked up just a bit, his eyes sparking. "The ever-reliable Granger hostility. You know, you'd be almost tolerable if you weren't such an insufferable pain in the arse." 

"Look, I was having a pleasant--"

"What were you wearing earlier?" 

Hermione paused, caught off guard. His expression changed so quickly, and he was unrecognizable in the moment. He had asked her a...question. Normally. Without any emotion but curiosity. She felt a raw wave of levelness, as if they could see at eye level, as if he was speaking to her like an equal human. 

"What?" She scrunched her face at her confusion. 

"Those things you put on your ears, they made you look deranged by the way--"

"Oh, my Walkman?" She leaned to the side and pulled out her device from her pocket. Malfoy stared at it intently, like it was a hideous work of art that he was trying to make sense of. 

"Granger, what the hell is that?" 

She started messing with some buttons, opening the case and taking out the CD. She barely looked up, answering, "It's called a Walkman."

"A what?" 

She sighed, unimpressed with his ignorance. "A Walkman. It's a Muggle device that plays music."

Malfoy's expression twisted into something between skepticism and disdain. He didn't need to speak, she could hear the criticism from his face. 

"It plays cassette tapes--small reels of recorded sound. You wear these," she held up her headphones, "and listen privately. It's quite clever."

He continued eyeing it warily. "And you're telling me that thing produces music? Without magic?"

"Obviously." She gave him a smug look, one he didn't appreciate, and offered him the headphones. He hissed away. 

"Get that Muggle abomination away from me. Try that again and I'll have it sent to Feldcroft in twenty pieces." 

Hermione rolled her eyes and put it under the table, secretly slipping it into his bag with a hidden smirk. She knew she may never see it again, but she could always get another one when she goes home for the summer. She wished she could see his mortified expression upon realizing he was in possession of her own Muggle artifact. 

"Look, I can't deny, I would be ecstatic to get experience brewing Veritaserum. I've personally never made it before, but saying that I have would add to the accomplishment--"

"Do you ever stop spouting?"

"However, in case you've forgotten, assuming all laws just suddenly stop applying, we have to test our own potions. That's a violation of my privacy and potential for misuse. I will not be tested with someone so..." Hermione tried to think of a better word, but all she could come up with was, "...awful." It was Malfoy's turn to roll his eyes.

"Oh please, 'fraid I might find out what color your underwear is? Who you go on touching yourself to? Like I'm interested, Granger. This is an academic conquest. I wouldn't concern myself with a woman of your distinction." Heat flushed her face with anger as he stood, a prideful smirk growing on his face. She bore into him with her glare, her hands clenching into fists.

"How's your hand? Still healing, like everyone else's would've? Or do you have some inherited superpower alongside Mommy and Daddy's money?" 

He moved faster than she could see--she smelled him before she met his cool, grey eyes. He had grasped the back of her chair and the table, trapping her against the wall under him. Too close. He had leaned in, eyes full of judgement and anger, invading her space with ease and dominance. He was close enough that she could see the corners of his lips tug upward, the way his hair fell slightly out of place from its usual pristine state. His smell was overwhelming, and she could feel heat radiating from him.

"Get out of my face," she spat, looking up from beneath her furrowed brows. 
"You're ignorant, you know nothing of our world and presume to think you're so righteous."

"And yet, you still find the time to hover over me like some pale--" she glanced over him, "--overgrown vulture."

His smirk faltered as his jaw twitched. "Clever."

"Always."

For a moment, neither of them moved. She expected him to hurl an insult, sneer, accuse her of something vile, maybe even snap. Instead, he just stared at her, and she stared at him, entirely unimpressed. Her confidence felt as solid as the books surrounding them. Something twitched in his eye, a passing look of discomfort touching his face. She could tell he felt unsettled, like he didn't get what he was wanting. With a quiet scoff, he straightened, stepping back as if the interaction had bored him. 

"I'm brewing Veritaserum with or without you. Preferably without, but I'll play Slughorn's ridiculous game. If you show up, I expect you'll stay out of my way and shut up. By all means, get a new partner."

He tucked his hands in his pockets, returning to his stiff self, and strode away, leaving Hermione in what felt like a darker, cold prison.