The Internal Devices

Chapter 2

"Miss Granger, are you paying attention?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open. Lately, staying focused in classes had proven to be a struggle. Instead of drooling over every word and itching to prove her knowledge, she found classes tedious and her mind wandering.

"So sorry, Professor. I was only trying to envision the inner mechanisms of the Fidelius Charm."

Professor Flitwick humphed in approval. "Very well. Could you please explain to the class a brief history of the charm?"

"Yes, Professor." Hermione hastily verbalized the charm's background and even made mention of the Potter's use of it in the First Wizarding War, as well as Dumbledore's in the Second Wizarding War. Flitwick thanked her, and she returned to her thoughts.

It had been four days of sleepless nights for Hermione, but surprisingly it wasn't due to nightmares. It was curiosity. She couldn't get the image of that ethereal boy with the violin out of her head. It haunted her to the point of madness. She returned to that dark classroom each night, hoping to hear a melody pouring out, or to glimpse the silhouette of a curly-headed boy, but the corridors were empty. She wandered longer and longer each night, but to no avail. Just last night, she was so distracted she had almost been caught by Filch. How embarrassing.

Hermione sighed and surveyed the classroom. Her classmates didn't seem to struggle in the ways she did. They whispered amongst themselves, friendships stronger from the trials faced together these past few years. The amazing thing was the intermingling between houses. For the first time in her schooling, Hermione looked around her and witnessed Ravenclaws sitting with Gryffindors. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. So much warmth and progress surrounded her, yet Hermione still felt chilled. Instead of laughing with the classmates around her, Hermione saw the seats of those that had fallen. An empty chair that should have held Cedric Diggory. Another where Lavender Brown used to sit. The numbness spread over Hermione's chest until it was difficult to breathe. She turned back towards the front and locked eyes with a boy along the far wall.

Clear, grey eyes met hers. She couldn't seem to look away. He did not smile. Neither did she. Finally, Malfoy dipped his chin just a centimeter and broke contact, turning away after what felt like minutes. Hermione continued staring at Malfoy as he turned to Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, saying something that made them fight to stifle their laughs. A smirk was plastered on his porcelain face, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. He idly picked at the hem of his shirt.

Suddenly, the room came to life as students grabbed their belongings and headed to the Great Hall for the mid-afternoon meal. Professor Flitwick must have ended their lessons while Hermione was distracted. She hastily bent down to grab her school bag. When she stood up, she almost knocked her head against a bony chin and dropped her books.

"Oh! I'm so sorry–" Her eyes widened as she realized it was Malfoy who stood so close to her. She ducked down and grabbed her books.

"We must stop meeting like this, Granger," Malfoy purred. He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. Somehow he didn't appear clumsy when he did it, as Ron would with his lanky form. For some reason, this detail infuriated Hermione. She glared at him.

"Get out of my way, will you? Don't you have better places to be than perpetually standing in my way?" She practically growled at him. He paid her no mind, and deftly snatched one of the books out of her hands.

"Ahhh, reading some Dickens, are we? What a surprise. She only reads Muggle books."

Hermione wrenched the book out of his hands. "I do not only read Muggle books. And how would you know Dickens was a Muggle author if you yourself hadn't read it?" Prat. What an absolute arse.

He only chuckled and stuffed a piece of paper in her hands. "I know this might come as a surprise to you, Granger, but I'm not standing in close proximity to you by choice. Madam Pomfrey asked me to pass you a note for Madam Pince allowing you access to the Restricted Section for some additional reading. Honestly, do you have to be such a swot?"

Hermione's cheeks burned and she pushed past him. Idiot. He was such an idiot, and not worth a moment of her time. What was worth her time was visiting the library to check out a restricted book. She needed to do some reading for a side research project she was working on with Madam Pomfrey. They were looking into developing countercurses for the more nasty spells created by Death Eaters during the war. There were countless witches and wizards still suffering from the magical side-effects of being hexed by unknown curses, so Hermione spent some of her free time in the hospital ward with Madam Pomfrey experimenting. She knew her research would likely be discarded due to her age and 'inexperience', but at least it gave Hermione some sense of purpose. She picked up speed as she continued stomping through the corridors.

"Do ruin the flooring on your way out, Granger. Very sophisticated. Classy, even." Hermione screeched to a halt and whipped around, wand out.

"I will hex you, Malfoy. Don't think I won't. Now leave me be." The insolent boy had followed her all through the school and she hadn't even heard him. Either he was extremely stealthy or she was so fed up with his ridiculous insults that her senses had been dulled. The latter was quite an unsettling thought. Hermione flared her nostrils.

"You would think being a war hero would make you lighten up a bit," he drawled. Malfoy prowled closer, giving Hermione the distinct impression of being stalked by a predator. Her wand hand twitched subconsciously.

"Ouch! What the hell, Granger!"

Hermione loosened a breath and chuckled. She had sent a nonverbal pinching hex his way. His discomfort was satisfactory, she supposed. She opened her mouth to retort, but someone beat her to it.

"Draco, mate, do you always have to be so disagreeable?" Hermione whipped around and gasped. Standing before her was her apparition. The boy she had started thinking was a dream. The lithe but mournful musician. The brown-haired wizard who she had felt so connected to in just a few minutes. She watched his eyes widen a fraction and his mouth tugged upward in recognition. So he wasn't a fantasy her sleep-deprived and grief-stricken mind had conjured. Interesting. For once, the Brightest Witch of the Age was speechless. He was just as lovely in the daylight as he was in the moon-filled classroom. More so.

"Theodore," she whispered. He smiled in acknowledgment.

"Hello, Hermione Granger."

She blinked. "How...how do you know my name?"

Malfoy choked on a laugh, and she glared at him.

"Oh, come on, Granger. You can't be serious. Everyone knows who you are, Miss Golden Girl." Hermione looked back at Theodore, and he shrugged.

"It's true. After this past year, you're understandably famous. Beyond that, though, I know you from being the smartest witch in our entire class."

Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Come on, Theo. Don't encourage her. She already has an overly large head." Theo grinned and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "You'll have to excuse my friend from his rudeness. He was, after all, raised in the most posh and privileged household. I'm afraid he has no understanding of civilized manners." Malfoy scowled but didn't seem too offended by the comment, as if it were a regular prodding from the other boy.

Friend. Malfoy had a friend? Hermione gaped at Theodore. This was certainly not what she was expecting from this interaction. She had no idea how to respond.

"Erm," she mumbled, turning for the library door, "well great to meet you formally, Theo. I suppose I shall see you around."

"I certainly hope so, Hermione." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy elbow Theo good-naturedly in the ribs, but all she could feel was the thrill when Theo had said her name. Hermione. Like it was a new melody he was trying out. Such a stark comparison to the cold way Malfoy always ground out her surname, as if it were an insult.

Hermione shook herself and slid into the library. She needed to bury herself in a preferably dense and thorough tome. There was nothing quite like research to dull all other thoughts, especially those of a certain set of warm brown eyes, and a certain set of cool grey ones.

These Slytherin boys were going to be the death of her.