Hermione Granger is scared. The nightmares are frequent and sleep is rare. Her relationship with Ron is not what she thought it was. Stuck in a circle of despair she is trying hard to regain the famed Gryffindor courage while maintaining appearance...
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~ Draco Malfoy
Draco Malfoy had always been a hard boy to find when he wanted to stay hidden. Serpents were carved from darkness and stealth was a quality that flowed in their cold-hearted veins. Even though the fallen Slytherin prince had features that could be spotted from Quidditch fields away, his ice blond hair reflecting all the sun his pale skin had never been painted with, he did stand out in the crowds of black-robed students milling in the great hall, when needed he could blend into the surrounded like the green moss that covered the walls of the corridors to the Slytherin common room, the moist air and humid atmosphere of being so close to the lake an ideal place for it to flourish, fooling many into thinking the corridors were painted emerald for the house of serpents.
And that's where the following afternoon found him, nestled in a corner of the library that housed rarely perused (understandably) books of Divination, his body molded into tattered, cushioned armchair, a pile of books placed carefully enough to cover his platinum locks, while his arm drew lazy circles onto the mahogany wood table, and his eyes darted ever so often at the slightest ruffle of pages, by a scattering of the odd senior students in more populated spots of the library.
He knew he would not be found. Except by her. For he knew inexplicably that the Mudblood would find him. He was becoming impatient. And his idle mind counted all the reasons this situation he found himself in was Merlin's twisted ballsack personified.
She was a Mudblood. He had arranged to meet with the Mudblood. He had helped the Mudblood now, on multiple occasions. She was the enemy.
The thing however that made Malfoy want to rip every single strand of silver-blond hair from his head and light it on fire was the fact that, undeniably his body reacted to her, that undeniably she had toppled the dominoes he had taken years to construct, shifting tectonic plates under his marble skin, cracked the still water facade he had successfully helmed even after the fall of Malfoy name, after his father in prison, after years of oppression. That, after all this, he needed to be very careful with a Mudblood because everytime they had met he had to convince himself late into the inky depths of the night, while nursing a bottle of firewhiskey that he only was doing this as part of the grand plan of destroying the enemy and fulfilling his role of being a faithful servant to the Dark Lord in the hopes that it would save his father, a man that couldn't care less about him.
All this, the danger, the struggle, the years of servitude and oppression, were hanging on him and his interaction with the lowest of the low, a Mudblood.
"Oh Merlin, please.."
A reel of words that had played in his mind endlessly since watching the petite shaken witch walk away.
His hand clenched on the armchair, blue veins threatening to pierce his pale fist, as Draco took deep breaths while his mind reeled in the after effects of the images it conquered of the doe-eyed witch moaning while it simultaneously battled its disgust for the Mudblood.
