The Right Thing To Do

Chapter 18

It was the first Saturday after classes resumed, and Hermione's brain needed a break. The Christmas holidays were relaxing enough, but getting used to the Time-Turner again after that break was taxing. That and the boys were not speaking to her. Again.

Between Scabbers and the Firebolt, neither Ron nor Harry felt very inclined to spend much time with her. That was fine. Telling Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt was the right thing to do.

She'd slept in past breakfast, and finding no one waiting for her in the common room, she headed to the library. There was a fiction book that she read at least once every six months to relax or to stimulate her tired mind. Today would be a wonderful day to get lost in it.

She waved to Madam Pince - who did not wave back - and headed to the fiction stacks, looking for the second shelf from the bottom, left side, twelve stacks back. She scanned the second shelf for the green and gold spine. It was not there. She looked to see if some idiot had replaced it incorrectly, but it was not found anywhere.

She approached Madam Pince and asked if the book had been checked out, and after being hushed, Pince told her that it was not.

Hermione frowned. So, someone was currently reading it in the library. She looked about. It was the kind of book that very few people would find entertaining. It had no pictures. Hermione smiled to herself. She had suggested that particular book to several people whenever they tried asking the bookworm for a book recommendation. Not Parvati, not Justin, nor a strange girl named Luna had found the book interesting enough. She had caught Penelope Clearwater with the book one Wednesday evening in the library, and after gushing about it, asking Penelope who her favorite character was, did she laugh at this part, etc., Penelope let her know that she in fact "couldn't really get into it" and was returning it just then.

Perhaps the person who had it had grown bored with it and left it off the shelf. She searched the tables and happened upon her favorite table, occupied by Draco Malfoy, reading a book with a green and gold spine.

Hermione sighed. Life wasn't fair.

Her favorite table. Her favorite book. Her least favorite boy.

She took a seat at a neighboring table and glared at him, hoping maybe he would feel her hateful gaze and do the honorable thing. Leave.

She pulled a book off the shelf to look busy and took out her notebook and quill. She watched as Malfoy flipped a page and his eyebrows shot up.

Damn him. He was actually interested in the book. Her book. She strained her neck a bit to figure out what chapter he was on. It looked like he was about a quarter of the way in, and Hermione figured that he would be getting to the part where the prince is transfigured into a dog. The reactions of the rest of the characters were so absurd and the writing was so precise that it was the funniest two pages Hermione had ever remembered reading in her life.

She glared at Malfoy. He wouldn't find it funny. He didn't deserve this book. The main character was a young woman who lived in the Muggle world and was pulled into a different realm. How would he possibly connect?

She huffed. He would put it down soon. He wouldn't laugh as she did, covering her mouth, giggles bubbling from her as the situation worsened. He couldn't—

He smiled. She watched the grin crack his lips apart, showing his teeth. He caught himself and pressed his lips together. Hermione frowned. Perhaps he was laughing at how awful he thought the writing was, making fun of the author in his head.