healed (dramione)

6 : Hermione

Song for the Chapter : Snowed Under ~ Keane

Hermione's POV

"Hermione?"

I looked up. Harry was sitting beside me - how the heck did he get there so fast? "What are you doing?" I mumbled, my eyes straying on Draco across the hall. I turned back to Harry. Ugh, he had that pitying look on his face. I could sense a lecture coming.

"Listen, I know things between you and Ron aren't great right now," he began uneasily.

"Harry, I punched him in the face and we broke up. I'd say things were worse than that," I interrupted miserably, putting my face in my hands. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to cry...

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Anyway, things aren't...good. But Ron still wants to be friends." His face lit up and he smiled, as though this was some kind of dream offer for me. But I glared at him and stood up, swinging my bag over my shoulder like my confident, sassy inner monologue always wanted.

"Well, you can tell Ron that I don't still want to be friends with anybody who has more money than respect." I hesitated, then my gaze followed Harry's, towards the other end of the table, where Ron was sitting suspiciously close to Lavender Brown. "Oh, look," I added, in a hollow voice. "I guess he doesn't want to be anything, then."

"Hermione!" Harry called after me. I stopped dead and whipped around so fast I was worried I might smack him in the face with my bag.

"Harry, I really don't want to talk to you or Ron right now. I don't care what Ron does with his life or if he wants to be friends or not. Until he realises that he's being an absolute arse, I'm not speaking to him."

Harry stared at me, stunned, and I turned on my heel and walked away, wondering where the hell I was supposed to go now. Library, my instincts said. I walked the familiar path towards it and stepped inside, inhaling the intoxicating smell of old books and pages.

Except, that wasn't what I smelt. I frowned, my brow creased, and inhaled again. Yes, I could still smell the books. But there was another, stronger, more overpowering smell. And it was incredibly familiar. What the hell was i - crap. I knew exactly what it was. Or, more precisely, who it was.

"Malfoy?" I called out uncertainly. I could almost hear the smirk as he stepped out from behind the bookshelves, and I almost shuddered. Ever since this morning even the thought of him made me uncomfortable. I was such an idiot. 

"What gave me away?" He asked, his voice smooth. I rolled my eyes at him and stood my ground firmly, despite the goosebumps on my arm that I was determined not to let him see.

"I could sense your ego from the hallway," I lied, arching an eyebrow, which I was quite proud of doing. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking at books, Granger," he smirked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I sighed deeply. He could get away with insulting me, but if he insulted my books he could be sure I'd smack him into next week.

"Okay, very funny," I snarled. "What do you want?" The repetition of the question seemed to set Draco a little more on edge.

"I saw you and Potter having a lovely disagreement," he said placidly, tilting his head to one side. "So you and Weasley are definitely not friends?" I scoffed.

"Why do you care so much about my personal life?" I retorted sharply. "Just so you can spill all my secrets to Zabini and Parkinson?" Draco's pale cheeks flushed slightly, but he regained his posture and attitude in almost an instant.

"No need to get so edgy," he said, widening his eyes. "I came to ask you something."

Author's Note: Hi! What do you think Draco wants to ask? Votes and comments are appreciated, thank you for all your support :)