Restricted

13

Hermione didn't sleep.

Instead she sat up writing a letter to Harry that she knew she'd never up sending. But it was nice to get it out at least. She wrote about Malfoy, about her continuing longing to slice her wrists, about nearly freezing to death by the black lake. About how she was falling apart, and nobody seemed to notice apart from Malfoy who appeared to enjoy it. Revelled in it in fact, adored watching her fall apart. So he could pick up the pieces. His mess. His dirty mud blood. Her mistake.

She signed it and all, but instead of running to the owlery she ripped it into little pieces and cried. She was so lonely and it burned away at her soul, not knowing where she belonged anymore.

In the morning with puffy eyes and hollowed cheeks, she followed Ginny around like a lost puppy and they practised spells in the corridors.
Something to shut her up since she kept going on about how unprepared Hermione was for war. Her spell work was perfection, of course, but she tended to block nasty spells rather than throw some of her own so a little practise wouldn't do any harm.

She looked out for Malfoy all day, but she never really tended to see him much during the days in school. Once in sixth year she'd caught him apparating in the corridor and she presumed he used that to get around, not having much emphasis for school rules. Maybe he'd return to the manor perhaps, and do whatever else Draco Malfoy did?

As much as she felt like she knew him, she really really didn't. Truly his whole life was a mystery to her and despite Lucius Malfoy being constantly shown in news or pictures beside Voldemort, Draco never seemed to be stood beside him. If he ever was beside his father, it was never proudly. Despite how he'd show off about his lifestyle of money and riches. As for his mother, Hermione had never heard him speak much about her, nor did she know if she was a Deatheater too— never having much involvement with them. These were questions she could never ask though. Getting involved with Malfoy was a bad path to take and one she had to keep reminding herself of.

But still, she had no intention of giving up the late library sessions. It was one of the only things keeping her going.

~

"Malfoy?"

He didn't look up, focussed and rubbing at his brow. He cleared some space for her to sit and tried to stop his eyes from wondering to look as she sat down.

"Granger."

His voice was then shaking a little, because he'd just looked up and realised what she was wearing. He gulped and rubbed at his chin.

"Dressed for the occasion?" He pondered lightly, evaluating her and sliding the ink quill into the edge of his mouth.

She knew exactly what he was referring too, when she'd picked her tightest thin red jumper this evening she was certainly doing it for effect.

"I told you. Red is my house colour. I can leave if it's too distracting." A smile crept upon her lips, "I have something similar in green."

He shook his head slowly and bit his lip to stop his mouth from gaping open, because the material was plastered against her skin and he could see every delicate curve or indent.

Hermione spread some books across the table as Draco looked down and muttered, "Reds fine."

Then he turned his page sharply. "Like I said though, not listening to me is something you'll be likely to regret."

Hermione smiled to herself and opened the first book on creature blood, circling words of significance. She was determined to find the first ingredient in their potion.