The Internal Devices

Chapter 12

Hermione woke with a horrible crick in her neck and checked the time. 5:28 a.m. She groaned and blindly reached over to her bedside table. It took a few tries, but she located her wand and the small paperback and drew them into the warmth of her quilt. Ginny's steady breathing was the only sound in the darkened room. Hermione pulled her bed hangings shut and cast lumos to light the pages in front of her. Last night, she nicked the copy of Pride and Prejudice from Malfoy's school bag before leaving. With his reading pace, he had surely finished it by then and she'd been craving a reread.

She flipped through to her favorite part. There really was no equivalent to Mr. Darcy. Jane came up with the most charming romantic confessions. All her life, Hermione had dreamed of finding someone willing to chase after her. Someone who admired her brain and loved her soul. The depth of these literary romances was what she was lacking, and Ron was never going to fill that void inside her. Seriously, the boy couldn't even turn in his homework; it was a blessing their relationship had fizzled out on its own.

An incessant itching pulled her out of her peaceful reading and her attention flitted to her forearm. No need to pull up her sleeve, she already knew what would be there. A new scar settled over the old. It was a jagged line, courtesy of her nails, crossing through the eight letters. She couldn't help but be a little pleased with the results even though she was ashamed at the same time. Madam Pomfrey had made her two balms to apply daily–one to help with the itching and another to lessen any scarring from her claw marks. She only used one of them. The new scars could stay. After applying a generous amount of the former, she dragged herself out of bed and quickly dressed in jeans and a jumper. It was Saturday, but she needed to head to the library to catch up on some assignments. Working in the lab had taken most of her time and she didn't want to fall behind in her classes; Mcgonagall was sure to complain if she missed any more due dates.

The walk to the library was relatively undisturbed. Every few turns she would say good morning to a portrait; by now they all seemed to know her. Before she reached the library doors, a painting of a woman drinking a goblet of wine beckoned for her to come over.

"Good morning," Hermione said pleasantly. The woman leaned her face over, eyes wide. "Hermione dear, how wonderful to see you!" She slurred a bit as she continued, "there's someone waiting for you in your normal spot."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed doubtfully, "Surely not, this early in the morning?" The woman nodded energetically. "Oh yes! She's been there for half an hour already."

She? Hermione had no idea what female would be waiting for her if Ginny was snoring softly upstairs. She thanked the portrait anyway and quickened her pace. Sure enough, a head of dark flowing hair faced away from Hermione's approaching figure, lithe fingers tapping on the desk. As she neared the young girl, she recognized the student as Pansy Parkinson. A thin emerald headband rested in her flowing locks, keeping the strands out of her face. The sharp nails were painted a matching green, which was hardly surprising. Of course, Parkinson would show up to the library on a weekend looking fabulous. Hermione self-consciously tugged at her fraying jumper and cleared her throat.

Pansy turned and slowly ran her gaze over Hermione, face impassive. At the end of her once-over, the witch's mouth twitched upwards and she jerked her head to invite Hermione to take the seat across from her. For a long moment, the two witches simply stared at each other. Hermione had no idea what to say. She cleared her throat.

"Erm...Margot told me you were waiting here for me?"

"Who?"

Hermione immediately cringed. Of all the things she could have said, she mentioned her conversation with the drunk portrait. Well done. Now Parkinson was going to think she was even weirder than she already did.