The Purist / DRAMIONE (COMPLETE)

The Goblet of Fire - First Meeting

Draco hurried from Transfiguration to the library. Professor McGonagall had given them plenty of homework, lecturing them on the significance of OWLs, which weren't even taken till fifth year anyway. He'd left Crabbe and Goyle in the transfiguration corridor ogling Millicent Bulstrode who, Draco supposed, they thought to be a princess. Sometimes he wondered why he hung with Crabbe and Goyle. They were dull, dim and disgusting. The smallest amount of courses they'd ever eaten was five. He often left the Great Hall having eaten barely anything for Crabbe to return after two hours clutching his stomach, and Goyle even later, having eaten until he'd thrown up ever cupcake, drumstick, rib and tart he'd eaten that day (which was a huge amount.)

Draco entered the library and made for his usual spot beside the window to find it occupied. A towering pile of books hid a certain bushy head from view but he knew at once it was her.

"Hello Granger," he sneered.

"Malfoy?" Hermione looked up annoyed. Shadows had already crowded the skin below her eyes which, due to her immense reading, were slightly unfocused.

"Rereading Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, Mudblood? God, what a bore! I remember finishing it thinking I knew no more than I had before I read it. Waffling should've never been an author. I met him once – droned on and on. Of course, Father pretended he was extremely keen on what the old man had to say, but he wasn't in the slightest." Draco blushed; he couldn't believe he was chatting to the Mudblood.

Hermione looked curious though. "You met him? You actually met Adalbert Waffling? He's one of my favourite authors, along with Emily Bronte of Wuthering Heights."

"Wuthering Heights? That prosaic novel about Heathcliff and his boring love life?" Draco was incredulous. "That was draining, honestly."

"You've read it?" Hermione questioned. "I mean, the people I've asked, they've never even read Oliver Twist, let alone Wuthering Heights."

Draco blushed again. "Get off my case, Mudblood. I only came here to do my transfiguration homework, not talk about Emily Bronte's worst piece of work. Get back to rereading Magical Theory."

Hermione looked affronted. "I wasn't rereading it; I had it out for a friend. I tend not to read things twice, it confuses the version of events."

"The version of events? What the hell are you talking about, Granger?" Draco asked, confused. "No need to boast about your memorising talents. I say, memorising talents... you have a photographic memory!" He accused.

Hermione stiffened. "I prefer the term eidetic." She'd put down her pen now. "I can't help it. It's just, if someone asks me something I know, I always remember it."

Draco snorted. "You just know? How brilliant!" Draco's tone was sarcastic. "Now you can be even more of a precocious know-it-all!" He snarled. "You can cheat by using your trait to enhance your progress, all through your life. How is that fair?"

Hermione looked upset. "I don't cheat," she counteracted earnestly. Her voice was softer. "People will do whatever they can to further themselves in life. That is a trait of humans. Why can't I? You use your iconic pureblood status to get ahead of me, show you're better than me, but that's wrong. Your theory is wrong. We're all equal. You, Malfoy, are arrogant and selfish. I would hate to be on your level. You think you're so perfect," she spat. "I think I'll find someone less full of themselves to talk to."

She got up in a huff, lifted her pile of books, leaving one behind, and went to sit with Hannah Abbott and Padma Patil who, alerted to her presence by her raised tones, made a space for her. Both glared at Draco as Hermione sat down and then turned to speak to her in encouraging tones. Draco picked up the remaining book, hearing Hermione's voice in his head.

Think you're so perfect... You're arrogant, selfish... Hate to be on your level...

Draco saw the title of the book and slammed it back down. Dust flew into the air, and he received a furious glare from Madame Pince. Quailing under it, he sat down meekly and held his head in his hands. Pictures and memories flooded through his head, and Draco could feel a headache coming. He whispered something so quietly that even Pansy Parkinson, lurking behind a bookshelf in an attempt to spy on him, couldn't hear a word.

"I don't think I'm perfect."

Purity is Permanent by P. U. R. Everard lay face down, and Draco, unable to bear it any longer, stormed out. Pansy, though curious, stored the incident in the depths of her mind and went off to spy on Blaise instead.