Inverse

Winter

Malfoy strode over to his usual table by the large window and sat, cracking the books open with a quiet sigh. Hermione didn't know if she wanted to cry or scream in joy. Draco Malfoy was reading books on muggles. The sky was falling.

She continued to observe him for the next hour, catching every shift in his expression, or the tightly concealed emotion in his eyes. What exactly was he reading anyway? Hermione had no desire to interrupt him, but curiosity was pushing her towards the edge.

His eyebrows suddenly furrowed deeply, and he shot up from his chair, leaving his finger between the pages before the shutting the book. Hermione jumped back instinctively, wondering what had gotten into him. He bolted from the table and left. Curious, she followed him silently, making sure to leave a good distance between them. He cut a few corners and came to sudden stop, gazing at an empty table. There was clear disappointment in his eyes as if he had expected something to be there. She followed his line of sight and nearly choked when she realized he was staring at the table she usually sat in.

She breathed.

It's just a coincidence.

He just couldn't have known. She never saw him in the library other than during his free periods, so there was simply no way he knew which table she constantly sat in.

Malfoy approached the table slowly. He seemed incredibly hesitant and glanced around the area as if he hadn't given up his spontaneous search. His fingers trailed over the wood of the desk and eyed the cushy red chair with distaste.

It was impossible. If she told herself Malfoy knew that was the table she always sat in, it meant he had gone there to look for her.

She furiously shook her head. That was absurd. There was no way he was looking for her, and there was no way he knew she sat there usually.

But it was a slim possibility, very small, but still possible.

Her instincts were screaming that she was correct, but her logical side tried to tell her otherwise.

In the end, she decided to simply go for it—her curiosity was overwhelming her logical side, and she desperately wanted to know what he wanted to say, or why he was there. Besides, there wasn't really anything to lose was there?

Deciding to head back to Malfoy's table instead, she silently released the charm and sneaked off before he decided to stop searching for her—or whatever he was looking for.

She sat down at the opposite side of the table and glanced at the other two books Malfoy had picked. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read the spines of Muggle Culture and Lifestyle without Magic, and Magical Theory of Muggle-borns. Hermione had never bothered to read the books herself—seeing as there was no point—but she couldn't stop her heart from pounding against her chest. How did the magical community perceive muggles anyway? What if these books were the reason why so many witches and wizards misunderstood them and held onto their prejudices to the bitter end?

She was pulled away from her musings when she heard impatient footsteps approach her. Hermione held her breath and kept her head down, opening the second book on magical theory. The footsteps came to a sudden halt, and she barely caught the sound of a sharp breath being taken.

For a second, she thought she had been mistaken, but the assumption was trashed the next moment.

"Granger."

Biting down her smile, she turned her head sharply as if she was surprised. Malfoy was standing far end of the section, book still in his hand, and was looking at her as if she had died and came back to life.

"Malfoy?" she slightly frowned. "What are you doing here?"

The strange look disappeared the next second, replaced by his usual cold gaze.