Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

4 third year: fourth letter

Dear Granger,

Who in Merlin's name is this bloody git named Cinderella?

Hermione was scribbling away on her notes, sitting on a chair beside the window. She was wearing a horrendous yellow sweater and a long brown skirt that reached below her knees and she was wearing olive green socks. Would it kill her to show just a little bit of leg? Just a flash of style?

Just to justify why his eyes always seemed to find their way back to the same bushy set of hair and the stubborn, defiant brown eyes.

She's too simple. Too plain. Too drab. Not one bit unique.

Yet here he is in his free time after lunch on a particularly gray Saturday afternoon perfectly swell on sitting two tables away, one bookshelf apart- a distance that he deemed proper- from the window seat that she occupied. It seemed like a good idea, just sitting and watching Hermione's common Muggle ways.

In fact he chose this particular time because he knows Crabbe and Goyle will be taking their afternoon nap and Saint Potter and Weasel are not in talking terms with Hermione because rumor has it that she's turning into a crank because she's taking more classes than anyone. The whole curriculum apparently.

You and your mad muggle tales. This is madness. A commoner- an orphan peasant just breaking the ranks and marrying a royal. Happily ever after? A bloody scandal more like. This is preposterous! No wonder your kind are rebellious, you have been taught to be social climbing aberrations upon childhood.

Rule breakers, you lot.

Draco nursed his arm and acted like he just winced from pain while writing even though there is no audience. Just empty, shabby looking chairs and tables (compared to the ones in Malfoy Manor) and ancient books on dusty, moldy bookshelves. He had his unbroken arm on a sling, the wound inflicted by that blasted hippogriff had healed last week but he enjoyed stomping around like a tragic war casualty. He enjoyed being fawned over by the Slytherin girls.

If only there was one more female to join the fawning...

His gray eyes travelled all the way to the corner of the library again, the piles of books around the fluffy maned, basic dressed excuse for a girl. The piles of books are so tall that she had settled them on a seat (that Draco was tempted at first to take) in front of her. While floating notes and journals surrounded her, flipping their pages by themselves. She yawned slightly as a breeze entered the room but she still didn't close the window. Gryffindors and their love of the light. There was no sun for Merlin's sakes!

Draco shook his head at how ridiculous she is.

Outrageous.

Hopeless.

For a moment he was enchanted by how the ink danced all over the page of the muggle fairytale book that he nicked from a Slytherin half-blood taking Muggle Studies. The book is conjuring a sketch of a girl in rags and then with a whirl the rags turned into the most bourgeois looking dress. He sneered as the ink danced over and over again, magic is simply not that simple. There are no fairy godmothers to save your skin in the last minute and a kiss won't change your fate.

It started raining hard.

It was as if the clouds just suddenly let fall their burden. Draco's eyes instantly latched on Granger. She was out cold, mass of curls spilled all over her journals and if he didn't run up to her this instant and closed the window, she and a weeks worth of homework would be soaked and ruined. Without hesitation he ran up and closed it, it was heavy and it required two arms to pull it back. He forgot that his arm was in a sling on purpose. He let out a sigh of relief when the window finally closed on its own accord. The rain continued tapping on the window.