Draco hurried past the rows of bookshelves, searching for Hermione. He thought he had caught a glimpse of her slender figure as he entered the library.
He had something for her.
Mr Slughorn's Felix Felicis, after six months of settling, was finally ready. He had sent two small vials to Draco by owl as thanks for the several boxes of fine crystallised pineapple Draco had given him for Christmas.
"I have not had candied pineapple from the Amazon river basin in Brazil and Paraguay for many years!" Slughorn had written in the letter.
Draco took the Felix Felicis from his pocket and examined it against the light.
The golden liquid shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight. This was something he had longed for in his past life, yet he had obtained it so easily this time, which astonished him greatly.
"A small bottle of Felix Felicis, and you will be lucky for twelve hours," he remembered Mr Slughorn writing in his letter.
He planned to give Hermione a bottle.
He hurried past a row of bookshelves and finally found her. It was her favourite window seat, the white gauze curtains swaying gently in front of the window.
A small ray of sunlight shone on her, making her seem to glow.
He called her softly, but she did not move. He quietly turned to look at her, wondering whether she was pretending to ignore him or genuinely sulking; but to his surprise, she had put her head on her arm, turned her face to the side, and fallen asleep on a stack of new parchment on the table.
Her long, brown hair covered half of the desk, and she loosely held a quill in her hand. On the desk stood a large book titled The Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles.
"What is so interesting about this thing?" Draco glanced at the animated images in the book, muttering to himself in confusion, and gently took the quill from her hand, placing it in the ink bottle in front of her.
Perhaps sensing the movement of her hand, Hermione snorted impatiently through her nose, sounding somewhat petulant.
He tiptoed over to sit down beside her, moved his book aside, and, mimicking her posture, rested his head on the desk, turning his head to look at her without moving.
He brought his face very close. The sunlight was dazzling, and he wanted to see her face clearly.
It seemed as though it had been a long time since he had looked at her so closely.
He had been busy with rigorous Quidditch training, while she had been busy with the changing terms and heavy schoolwork.
She had not even had time to watch Harry train lately, let alone see him after training.
Disappointing.
Even as study partners, they had very little time to chat. The professors were like fiends, filling their class time with such meticulous planning that every minute was spent immersing their students in a sea of academic knowledge.
For example, in Arithmancy, she always sat to his right and was often too busy with calculations to chat.
Now, he could finally relax and watch her breathe softly, her thick, long eyelashes covering her usually radiant, chocolate-coloured eyes.
Her skin had a sickly pallor. Draco often saw this colour when he looked in the mirror, but now he frowned. He still preferred to see her with a rosy, vibrant complexion.
Is she tired? He wondered worriedly, his brow furrowing even more as he sighed.
Seemingly because she heard his breathing, she suddenly opened her eyes groggily, smiled at him while still not fully awake, and lazily raised her hand to smooth out his brow.
"This looks better," she said in a soft, sweet voice he had never heard before, like a lazy kitten that had just woken up.
Draco froze, not daring to move. He looked at her quietly, his grey eyes shimmering.
She smiled, her eyes half-closed, and leaned forward, affectionately rubbing her nose against his.
She lazily stroked his platinum blonde hair, saying in a sweet, almost cloying tone, as though she were talking to Crookshanks, "Oh, my poor little thing... you are here... so cute... I like you so~much~"
She is saying "I like you."
Was she speaking to him?
The cracks in the ice of his heart seemed to be widening. His heart trembled with unease at the word.
Did she know what she was doing?
Obviously not, she closed her eyes again.
The touch on his nose was so intimate that his face gradually flushed. The tingling, ticklish sensation filled his heart with a string of satisfied and smug bubbles of joy, wonderfully permeating his soul.
And so, he, who disliked being touched, once again succumbed to her caresses.
He did not dislike her touch; in fact, he was somewhat pleased. Moreover, when she suddenly poured out those overly intimate words to him, using the word "like," a luxury too extravagant for him, he completely forgot to breathe.
Hermione yawned, patting his head gently with her hand adorned with the silver ring, muttering softly, "Do not go to the Forbidden Forest, sleep with me for a while..."
Merlin! Draco did not know whether to laugh or cry.
She had mistaken him for that ginger-coloured cat... what similarities were there? For the first time in his life, he felt a little insecure about his appearance.
He wanted to wake her and show her who she was.
But he did not want to ruin the moment.
He finally understood how the cat felt... why it always wanted to lie in front of her and let her stroke it.
The feeling was unexpectedly wonderful, like a white feather gently tickling his heart... The subtle tremor at the roots of his hair generated a current, and his brain seemed to hum...
A tender tone, gentle treatment, and affectionate caresses. They coalesced into a shimmering golden ribbon, silently enveloping him... it was simply beautiful.
However, all of this delightful feeling, the gentle touch he had just discovered belonging to Hermione Granger, had already been wasted countless times on a cat!
Draco thought indignantly, his mind reeling like a honeyed dream.
Hermione, when you are sober, is your generosity directed only at that cat?
He suddenly felt like arguing with her again, discussing the question of who deserved the nickname "poor little thing."
She had called him that first, not the cat.
Has she misapplied her compassion?
He wanted her to understand everything, rather than treat him like a cat without any boundaries.
Unexpectedly, she continued to murmur softly, coaxing him gently, and dutifully stroking his hair with her hand, leaving him defenceless.
Draco's resolve crumbled. What had he just been thinking? Oh, never mind.
All his attention was on her hand. He even moved closer to it, trying to find a good spot to be touched.
And his own hands... he did not know where to put the one nearest her, so he could only grip the back of his chair tightly, enduring all her caresses.
Caressing.
This brief but wonderful caress.
A caress that is both exhilarating and frustrating.
The caress that he wanted to keep hidden forever, so that no one would ever discover it.
She had also said "I like you." Although it seemed she was speaking to the cat, he had still heard her.
He closed his eyes in the bright afternoon sun, smiled to himself, and lazily indulged in this moment of pleasure.
Goyle and Crabbe finished drawing their star charts and then voluntarily completed their Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic assignments before Draco finally returned.
Under the library lights, his eyes sparkled, and he wore an undisguised smile, walking with an almost dreamy gait... as though he had drunk something strong.
"Very good, Goyle, Crabbe," he said with a smile, glancing at the parchment spread out on the table and patting them on the shoulder. "The astronomical drawings are quite good. Keep up the good work. I shall be off now."
Goyle and Crabbe stared wide-eyed at Draco's retreating figure.
"Where is his robe?" Goyle asked after a long pause.
"I do not know," Crabbe said blankly.
Goyle scratched his head. "Should we tell him that he was just looking at our Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, not a star chart..."
Crabbe's eyes darted around, and he surprisingly summoned a bit of thought. "No, forget it, I do not want to draw it all over again."
Behind the bookshelves not far away, the white gauze curtains swayed in the wind, waking Hermione.
Half-asleep, she looked at the small golden bottle that had appeared in her hand with a puzzled expression, touched the Slytherin robe she was wearing, and suddenly caught a faint scent of watermelon.