Work Text:
Hermione had left the book – muggle and uninteresting – behind when she’d left the library, half in tears over Draco’s constant sniping commentary whilst they'd written their essays.
He’d pocketed it as a matter of course – to hex it or throw at her head, whichever was more enjoyable in the imagined future moment – but when Quidditch practice got cancelled and Theo and Blaise were busy with their own last-minute essays, he’d found himself bored enough to read it. Draco sprawled out over one of the sofas, stomach down and his chin in his hand.
The font was so tiny that he had to hold the book closer or squint just to read. And the entire premise – marriages and women – was so boring that he almost threw the stupid thing into the fire.
And then Mr Darcy had been introduced, and well, Draco felt like he was probably an alright sort because he insulted Elizabeth (deservingly) and didn’t enjoy parties. A true kindred spirit that encouraged him to read on.
But right as it was starting to get interesting – Mr Collins had arrived and thrown the tangled convolutions of the house into disarray – Draco was poked in the shoulder and glances up to see Pansy staring down at him with her hands on her hips.
“Didn’t you hear me?” She says with a shake of her head. “You’ve been reading for ages, Draco, you’ll miss dinner.”
Draco blinks and heaves himself upright. He wouldn’t believe her if not for the pervasive ache in his limbs from being sat so long in a single position. With a dramatic groan he shakes his shoulders out and then runs his fingers through his hair.
“What are you reading, anyway?” Pansy asks, leaning over to glance at the book Draco swiftly tucks into his robe pocket. “Is that another muggle book?”
“Something of Granger’s,” he mutters, distractedly. “Awful stuff.”
“Then why are you reading it?” Pansy raises an eyebrow at him.
Draco shrugs. “Bored,” he tells her, even though now he’s genuinely curious what happens next.
Draco reads after dinner – as he brushes his teeth – as he climbs into bed and sinks exhaustedly into the pillows. Sets the book under his blankets for the morning. Mr Bingley had left – stupid of him, when it was clear how much Jane was in love with him – and Draco felt a twinge of pity for her, lovestruck and stricken as she was. But the book wasn’t even half through and surely in the rest of the pages there’d be some kind of reasonable answer he'd get to in the morning.
He reads between classes – in those snatched moments in the halls – ignoring the jeers of his friends and the raised eyebrows from people whose names and opinions he neither knows nor cares about. He reads during dinner – almost gets a splotch of pumpkin juice on the page before wandlessly vanishing it away with a guilty look towards the Gryffindor table.
Hermione Granger is staring at him from across the hall, and when Draco catches her gaze, she blushes and turns to whisper something into Potter's ear.
They share classes together and he hasn’t made a secret of reading the book, but she hasn’t snippily demanded it back. Draco would wonder about it but he was distracted – Lydia had run off with Mr Wickham (who Draco had never liked) – and he was determined to finish the book before bed.
Except there’s homework to do – essays to start on – and Draco only manages to unravel the story in snippets and snatched chapters – a little before bed – a page over breakfast – drip-fed bits and pieces until finally, on Saturday morning when he ought to be out flying and enjoying the sunshine, he finds himself instead bent over in the library for the peace from Pansy and Theo’s mockery.
Someone sits opposite him but he doesn’t look up. Lady Catherine is visiting and Draco can’t help but notice the thinning side of the unread pages and wonder how on earth it will all be resolved.
The morning wears on as Draco speeds eagerly through the final pages. Love and misunderstandings – reconciliation and a happy ending. With a sigh he closes the book in front of him and looks up.
Hermione is watching him with a curious expression and speaks before he can even think to open his mouth.
“Well?” She asks, leaning over the table and sliding her fingers over the top of the cover. “What did you think?”
There are insults and curses and even muttered hexes in the back of his mind, but they’re all sort of lost in that delightful mental fog that comes from finishing a book. Draco looks down at her fingers, spread across the cover and nail-bitten, and considers.
“Couldn’t be me,” he says, flippantly, as he looks back up at her. “All that miscommunication. They should’ve just talked to each other from the start.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Hermione mutters. “It’s not as though their positions-“
“Who cares about positions?” Draco says, leaning closer, his fingertips in danger of pressing against hers. “He had thirty thousand pounds a year-“
“He didn’t think she liked him.” Hermione’s half-leaning over the table, her brown eyes sparkling. The way she gets so animated over being right. “Why would he bother upsetting things for someone like that?”
“But it was obvious,” Draco mutters as he leans forward and his fingertips brush against hers. “He liked her from the start – you could tell-“
“What, when he insulted her immediately?” Hermione shakes her head at him. “You can’t just insult your way into a girl’s heart, Malfoy.”
“Depends on the girl,” Draco points out. “Not that a pus-headed flobberworm like you would understand-“
“You’re a wart-covered toad, you know that, right?” Hermione finally slides her hand – and the book – away from Draco’s touch and glares at him. “I don’t know what Pansy sees in you.”
“What are you talking about?” Draco furrows his brows. “You don’t – wait, did you think-“ He breaks off into a laugh.
Hermione leans over the table and smacks him in the forehead with the (thankfully softcover) copy of the book. Twice.
“Ow.” Draco bats her hand away and catches her wrist. “What are you doing-“
“You’re an idiot,” she tells him as she twists her wrist in his fingers. “Let go.”
“Tell me why I’m an idiot,” Draco insists as he leans towards her. “And I will.”
She glares at him and stops twisting her hand. “Because,” she says, and a faint flush creeps over her cheeks, “you’re just like Mr Darcy, not telling Lizzy how he feels.”
Draco licks his lips, a jolt of nervousness pulsing in his stomach. “What makes you think I feel anything-“
“This is the third book you’ve stolen, Malfoy,” Hermione interrupts. “First it was Jane Eyre, then it was A Christmas Carol, and now it’s Pride and Prejudice, which I left out to see if you would, and you still don’t seem to get it-“
“What, you think I’m going to confess to you in the library?” Draco snaps. “Is that what you want?” He tugs her forward and leans close enough that her eyes widen – her breath catches – and Draco almost loses his nerve. “Shall I pretend I’m some Regency muggle and tell you how ardently I adore you, Granger-“
Her cheeks are flaming red and she twists free of his hand. Draco lets her go – watches her stumble back and hold the book up to her chest as though it will protect her. “Don’t just – don’t just quote lines you don’t mean, Malfoy, especially not if you’re going to get them wrong-“
“I didn’t get them wrong-“
“It’s how ardently he admires and loves her, Draco-“
“I’m not in love with you, Hermione-“
“Silence!” Ms Pince roars, and the two of them jump and guiltily glance away from each other.
“Right.” Draco rubs at his face and crosses around the table. “Come on then.” He catches Hermione’s sleeve and tugs her along.
“Come where?” She mutters, as she lets him pull her along by the wrist.
“We can go yell at each other outside.” He glances towards her, the flush of her cheeks and her narrowed brown eyes. “As long as you don’t hit me again with your stupid book-“
“It’s not stupid-“
“She could’ve told him how she felt, too, you know-“
“He wouldn’t have believed her-“
“You don’t know that-“
Hermione jerks to a stop and wraps her fingers around his wrist. Draco turns around to glare down at her as she glares right back up at him.
“Why are you stealing my books?” She asks, her fingers still pressed into his skin.
“Why are you letting me?” He counters, leaning closer.
“If I’m such a pus-headed flobberworm, why don’t you figure it out?” She huffs.
“Well if I’m such a wart-covered toad, what do you care?” Draco huffs right back.
She steps closer to him – glares up at him – opens her mouth to say something.
It’s not some romantic confession because he doesn’t have the words in his mind to make one. But Draco leans down and kisses her because he can’t stand not kissing her for another second longer.
Hermione makes a sound – soft surprise – and her hand – the damn book – presses against his chest. But she’s not pushing him away – she’s kissing him back, and the fingers around his wrist slide down to his fingers and lace through them.
“There, you stubborn witch,” Draco whispers as he pulls away, his heart slamming against his ribs. “I don’t care what Darcy said, but I admire and adore you.”
“You’re shit at showing it,” Hermione says as she blinks up at him. “Actually worse than he is-“
“Then,” Draco mutters before kissing the corner of her mouth and making Hermione fall silent, “lend me a better book to read.”
“I was thinking you’d benefit from a more practical education,” Hermione whispers as she leans closer. “A thump on the head for every time you vex me.”
“Merlin, you’re violent.” Draco raises an eyebrow as he stares down at her. “If you start now, though, you might finish before we graduate.”
“Draco,” Hermione says with a warning note in her tone.
“Yeah, Hermione?” He tilts his head slightly.
“Shut up.”
She leans up on her toes and kisses him, and because he’s a gentleman, actually, Draco dips his head down and slides his arm around her waist so that she doesn’t strain her stupid swotty neck.