Began: October 9, 2017
Published: October 21, 2017
Edited: -

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It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of something more than just material things. After all, what do you give a person who already has everything he wants?

You can't.

At least, nothing that is material.

And so, Draco finds himself locking himself in his room and surrounding himself with books. It was fortunate that Hermione enjoyed reading so much, or he would have been driven crazy by now.

(Not that he doesn't still feel some threads of sanity slipping away)

There was something off about her, something that he can't quite place. And therein lies the reality of his insanity—he must be, if he's thinking of Hermione Granger during his free time.

(If this was going to be anything like his younger self's obsession with Harry Potter, he might as well kill himself right then and there)

He had taken some of the books on the bookshelf in the living room while Hermione was at work. After all, he still had to eat at some point, and he would rather do it away from her piercing gaze. On the way back, he had just been thinking about the mind-numbing boredom that awaited him back in his—the guest room, when the bookcases caught his eye.

And so naturally, he found himself at the liberty of taking some of the books on said bookcases. Just a couple that caught his eye, one being Pride and Prejudice—and no, the irony wasn't lost on him.

(Actually, Draco had to take breaks often while reading that book, because it got too real sometimes)

(And the fact that Elizabeth and Darcy were obviously going to end up together, which rather sickened him because he was comparing a certain bushy haired brunette and him to those two characters)

(Yes, he really was going insane.)

But when Hermione comes home only to be greeted by a very real, very loud thunk, the worst possible scenario pops into her mind.

That Draco was unleashing his anger and restlessness on her poor furniture.

(Or was she supposed to be concerned about him?)

(Nah, he would never deliberately harm himself. He was much too prideful.)

So when she slams the bedroom door open violently, Hermione already had her wand drawn, prepared to threaten him literally to Azkaban.

And Draco was simply picking up a book with a mask of eerie calm.

(Maybe she was going slightly insane too)

(Slightly.)

(As if she would ever admit to her mental state being less than the highest standard)

"What the bloody hell did you just do?" Hermione asks through gritted teeth, pausing between each word.

He simply gazes at her with disinterest, giving her a lazy shrug, and placing the book back onto a haphazard heap of others.

(If she hadn't been at her wit's end at that moment, she would have taken a second glance at the books he had chosen and questioned him about them)

(However, she was rather preoccupied with other things)

Eyes narrowing, Hermione allows the frustration to clearly show on her face, "Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear if you don't explain yourself, I will kick you out."

"What happened to my three chances?" Draco raises an eyebrow at her, letting her hear his drawling voice for the first time in days, "Seems just a tad unfair, don't you think? To just switch up the terms like that? I doubt the Ministry would appreciate the fact that it's their beloved War Heroine who refuses to cooperate."

He studies how her hand clenched even more tightly around her wand, causing her knuckles to turn white, and her forcefully breathing in and out, in and out, unaware of his attentiveness.

Eyes glancing back at the book he had chucked in a moment of vulnerability (emotions, after all, were always a weakness in his household), Draco realizes that perhaps the prejudice ran deeper than a matter of blood and status.

And perhaps the children of the Death Eaters weren't the only ones struggling to recoup and return to life as normal—if such a thing were to ever exist for them again.