"Drakkie, can I sit here? It's the last empty seat in the library."

Maybe it's because of the way her high-pitched whining grates against his sensitive ears, or maybe it's because of the way her sharp, manicured nails dig into his pale skin, but either way he knows he'll go crazy if he lets this simpering girl cling to his side while he's trying to work.

"Honestly, Pansy, you're a Slytherin. Make another student move."

"But I tried." Her pout would be cute if her face weren't so...repugnant — pun fully intended.

He ignores her and she flounces off with a huff. He sighs in relief with air untainted by her sickly sweet perfume.

Not three seconds later, the chair beside him scrapes along the ground and a girl he vaguely recognizes as Daphne's sister plops down into it.

"Malfoy." And that's all. She's granting acknowledgement, not seeking permission.

And maybe it's because of the way her melodious voice glides smoothly past his appreciative ears, or maybe it's because of the way her nails are bitten down short and stubby, but either way he doesn't send her away for her impertinence and audacity.

No, he scoots his chair closer to hers because she smells like grass and parchment and hope and girl.

Doing homework has never been such a pleasant experience.