She had studiously avoided the space since waking up. Yes, it was beautiful. Yes, it was full of enticing looking tombs and volumes. But the call in her blood to flip through the countless volumes lining the shelves had been quieted. She had no desire to spend hour after hour pouring through pages. It was just something else that she had lost. Despite herself, she couldn't help but take a deep breath - the smell of leather bindings, old parchment, and dusty shelves had always been a comfort to her. It did little to sooth the nerves (metaphorical, for a change) she felt coursing through her, but it was still a nice smell. She didn't have difficulty spotting Draco. Never had, really. He was standing with his back to her, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders rigid. As she aimed for the chair furthest from him (and, regrettably, the fire), she allowed herself a moment to study him.