Week One (Wrath) - The Raisins of Wrath
“Hermione Granger-Malfoy to see Angelica Clarke,” Hermione called down the corridor toward the Ministry’s holding cells.
The guard, a portly ex-auror with a dreadfully long moustache, raised a brow. “Can’t. She’s been moved to Azkaban.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Aurors came not an hour ago to escort her.” The guard picked up his mug of milky tea, grey moustache dipping into the liquid as he drank.
“Angelica Clarke was not on the list of Azkaban transfers,” Hermione insisted.
He just shrugged.
“You’ve got tea dripping from your moustache,” she said, lips pursing in prim distaste.
She stormed back down the corridor towards the lifts, rage bubbling in her veins. It burned up her neck to her cheeks, flushing her face. She was going to make them regret this.
A disembodied voice announced her destination, and the lift doors slid open.
Draco leaned against the wall opposite the lifts, crimson auror robes perfectly pressed, lazily eating a bunch of grapes.
“Ah, Granger,” Draco said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Drop the act, Malfoy.” She approached—a lioness circling her prey. “You know exactly why I’m here.”
Draco chewed a grape with painfully slow movements.
“You sat across from me at breakfast this morning and didn’t say a thing.” Hermione accused.
“You’re the one who insists we keep our work and home lives separate.” He put up his free hand to keep her back. “You know I couldn’t tell you.”
“Rubbish!” she yelled, turning away from him to give Head Auror Dawlish a piece of her mind.
“Don’t assault anyone!” Draco called after her.
She whipped around, wand drawn, and sucked the moisture from his stupid grapes. The raisins launched themselves at his forehead.
Draco threw his arms up to protect his face. “You’re a maniac, Granger!”
“And don’t you forget it!”