Chapter 5
“Malfoy slow down!”
Hermione found herself doing the one thing she couldn’t imagine to be worse than an Umbridge detention that Thursday night, as she screeched after Malfoy, storming angrily down the 4th floor halls.
“You’re supposed to be on patrol Granger, not practicing how to wail like a banshee.” Malfoy paused at the end of the stairwell, turning around to give her an obnoxious once over, “You do look the part. But I suppose that would mean you had to have magical blood in you, and by everything except for appearance, you seem to be as ordinary as they come.”
Hermione felt her blood pressure rising as she stalked up to him in fury. “My blood is just as magical as yours, Malfoy, or do you not see me besting you in every class?”
“You have to compensate somehow for your lack of breeding.” He said simply, smirking down at her.
He was so… tall.
Urgh, if he’d only been a few inches shorter, Hermione was confident she might be able to reach up and break his nose again, for old times’ sake, but Malfoy’s new growth spurt and swell in physique forced her to reign in her raging temper a little, for the sake of not humiliating herself.
“You mean inbreeding.” She snarked in response instead.
Malfoy merely rolled his eyes.
It was positively infuriating to see that she couldn’t get under his skin like she’d used to.
“Disappointed our high standards disqualify you from becoming Lady Malfoy, Granger? “he drawled, leaning against the bannister of the stairs.
Hermione blushed angrily, “In your dreams!”
Malfoy scoffed, placing a hand over his chest in mock offence, “We don’t all dream of weddings and Weasleys in our sleep. You know, some people have grown up this past year… If you were in my dreams, Granger, you certainly wouldn’t be in a wedding dress… or any dress at all for that matter.” he responded, smirking coldly.
Hermione spluttered indignantly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, “That’s not- This is not- I don’t- Ron is not my- That is an incredibly inappropriate remark!” she managed to spit out, inwardly cursing herself for not having a better come-back.
Malfoy chuckled, his lips curling up in derision as his grey eyes glinted with sly amusement, “Apologies, Granger, I forget I’m in the presence of a Vestal Virgin. I suppose you and the Weasel explore your love in more chaste manners. Tell me, what are the mating rituals between a shrewish virgin and her penniless lover? Does he kneel by your feet and gather up the ends of your robes reverently while you write his homework for him? Or does he fan you with his second-hand scrolls while you sit and teach him how to correctly pronounce Accio?Accio not Accio,” he mimicked, sniggering as he did so.
Her face was already burning with fury and Hermione could feel her temper threatening to overtake reason, as she rounded on Malfoy, her wand tight under her grip, as she marched towards his arrogant leaning form.
Draco Malfoy was annoyingly put together. From his perfectly tailored uniform, all the way down to his spotless dragon-hide shoes, he didn’t even have a hair out of place. To Hermione’s great aggravation, he’d even grown into his looks over the summer, so that his previously narrow face and thin countenance was now much more angular and wide set, accentuating his piercing features.
Malfoy was a foul loathsome git as it was. A glow-up was just about the last thing he either needed or deserved, and Hermione sincerely worried that his ego might just explode, hopefully taking the rest of his body with it, if he could hear her thoughts right now.
“For your information,” she snarled, “Ron and I are not lovers, we are friends. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the concept of that word, considering your ego is too fragile to have anyone around you that isn’t a brainless minion or a pathetic pureblood heiress who is only trying to get close to you so they can have a go at claiming your last name.”
Letting her anger take over, she jabbed her wand at his chest as she squared up on Malfoy, who was still leaning on the bannister, the arrogant smirk tattooed on his lips.
Before her wand could make its mark, however, Malfoy deftly grabbed her wrist, letting her wand clatter to the ground. In a split second, he straightened up and spun her around, so that her other arm was pinned to the bannister he’d been leaning on until just a moment ago, the weight of his upper torso pressing against her and leaving her with no way to escape.
“My, my, the little lion has claws,” he drawled, his cold breath hitting her forehead as Hermione looked down, refusing to make eye-contact.
“Let me go, Malfoy,” she gritted out from her teeth, trying to push the blonde wizard off herself with not much result.
“I think an apology is owed to me first, don’t you think? I was just defending myself from being skewered by your wand.” Malfoy’s tone was light, and he sounded amused, a stark contrast to Hermione’s own rage. However, his grip on her was still tight, unyielding against her feeble attempts at a struggle.
“I don’t even have my wand on me anymore!” she snarled hotly, “You have me completely defenseless. You seriously that desperate to feed your ego, you’d coerce it out of me Malfoy?”
She finally braved herself to glare up at him, narrowing her eyes with as much ferocity as she could muster.
To her surprise, Malfoy merely blinked, his pale eyes looking down at the position that they were in, before stepping back and letting her go. She immediately went for her wand, pocketing it swiftly.
He surveyed her coldly, all traces of amusement gone from his face.
“You should really learn how to defend yourself better, Granger. With all the trouble you get up to every year, I’m surprised Potter or Weasley hasn’t taken it upon themselves to try and teach you what to do when you can no longer use a wand.”
“I’m flattered you find my well-being a personal concern, Malfoy, but I can take care of myself.” Hermione spat back, rubbing her wrist as she glared at him, still reeling from the shock of how instantaneously helpless she had become in a matter of seconds.
“I’m not concerned, Granger. I’m simply making an observation.” He responded, still studying her closely. “And it didn’t seem like you could take care of yourself just then.”
“Well, you caught me by surprise.” She retorted.
“I hate to break it to you Granger, but most enemies don’t give you a five second warning before they attack.” He smirked back.
“Is that what I am to you, Malfoy? An enemy?”
Malfoy gave her a hard look, his jaw tightening.
“You’re an inconvenience, at best, Granger.” He sneered.
“What am I inconveniencing, Malfoy?” she challenged, raising her chin to level his glare. “Does your pampered arse feel wronged when you sit on the same chair as a mudblood? Does your pale skin break out in pimples because the same water washes my mudblood face too? Or are your sensibilities too weak to bear even breathing the same air as my mudblood self?” she hissed, her fists tightening.
To her surprise, Malfoy scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If I knew you were going to make a name I called you in third year your whole personality, I would have taken my time and sat with a thesaurus for a few days before deciding on what to insult you with, Granger.” he snarked, waving her off. “Like I said earlier in the Great Hall, your personality is much more infuriating than any of your other myriad of faults.”
Hermione snorted, looking at Malfoy in disbelief. “You want me to believe that you, a Malfoy, are not the most bigoted blood supremacist in this school?”
“I don’t really care what you believe, Granger, and don’t you think it’s about time you let that chip on your shoulder go? If anyone overheard our conversation tonight, they’d seriously come away from it thinking you were the pureblood maniac,” he smirked, “with all those slurs you were throwing around.”
Hermione stared openly at Malfoy in confusion.
What was his game?
Granted, Malfoy had only called her a mudblood once, two years ago. But it was no secret that his family were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that prided themselves on that status, on the ‘purity’ of their blood. To pride oneself on the purity of their own blood was, by default, to look down on those with different blood, to think they were better than her, just because they were born from magical blood.
So, what was he playing at? Was Malfoy’s hatred for her just so great that other aspects of her outweighed his hatred for her blood-status?
Hermione slapped herself inwardly.
Why did she even care? Malfoy was a git, and he hated her, whatever the reason. And she hated him too. Whatever the reason. So many reasons, she reminded herself.
“If you’re done checking me out, we still have four other floors to patrol, Granger.”
Malfoy’s mocking tone broke her from her inner monologue, and she sent him a weak sneer before stomping up the staircase, his low chuckle following behind her like a haunting footstep.