"It's my business when he's inviting himself here," he answered carefully. "If he saw me, he could go shitting that information to anyone-
"He didn't see you-
"And if you plan on slagging it around then-
"HOW DARE YOU!" Hermione screamed, rising from her seat and marching towards him. "You have NO right to talk to me in that way-
"I can talk to you however I want," he countered calmly, craning his neck to loom over her. "If you don't tell me, then I'll draw my own conclusions-
"This is ridiculous!" she hissed. "I told you I was going to Hogsmeade this weekend and-
"And you're going with that?" he growled, as though the notion revolted him and left a sour taste on his tongue. "So you are fucking that repulsive piece of-
"Oh, for Godric's sake, Malfoy!" she shouted, oblivious to how close they were with her frustration. "Michael and I are the only people going because we're the Heads!"
His mouth snapped shut with an audible clap, and she felt like he was stripping her with his glare as his eyes darted over her face. She realised how close he was then; close enough that his breath stirred some of the hairs by her forehead, but she didn't move despite every instinct screeching at her to do so.
Remember what happened last time you were this close...?
If he was bothered by their proximity, he didn't budge, and she would swear that something close to relief washed across his pale features. He tilted his head slightly and dropped his shoulders, and the room seemed to fill with static as his earlier rage dissipated.
"You're telling me that useless dickhead is Head Boy?" he drawled sceptically. "What a fucking joke-
"He's actually very good," she argued, noting his upper lip twitch as she spoke. "Are we done here, Dra...Malfoy?"
He frowned at her mistake, and the witch tried to hide her embarrassed flush with little success. She turned to leave, but his cold grip coiled around her wrist before she could get any distance between them.
Just shove him away...Too close...
"What now?" she asked, refusing to look back to him. "I have answered your questions and put up with enough of your-
"I'm not finished," he muttered, clenching her arm a little tighter. "I have another question."
She scoffed. "I see no reason why I should-
"Why did you make me food this morning?" he rushed out with obvious qualms.
Hermione blinked to herself and slowly twisted her neck to give a confused look. "What-what do you mean?" she mumbled. "I always make you a meal in the morning-
"I thought after our fight last night," he said reluctantly. "That you wouldn't have-
"We fight everyday, Malfoy-
"Last night was different."
The room felt like a vacuum, and Hermione would swear she actually felt the air being dragged out of her lungs. Draco's eyes looked softer then; like milky smoke, and she was completely fixated on them. After his infuriated rant and outright denial of their demi-kiss last night, his words had completely thrown her. They both knew what he was referring to when he'd said different, and it crackled between them like dangerous flames; too hot to touch but too powerful to ignore.
The kiss...
"I wouldn't have you go hungry because of...that," she broke the silence awkwardly. "That would just be cruel-
"It would be normal," he argued, and she watched with disappointment as his features returned to the bitter and sharp scowl she knew so well. "And I'm sure you want to lecture me with some tedious Gryffindor moral about kindness or some shit but I really couldn't give a fuck-
"You asked me the question," she protested, tugging her wrist free from his hold and walking away from him. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight Malfoy."
Draco clenched his fists as Granger disappeared into her room, wondering what the hell had caused him to act so pathetically. It was humiliating and unacceptable, and he blamed her for it wholeheartedly. From the moment she had infected him with her muddy blood and swamped him with her scent, everything had deteriorated, specifically his mind. Now, he was being subjected to haunting fantasies of her, and tempted by almost kisses that left him feeling both revolted and yet...starved.
It was breaking his brain into disturbed little fragments that made him question himself, and how far he was willing to go before his inappropriate craving for her taste was sated.
The rage he had felt when that sodding Ravenclaw had turned up had been vicious and explosive, and he had physically quaked, but he had no idea why.
It's not jealousy...
Just rage. Possessive rage, maybe.
His luxuries and stimulants were limited in this prison, and her taste and scent had somehow become some of those...needs, and he would not share them with anyone beyond that door. While his taste of her had been brief, it was his now, even if he never wanted it again for the sake of his dignity. And he didn't want to touch her again. Really, he didn't, but if Michael twatty Corner thought he was entitled to a lick of Granger, he was fucking mistaken.
He didn't understand his dangerous emotions towards her, nor did he like them, but they were powerful and almost instinctive, and impossible to ignore.
He stormed back to his room and silently pleaded with Salazar that he would be rid of his...obsession with the Mudblood soon. It was degrading and mind-sucking, and he feared he would act on it.
I will not act on it...
.
.
The wind was screaming like tortured toddlers tonight, and Hermione was convinced her clock was lying.
If it really was three in the morning, then she had been staring blankly at her ceiling for four hours and that just wasn't healthy. She had secluded herself in her room and adamantly refused to leave, amusing herself with finishing every essay that was due from now until Christmas. That had lasted for three hours, and since then she'd tried desperately to manage some sleep, but it was all in vain.
And it wasn't the wind tonight...
No matter how hard she tried to eradicate Malfoy from her mind, she couldn't; be it stubborn flashbacks of their pseudo-kiss or just general musings about his behaviour. She found herself fascinated by him as much as she tried to reject it, and she'd noticed he's refrained from calling her Mudblood for a while. A month in his presence had effected her and she found herself more determined than ever to tackle his prejudices, although she couldn't help but wonder if it was now for selfish purposes.
She wanted him to view her differently, and she was fairly certain he was starting to.
At least she hoped he was.
She sat up and rubbed her face with her palms, wondering if her interest in him was really appropriate or healthy. Probably not.
A shiver chased up her spine and she grabbed her wand to renew her warming charm when a thought stole her attention. She had three blankets and magic to battle the November chill, but what did Draco have? He'd only been supplied with one blanket...
What if he's freezing?
She realised then that she cared, when she really shouldn't have. She knew it was in her nature, but this was something else; a genuine concern for his comfort that left her questioning when she'd started to actually care.
She left her bed and wrapped herself in her bathrobe, trying to decide what exactly she could do. The options were simple; chose to ignore it and let the cocky prat deal with it himself, or yield to her desire to provide him with some warmth.
"What the hell am I doing?" she whispered to herself as she crept lightly out of her room.
With at least two minutes of hesitation outside his door, she swallowed away her nerves and angled her wand in its direction.
"Alohomora."
.
.
.
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