She smirks.
Caught.
"So, Malfoy," fingers flip through the small book in her hand, "what, exactly, is your excuse for being out so late?"
"Detention with Snape," the blond mutters through gritted teeth.
"Oh really," The brunette, in return, smirks again, and that causes his lips to curve into a scowl.
"Why, then, does it seem to me that Snape was at consultation with me, when you claimed that he was having detention with you?"
"Why, you filthy mudblood," Malfoy's face contorts into one of absolute distaste.
"Swearing late at night in the corridors, Malfoy?" she smiles, albeit a little too sweetly, "that'll be twenty points from Slytherin,"
"You can't!" he protests.
"Oh, I can, too." Hermione taps the badge lightly; gleaming in the moonlight.
"Head…girl, damn, Granger." Malfoy curses again, and the young lady in front of him sneers once more.
"Ten more points, Malfoy."
"Granger!"
Hermione raises an eyebrow, as if challenging him to fight her.
Instead, the grey eyed Slytherin turns on his heel and back to his house dorm.
"Not so fast, Malfoy."
"What now?"
"Detention, Filch, tomorrow night," Hermione smiles and turns gracefully; and moments later, the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room shuts behind her.
He grinds his teeth in frustration.
"Damn that filthy-"
The lean figure turns and utters a single word, "Musique."
And the portrait opens for him to enter.
-
Snow crunches, crushed, under the hard, rubber material of his boots.
"She's a filthy mudblood, she is." The words are forced through gritted teeth as the steely look on the young teen's face grows colder, if possible.
His short, angry breaths come out in misty puffs of air, disappearing as fast as they come.
"But you can't deny she is attractive, Draco,"
"I do not care, do not bother, and do not want to know!"
The plump figure beside him gulp nervously and nods, lips tightly pressed together.
Sometimes, when trouble stares your way, it's always better to obey it.
-
"What's wrong, Hermione?" the thick voice that rings in her ear holds a tone that makes it a question.
"Nothing," the curvy figure prances through the snow, then bends down.
Something wet and cold hits Ronald Weasley's face.
"Ow, hey!"
Hermione doubles up in a bout of silent laughter, giving in to the urge to laugh and giggle at the way the former's expression contorts his face so horribly.
"Nothing much, really, I just got Malfoy detention, last night." She giggles at the memory of how stormily, how infuriately those grey orbs stared at her.
But she had no qualms about it, none at all.
After all, what could he possible do to her?