"You are the worst being to ever walk this earth!" Her words were harsh but her voice was shaky, and her eyes red from the tears that threatened to fall. She hated how his words could drive her to such an emotional extreme; how, even when she got angry at him, he only elicited this hurt rage that made her clenched fists tremble at her sides.
"And you, are the most insignificant." He said, his voice sharp and hard, his face an unreadable, stony visage. He did not have to say the word for her to hear the condescending word resting in that pause after 'you'. He might as well have spat 'mud-blood' in her face, perhaps then she could have pointed to some concrete reason why his words always cut so deep.
She clenched her jaw till it hurt, willing herself to draw on some unknown reserve. She knew she was not going to cry; the ocean would burn before she ever gave this arrogant piece of work the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "I don't care when you break the rules, but stop interfering with my ability to do my job! You don't take your position as prefect seriously, so just don't stand in my way when I'm trying to do both our jobs!"
"I am not in your way; you are in mine, nuisance." He took a step forward, forcing her to step backwards and press her back against the wall of the small alcove. The only light came from the torches in the hall, and the red-orange glow made his grey eyes look almost amber.
She wrapped her fingers around her wand and lifted it sharply, pressing the tip against the base of his throat. "Please," he said dryly, his words still every bit as sharp, and every bit is chilling, as before, "As though a useless rule-bound Gryffindor like yourself would dare." He looked down at her shaking hand and smirked, "See?"
"I swear on my life if you dare threaten an underclassman into running one of your dirty errands again after curfew, I will remind you what it feels like to be a ferret." Her words would have been so much more effective if only her voice did not shake! Why it insisted on being so weak, she could not for the life of her explain.
"Is that the best you have?" He smirked, "Why don't you grow up and use dark spells like a real adult."
She felt her stomach twist. Here he was admitting to using dark spells with so much pride, as though somehow she were his lesser for being a decent person. No, that was not the only reason he would always see her as beneath him, and that knowledge somehow made her insides twist even more painfully and her eyes began to water again. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that held her wand and tossed it around playfully, "Little Hermione Granger, trying to play with adults, doesn't know where her post it, maybe I should teach her?" it had to be a combination of his condescension and his sing-song tone that seemed to imply she were a toddler, or perhaps it was the sensation of sinking weakness creeping up her chest that drove her to act out, to prove to herself that he did not actually make her weak.
Slap.
It echoed through the empty halls. The force from her hand sent his face flying to the side. "Don't you ever dare touch me again." She spat angrily. He snapped his head up and glared at her, and she glared right back. Two chips of ice facing off two bright, burning coals in the dimly lit alcove. Tension lined both their jaws, their breaths, heavy from trying to reign in their tempers, seemed to synchronise in the darkness.
People who thought their public arguments were too much had not seen anything. The always saved the worst for when it was just the two of them conducting rounds, when there were no prying eyes from which to hold back their anger, no friends to tell them when enough was enough, no professors to threaten them with detention. When it was just them, gloves off, resentment blazing with the hellish fire it wrought in them.
He narrowed his eyes dangerously, "And if I do?" his words were suspiciously calm, given what had just happened.
"I will make you regret the day." She said, she desperately tried to match his calm but she had too many emotions, and he had too few.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, as her back was already against the alcove wall she had nowhere to retreat to. He towered over her, his height almost as threatening as his glacial gaze. He took her face in his hand roughly, pinning her head firmly against the wall, he looked deeply into her burning eyes "I dare you." This was where she would hit him again, or try to cast a spell on him. They had run through this so many times that it was almost second nature. But today, someone broke script.
Hands that were supposed to be itching to strangle him were caressing the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her as though she needed him to feel whole. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her against him. Lips that had said so many hurtful, spiteful things, were locked in a soft, yet desperate kiss as though that was what they were meant for all along. Did he break script, or did she? It did not really matter; all that mattered was the odd sense of relief that seemed to wash over them as the tension that had sparked between them since day one seemed to fizzle away.
Two heavy footsteps had the prefects tearing apart as though the other's touched burned. Hermione's hand could not fly to cover her gaping mouth fast enough. She stared at him in disbelief, and for the first time he looked visibly rattled. He was regarding her with the same surprise she looked at him with. There was no space for words because the moment she found her feet, she fled.
Hermione ran all the way back to her dormitory. Rounds be damned; she had done them more or less solo for the past few weeks; he could finish tonight on his own. She crawled into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. What had she done? She shut her eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything else, but all she could think of was him holding her with those cruel, slender hands. Her stomach in knots so tight she felt as though she was going to retch. She brushed her hands against her waist, willing the phantom feeling of him to disappear, but it remained all too vivid and all too real. Her mouth felt dry and bitter. Sitting up sharply, she pushed the covers off herself and practically sprinted to the bathroom. She needed to brush shower, brush her teeth, perhaps some extra strong mouthwash. She needed to scrub every last ghosting of him off herself.
Draco sauntered back to his dormitory, his carefully blank visage hiding a whirlwind of 'what the fucks' that were desperately trying to explain what had just happened. He did not care much for her; she was Potter's annoying friend useful only for riling up in order to entertain himself. Worst of all she was a mud-blood, sure that term had been losing its weight to him, as he found himself increasingly unable to answer simply questions about what made them so inferior. But still, that did not mean he went around cavorting with them. He ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think. He knew he did not initiate it, and he knew she absolutely hated him so she did not do it either – so what is Merlin's name happened? He paused at the door to the Slytherin dorms, and they seemed to stare at him accusatorial in their calmness. "Come off it Draco." He muttered to himself, casting his eyes downwards because the doors felt too much like they knew. He caught sight of a thin brown coil rested across his prefect's pin. A souvenir, courtesy of our lady the high bitch. Thoughtlessly he picked it off and let it drop to the ground. God forbid he bring any part of that nuisance into his house.