She struck him.
The blow was fierce, and Draco Malfoy felt his temple throb where her knuckles had bruised him. She moved to hit him again, but this time he anticipated it. He was too quick for her, securing both her wrists and forcing them to her sides, even as she struggled against him.
"Granger," he ordered calmly. "Stop. Now." She curled her lip at him and tried to yank free, but he was too strong. "Granger!"
She stopped, but the hatred in her eyes increased. He would not have been surprised if her brown irises suddenly turned red. "Let go of me," Hermoine snarled. He complied, taking a large step back as he did so. She cast him one last vengeful glare, then stormed off, her soft spring-green skirts swirling around her, high heels click-clacking on the polished white tile.
Draco groaned and sank to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. His right temple was still throbbing and beginning to swell up. He gingerly probed the bruise with his fingertips and winced almost instantly.
Damn, that girl had an arm!
He thought ruefully of their third year and sighed. If only things could be as simple now as they had been then: he hated her, and she hated him. But then again, it had never been truly simple. He'd been raised to hate her, after all, and his destiny had always been a far cry from hers.
Sometimes he wondered if, had his childhood been different, they might've been friends. Probably. They were alike, after all, though she never would have admitted it. Then again, perhaps they weren't so similar. She was brave. He was a coward.
And she would never let him forget it.
He sighed, closing his eyes, picturing her again in that green ball gown. Such a color on her! So fresh and bright, so sweet and inviting, with that low, pointed neckline teasing him, tempting him, every time he looked at her. A more beautiful girl had never existed, surely. Throughout the evening he had been unable to stop himself from stealing frequent surreptitious glances at her. Even after she caught his eyes raking her form, he had been unable to help himself.
The celebration was just one of many, thrown by various groups and wealthy families, in the year or two since the war had ended. This particular one had been hosted by none other than the Malfoys.