It was one of the school's more narrow hallways and Hermione Granger was
but ten feet away from having to pass Draco Malfoy, who already appeared to
be bearing his fangs. Five feet. Two feet. No feet. He decided to block
her way with his arm, "Mudblood."
"Malformed."
"Aren't we all comfy cozy like in such a small space together? Kind of makes you want to cry out, doesn't it?"
"You aren't worth the effort it would take to shout. Sling your insults and I'll be on my way."
"There are other ways to hurt you, you filthy Muggle born." Ah, the sneer. So predictable. So no longer scary. Hermione sighed inwardly and smiled up at him, all sweetness.
That, Draco thought, was as unacceptable as it was unnerving.
"Why are you smiling, Granger? I didn't say anything nice. I believe I threatened you."
"Idly, yes. I'm used to it. Seriously, Malfoy, I've got no time for this. I'm expected in class, shortly. Can we please do this some other time?"
"So much for spontaneity."
"This is never spontaneous. I always walk this way on my way to the Library, and you always seem to be here waiting for me."
"I, wait for you? Don't be ridiculous. I simply like this passage, as well. It's long, it's quiet, it's a solitude away from the lesser thans. Not a redhead or freckle in sight. I think you should find someplace else to walk."
"We seem to like it for similar reasons (Ron and family excepted, of course) and I have no desire to change my walk because I have no desire to do anything that would make your life easier. You have it easy enough as it is."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Son of Lucius Malfoy. Son of All Things Perfectly Pureblood and Inbred and Unholy. He wants you to have something. You have it. Lesson endeth, any questions?"
"Don't pretend to know me, Granger. Despite what you may think, I work hard and get by on my own merits."
A feeling of mutual awkwardness overcame them and they simultaneously shuffled their feet.
"Let me by," Hermione whined, rolling her eyes and finishing with a glare.
"Why?"
"Malfoy, what? WHAT is your problem? You hate me and yet you seem to go out of your way to be in MY way all the time. If you dislike me so much why not avoid me altogether? As for this, we can easily avoid a confrontation by agreeing to pass each other quietly and without notice, like two ships passing in the night, as the expression goes."
"And why would I want to avoid a confrontation with my favorite Mudblood? Irritating you, filling you with fear, these are the things I live for."
"I always new you had a pathetically deviant reason for breathing. God, you are boring. Not scary. Boring. You haven't intimidated me for years and you know this is true. And this," she gestured wildly between them, "is just an 11 year olds' game. You're intelligent, Malfoy. I almost get sad when I think about the conversations we might have had if you'd been brought up better."
"And I wonder what might have been if the blood coursing through your veins wasn't tainted and inferior."
He removed his hand from the wall. "Go on, then."
Frustration about what could have been? A realization that they would probably like each other if circumstances had been different, kinder. Is that what these daily encounters were really about?
"Malfoy, I'm going to ask you something and I want an honest answer, so box up the sarcasm and control your smirk. Why can't we get past this? Why can't we get beyond it. It's ridiculous!"
"Like you said, I am the son of Lucius Malfoy. Pureblood, unholy." He paused.
"You forgot inbred!"
"Are not!"
"Are, too!"
Yep, definitely just like being eleven all over again.
"Shut up, Granger. You asked me for an honest answer and I'm giving it to you. I was born to hate you, not for who you are, but who and where you came from. It's hatred passed down through the years from generation to generation, and there is no end to it. My children will hate yours, assuming your alive to have children after Voldermort is done with you and your miserable kind. These are things we can't change."
And from the expression in his eyes, she had to ask, "But do you want them to change? If there was any way, would you even try?"
"I'm here, aren't I? Every day like clockwork. Not at all spontaneous. Waiting for you."
Hermione felt the urge to cry from a mixture of frustration and relief. If someone like Draco Malfoy could so much as admit to wanting things to be different, maybe there really was hope that circumstances could change. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Like two ships?"
"Two very loud ships. Ships that fire cannons at one another."
He laughed then. It felt good to laugh, even if it was with her. Maybe he would laugh again tomorrow, or maybe he'd finally gather up the courage to sock her in her Muggle born face. Either way, it was something to look forward to.
"Malformed."
"Aren't we all comfy cozy like in such a small space together? Kind of makes you want to cry out, doesn't it?"
"You aren't worth the effort it would take to shout. Sling your insults and I'll be on my way."
"There are other ways to hurt you, you filthy Muggle born." Ah, the sneer. So predictable. So no longer scary. Hermione sighed inwardly and smiled up at him, all sweetness.
That, Draco thought, was as unacceptable as it was unnerving.
"Why are you smiling, Granger? I didn't say anything nice. I believe I threatened you."
"Idly, yes. I'm used to it. Seriously, Malfoy, I've got no time for this. I'm expected in class, shortly. Can we please do this some other time?"
"So much for spontaneity."
"This is never spontaneous. I always walk this way on my way to the Library, and you always seem to be here waiting for me."
"I, wait for you? Don't be ridiculous. I simply like this passage, as well. It's long, it's quiet, it's a solitude away from the lesser thans. Not a redhead or freckle in sight. I think you should find someplace else to walk."
"We seem to like it for similar reasons (Ron and family excepted, of course) and I have no desire to change my walk because I have no desire to do anything that would make your life easier. You have it easy enough as it is."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Son of Lucius Malfoy. Son of All Things Perfectly Pureblood and Inbred and Unholy. He wants you to have something. You have it. Lesson endeth, any questions?"
"Don't pretend to know me, Granger. Despite what you may think, I work hard and get by on my own merits."
A feeling of mutual awkwardness overcame them and they simultaneously shuffled their feet.
"Let me by," Hermione whined, rolling her eyes and finishing with a glare.
"Why?"
"Malfoy, what? WHAT is your problem? You hate me and yet you seem to go out of your way to be in MY way all the time. If you dislike me so much why not avoid me altogether? As for this, we can easily avoid a confrontation by agreeing to pass each other quietly and without notice, like two ships passing in the night, as the expression goes."
"And why would I want to avoid a confrontation with my favorite Mudblood? Irritating you, filling you with fear, these are the things I live for."
"I always new you had a pathetically deviant reason for breathing. God, you are boring. Not scary. Boring. You haven't intimidated me for years and you know this is true. And this," she gestured wildly between them, "is just an 11 year olds' game. You're intelligent, Malfoy. I almost get sad when I think about the conversations we might have had if you'd been brought up better."
"And I wonder what might have been if the blood coursing through your veins wasn't tainted and inferior."
He removed his hand from the wall. "Go on, then."
Frustration about what could have been? A realization that they would probably like each other if circumstances had been different, kinder. Is that what these daily encounters were really about?
"Malfoy, I'm going to ask you something and I want an honest answer, so box up the sarcasm and control your smirk. Why can't we get past this? Why can't we get beyond it. It's ridiculous!"
"Like you said, I am the son of Lucius Malfoy. Pureblood, unholy." He paused.
"You forgot inbred!"
"Are not!"
"Are, too!"
Yep, definitely just like being eleven all over again.
"Shut up, Granger. You asked me for an honest answer and I'm giving it to you. I was born to hate you, not for who you are, but who and where you came from. It's hatred passed down through the years from generation to generation, and there is no end to it. My children will hate yours, assuming your alive to have children after Voldermort is done with you and your miserable kind. These are things we can't change."
And from the expression in his eyes, she had to ask, "But do you want them to change? If there was any way, would you even try?"
"I'm here, aren't I? Every day like clockwork. Not at all spontaneous. Waiting for you."
Hermione felt the urge to cry from a mixture of frustration and relief. If someone like Draco Malfoy could so much as admit to wanting things to be different, maybe there really was hope that circumstances could change. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Like two ships?"
"Two very loud ships. Ships that fire cannons at one another."
He laughed then. It felt good to laugh, even if it was with her. Maybe he would laugh again tomorrow, or maybe he'd finally gather up the courage to sock her in her Muggle born face. Either way, it was something to look forward to.