Chapter playlist: "Wasted Youth" - Sody and Martin Luke Brown

Draco Malfoy was staring at her expectantly, a small gleam of mischief in his eyes.

No, no, no, no.

This was the exact opposite of how this was supposed to happen. Her carefully constructed plan, her hours slaved away in the library, her aching hands from scribbling a report almost as thick as her pinky finger — all for this? It might have been bearable — funny, even — if she had been caught doing this by someone else. There was a heavy and suffocating shame that came from being caught by Draco fucking Malfoy.

So she did the only thing she could think of — she lied.

Hermione forced out a scoff. "Your egocentric tendencies know no bounds. Why the hell would I rip your bag?"

"Right," Malfoy said, not buying a word of it. "Give it up, Granger. I saw you do it."

"Oh of course you saw," she sneered. "Since you're always staring!"

"You're the one who's always staring!"

Malfoy repaired the rip in his bag with the flick of his wand. When he rose, Hermione swallowed and took a step back. He towered over a head taller than her, standing with a feigned confidence that she knew he didn't truly possess. The lines of his jaw, the deep tired look in his eyes and the impassive expression on his face was all achingly familiar. She knew what it was like to stitch herself together like an old rag doll, knew what it was like to be her own puppet master, twisting and turning the strings to make pretend that she was still a real girl. A thousand swimming lies, a vast and complex emptiness — she saw it all reflected in his stormy eyes.

He crossed his arms. "What is it you want?"

"What makes you think I would want anything from you?" God, what the fuck am I doing?

He raised a single, irritating eyebrow. "Goodbye, Granger," he said, turning to make for the door.

Hermione let out the most hideous groan of her life. "Wait, wait!" she said, reaching out to catch his sleeve. The soft fabric was fisted in her hand before she realized what she'd done.

They both froze.

"Are you going to make me repeat myself?" he asked, glancing down at her hand.

"Fine," Hermione said, releasing him quickly. "I want something, okay? Are you happy now?"

Malfoy leaned back against a desk, looked up into the ceiling and let out an exasperated sigh. "Gods, help me with this woman."

"Well, there's no need to be rude—"

"Who's being rude? I'm being rude?" He dropped his bag on the floor and made a show of pulling out a chair to take a seat. The conversation was quickly getting out of hand. She hadn't come to fight him. She hadn't come to do ... this —whatever this even was. In the last few weeks all they had done was a lot of staring. She didn't know him, didn't know what his game was. It was crazy, completely fucking crazy to think that she actually wanted to know what made Draco Malfoy tick. She wanted him under a microscope, wanted to dissect him. I must be losing my mind, she thought.

"What is your problem?" Dejected, she just wanted to get the conversation over with.

"Gods, Granger, have you always been this daft?" he asked, an unexpected dark laugh escaping from his throat. There it is. She knew there was still some Malfoy left in that hollow shell.

"I don't see what's so funny," she said, scowling at him.

"Really? You don't see how this is funny? Granger, you still haven't told me what you want."

Hermione was livid now. She furiously dug through her bag, grabbed her report and slammed it on the desk in front of him. It took a great deal of restraint to keep from pulling her wand out and hexing him right in his repulsive face.

"What is this?" He picked up her report. "Six Week Hogwarts Reformation by Hermione Jean Granger? Tell me you're joking." She saw the twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Why didn't he just go on and laugh at her again?

Hermione's face reddened. She had never felt so humiliated in her life. Why had she even bothered?

"Forget it," she said, snatching the parchment out of his hands. She shoved it under her arm and seriously considered punching him in the face. It had felt so good the last time she'd done it.

He rose from his seat. "At least let me read it."

"Come up with your own plans, Malfoy," she said smartly and turned on her heel. She enjoyed the satisfaction of getting the last word for all of three seconds. She let out a little scream when she felt a warm hand grip her elbow and tug her back. Now she was ready for a fight.

"How dare you touch —"

"Quiet," he said, cutting her off. "Quiet, will you? Give me four seconds." He held up his free hand, showing her four fingers. "Four seconds, Granger. Will you just quiet for four fucking seconds?"

Her heartbeat was erratic. They'd both invaded each other's personal space today and she didn't know how to feel about that. His grip wasn't painful, but it was strong enough to trap her there.

"It's been more than four seconds," she said, trying to tug her arm back. "Can I go now?"

"Give me the bloody report and we can both be on our way."

Hermione shoved it into his chest. "Here."

When he released her she ran like hell. She ran and ran all the way to her tower, ran until she was locked safely in her bedroom. Even when her body had stopped running, her heart hadn't. The last time her skin had made contact with Draco Malfoy had been five years ago, when she'd punched him in the face. He looked the same, just a little less boyish than before, but there was almost nothing about that arrogant 13-year-old that connected him to the person she had spoken to today. Sure, he'd made fun of her, but there was no malice, just an innocence that made Hermione wonder who Draco Malfoy could have become if only he'd been born into a different family, if only his father had not led him like a lamb for slaughter by pushing him to become a Death Eater at the tender age of sixteen.

Her body burned, not because she was angry with him, but because she was angry with herself.

Some small shitty part of her had enjoyed every second of their banter. And a smaller, very tiny and very un-shitty part of her was beginning to see that behind the Death Eater mask had been a boy. A young, brain-washed boy who had only been the victim of his circumstances.

"Damn it, McGonagall," Hermione groaned. "You were right."