Very short chapter today.
But an important one.
To my reviewer: I'm sure you're taking the mickey, but just in case you're not- -Hermione isn't an ugly hag. She's just Muggleborn. The Weasleys are Pureblood.
DISCLAIMER: this is my story, but not my characters
They'd walked in silence for as long as they could, a ten foot gap between them.
"You're bloody drunk," he'd muttered finally, steadying her with one hand at her elbow as she nearly tumbled into a chasm made by a moving staircase. Hermione had swatted him away.
"Don't touch me," she spat.
"You almost fell!" Draco spat back, releasing her elbow with a bit too much ferocity. She fell backwards onto the stone and he sighed in frustration. "Merlin," he muttered, extending a hand.
Hermione struggled to her feet without it, turning coldly away from him as she waited for the staircase to circle back around.
"There's no need to be childish, Granger," Malfoy chided. She let out a single bark of laughter.
"Oh, yeah, I'm childish," she scoffed, arms crossed at her chest. She laughed again. "Because I'm the one who only kisses Purebloods for fear of getting cooties."
"It's more than that, you silly bint," Draco dismissed, swiftly becoming annoyed.
"What more, then?" Hermione challenged, spinning eagerly to face him. "What is it?"
"It's the way it should be," Draco responded angrily.
"Why?" she challenged, stepping over his words without hesitation.
"Because—"
"Because what?"
"Because it IS!" he roared. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Typical."
"Typical of what?" Draco spat.
"You don't even know why you're not supposed to like us," Hermione responded simply, shrugging her shoulders and giving him with a plaintive expression. "I don't know why I was ever bothered by you. It's bloody sad, really," she muttered.
"Oh, come off it, you slag," Draco bit. He was growing heated very quickly, feeling trapped and interrogated. He clenched his fists and wished the staircase would come faster.
"Slag," Hermione repeated with a snort. "Nice. What, 'Mudblood' too intimate for you right now? I haven't done enough to deserve it yet?"
Draco jiggled his foot angrily, setting his jaw. He could see the bloody thing swinging around at the other end of the hallway. If it would just hurry up—
"If you haven't said it, idiot, you know it's a bloody disgusting thing to say. You know it's mean and hurtful," Hermione continued, facing him fully now and leaning uncomfortably into his personal space.
He turned his head away from hers and fixed his gaze on the upper right corner of the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his jaw as she spoke.
"I'm right here, Malfoy, and I'm a bloody Mudblood! Go ahead and say it! I'm not a person anyways, it's not like I feel it!"
Her face was inches from his and Draco was breathing heavily, every muscle in his body tense and quivering with rage.
"Say it!" she screamed, her arms flying up beside her head. "I'm beneath you, aren't I?" She grabbed his hand and Draco flinched, stepping backwards and swiveling to face her in his surprise. She pressed his hand against her chest and he felt his heart rate increase even more than it already had. His skin burned where she touched him.
"I'm warm, aren't I?! D'you feel that?"
She pressed his hand further into her chest and Draco felt the clearly accelerated beating of her heart, striking itself against his palm as she spoke.
"Do you feel it or not?" she demanded.
She slammed her other hand against his own chest and he met her eyes for the first time, his expression one of utter bewilderment. Her eyes were dark and angry, her face flushed, her hair impossibly mussed and extended out around her head like a halo of lightning.
"Oh you've got one too, have you?" she mocked sarcastically. Draco blinked rapidly. They stood at the edge of the empty hallway, impossibly high up, the moonlight from the windows slicing across their faces, hands pressed tight to each other's heaving chests.
"Do you feel it or not, Draco?" she repeated. Slower this time. Softly, almost.
"Yes," he answered finally, shocking himself with the fearful whisper of his voice.
She released him immediately, taking a step back but refusing to lower that challenging gaze. Draco pulled his hand into his chest, gripping his wrist tightly as if he'd been burned.
"Say it, then," she demanded.
He looked at her stupidly, mouth slightly open, rubbing at the wrist she'd been holding onto just moments before.
"…No," he said quietly.
He felt a stinging at the back of his throat and he swallowed hard.
Hermione held his gaze, her expression unreadable, before turning away from him.
Somewhere in that interaction the staircase had returned, and she regarded it carefully.
"Go back," she said, breaking the silence at last. "I'll get the pumpkin juice myself."
Draco took a step backwards, and then another, before turning away from her.
Halfway down the hall he found himself running.
His adrenaline—inexplicably—was at an all-time high.
.
.
Next chapter: "The First Night"