Broken Ice

Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K.Rowling! Not me! Though unlike most of the writers on here I actually have some money… *hides it from preying readers/lawyer people*

A/N: Wow! 19 reviews! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I haven't got time to thank you all personally (you do want to read this chapter right?) so I'm just going to list everyone: Tiger Girl, The Charmed One, MoonDancerCat, Lucy, KAOS, Black Dragon, FrootyTang, Theaterbrat, Crimson Firebolt, Tenebrae, AngelzGaze, Amo il ragazzo, HB, Simrun, VanillaStar, Kaitee/Jesse, Nicole, draconas, and the anonymous unnamed person!

This is a rather weird chapter (It's the one with the 'question') Expect the unexpected… I tend to think in corkscrews. If I get any reviews along the lines of 'What the hell?' I'll put an explanation in the next chapter.

Enjoy!

~*~

Their next Runes lesson was just before lunch. Hermione reluctantly sat next to Malfoy, making sure she was as far away from him as possible. The table leg was digging into her knee, but she felt it was the best way to express her hatred of him.

'Have you brought the homework?' he asked across the stupidly wide gap between them.

'Of course.' She replied, pulling it out and setting it in the middle of the desk. He casually picked it up and read over the translation she had done.

'Class,' said the teacher, 'today, we will go over your homework first, and then do some translation in pairs.'

They went over the homework (Hermione and Malfoy had got it pretty well all right) and then were told to work in pairs on the next few pages, to be handed in at the end of the lesson with the previous nights work.

Hermione looked around. Everyone was talking animatedly with his or her partner. If they sat in silence, they would look conspicuous to the teacher. Sighing, she pulled her chair to a better position, and shoved her text in front of her.

They sat for a few moments in a tense silence, nothing to say, and no wish to talk to the other. Malfoy pointed to a rune.

'Does that one mean 'the house' or 'the home'?'

Hermione replied, 'The house. The sentence means 'The house was cool and dark after the heat of the day.'

He wrote it down in a careful rounded script. Watching this, Hermione remembered how handwriting was supposed to show personality. Personally, she thought it a load of nonsense, something that belonged in Professor Trelawny's room along with crystal balls, tea leaves, and continuous death omens. But there was something in the way he wrote. Carefully, with perfect control. His writing was so neat she wanted to spill a bottle of ink over it. He acted the same way – guarded, controlled. Never letting anyone see what he really felt. Or at least, that was what she thought.

The lesson soon finished, and the unfortunate class got a lot of homework. After a short and malevolent conversation, Hermione and Malfoy agreed to meet in the library at the same time as previously.

Hermione swept out after the rest of the class, who had raced out of the door as soon as the bell had gone. She didn't bother to hold the door open for Malfoy, and smiled in vindictive pleasure as she heard the door swing shut in his face. He had to be the only person on earth who could infuriate her simply by existing.

It was a short walk to the common room, where she gave the password to the Fat Lady and threw a smile at Harry and Ron as she hurried upstairs to put her books in her trunk. She groaned as she eased out her copy of the Laekalia. It was far too heavy for any sane person to carry around. She was sure it would give her permanent back injury.

She gave her hair a quick brush through, examining it in one of Lavender's mirrors before heading back downstairs.

'How was Runes?' was the first question Ron asked.

'I presume you mean how did it go with Malfoy?' Hermione said. 'Considering you don't normally ask me how my lessons were, and only last night you were threatening to turn his innards into unseasonable decorations.'

'Well how was the evil ferret? Did he do anything to warrant his evisceration?'

'Big words, for such a small mind.' Harry said philosophically, whereupon Ron hit him in the head with a well-aimed cushion. 'Well what do you expect me to say when you use words I don't understand?'

'Eviscerate means to disembowel, Harry.' said Hermione automatically, grabbing the cushion and sinking into the couch next to them. 'And I don't suppose Malfoy did anything too evil. He hardly spoke to me.'

'Good.' said Ron, smiling and leaning backwards. 'I will content myself with an evil glare'

'Yeah, besides, you wouldn't want to disembowel Malfoy.' said Harry.

'Why on earth not?'

'Because Filch would probably have you cleaning up the mess.' Harry made a face. 'Imagine having to clean up Malfoy's intestines!'

And so the trio made their way down to lunch, arguing about the pros and cons of murdering Malfoy messily.

~*~

'Do you know why I'm better than you Mudblood?'

Malfoy's words broke the icy silence that had surrounded them for the past ten minutes. Hermione didn't respond at all, just scribbled on a piece of parchment. These library sessions were getting to be more boring than History of Magic lessons. Translate, write, glare. Repeat.

From Malfoy's perspective, if he was stuck with the 'Mudblood', he may as well try to have some fun out of it.

'There's the fact that I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor.' he sneered. 'You see, Gryffindors pretend to be brave, but they're actually just too stupid to see danger. And then they throw themselves into peril and die and the rest of the world has to say it was 'heroic'. More like idiotic.'

He paused to see the effect of this statement on Hermione. She was controlling herself pretty well. But she had an angry glint in her eye.

 Success.

'Meanwhile, we Slytherins are far more intelligent. Cunning, resourceful, intellectual. Obviously better.'

He deliberately chose words that were intellect related. Hermione was, he grudgingly admitted, intelligent. And he also knew she took pride in it. Pride is just another place someone can hurt you. Pride comes before a fall.

Hermione was pressing very hard on the paper with her quill now, as if trying to drown out Malfoy's voice with the scratching it created.

'And then, of course, there's the fact that I am a pureblood wizard and you are nothing but a…'He looked at her like one would a particularly nasty vomit patch, before continuing. 'Filthy Mudblood.'

The anger that had been simmering up inside her finally reached a critical mass, and she exploded, her eyes blazing. Entertaining, thought Malfoy, but far too easy.

'Will you just shut up Malfoy, you self-centred pig!'

He sighed. 'Such a disappointing comment. Really, Mudblood, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. "Self-centred pig." A second-rate retort.' he mocked.

She slammed her quill down, fury radiating from her like tongues of flame. 'Malfoy, shut up now! I don't want to do this project with you, I'd rather drink Bubotuber pus, but I actually want to get a good mark on my OWLs, so shut the hell up now or I'll murder you, tear your body into pieces and feed it to my cat!'

He raised an eyebrow. 'I didn't know you had a cat?'

She glared at him, burning brown eyes meeting icy silver, but only for a second. Then she sat down again, her blazing anger burnt out, as though she just realised she was shouting. She picked up her quill, and started scribbling, a thoughtful expression on her face. After a few seconds, she spoke.

'If you really are so much better than me,' she began, managing to sound totally sincere and yet imperceptibly sarcastic, 'I have a question to ask you. Would you mind enlightening this humble Muggle-born with your infinite wisdom?'

'Of course. Ask away.'

'Explain why Purebloods are better than Muggleborns.'

Her question was delivered crisply, neatly. It sounded, to Malfoy, exactly like the sort of question you would find on an exam paper, with a number of marks in the margin and five or six lines below for your answer.

He didn't know the answer.

It was impossible. Insane. He was Draco Malfoy, a prefect in Slytherin house, son of one of the most influential of the Dark Lord's supporters. And he didn't know why Purebloods were best.

Hermione simply sat there, head bent over the translation, a small smile on her face. This was a battle. A war of words – who could outsmart the other.

He couldn't let her win.

There had to be a reason, he thought frenziedly. Think, Draco. Be methodical. Was it intelligence? No, because Mudblood Granger was at least as smart as he was. And Crabbe and Goyle were Purebloods and as thick as two short planks. The same went for magical skill, there were many Mudbloods who were better at magic than Purebloods. And there wouldn't be any physical differentiation either.

So why are we better?

Damned Mudblood! he thought, getting angrier every second. On the outside, he was calm and placid, in much the same way that the iceberg was placid before it punched a hole in the side of the Titanic. He should know this, he should have an answer. He should have an answer for anything. Why did he never realise he didn't know? He vowed to find out the answer. There must be one. He – and his father - were both too intelligent to plan their lives on mere prejudice. He hated his father with an icy cold loathing, but he'd never yet been wrong.

Hermione was still waiting for her answer. He couldn't make up a lie, because Granger would see right through it. Damn her!

'We simply are. I don't need to justify our superiority to a lowly Mudblood such as yourself.' He filled his voice with as much spite and contempt as he could.

She looked sideways at him, an annoyingly superior look in her eyes. 'Oh please tell me, Malfoy. I would love to learn from someone so much more intelligent than myself.' She said sarcastically. She smiled maliciously, and turned back to the parchment.

'Stop smirking at me, Granger. You look like you have constipation.'

'Whatever Malfoy.'

He couldn't say anything that could turn the tables. She held all the cards now. She'd beaten him at his own game. And she knew it. And he hated her for it.

She sat in a satisfied silence, scribbling down the translations, while he watched, seeming calm. But inwardly, he fumed with anger. How dare she outsmart him? She was a Mudblood. How could she get the better of him? He had to think of something to even the score.

A few minutes later she finished, triumphantly writing the last word on the parchment. Her smug smile never left her face. She rolled up the parchment, put her things back into her bag, and turned to go.

'Wait, Granger.'

She turned and looked at him, questioning. And cocky. It made him want to strangle her.

He hadn't a clue what he was going to say. He got up from the seat, and stood directly in front of her.

He realised, in a sickening acceptance of what he'd known all along, that he had absolutely nothing he could say to win. She smiled, waiting.

'What were you going to say, Malfoy?'

He glared at her. 'I won't let you get away with this Mudblood. You may have won this fight, but I'll win the war.'

'Really? I wasn't even aware we were fighting.' She said innocently, and turned to leave. Of course she knew they were fighting. She knew and she won. And he couldn't let her. He couldn't.

He grasped her forearm; pulling her roughly around to face him, and glared with the force of a freezing snowstorm directly into her eyes.

'Don't lie to me Mudblood.' he hissed.

She frowned suddenly and pulled away sharply; He glanced at her arm and saw half-moon dents in her skin from his fingernails. Had he meant to do that? A drop of blood appeared, bright red and glowing. Hardly a scratch but still… Why had he done that? Had he decided to? Was it accidental?

She looked at him, eyes full of disgust, turned and left. This time he didn't stop her. He had the feeling that something had just gone horribly wrong.

~*~

            A/N: Well what did you think? REVIEW!!!

 In the next chapter: Intestine omelettes, pink flowery socks, and a rather interesting curse.