The corridors are dark and empty. She wraps her arms around herself, against the chill. The chill that seems to have nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the gnawing in her stomach.
Get a grip, Hermione. You have no proof that he has any interest in Ginny.
She sighs, a frustrated sound.
No. No proof at all. Except that he stares at her every time she's in the same room. Except that they stay up late talking almost every night.
Ugh. He says he loves me. Shouldn't that be good enough for me?
"Well, well, well."
She jumps slightly. The voice shakes her from her thoughts. But within seconds she realizes that the voice isn't strange. No, much worse, it is annoyingly familiar.
She doesn't turn. She doesn't have to. Draco Malfoy is in front of her in moments. His cold grey eyes are glittering with malice. His arms are crossed over his chest in what is obviously a stance of superiority.
"Leave me alone, Malfoy."
"Tsk, tsk. You should be more polite when addressing your superiors."
"You're right. I will keep that in mind when I encounter someone who is, in fact, superior."
She moves to step past him, but he blocks her path. She rolls her eyes and crosses her own arms. "Get out of my way," she says, annoyance creeping into her voice.
"What's wrong, Mudblood? Having a bad night?"
She doesn't answer, but he sees pain flash through her eyes. His smirk becomes a predatory grin.
"What? Was Potter not paying attention to you?"
She clenches her teeth. He sees her tense up.
"I'll bet he was watching that Weasley brat, wasn't he?"
Her eyes are stinging. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. Not in front of Malfoy.
He is closer to her now. His voice is soft and low, she feels his breath on her cheek. His body brushing hers. Lightly, so lightly.
"You know what you are, Granger?" He laughs lightly. "You're a trophy wife. Potter loves having the smartest witch in school on his arm. It makes for the best publicity since he put my father and his friends into Azkaban. But you don't really mean anything to him."
He looks at her through his eyelashes and she works hard to keep her gaze steady, fixed on the stones under her feet.
"You don't mean anything to anyone."
He steps back and she raises her hand, ready to smack him. She would love nothing more than to see his expression, shocked as it was in her third year.
But he catches her wrist in his hand. His grip is like iron.
He looks at her with cold eyes, an arrogant smirk on his pale face.
"The truth hurts, doesn't it?"
He lets her go, her arm dropping uselessly to her side, and walks away, leaving her alone once more.
"