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Chapter Three: Heart of Ice
My cold exterior seemed to melt away, every step I took.
Just imagining Hermione oh-so-vulnerable to those two idiots.
But I wasn't stupid enough to know that just because Hermione destroyed the Dark Lord that Potter wouldn't try something horrid and get away with it.
I knew Weasley wasn't as foolish as he looked, after all he always won every game at Wizard Chess.
After then, I quickened my steps until I stopped to see a bunch of First Years huddling around the portrait waiting for the Prefects to open the door.
Then I saw her.
Hermione of course. Her cheeks were red, and looking closer, so were her eyes. When I spotted Potter, I knew why those traces of tears were so apparent on her face.
Anger coursed through my veins. I pushed my way passed those First Years ignoring their curses and shouts, and evil glares.
"What's wrong Potter?" I asked coldly, "Not enough girls to hang over your every word." My body was covering Hermione's small one.
"It's none of your business," he sneered, his glasses gleamed mockingly at me, blinding me for just a moment.
"Anything that has to do with Hermione does," I answered back, earning a few shocked looks.
"When have you begun to show an interest in—her," Potter said, I wanted to punch him in the face. "She's nothing but a filthy Mudblood."
Nobody could've stopped me. I flung a punch at his face and it landed in his stomach. He stumbled back, and wiped his bleeding nose.
"You kiss your dead mother with that mouth Potter?" I said scornfully, "Your dead Mudblood mother."
I could see Potter's eyes flash in anger for a moment before a calm look glazed over. "Why would you care so much Malfoy? You didn't seem to mind calling—her—a Mudblood in Second Year.
His face; seemed mocking, to be pummeled.
So I did.
Several times actually, until Weasley showed up and pulled back Hermione's hair. I heard a whimper behind, cursing I turned around to face what was to befall. That Weasley girl, although it made no difference which Weasley, was gripping a lock of Hermione's hair, twisting it and pulling it back, till she felt pain.
"Let her go," I warned.
"Let Harry go," she said, "You—bastard."
"Give Hermione here," I said, she complied much to my amazement. "If you weren't a girl I wouldn't think twice to hit you."
"Gladly so," she said with a smile playing on her lips.
"I would," Hermione muttered suddenly and launched herself on the girl. Naturally, since the Weasley played Quidditch, she found herself on top and gripping Hermione's hair, yet again.
Before she could do anymore damage, I tore Hermione away from that wretched girl's grasp.
"I said I wouldn't hit you the first time, the second, you're not so lucky." I turned to face Hermione breathing raggedly. "Are you—okay?"
She nodded lightly before glaring menacingly at Weasley.
The Weasley girl tossed the remark off and sashayed her way to Potter, linking her arm into his, and entering the open portrait.
The First Years scrambled in as quickly as they could, afraid they might have to endure the night out there in the cold coridoor.
That coridoor was soon empty, only two people remained.
"You can stay with me. In my room." She looked up quizzically into my face.
"How?"
"It's quite easy. You walk; using those stick things you call legs, to my room. You can wander to my bed or just let me carry you there—"
"I meant, won't your Slytherin friends—maybe friends is too strong a word, I mean, allies, find my presence, rather disturbing?" she interrupted.
"After the what happened in the Great Hall, I think they'll ease into it," I replied.
"I still think it's a bad idea." I sighed.
Apparently, I seemed to look dejectedly, because she was staring at me rather oddly. An icy exterior seemed to be building up again.
She started to look rather upset at me.
"I'm not letting you spend another night with those two."
"I can fend for myself." I snorted at her reply. Not only was she really bad at lying, but her obvious reasons were insane.
"It's either stay with me, or wait till I report what happened to Dumbledore."
"What makes you think Dumbledore will believe you." I could tell I was losing what amount of apparent trust I had achieved.
"Oh believe me, he will."