It was only a week later that Hermione had the misfortune of running into Malfoy again. She walked into the potions section of the library (with a determination not to let Harry best her again in Slughorn's class; she was getting very tired of constantly losing to him) and he was there. Eyes still red from her stinging hex, reading intently from an ugly ancient book that she instantly recognised.
Malfoy was less likely to attack her in a location with staff and a variety of heinous protection spells to protect Madam Pince's precious collection. It would be a good chance to grind his ego into the dirt and remind him to fuck off and leave her alone.
"Moste Potente Potions, hm?" she said, and his eyes slid from the book to her. "You know I've issued that book before, you might want to ask if there's a pureblood-only version you can touch with your bare hands."
Malfoy stared at her, unimpressed. "It would be more surprising if there was a book in this library you hadn't issued," he said.
Her mouth twitched. "True," Hermione conceded, and she kept her peripheral vision on him while acting as carefree as she could, looking along the the shelf for the book she wanted for the assignment. "I see that stinging hex did a number on you," she continued, right hand covertly finding her wand in her pocket in case she needed to defend herself. "Good to know I'm not rusty." She was too scared now, and just grabbed the nearest book like it was the one she was looking for to turn to face him again, feeling slightly more comfortable with Malfoy in her direct line of sight.
His face remained sullen. "I suppose learning to fight with your wand rather than your fists is an achievement for you," Malfoy replied evenly, and her heart thudded with anger at his veiled bigotry.
"Fighting my own battles is an achievement, yes," she shot back. She slammed the book on the table and sat down opposite him. "Are congratulations in order for Crabbe and such not backing you up the other day?"
"You tell me," Malfoy said, looking pointedly at the burn on her face. "Looks like it hurt."
"Well, I could have healed it," Hermione rushed to say, not wanting to give him any sort of magical inadequacy he could turn against her, "but I thought it might have been important evidence if anyone else showed up cursed."
His jaw locked into place. 'Looks like Harry might have been right about Katie,' she thought. In the uncomfortable silence, the burning question she had been stewing over about his acid curse was on her tongue before she had thought it through.
"Can I ask you something?" she said abruptly, leaning in to stare him closer in the eye. "Why an acid curse and not a stinging hex? Are you planning on using muggle tactics to discriminate now?"
Confusion rolled over his face, crinkling up his forehead, and caused Hermione to suddenly consider that Malfoy better hope he keep his hairline, because his widow's peak could otherwise become very unforgiving. "What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked.
Hermione blinked, and the impulse to explain something that someone didn't understand kicked in automatically. "Acid attacks are used by muggles. They're mostly used against women as a kind of revenge."
"Nice," he replied sarcastically, which Hermione thought was quite hypocritical considering he was the reason she had brought this up. "Actually, Granger, I was trying to get you to stop attacking me."
Hermione leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Maybe you should have left when I asked you to," she replied coolly, "rather than block the exit."
"You're right," he hissed at her, suddenly giving way to the latent anger he always had for her kind, bubbling beneath the old-money surface. "I should have known you'd lash out without warning. Mother always told me that muggles are barbaric. You wouldn't know civility if it hit you in the face."
"Oh, is that what this was?" Hermione asked, pointing to her burned face. "You're right; I'm so sorry Malfoy for not properly thanking you for – "
She stopped speaking as he pulled out his wand and placed his armed fist on the table, aiming at her face.
"Going to try again?" Hermione asked, holding her own wand tightly underneath the desk.
"You always strike first," he responded. Hermione shook her head.
"No, that would be you. I'm not campaigning to eliminate your existence."
He had no response, and the silence between them was awkward and sad because her statement was true. She sighed, standing up and grabbing her useless book.
"I'm going to back out slowly, with my wand drawn, and neither of us will attack each other," she said. Malfoy didn't say anything, and they stared at each other as Hermione backed out of the section, her wand aimed at his eyes that were more red than grey.