Mudblood Fever and Lingerie

Going ‘Round Again

Hermione managed to focus through most of Monday, her mind made up, and just waiting for the opportunity to act. During potions class, she stared into her swirling potion, trying to think of ways to get a message to Malfoy. She finally settled on a small piece of paper, scribbling a note onto it, and pointing her wand at it. She muttered under her breath making the paper vanish.

Draco looked at his book, checking the next ingredient before adding it.

“Same closet…” He paused, his brain registering the words, his hand poised over the bubbling cauldron. He shifted the paper to the side, reading the words underneath, and letting his fingers tip the corresponding elements into the water. He looked back down at the paper that had appeared in his textbook.

“Same closet after class, H.” He looked around at Granger, who was diligently stirring her own potion, reading her textbook, and counting silently to herself, her lips moving with each number. Her eyes flashed briefly to him, and away, confirming what he already knew.

He felt his stomach sink as he re-read the note. Would it be worse to go, or skip out, leaving her waiting. He finished his potion swiftly, and pointed his wand at the paper, erasing the words, and replacing it with two letters before making it vanish.

Hermione took longer than usual, cleaning up her supplies as class was dismissed.

“You two go along, I’ll probably just go to the library, or have a bath before dinner.” She told Ron and Harry, who were watching her clean up.

“See you at dinner, then.” Harry replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and leaving, cradling the damn potions book like it was his baby.

“Have fun at the library.” Ron said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes at him, hurrying him along as she finished clearing her potions supplies, and waved her wand over her cauldron, making the remaining potion inside vanish.

She left the now-empty room, and snuck around the corner, to the same closet her and Draco had shared a week ago. She clutched the scrap of paper that had ‘ok’ written on it, waiting in the dark closet for the Slytherin to appear. “Shouldn’t he be here already?” She thought to herself, having seen him leave before her. She was starting to feel dismayed, when suddenly the door creaked open, the tall silhouette haloed by a platinum crown of hair.

“I was worried you wouldn’t show up.” She said, his appearance relieving her into honesty.

“I thought about it.” He said, sending up an orb of light to float by the ceiling, and locking the door with another flick of his wand as they were doused in a dull orange twilight. She was surprised by his candor, unused to his neutral tone.

“Did you need help with  your homework, Granger?” He asked, slightly more hostile, looking down at her with a strange expression she couldn’t decipher, as if he’d realized he was being too friendly, and decided to act his normal bullying self.

“No, I wanted to ask…” She paused, Ginny’s words stuck in her head. There had to be a better way of saying it? She looked warily toward the door, and muttered Harry and Ron’s new favorite silencing spell. “Are you interested in another go?” She cringed, hearing the words take just the form she hadn’t wanted them to. He stared, seeming like he hadn’t heard her properly.

“Another go?” He asked and she could hear the derision in his voice. “Why would I want that? You were fun once, but I’d rather not sully myself twice.” His face was emotionless as he said it, his dark words clashing with his eyes. They were locked on hers, challenging her to change his mind.

“Fine.” She broke his gaze, and pushed around him, pulling out her wand to unlock the door, and hurry into the hallway, tears pricking her eyes. She’d thought maybe in private he wouldn’t insult her like his usual ass of a self.

“Guess I was wrong. Nothing’s changed. He got what he wanted.” She thought, hurrying up the corridor.

Draco stood in the closet, feeling sleazy, and guilty, not satisfied by insulting her like he usually did. He’d seen the tears in her eyes, the pain on her face. She’d come onto him, and he’d blown her off. What kind of a brainless prat was he?

He burst out of the closet, seeing a surprised first year freeze halfway up the corridor. He darted around the corner, quickly catching up to the retreating bushy mass of curls.

“Wait.” He called, reaching out to take her wrist. She was a smart girl; if he explained, maybe she’d understand. She yanked her arm away, and spun to face him.

“Don’t touch me, Malfoy.” She threatened, her eyes promising retribution. He scrambled for words, hearing the footsteps of the first-year cutting into his time to speak.

“In here.” He grabbed her arm, and guided her toward a door, opening it, and hiding both of them inside, away from prying eyes, and ears. He could have all the time he needed to try making sense.

“Let me out, Malfoy, or I’ll jinx you.” Her voice was completely steady as she spoke, all traces of pain gone, replaced with pure fury.

“I can’t.” He said, feeling his own confusion at the situation swirling around his mind. Why had he stopped her? It was best if she hated him. Best if they kept it as a single instance.

“I mean it Malfoy, let me out." She’d pulled her wand on him, pointing the tip straight at his heart. He stared at her wand, remembering how her fist had felt against his face, three years ago. He knew she wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him, especially here, with no witnesses.

“If you want to run away so badly, fine!” He stepped aside, feeling his own anger rising, angry with her for threatening him, and angry with himself for thinking she may have understood anything about him.

“Thank you.” She shot at him angrily, swinging the door open, and disappearing around it.

“Run back to the Weasel, Mudblood! Maybe he’ll make you feel a quarter of what I did, if he ever takes you back!” He shouted after her, feeling hatred in his gut. She was probably going to seek her friends’ comfort, and make him out to be the bad guy. He had no one to talk to. No one he could tell how he felt. No one who could tell him what he was feeling.

He pulled out his wand, waving it at the door, forcing the door closed violently, and sinking to the floor, feeling his chest heave with rapid breaths, his face felt hot, his eyes stung, and his whole midsection felt as though it had been crushed.

Misery. That’s what he was feeling. He hated himself for ever touching that filthy mudblood. He hated his friends for being unable to listen. He hated the Weasel for exchanging her, giving her an opportunity at himself. He hated Slughorn for encouraging it, and he hated Hermione for being a better witch, a perfect lay, and a god-damned mudblood. He felt like his soul was caving in as he sat there, sobbing into his knees like a first year, his voice filling the room, even as he tried to enunciate Hermione’s silencing charm through his tears.

He hated himself for being Pureblood. He hated himself for being a Malfoy.

He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, could he? He had to antagonize her. He just had to bring her as low as he felt about himself. He hit the floor, his knuckles colliding with hard stone. His hand spiking with pain, his chest hurt worse still. Since hurting himself seemed to be all he could do, why not keep going, until there was nothing left of himself? There’d be nothing left to hate.

A/N: Bit sorry for the angst here, but not really. Angsty Draco is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me to write. :3 Lemme know what you think of how it's coming along! Please let me know if you see any errors, or not-well-thought-out bits that could use touching up.