Hermione turned away before he could answer and stalked towards the exit, keeping her gaze low to ignore the looks of the other students. She would swear they were casting her suspicious glances again, and she hurried away with a heavy heart. Despite her desire to avoid her dorm – or more precisely, the blond Slytherin who was lingering inside – her strides led her there anyway. She trembled with anxiety as she whispered the password and slipped inside; her nervous hazels scanning every inch of her quarters critically.
As always, the room gave no indication of his presence, and she quickly concluded that he was in his room. With a relieved sigh that any confrontation would be postponed for the time being, she rushed towards her room with every intention of hiding away until morning, uncaring that it could be considered cowardly.
She stopped short when three steady knocks tapped against the main door, and she released a startled yelp. Merlin, she was on edge...
"Who is it?" she called, her voice wavering slightly.
"It's Michael."
She frowned at his insistence and fired a cautious look at Malfoy's room, wondering if it was wise to have a visitor when he was supposed to remain unseen. "What do you want?" she asked loudly, keeping her eyes fixed on Draco's door. "I'm a little busy."
"You left one of your books behind," the Head Boy explained. "Are you okay?"
She grimaced and slowly headed towards his voice, casting a final glance over her shoulder before she cracked open the door; just enough to prop her head against the frame and keep her body hidden.
"I was just about to have a shower," she lied when he gave her a puzzled look. "I'm in my dressing gown."
"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly, holding up the book for her to take. "Are you certain you're okay, Hermione? You've been acting a little off today."
She managed to force her mouth into an uncomfortable smile as she plucked her book out of his fingers and chucked it to land on her table. "I'm just really tired," she told him, closing the door a little and hoping he would get the hint. "I think I'm going to have an early night, but thanks for bringing me the book."
"Are you sure?" he persisted, and she fought hard not to get irritated with him.
"I'm sure," she said bluntly. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, then. I'll see you Saturday."
Hermione released a haggard breath and rested her forehead heavily against the door, willing the oddly loud thuds in her chest to simmer. She knew that Michael's intentions had been completely innocent and her reaction had been too defensive, but she just felt like everyone was trying to corner her today and delve into her thoughts; her secrets, and she didn't want a soul knowing what she had done.
"Who the fuck was that?"
Her head whipped around so quick she almost lost her balance, and her chest felt ready to tear open when her heart recommenced its wild pounding. She subconsciously retreated until her back was pressed up against the door, and she placed a hand over her heaving chest; fixated on him as he leaned against the doorframe with a thunderous expression. His features were contorted into a fascinating mixture of scorn and resentment, and something else that she couldn't quite identify that made her breath clog her throat.
"Why do you have to do that?" she gasped angrily once she'd found her voice. "Do you enjoy scaring the-
"I asked you who that was," he spat between clenched teeth, and she noticed then how tense his muscles were. "And you'd better give me a decent fucking answer, Granger."
She flinched as he pushed himself away from the wall and shifted towards her, with slow and calculated movements that reminded her of a wolf. She'd noticed that Malfoy had a defined grace and elegance that she couldn't help but admire and envy; as though every step was intentional and preplanned to be intimidating, or even seductive. She should have found it disconcerting or unpleasant but, Godric forgive her, she couldn't help but be intrigued.
"Are you bloody deaf, Grang-
"It was just Michael Corner," she murmured, shrugging off her robes and heading to the sofas. "He's in our year and-
"I know who he is," he ground out, his tone still low and dark. "Dull Ravenclaw. Shit Qudditch player. His only redeeming feature is that he's a Pureblood. What did he want from you?"
"He was returning my book," she explained uneasily as he continued to near her; arms folded arrogantly over his chest. "Why do you-
"And why would that sad little prick think you would be meeting him on Saturday?"
She raised her eyebrows. "You were eavesdropping?"
"Just ANSWER the fucking question!" he demanded harshly, slamming his palms against the back of the other couch. "Why would you be meeting him?"
"What business is it of yours?"
He clicked his jaw and shook his head, like he was catching himself before he did something foolhardy. His storm-cloud eyes flickered between her and the floor while he chewed his tongue and seemed to gather a few soothing breaths. She studied him closely and dampened her lips with a flick of her tongue, waiting nervously for his response.
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