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Chosen	By : TillieJupiter Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters of Harry Potter belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this wor

Chapter List
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The first week of school was like any other week—the students that loved the first day of school remembered why they hated the second and the students that hated the first day of school remembered why. And then there was Hermione that actually relished in it all. The first day of school reminded her of being young and optimistic; the new parchment, unused quills, and unopened books felt like they could reveal a new world to her. It was probably one of her favorite times of the year, and this year was even more special—it was her last year.
The idea of not being at Hogwarts next year tugged at her mind. For the past 7 years, her life had been consumed by Hogwarts—her learning, her friends, …her enemies. To leave Hogwarts seemed like she would be starting over. Would the first day of that new future feel the same as today?
Hermione pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she sat in the middle of the courtyard after classes with some books strewn about. She opened up her Potions books and began to read over tomorrow’s chapter. The sun shone down making her auburn curls shimmer in the light, and the warmth filled her with calm. The summer was not yet over, but the air smelled of autumn already. With her legs outstretched, she felt the hot sun on the exposed skin on her legs, with her school uniform skirt lying just over the top of her knees. It was a beautiful day.
“Hello, Hermione,” said a soft, high-pitched voice from above her. Hermione looked up catching the young, blond witch’s blue eyes.
“Luna.” Hermione smiled at her, as she shielded her squinted eyes from the glare of the sun just above the blond witches head.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Luna asked, her head tilting innocently. Hermione shook her head as she smiled and gestured to the spot next to her welcoming Luna to sit. Luna sat down, crossed her legs, and set her bag next to her. She then opened her bag and took out some leftover snacks she had stolen away and started to munch on them.
“Beautiful day,” Luna commented, as she looked up at the blue sky above, her pale features drinking in the sunlight.
“Indeed.” Hermione sighed and closed her eyes as she postured up towards the sun. The red glare filled her pupils from behind her eyelids.
“I’m going to miss this,” Luna said wistfully.
“Miss what?” Hermione asked, opening her eyes to look at her.
“Sitting out here with you, of course. You know, next year,” Luna explained.
“Oh.” Hermione sighed. “Me too.”
“But it’s only the beginning of the year. We’ll have many months ahead of us to enjoy,” Luna said optimistically.
“Though, maybe not as good as days as this,” Hermione said.
“Every day is good if you make it that way,” Luna said, her surprising wisdom somehow always present.
“I’ll try to remember that.” Hermione smiled—she was always happy with her conversations with Luna.
They sat there in silence for a little while, both basking in the sun, and then Luna’s voice broke the silence again. “So, how are you?” she asked.
Hermione peered over at her friend. That was the million Galleon question that pretty much everyone was wondering, and really only because Harry and Ron made her ordeal seem so dramatic. “Oh, well, you know…” Hermione trailed off, trying to get out of the subject.
“I do?” Luna asked innocently, not understanding the parlance.
Hermione laughed a little at Luna’s innocence and looked at the girl again, feeling her walls drop down a little. “Well, I try not to go back to my room if that means anything.”
“Oh dear,” Luna said softly. “Why not?”
“Well, let’s just say we should probably get the furniture cleaned,” Hermione said as she grimaced.
“Oh, but everything does clean itself, you know,” Luna chimed in, glossing over why it needed to be cleaned.
Hermione laughed at her matter-of-fact attitude. “Okay, well maybe there just isn’t anything to wash my eyes then!”
“I read somewhere about something that–” Luna began.
“Luna, I was kidding!” Hermione laughed.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you really laugh all week.” Luna smiled a big toothy grin.
“I think I needed that. Thanks, Luna.” The friends smiled at each other.
“But other than that, how else has it been?” Luna pressed. Hermione’s smile fell a bit.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she quickly said, closing her eyes again and turning her face towards the sun in the sky.
Though it was true Hermione could handle it, it didn’t mean it wasn’t already taxing. She had already begun to lose sleep by coming back to the dorms so late so she didn’t have to deal with Draco. The times she did come back, he had immediately picked a fight or he was with another girl. Luckily, Hermione had yet to come upon him in any real compromising positions. Yet, she thought, grimacing.
“Is he different?” Luna suddenly asked.
Hermione opened her eyes and gave a quizzical look towards the 6th year. “What do you mean?”
“Is he any different than you expected?” Luna clarified, her head tilting innocently again.
Hermione sat and thought for a moment. “I guess not.”
“Well good; at least you’re not disappointed.” Luna’s logic was staggering.
“I guess not.” Hermione laughed a little, though she was a little puzzled how Luna made everything seem to so positive.

As he sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Draco seemed lost in thought as his gray eyes intensely looked off into nothing. Chatter continued on around him—those that knew him use to his silences.
“I still can’t believe that filthy Mudblood got Head Girl,” Pansy spat, her disgust evident in her voice. Over across the Hall she saw the girl of subject sitting silently with her friends reading a book—Hermione. “I can’t believe Draco has to put up with that filth all the time,” she continued.
“Well, maybe he’s getting more out of her than we know,” Blaise said as he elbowed Draco jokingly.
“Right, like he’d fuck a Mudblood,” Pansy said with even more disgust.
“Why not?” Blaise laughed. “Pussy is pussy, man.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Draco suddenly interjected, though his far-off look did not change from his face. Suddenly, he stood up and without saying another word he left the Hall, leaving his friends to watch him incredulously; however, it wasn’t clear if they were reacting to his words or the fact that he spoke at all.
Something about the way they objectified Hermione—basically anatomizing her—made him squeamish, though he wasn’t sure why. He chalked it up to the idea of even imagining her in those terms made him sick, or least that’s what he told himself.
He found himself alone in the corridors—too early into dinner for most to be finished and too late for any first years to be running clumsily in after getting lost. But as Head Boy that wasn’t any of his worry at the moment—most of the prefects did all the grunt work so he didn’t have to subject himself to late nights of walking the halls looking for curfew breakers but once a week.
Draco found a window looking into the courtyard with a bench in front of it that allowed him to look out into the sunset sky. He felt a sudden chill go over him, and thought maybe the summer night was already turning to autumn.
Then it felt as if lightning had struck him. His vision suddenly lit up and his head felt as if it was splitting in two. He grabbed onto the windowsill and let out a muffled cry as his body seemed to uncontrollably tense. The spasm continued when suddenly he felt a hand upon his arm, which ripped him back to reality. As his vision and hearing came back, they came in waves: hazel eyes; autumn curls; perfect skin.
“Malfoy!” His name sounded muffled in his mind, and confusion exuded out of his gray pools of eyes. “Malfoy!” Suddenly the voice was louder as she shook his shoulder.
Coming to, the full vision of the person before him came in sight: Hermione Granger. Draco quickly snatched his arm away from her. “What, what?!” he wailed as he pulled away.
“What the hell just happened to you?” Hermione asked with her face full of what appeared to be concern.
Draco quickly got up and backed away from her, with the same seemingly disgusted look on his face that she was used to, though with a tinge of what appeared to be shock. “Nothing! Nothing…!” he trailed off as he turned around and headed quickly away leaving a very confused Hermione behind.
Hermione sat there watching him leave, with a look of confusion and concern on her face. When she happened upon him as she left the Great Hall, he seemed to convulse and whine in such a way that she had no option but to see if he was okay. When she saw him, all of her reservations about who he was left her and she was compelled to grab him and shake him back from wherever he had gone. The look in his eyes was nothing she had ever seen before, and it left her confused and wondering.
Looking out the window, she wondered if she should tell Harry about it. The thought quickly left her as she knew he’d blow it out of proportion and think Draco was being possessed or something crazy. Hermione shook her head and picked up her book, looking at its cover as she wondered if she should return to her dorm tonight. Then, a feeling of concern outweighed her apprehension she had felt that week and she decided to return—just in case. Just in case what? She asked herself, but she couldn’t answer that question.
His pallid skin seemed even cold in his own reflection as it stared back at him in the mirror. His gray eyes were round and almost pleading with his reflection—expecting, waiting, and nothing. A few silent minutes went by before suddenly he lunged for the toilet, and he vomited the small dinner he had just had.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he wiped his hand across his lips. He stood and flushed the toilet and made his way back to the mirror—his reflection even sicker and more pathetic than before. “Fucking tosser,” he said to himself as he turned on the faucet and scooped some water into his mouth before spitting it out.
He left his reflection, grabbed a nearby towel and rubbed it over his entire face to rid himself of the cold sweat that had collected. His thoughts went to what had happened earlier.
Maybe he was sick? Maybe he should see Madame Pomfrey? He let out a chuckle at the thought and shook his head knowing full well that would be the last thing he would do. Should I tell Snape? he asked himself. No… he said to himself, remembering the first time he brought such a story to his mentor. He remembered the encounter vividly…
“You have to be sure!” Snape yelled in his face with Draco cornered against a wall. “You can’t just throw such an accusation around like that! You have to be sure, Draco!” he yelled again. “I-I don’t know!” Draco called out. Snape’s wand was suddenly against his throat. “I just saved your life from Potter and now you tell me this! I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco!”
Draco threw the towel in the corner of the bathroom after washing his hands as if washing the memory away from his mind. He left his reflection with one last sigh before returning to his room, then out the door, down the stairs, and into the Common Room. He heavily sat down on the couch, quickly stretching out his legs—his body long enough that he had to set his feet far over the opposite arm rest. He folded his fingers over his chest and closed his eyes—he could still feel his heart racing.
Some time passed and Draco felt himself calming—his breaths becoming even and heart steady. Then suddenly, he heard a voice near the door.
“Ar-Are you okay, Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice faltered. Draco sighed, obviously not shocked by the voice at all.
“Why do you care?” Draco said as he forgot to not engage her. He should have told her to fuck off.
“I mean, you seemed…like you needed…medical attention. Should I get Madame Pomfrey?” Hermione ventured, taking a few steps in as she wondered where any of her concern came from. I’m just a good person, she told herself.
Draco let out a laugh. “That hag! Man, I’d rather have you take care of me.” That came out not how he had meant it to and he opened his eyes to take in her reaction; she still only gave the same tentative and perplexed look she had before. “I mean,” he said as he sat up, “She’s as useless as pumpkin juice,” he finally said with not much gusto behind it. He seemed exhausted—too exhausted to even show contempt as usual.
Hermione realized she had never seen this side of him before. He seemed worn out, broken down, and too tired to fight anymore, and she wasn’t sure if it sat well with her. “Okay,” she finally said awkwardly. Never had she been left in silence with him before—the air was usually full of insults and someone storming out. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Hermione finally asked. As soon as she said it she regretted it, as she felt as if she gave him the power over their quarters that she had allowed him to have the past weeks.
“No,” he said almost softly. “I’ll go.” With that Draco stood up and calmly walked to his room—his steps a little tired and clumsy. His door, for the first time, closed with little sound leaving Hermione the Common Room all to herself.
She was left wondering as she sat down on the couch in front of the fire if this is what Luna meant by “different”.

The brief peace didn’t last between Hermione and Draco. The next day was a Sunday and it was the night the Head Boy and Head Girl do their rounds in the castle. They ventured out alone and were going to circle back to confirm each completed their assigned route, though they both found it completely insulting they had to be somehow watching the other. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had insisted. Of course, they each thought it was due to the other’s utter incompetence, so no feelings were actually hurt.
Around midnight, Hermione came upon some sounds in a corridor on a bottom floor near Slytherin. Rounding a corner she happened upon two 5th year Slytherins making out.
“Excuse me,” Hermione interrupted, her lit wand pointed into their connected faces. They both turned their heads to look at her, their eyes squinting from the light.
“You mind getting that fucking light out of my face?” the boy asked—his deep Scottish accent more manly than his years.
“Excuse me?” Hermione said again, this time the inflection in her words displaying she had a problem with what he had said.
“You heard what I said; get that fucking thing out of my face!” he hollered, suddenly slapping the wand away.
Hermione backed up and regained a defensive stance, keeping her lit wand pointed towards the couple. “Don’t you dare touch my wand! Do you know who I am?” she asked dubiously.
“Of course we do, you dumb bitch,” the boy continued. He had a look in his eyes that somehow scared Hermione—he looked unhinged.
Hermione tried to regain her composure as she was not used to walking into situations of pure hostility towards her, even in her interactions with Draco. She cleared her throat and then began to matter-of-factly speak—something she was obviously good at. “You’re out after curfew. I was going to just let you off with a warning, but because of your attitude, I’m going to have to write you up and you’ll be serving detention.”
“Oh, what does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to listen to some Mudblood whore!” he shouted as he began moving towards her. Suddenly the smell of alcohol filled Hermione’s nostrils as he barked at her.
“Oh, God, you’re drunk,” she said with disgust as she covered her hand over her nose to try and protect herself from the stench.
The entire time the girl involved seemed too disoriented to even respond, with her smeared make-up making her appear older; she simply stood there and seemed to wave from side-to-side every once in a while without out the boy balancing her.
“So what? What are you going to do about it you bloody–”
Suddenly, he pulled his wand out and was pointing it at Hermione, but before she had time to respond or he had time to finish his sentence, the boy was pinned up against the wall and the Slytherin girl was thrown on the floor.
Draco’s gray eyes were flashing murder with his hand gripped around the boy’s neck. The boy let out a muffled yell as his back slammed against the wall. “You dare pull your wand out on US?!” Draco screamed in the boy’s face.
“I-I didn’t know it was you, Draco,” the boy almost squealed out.
“Don’t say my name, filth,” Draco hissed.
Instantly, Draco threw the boy hard to the ground away from them. “Get out of my sight, you fucking dog! You’ll be doing lines in detention for months for this!” he yelled as both the boy and girl kicked their legs to get farther away from Draco’s intimidating form.
“Yes, yes sir!” the boy called, as his unusually masculine and sinister voice turned to that of a whiny little boy. He got up and ran towards the dorms and left the girl behind as she took a few moments to get her bearings before doing the same.
“Bloody children,” Draco muttered to himself as he saw them go. Before Hermione had a chance to say anything, Draco spun around, his face looming above her as his eyes flashed. “I thought you were qualified for this job?!” he hissed.
“I-I,” Hermione stuttered. “I am! Not everything requires violence!” she defended, thrown off guard by the amount of aggression he showed towards her.
“He would have hurt you,” he yelled in her face, his hot breath snapping at her curls; the force of his anger made her look down.
“I can take care of myself, Malfoy.” Words she had been saying a lot lately.
“Obviously,” he sneered sarcastically as he backed away from her—her response to his aggression made him falter.
“You believe the best in everyone, don’t you?” he finally said, the harshness in his voice lessened, but still typical of their spats. “He was drunk! He could have killed you.”
“Well, most of us don’t encounter those so ready to kill us, now do we?” Hermione retorted, looking up at him.
“Then consider yourself lucky. At least Potter would know better,” he said darkly. Hermione’s brow furrowed a little as Draco admitted more than he meant to, and of all things possibly complimented Harry.
“If you actually think yourself ready for this world you should learn to defend yourself better, and to be ready for others to harm you,” he said quickly, almost as if to wash over his last statement.
“It’s hard to imagine within these walls, and students, I have much to worry about,” Hermione defended.
“That’s probably not what you thought when that Basilisk found you,” he bit out.
Hermione seemed stunned at his recollection. If he said it with more rue she would have suspected he meant to bring it up as a way to display his pleasure in her fate, but his emotions didn’t seem to portray as such. If Hermione didn’t know any better, the words—or even the memory—were displeasing to him.
They sat there for a moment in silence, and then Hermione spoke. “You’re right. I should be more on guard. Anything could happen,” she admitted soundly, nodding her head.
The fact that Hermione agreed with him left them in another unknowing empty silence and made Draco feel uneasy. To remedy the situation, he turned around to leave and stalked off into the darkness.
“And they say she’s capable,” he muttered as he went, his words only slightly meeting Hermione’s ears.

Some days later, Draco returned late to their quarters—way later than any prefects would even be on rounds to see him. “Lucios lemos,” he whispered to the painting, and the door swung open. As he walked in he saw Hermione sleeping on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a book open, the fire embers only but lighting her form. The squeak of the door closing seemed to jar her awake, her body slightly jumping at the sound.
Her hazel eyes opened sleepily and peered at the figure that entered. “Malfoy,” she said tiredly. “What time is it?” she asked softly, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m not going to explain to you where I’ve been, Granger,” he defensively shot.
His statement made Hermione wake up a bit more, sitting up in her seat in an attentive position as she cleared her eyes to look at him. “I didn’t ask,” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she questioned why he jumped to the defensive so quickly.
It was then that Draco realized his mistake of jumping ahead in the chess game of their conversation a few turns. “Because you won’t ask; who the hell are you to ask me any questions, Mudblood?” he spat in anger, trying to cover up his mistake. “Sod off,” he said, waving his hand dismissively at her as he bounded his way up the stairs into his room, slamming the door behind him.
She wasn’t sure if it was just that it was late or if that interaction with Draco had really been as confusing as it felt. Hermione snuggled down into her blanket again and looked into the fire, as her brow furrowed. The past week had been interesting to say the least. Then, Hermione wondered, Where had he been?

Harry’s mind was somewhere else, and Ginny could tell. Even though they were snogging, Harry’s attention was diverted.
“Is something wrong?” Ginny asked as she broke their kiss to look at him. They were lying under a tree on the grounds, as the gray skies above threatened rain; one would think there would be tons of place to snog inside the castle, but most of them either provided little privacy or comfort.
“No, no nothing’s wrong,” he said smiling, and moved in to kiss her again, but she pushed him away and sat up.
“There’s no point in hiding it, Harry,” she said smiling. “You’re awful at hiding things.”
Harry sat up next to her and sighed as he brought his knees up near his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He looked out onto the grounds. “It just doesn’t feel right,” he said finally.
“With us?” Ginny said with an inflection in her voice showing some hurt.
“No, no!” he quickly said, turning to his girlfriend and putting his arm around her. “Of course not!”
“Then with what?” Ginny asked.
“Hermione,” he said resolutely.
“Oh,” she said crestfallen.
“Well, not her per se—the whole Malfoy thing,” he clarified.
“I thought you were giving that up,” she asked.
“Well, I did. It’s been a few weeks,” he said sheepishly. Ginny playfully hit his shoulder, his body mass swinging slightly before he came back and enveloped her shoulders in his arms.
“I know, I know. ‘Everything’s fine’, ‘She can take care of herself,’ blah blah blah.” Harry said as Ginny laughed, and then they were both silent.
“Something just doesn’t feel right,” Harry murmured again, looking out into the grounds, his green eyes narrowed in a type of mysterious suspicion. “And it feels almost different from last year. I even more so feel like there is something incredibly, viscerally wrong with him.”
“Harry,” Ginny began. She sighed and brought her fingers to her boyfriend’s chin and turned his face towards hers. “Nothing has happened for a long time. If he is somehow connected to…him, nothing’s happened yet. And who is to say anything will! For all we know...he…lost his power somehow. Maybe in the pursuit of those magical items the Ministry did away with somehow they destroyed him.”
“Fat chance,” Harry snorted as he pulled his face from her fingers to look out again.
More resolutely in her stance, Ginny straightened up and looked at him seriously. “Well, no matter the reality, the Order has yet to give us any more information, and as far as we know our job is to just learn—to be better witches and wizards—and maybe even enjoy the last years of our time here, if we can.”
Harry looked thoughtfully at his girlfriend—her beautiful brown eyes filled with what he liked to think of as love. “You’re right, Ginny. I’m sorry.” He smiled and kissed his girlfriend on her forehead, and held her close as the autumn winds took hold of the Hogwarts grounds.

Another week went by: classes; homework; leaves falling; cold air briskly filtering through the castle; and creatively risqué apparel all beginning to disappear and be replaced with jumpers. Draco tried to not encounter Hermione again, worried she might ask questions. Just like I thought she would, Draco thought as he clenched his jaw tight remembering his conversation with Snape. It wasn’t until Wednesday night did he see her again.
Draco was late again. The clock had just struck 12:30am, and his body felt as if he was on his 100th hour. He felt completely drained—physically and emotionally. His head felt like it was beginning to split open again, and the cold sweat gathered on his brow and his upper lip. He entered their quarters expecting nothing but silence, but instead he encountered a nightmare.
In front of him was Hermione Granger, spry in her movements as she seemed to organize her things in the Common Room, with deranged Muggle music coming out of a small contraption on her desk.
“For fuck sakes!” he yelled over the music, pinching the skin between his eyes before rubbing them closed as if the sight itself hurt his eyes.
“Ahh!” Hermione screamed, spinning around on her heel. She was dressed in some pajamas, her hair up in a ponytail. She wouldn’t admit it, but her seasonal blues were beginning to set in as the world seemed to die outside, and her isolation she had created for herself from her friends weighing on her. In a need to cheer up, she brought out her music and let her obsessive compulsive behavior feel quenched by the need to clean, even if it was silly in a world of magic.
“Malfoy, you scared me,” she said loudly over the music before moving her finger across the dial on the Muggle contraption that made the music go low.
Draco took a deep breath in and opened his eyes to look at her. For a moment, he was intrigued by her look—her level of casualness was not something he saw every day and he felt like it suited her—but then he remembered the splitting headache he was sporting and the anger rose in him, as he felt the need to take it out on someone; after all, it had been a while since they had a spat. “Do the world some good and fucking knock yourself out, we all need a break from you,” he spat angrily.
“Who spit in your porridge, Malfoy?” Hermione shot back, her brow furrowed and lip curled in sudden defensiveness at his attitude.
“With your bloody weak analogies…” he breathed out, appearing to be put off by anything she said. “I told you to stay out of my way, and here you are—of course—right in my goddamn face when I come in through the door.”
“Well, sorry,” she said sarcastically. “Since you didn’t come back hours ago I figured you were actually sleeping already!”
“So you thought playing that Muggle shit was going to keep me happy if I was up there!” he yelled back, pointing towards his bedroom up the stairs.
“I put a Silencing Charm on the room!” she defended.
“Ah, well good for you, you know how to use 2nd year magic,” he mocked.
“Why are you picking a fight, Malfoy?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“Your very existence angers me,” he hissed at her. He stepped towards her and peered down at her. “First, you ruin my honor of Head Boy–”
“No, that was YOU ruining MY honor of Head Girl. Like you actually deserve such an honor in the first place!” she said sarcastically. “Your father probably bought your way in, like he always does.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my father, you filthy little Mudblood,” Draco warned, his voice suddenly becoming dangerous.
But Hermione did not heed his warning and continued, losing her tact at such a late hour. “Oh, I forgot, he’s in Azkaban!” she spat back. Hermione couldn’t even believe the words that left her mouth, and before she knew it she was pressed up against the wall, Draco’s body hard against hers, his hand resting on her neck, though somehow it seemed soft.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game with a very dangerous person,” he seethed from between clenched teeth, their faces mere inches apart.
Hermione was pinned—in a more vulnerable position than she could remember herself ever being in. She could see malice in Draco’s eyes, and she was unsure if he could even be reasoned with at this point. Her heart quickened in her chest, and she felt herself weaken in his grasp. If it weren’t for the fear she was feeling, she would analyze the proximity of their bodies as a sign of sensuality, but his hand at her throat made her reject the entire concept.
Within Draco, her words of his father brought a surge or energy and anger that quickened his limbs and suppressed the pain within his head. He found himself lunging for her, though with less aggression than he usually showed to an opponent—she was, after all, a woman and even Slytherins had a sense of chivalry, or at least a sense not to hurt a woman unless completely warranted.
Suddenly, Draco felt something prodding into his throat. His eyes looked down seeing the brown wood of her wand that she had snuck between them.
“Clever girl,” he whispered as their eyes met again and he pulled away, his hand leaving her throat. He actually looked impressed for a moment, and then a smirk appeared across his face. “I guess you’re learning, eh?”
Hermione’s chest was heaving with her breaths, her skin already beginning to glisten with sweat. Her face, which had shown fear, actually showed some gusto as she continued to point her wand at him. “What’s the point of being a strong woman if I can’t defend myself?”
“Well, at some point I’ll have my wand first,” he quipped.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win that one,” she said sarcastically.
The tension was thick in the air: the anger, the closeness, and then excitement. Both of their hearts were pounding in their chests; the battle of wits, and then the physical battle that turned to a battle of quicks were exciting. Hermione felt a feeling in her she had not felt since 5th year when she began to break school rules to train in Dumbledore’s Army; it was a side of her that not many saw. And in their quarters, alone, there were no professors or her friends to judge or scold her for her actions. At the same time, there was no one to save her from her destiny—she was left to fend for herself. Harry and Ron were easy to come to her rescue, which always irritated Hermione. It took isolating herself from them somewhat to not have to feel them breathing down her neck at all times; it was exhilarating to defend herself for once.
Staring back at her was Draco, actually if he could believe it, turned on by the girl whom he hated so. Her transition from flight to fight was impressive, he thought. But quickly his feeling turned to self-hatred, as he scolded himself for looking at her any other way than what she was: unpure, without. As soon as the smirk appeared on his face, it left leaving his trademark scowl behind. “You better hope you’re right,” he sneered. “I wouldn’t want to fail your precious Dumbledore by sending you to the infirmary.”
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