Hermione's brain was instantly harassed with flashing memories of Saturday, and coming home to find Malfoy passed out on the floor. She'd assured him that his escape attempt would remain between them; Merlin, she'd pretty much promised him. In hindsight, it had been a rash decision, and while her loyalties to McGonagall were resolute and infinite, she couldn't break a promise.
Malfoy or not.
"No," she shook her head, ignoring the guilt. "No, he just spends most of his time in his room."
"Okay," the Professor spoke with a slightly sceptical tone. "Well, keep me informed on his behaviour. And how are you doing, Miss Granger?"
"I'm fine," she responded automatically, tilting her head to give McGonagall a curious look. "Why do you ask?"
"I'm just checking you are feeling well," she offered in an even tone. "I understand that things are difficult at the moment and I just want to ensure that you are doing okay."
Hermione shrugged. "I know I have it easier than a lot of other people," she answered honestly, licking her lips. "I'm really okay, Professor."
"If you say so," McGonagall muttered with obvious concern. "But I'd like you to know that you are free to discus anything you wish with me whenever you like."
The young Gryffindor forced this smile. "Thank you."
"One more thing," the greying witch continued. "I need to make a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend and you and Mr MacMillan are welcome to join me to get some things. You might want to ask your friends if they need anything."
"Okay," she said, rising from her seat. "I'll see you Saturday, Professor."
.
.
It was late, and the wind was wild again; howling through the abandoned library like the prayers of dying men.
Hermione shuddered and surged a bit more magic into her Lumos charm, drawing her limbs in a little tighter to battle the chill. Her breath left her lips in ghostly mists as she tried to concentrate on the passage-laced pages, willing her heavy eyes to stay open. It was useless; the wind was too bold and her body too exhausted to remain here.
She hadn't returned to her dorm after classes like she normally did, as Neville had near-begged her for some help with a Transfiguration assignment, and she'd seen no point in leaving once he had finished. Her uniform had become scratchy and musky from her too-long day, and she'd barely managed a cheese and pickle sandwich after her meeting with McGonagall at lunch. She was starving, stiff and frustrated that the night had denied her any progress. Just like every other night.
Another shrill wail of the weather rattled her nerves and she slammed the book shut with a forlorn sigh. The sounds screamed around her and she hurriedly packed up her belongings, casting wary glances at the surrounding shadows. With quick and silent footfalls, she rushed down the hollow and menacing corridors with her heart pounding against her chest. Catching flimsy reflections of herself in the windows and convinced that she could feel a stranger's footsteps behind her, she moved into a full sprint.
"Ad Lucem!" she hissed at the yawning lions, ploughing into her room and sealing her stare as she sank to the floor and tried to regain her scattered composure.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Hermione flinched away from the voice, her eyes wide and a hand at her chest to calm her fright. "Bloody hell, Malfoy!" she scolded over her flustered wheezing. "What are you doing?"
He regarded her with viper, calculating eyes, and his previous plans to ignore her at all costs, decided after his...problem in the morning, dissipated. It was too tempting to rile her up when she looked all jittery and vulnerable, and he relished her unpredictability. A month in her presence and he still found her impossible to read, and despite that twitch under his stomach reminding him it was a potentially risky decision, he found himself desiring to see how this played out.
He took a little comfort in seeing Granger all ruffled in her uniform; skirt conservatively below the knee, unlike many of the other girls who flashed some leg, and her shirt buttons all neatly fastened. The girl wouldn't have known how to dress provocatively if her life depended on it, and it deluded him into believing that this morning was nothing more than an anatomical glitch.
Surely no harm would come from toying with the little Gryffin-dick, if only to douse some boredom?
"What are you doing on the floor?" he countered coldly from the kitchenette. "And what's got you so bloody jumpy?"
She gulped down some of her panic when another blast of wind sounded too human. "I...I'm not jumpy-
"Oh, of course," he smirked cruelly, analysing her features expertly and recognising all the telling signs. "I forgot about your pathetic issue with the wind-
"Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, rising to her feet and straightening her posture to regain a little dignity. "Why do you always have to lurk around-
"I'm not lurking," Draco calmly argued, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. "I'm simply standing here-
"Well...why?" she questioned clumsily, ditching her bag by the sofas. "You're not normally awake when I get home-
"Wrong again, Granger," he interrupted. "I am always awake when you get home. I'm just usually in my room."
She looked puzzled and agitated, and his smug smirk widened slightly. "You're always awake?"
"Trying to sleep through your heavy-handed noise is impossible, Granger," he told her bluntly. "As I said before, it's like living with a Dyspraxic Giant-
"I am not heavy-handed! I am-
"Loud and annoying," he finished with a bored tone. "And a pain in the arse-
"Wait," Hermione mumbled quietly. "Then...you're having trouble sleeping too?"
Shit.
.
.
.
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