Written by- Lucifer's Garden
You can find them here! - http://www.fanfiction.net/u/446652/
One Shot
One shot: She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to push him, shock him, and humiliate him. But she did not want to be right about it all. DMHG
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The Water Is Always Poison
A/N: All characters belong to JK Rowling.
000
“Hermione Granger, if you don’t get your arse out here in FIVE seconds, we are leaving without you!” Ron Weasley bellowed from the Gryffindor common room. Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, stood by with an easy smile on his face.
“One! Two!”
The girl in question darted around the dorm, flustered and annoyed. It was so like Ginny to borrow her jacket without asking her and then refuse to return it in time for the Hogsmeade trip. Hermione made a mental note to tell Ron’s sister to ask for bloody permission next time.
“Three!”
“I’m coming¸ Ronald!” she called, dropping on her knees to look under Ginny’s bed. Gritting her teeth, she reached under and pulled her coat out, dusting it off and shaking the wrinkles out of the fabric. It was also a common Weasley trait not to fold clothes properly, nor to store them properly in a dust-free environment.
“Four . . .”
“I know, I know,” she snapped, marching out of the dorm and pulling her brown corduroy jacket on. “Great Merlin, Ron, you’re just as bad as I am.”
“Come on,” Harry urged, grabbing them both by the elbows and dragging them out of the common room. “We are late enough as it is without you two getting started.”
Hermione and Ron made faces at each other behind his back and then grinned together.
The three of them began racing down the hall, laughing as they tried to outrun one another to reach the carriages first. Autumn was intoxicating, as was the prospect of going into town where some desperate restocking of candy, books, Quidditch paraphernalia and more candy was going to take place. Hermione, who was no natural athlete like her two male friends, protested when they dashed ahead of her.
“You could try to have a little chivalry for once!” she cried, wishing she had spent more time outside running around as a child and less time cooped up in a library.
When Harry and Ron turned their heads to say something terribly witty in response, they rounded a corner and dually ran into a lone figure coming in their direction.
There was a collective ‘Oof’ as the three of them fell to the flagstones, dazed by the collision. Instantly concerned, Hermione hurried forward. After helping Ron and Harry up, she turned to address the third person.
“Are you . . .” she began, trailing off only when she realized who he was.
Draco Malfoy was already on his feet, dusting off his clothes and smoothing down his normally immaculate hair. He looked markedly annoyed, but did a very good job of hiding how painful the impact must have been for him. Two against one was anything but a gentle nudge.
“Well,” he said in his same old drawling voice, “Not that having my jaw broken by two incredibly thick skulls isn’t pleasant, but I really cannot tarry. I need to wash my clothes right away, in case Weasley is contagious.”
Predictably, Ron flushed red under his freckles and clenched his fists. Hermione rested a placating hand on his shoulder and eyed Malfoy coldly.
“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” she sniffed. “Decency isn’t contagious.”
Harry glared darkly and took a step forward. “You’re either very brave or very stupid, Malfoy, insulting us like that when you don’t have your henchmen trailing after you,” he pointed out in a controlled voice. “Personally, I think it’s the second one.”
Draco glanced carelessly over either shoulder, as if noting indifferently that he did indeed seem to be on his own. “Fancy that. Looks like I’m all alone and helpless,” he deadpanned. “Whatever shall I do?”
“You can sod off, for a start,” Ron growled, whipping out his wand threateningly. Harry copied him, and the two young men moved protectively in front of Hermione. She was rather surprised to see how calm and relaxed Malfoy was. Since he was rarely seen without his gang flanking him, she had been anticipating him to be a total coward without them like he was in their younger years.
Malfoy smirked at Ron’s insult, his pale eyes flicking down to their wands. His hands stayed where they were, however, and made no move to reach for his. This too surprised Hermione. The situation was beginning to bother her.
“Let’s just go,” she said quietly, coming to stand between her two friends. She put her hands over their wrists and made them lower their wands, her eyes never leaving Malfoy’s. “I don’t want to miss Hogsmeade.”
“Very good, mudblood,” Draco sneered, his impassiveness switching to malice. “She may be filthy on the inside, but you could do worse than listen to her,” he added to Harry and Ron, who had both gone white with rage.
Hermione was always the red button.
“YOU’RE DEAD, FERRET!” Ron shouted, launching himself forward. Harry too seemed to have lost his senses and lunged at Malfoy, hissing and spitting in a manner that could almost be mistaken for Parseltongue.
“No!” Hermione gasped, looking around instinctively to see if there was a teacher nearby. But, as it was the weekend, the teachers were either in town or in their offices marking homework. The halls were empty of students as well, as nearly everyone was on their way to Hogsmeade.
Malfoy, to his credit, did not turn tail and run as she would have expected him to. Faster than her eye could follow, his wand was out and at the ready.
“Repello!” he cried with a sweeping gesture of his arm. The air between himself and the two charging wizards rippled and shimmered translucently, but Harry and Ron were to find out that it was very solid. They slammed into it and were flung unceremoniously backward, landing with twin thuds several feet away.
Hermione didn’t even have to rush over and examine them to know that they were unconscious. Furious, she stomped towards Malfoy with her hand raised, ready to slap him as she had back in third year. He saw the move coming from a mile away and waited until she was within arm’s length before lashing out to grab her wrist.
“I don’t think so, mudblood,” he spat, gripping her tightly. With an enraged growl she brought up her other hand, which he too intercepted and held fast. Malfoy laughed at her as she struggled in his grasp. “Come now, don’t fret. Your boyfriends will come to in a few minutes, right as rain.”
“You horrible, beastly son of a -”
He closed his eyes as if in rapture. “Mmm, language befitting your blood type. I love it when girls talk dirty like that.”
Abruptly Hermione yanked him forward, using his grip on her wrists, and leaned in close to him. “You know something, Malfoy, I really don’t feel bad for you,” she whispered in an eerily calm voice that totally contradicted her previous rage. “Not like I used to.”
“No matter how I respond, I assume you’re going to explain why,” he sighed, simulating boredom when in fact his pulse was racing at her sheer boldness.
“I used to think that you were just some poor, lonely little boy, bullied into upholding the family reputation by a man who loves money more than his own son,” she continued, as if he had not even interrupted. “But now I know that no matter how deep the well runs, the water is always poison.”
His grasp loosened on her and his skin bleached to an even ghostlier white. His eyes were wide and disbelieving, perhaps torn between shock and anger, but she was beyond stopping now. Whether or not he decided to hit her or hex her, she was going to have her say.
“I meant what I said earlier,” she proceeded, still not backing away from him even when he let her go completely. “Decency isn’t contagious, not in the slightest. Not for people like you. So you can just go right ahead, Malfoy. Keep jumping through Daddy’s hoops and play at being evil like all the other Death Eaters you associate with. You must be so proud.”
For a long time he was silent, staring open-mouthed at her, and the October leaves fell breathlessly outside. He then closed his mouth and took a step back from her, shaking his head with an ironic smile on his lips. A vacant smile, and Hermione shivered at the sight of it. She knew she had crossed a few too many lines, but there was no taking back what was said. All she could do was watch and gauge his reaction, noting his pallor, the anger and hurt pride in his eyes, the microscopic tremble of his lips.
She flinched when his hand came up suddenly, thinking it was meant to find the side of her face, but she was wrong. He began loosening his tie, and then unbuttoned his shirt collar to expose the soft white flesh beneath. Her heart constricted painfully and her stomach lurched at the sight of the blue and purple finger marks around his throat. Large fingers, too large for another student. A man’s fingers. A father’s fingers.
“Oh yes,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “So proud.”
Then he brushed past her and down the hall, not waiting for any kind of response.
Later, when Ron and Harry groggily came to their senses and sat up, they were amazed to see their best friend leaning against the wall, crying softly.
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