Isolation

7. Human

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Hermione hadn't seen him for three days.

She hadn't even heard the smallest shuffle from his room, and had it not been for the fact her cooked meals had always vanished by the time she returned from the library, she might have questioned if he'd been in her dorm at all. The witch had contemplated letting herself into his room again to rush out another string of apologies, but she reasoned that it would probably be a step in the wrong direction. He clearly wanted privacy, and she owed him at least that much after what she'd done.

She was still so mortified by her actions.

She'd never, ever done anything so awful in her life; so wrong. She'd locked herself in her room no less than four times and broken down into uninhibited sobs, cradling her quaking frame. The death of Charity Burbage was still darkening her mind, but she always found herself starring at her palm in those fractured moments, searching for a scar or mark.

She rubbed her forehead as her fingers tossed aside another page. The harsh winds screaming outside the Castle had exiled her to the sitting area, seeking some solace with one of her books. The wind was her weakness. She could happily sit through a colourful thunderstorm, or listen to the beats of thrumming rains, but when the wind sounded like a strangled human, it petrified her.

She'd tried Silencing charms, just like she had in all her previous years at Hogwarts, but they would always waver as her concentration was swallowed by oncoming sleep. The breezy roars would shock her awake, and she would be back where she'd started.

Hermione had quickly abandoned the idea of gaining any sleep too close to her window and was now huddled up on the couch in the window-less living room; reading Lord Byron's poems, one of her guilty pleasures. She pulled the blanket a bit tighter around her as she moved on to She Walks in Beauty, stealing a quick glance at the clock and grimacing when she realised it was half three.

And the bloody wind gave no hint of fading any time soon.

She sucked in a loud breath when a small click broke the air, and her syrupy gaze trailed over to find Malfoy slowly leaving his room. He looked annoyed earn he glanced at her, expelling an agitated breath as he headed towards the kitchen, apparently choosing to ignore her completely.

She thought twice before she spoke, but the words hurried out before she could think thrice. "Did I wake you?" she whispered, unsure if he'd heard her or was simply deciding not to acknowledge the question. Merlin knew why she thought asking again was a wise idea. "Did I-

"No," he growled as he poured a glass of water, keeping his back to her.

"Well, then why are you-

"I was thirsty," he offered, pivoting on his heels and heading back to his room.

"Malfoy, wait," Hermione said quickly, straightening her back and wondering exactly what she'd intended to say. She had no clue why he stopped short of his door, but she didn't dare question it, lest he remember his constant desire to get away from her. "Can I ask you a question?"

He sighed like she was interfering with his non-existent schedule. "Make it quick."

She hesitated and licked her teeth. "Are you still angry about... well... about the other day-

"When you cut my fucking hand open?" he clarified in a stoic tone, turning to face her. "Does it matter?"

Hermione watched with trance-treacle eyes as he brought his glass to his mouth, the moisture glossing his lips. "I guess it does," she confessed shyly, averting her attention to her lap.