Obliviate

Chapter Thirteen | Days Gone

Draco briskly walked through the Ministry, his stride long and proud. Hermione scurried behind him, but he did not slow down for her. Her heart was attacking her ribcage as it vigorously pumped with might.

The sound of Hermione's heels echoed loudly throughout the Ministry, causing various different witches and wizards to watch her with confusion. She shot them daggers with her chestnut-brown eyes as she passed by, them dropping their gazes as her eyes locked into their own.

They must have thought her to be crazy, she thought to herself as her and Malfoy sped down the halls together – dressed in matching uniforms. At this point, she would've preferred her simple, black clothes – her suit trousers were rubbing together between her thighs and causing an uncomfortable scratching sound that emitted into the room.

Hermione gripped the file filled with her findings tightly in between her nimble fingers, the small beads of sweat collecting in her hands making it increasingly harder for her to have a firm grasp on them. The hallway felt like it went on forever, and no matter how many steps she took – the entrance for the main room of the Ministry didn't get any closer.

Her breathing was picking up speed – small, quick breaths. In, and out. Walking in heels made her struggle ten times harder to keep up with Draco as he effortlessly strode down the hall.

The echoes of different sounding voices travelled throughout the Ministry, crowding Hermione. Suffocating her, as such.

"Will you just slow down?" She huffed out to him as she basically ran after him. Her raven curls bounced in the air as her feet hit the ground repeatedly.

Draco turned his head but did not slow down for Hermione.

"It's not my fault you're so unfit," he scoffed, lessening the speed of his walk. Hermione was certain her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

"In case you haven't noticed Malfoy, I'm five foot five – and you're – well – tall, taller than me by a long shot." Hermione gasped for air as their pace slowed, her heartbeat gradually returning to an average rate.

She was certain her heels were going to break under the pressure of her stride.

Hermione never wore heels – before the end of the war, she lived in a pair on black converse. The only time they left her feet was to shower and wash away the long day she'd had.

Being captured by the Death Eater's and eventually becoming Voldemort's right-hand woman, Hermione was required to dress appropriately for any occasion – which led to her wearing that solemn, plain black uniform day in and day out.

Some days, Hermione had just wished she could slip on a tank top and a hoodie with a pair of plain jeans. She wished she could sit down and watch Muggle television with her parents, or watch Harry and Ron play a game of Wizard's Chess as the boys whispered their game plans to her as she pretended to know exactly what they were talking about.

Right now was one of those moments.

"And I'm supposed to care how?" Draco snapped.

Hermione paused, her brain riddled with possible comebacks to his snarky comment.

"You're not - it would just be better if you were a little more respectful-"

Malfoy burst into laughter. Sinister. Dark. He wasn't laughing because he found her funny - he was laughing because he was dumbfounded by Hermione's remark.

"-Respectful?" He kept his head firmly faced forward as his chuckle came to a stop, "you're a Mudblood, nothing more, nothing less. I have more respect for the famous Harry Potter," he hissed, his tone laced with venom.