Cursed | Draco Malfoy

Twelve

Hermione sat in the Great Hall, surrounded by all her friends and fellow peers — murmurs and whispers of the Christmas Ball, the evening in which it happened — all the events in between.

Just then, she felt a breeze rush past her face as a very worried Ginny Weasley ran up to her — slamming her body down on the bench next to her as she stared at her. Eyes darting across her face, as the witch just looked at her with confusion.

"Ginny? What's wron-"

"Did Malfoy do anything to you?"

She stilled.

She didn't say anything for a moment, before she let out a nervous chuckle. "What're you talking about?" Her face stayed calm yet a small sheer look of confusion, but alas, her auburn eyes stilled with fury, mixture with if pansy spread any rumours she's going to put a dagger against his throat.

"Last night, the ball. News spreads fast, Hermione. I know you've always hated Malfoy's guts — do you like him now? I mean-"

"Okay slow down," spat the witch, "first, never in my life would I ever like someone as putrid and horrendous as that Slytherin boy. And second, who in their right mind told you such things?" Hermione overall, was furious.

She told Pansy Parkinson that nothing happened. That simply out of the goodness in her heart, she thought it would be rude and below her to leave the boy there on the ground. I mean, wouldn't anyone do what she did? Why was it so surprising? Sure, if the same thing we're to happen to her, Malfoy wouldn't have done it for her. But that's exactly why she did it — she's better than him, she's not as low as the cruel boy.

Ginny swallowed thickly, "from one Gryffindor to another — but, if you say you didn't do anything, I believe you. But, you better get to Harry and Ron before things get out of hand, if they find out — oh, you're bloody screwed." Warned Ginny, leaving Hermione's face burning with heat as she slammed her palm on the wooden table — standing up, eyes scanning the crowd for the look of the fair haired boy.

When she didn't find his slender body, she grunted — right before a cold hand snatched her wrist from behind. instantly having the girl pivoting on her heel and twisting to see who it was.

Malfoy, grey eyes flooded with exasperation, burning hate for the girl he stood in-front of him, his white hair was ruffled, usually messier than it is — clearly, the hangover hadn't done him well. His robes were out lazily on, the prefect badge and his house badge glistening under the yellow-white lighting as he glared.

"We need to talk."

Leaving not even a moment for the witch to breathe, he began practically dragging her — ignoring her barbaric complaints ringing in his ears as he lead her to a quieter place.

He pulled her into a closet, shutting it — the lighting was dimmed, the room was tiny and Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe. He had fired up breathing — chest heaving as he didn't spare a moment to begin ranting to the witch.

"Why did you do it? Hm, Granger? Why?" He barked, leaving a crease to form between the witch's eyebrows. Is he actually being serious?

"Do what, Malfoy? Help you? Because, you were drunk out your mind. You were the one that blacked out and caused a façade — smashing whiskey bottles, sneaking away from the ball. How is it my fault you somehow managed to get yourself into deep-shit again?" She quickly fired back, she, in no way would be taking blame for the situation, or worse — seeking an apology. Please, the witch would rather pitch herself off the astronomy tower then get on her knees for forgiveness.