Cold (Hermoine X Draco)

Chapter Three

Hermione POV

"Hermione!" Ron exclaims as soon as we exit the classroom. "What the heck do you think you're doing? That's Malfoy!"

"What are you on about, Ron?" Harry frowns in puzzlement. I suppress a groan of frustration. Harry would have been more open minded, but he didn't see it. Ron was the stereotypical Gryffindor, and he had.

"She helped Malfoy!" Ron half shouts in indignation. "She gave him the answer!"

Harry stares at me as if I've grown a second head. "Hermione, what...?"

Great. Maybe he wasn't going to be open minded.

Their voices overlap as they scold me incessantly.

"Both of you. SHUT IT!" I snap, my patience at its end.

Ron only looks angry, but Harry is both hurt and shocked by my outburst.

"What's done is done, you aren't going to do anything by yelling at me."

"Would you look at that, boys! The Mudblood's got sick of the chosen one!" Pansy Parkinson sneers to her entourage of fawning boys. They laugh robotically right on cue.

Harry leans close to me as he steers me through the crowds by my elbow. "What's got into you, Hermione? Honestly! Malfoy--"

I wrench my arm out of his grasp as tears threaten my eyes. I was only trying to be nice. To move on from the prejudice after the war. I should have known better than to think I could deal with both Slytherins and my own house.

I have a free period right now, thank the lord, so I start speed walking down the corridors, blindly, but trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I love Harry and Ron both, but sometimes they're just too... I can't find the right word. I think back to first year, to the Sorting. The Hat couldn't decide. I was very nearly a Ravenclaw. Then it paused and tried on Slytherin for size. It rambled on about Hufflepuff and complained endlessly about how I had qualities all the Houses valued, before I ended up in Gryffindor. Maybe that's why I don't care as much now about House rivalry as people like Ron do.

This reasoning doesn't stop my tears, so I continue walking seeking somewhere quiet and isolated for just five minutes to pull myself together. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was no good, she'd only cry with me too hard.

I end up in an isolated dead end corridor that I didn't know about until now. It has a wonderful lack of sympathetic paintings and is absolutely deserted and dusty. No one will come this way.

I drop my shoulder and my book bag tumbles off. I lean on the wall and slide down into a sitting position, hiding my face behind my hands with my knees curled up.

It takes me about five minutes to pull myself together. Once I've ceased crying, I continue to sit there, blissfully unaware of my surroundings.

When the clock chimes eleven, I reach out for my books, knowing I have only fifteen minutes before class now. My hand meets the familiar ice of a ghost and I pull back with a shiver. Opening my eyes, I begin to apologize. "Sorry, um, I didn't..." My mouth hangs open in shock.

"What's the matter, love?" Asks Bellatrix Lestrange.

I can't help it. I scream and scramble backward, tripping in my haste and landing painfully on my back.

She holds out a pale hand. "Now, now, don't be--"

"Stay away from me!"  I squeak, memories of her torture flooding my mind. My gaze goes to the scars she inflicted on my arm. Mudblood.

She winces, following my eyes. "Sorry about that."

Then she glides forward. She's as wild eyed and curly haired as ever, dressed in the black dress she died in, with hands outstretched. In other words, a bloody terrifying living nightmare. My wand is in my book bag, too far to reach. I scream again.