From the Point of View of a Mudblood

Chapter 25: Embarrasment at the hands of Her

What the hell is his problem? She asked him to tell his father and he hasn't!
"What the hell is your problem?" She ask him. They've been sitting in a room on the train to school for hours now.
Hours.
The Quidditch World Cup was three weeks ago. He had three weeks after she asked him to tell his father to tell his father.
Three fucking weeks!
"You've had three weeks to tell your family about us, and you haven't. Three fucking weeks, Draco!"
She's standing now. Her hands drag through her chocolate pudding brown mass of curls she calls hair. Her hands shake from fury and her cheeks burn.
"Mione, come on sweetie. I'm sorry. I've tried to tell them every day since the World Cup." Draco looks up at the enraged girl in front of him. "I'm really sorry, Mio-"
"Don't. Don't you fucking dare call me anything other than my name. I am too pissed off at you to allow you to call me anything but my fucking name." She glares at the baby-blond haired boy across from her. If looks could kill...
"Hermione. Please under-"
"No! You don't get to talk anymore! I'm starting to think that you're embarrassed of me!"
He stares at her for a minute. A few actually. He opens his mouth to speak when Hermione cuts him off.
"Oh my God! You are embarrassed! Oh my fucking God!" She's pacing and scratching her freshly manicured nails through her scalp.
"Please, Hermione. Let me explain. I tr-"
"No. There is nothing to explain. You are embarrassed of me because I'm a- I'm a- muggle born. Or as you and your family like to say, a mudblood." Hot tears run down her burning cheeks and her knuckles are white from clenching her fingers into a fist.
"That is not true, Hermione. I am not emb-"
"Go! Leave. I'm done with you. We're done." She turns her back to massage her aching forehead.
"Don't do this, Hermione." He's standing now, trying to calm his possible ex-girlfriend. Draco places a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Why are you still here? I said go! You know what? Nevermind. I'll go," she hisses as she shakes his hand off of her shoulder, toxic venom dripping from every word. She opens the door to the cabin and turns to leave. But as she turns, she stops, looking back at him for one last slap of words.
"Isn't it funny?" She giggles, "Now you don't have to worry about telling your family, because there's nothing to tell anymore." She walks out of the room, slamming the door in the process. Draco collapses to the bench and holds his throbbing head in his hands, dragging them through his mess of hair.
"What have you done, Draco?" He mumbles to himself, angry at himself. Sad. Ashamed.
Angry because of the fight.
Sad because he's lost her.
And ashamed. Ashamed because he couldn't think of an excuse for why he couldn't tell his parents. Ashamed because maybe, just maybe, what she said was true.