NOVEL NEXT Chapter 20: Chapter 20
"When I get out of this shit-pit," he started with a dark murmur, just before he reached his door. "And I get my wand back, I'm coming straight for you, Granger."
"I'm sure you will," she nodded with trained indifference.
His eyes swept up and down her with a swift swish of his tar-puddle pupils. And then, almost in a blur, he was out of her sight, with only the expected loud crash of the door to split her ears. She stared at it with slightly widened eyes and chewed at her bottom lip with a proud grin yanking the corners of her mouth.
She had done it. She had managed to get him to leave her alone without using magic. Hermione fell back into the couch and felt a proud giggle shimmy up her windpipe. She had beaten him, despite her earlier troubles when he had decided to bring the boys into the argument. She'd had the last word. She'd gotten what she wanted.
And while she didn't realise it, she allowed herself a smile that wasn't forced for the first time since she had waved goodbye to Harry and Ron. And that had been almost four weeks ago.
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Bitch...
Back in the small space, he would swear the four walls had shifted slightly. The room definitely felt smaller, and it made the beginnings of a cool sweat lick his forehead. He had half a mind to charge back in the sitting area and start screaming at her again, but then what would it accomplish? All she would do was abuse her magic, and he would end up back where he was, but probably in a bit of pain to make his day just that little bit more dismal.
He covered his face with his palms and dragged his scratching fingers through his hair.
He'd never felt so degraded in his seventeen years. When had his life deteriorated so much that he had landed here? Supervised like a pissing child by the Muggle-spawn scum. Trying to avoid becoming one of those sanity-drained freaks that mumbled nonsense to themselves when the walls had gotten too close.
But, it could have been worse, he mused. It could have been the Weasel. That would have definitely ended in bloodshed by now. At least Granger wasn't a brainless prick and could actually back up her arguments.
He went to the bed and slumped into the fabrics, resting his elbows against his knees and staring at the withered floorboards. His eyes shifted to the bedside table and he opened the drawer, peering inside to find only a discarded quill and a Gryffindor tie.
Perhaps he could use it to hang himself with when he'd finally gone insane in this place. When the walls...
He snatched up the quill and waltzed his fingers up the silky feather strands. He glanced back to the drawer to check if there was any ink or parchment, but there wasn't. So, he leaned back on his bed and brought the nib to the mahogany headboard.
He sliced at the dark wood and carved an M and a G, and then dissected the letters with a defined line between them.
M for Malfoy. G for Granger.
He would have put M for Mudblood if his surname didn't start with the same letter.
Alright, he would admit that she had won this argument, but he had certainly won yesterday's. It only seemed rational to keep score, and it was something else to feed his habit for counting. He scrawled a short line under each letter to indicate their respective scores and made a silent vow that she wouldn't get any more marks for the duration of his stay.
Then his eyes went back to the floor, and he started to count. First the boards, then the cracks in between.
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