NOVEL NEXT Chapter 22: Chapter 22
She still didn't look at him, just plucked a book from her bag instead and started to read. He tossed her homework to the side and growled at her.
"You're not fooling me, Granger," he said slowly, standing directly before her and crossing his arms. "I know what you're doing."
"I'm reading," she told him quietly, her cinnamon-glazed eyes trailing over the inky pages.
"You know you want to shout at me, Granger," he drawled, convinced he must be teasing her impulse to claw at him with either fingernails or insults. "Or do I have to bring up the twat who won't die and his orange pet?"
His stony glare shifted to her ever-plump lips and waited for the customary twitch of her mouth. When you were isolated to a room with only one person to pass the time and observe, you noticed the telling signs, and Granger was a rather fascinating specimen to read. All it took was a quick offensive slur about her two 'special' friends, and her lips would always twinge. Then her pupils would dilate and an agitated flush would stain her cheeks before the witty comebacks would tumble out of her mouth.
But there was no twitch today. No, her blossom-coloured mouth didn't move at all. She'd broken her routine. The routine he'd almost memorised. How dare she.
He grabbed the book too, and discarded it with a rough chuck behind him.
"Fucking look at me, Granger!" he demanded arrogantly, one whisper away from stomping his foot. "Now!"
She slowly raised her honey gaze to him, but it was completely blank. Bored even. Ignoring him was actually easier than she'd expected, but then she'd had plenty of practice muffling out Harry and Ron's Quidditch conversations. She took this moment just to study his features as he ranted on about how filthy her blood was; taking note of his china-doll skin. Odd though. Normally it suited him, but she would swear it was almost turning grey.
...Will not be ignored by you!" he continued, but she really wasn't paying attention. "Granger, I am bloody...
She shimmied her eyes up his face and noticed how drained he looked. Not sleep-deprived though. More weak-limbed and glassy-eyed with failing energy. She breathed in and he was close enough that she could smell him.
Apples and sleep. Always apples and sleep.
A thought crossed her mind and her lips parted with interest. She was on her feet in a thud of his heart, brushing past him and heading to the small kitchen.
"Where the hell are you going?" she vaguely heard him demand. "I SAID where are you bloody going?"
He was distant blur behind her as she started throwing open all the cabinet doors and examined the contents, also trying to remember what she'd eaten in the last few days. Merlin, how could she not have noticed this before?
"Hey!" he called, marching up behind her. "Mud-bitch! I asked you-
"What have you been eating?" Hermione questioned sharply, spinning around to find him a little closer than she'd have liked.
He blinked with hot confusion. "What the-
"What have you been eating?" she repeated, harsher this time. "As far as I can see, you haven't touched any of the food except some apples and milk-
"What the fuck is it to you?"
"Is that all you've had?" she asked, finding herself horrified for some reason. "Apples and milk?"
He hooded his eyes to mask his puzzlement and scowled at her odd behaviour. Why exactly was she so offended by his eating habits? "And cereal," he mumbled, unsure what else he should say, but feeling an urge to defend himself.
"That's it?" she frowned, releasing a sad sigh that he really despised. "Malfoy, you can't survive on that sort of diet-
"Why would-
"You're becoming anaemic," she continued, and he suddenly stepped back, as though he'd just remembered that her muddy blood could be contagious. "And you're probably developing a protein deficiency-
"Does this boring lecture on anatomy have a point?" he snapped impatiently, pretending to examine his fingernails.
"You need to eat more," Hermione told him, realising that there was an unnerving hint of concern to her tone again. Curse the do-gooder gene in her system. "Why haven't you...
She trailed off as the reality dawned on her, and she analysed him as his features scrunched up with a warning not to voice the comment at the tip of her tongue. But, Gryffindor bravery and all that jazz aside, she was a stubborn witch.
"You don't know how to cook without magic," she surmised, eyes round and voice a little quieter. "Do you?"
"Fuck off, Granger."
That meant yes. Eight days with him and she already had a little built-in Malfoy translator stashed away in her brain. There were new additions everyday, but 'fuck off, Granger' was definitely code for 'yes, and I will not admit it.'
"Why didn't you say something?" the witch questioned carefully, tilting her head to the side in a way that made Draco want to tear if off. "I could have-
"Could have what, Granger?" he sneered, taking a step so he was in her space again. "Given me that stupid pitying look you have right now? Held it over my head-
"I wouldn't have-
"I don't want your help," he told her with a cruel whisper. "Just leave it-
"I can't," she mumbled, and there was a slight apology to her tone. "You need to eat-
"It would serve your purpose to have me rot away in the corner!" Draco snarled, towering over her so his fruity breath glided over her cheekbones. "Why do you give a shit about-
"I just do!" she sputtered, making up for her lack of height with volume. "It's just the way I am-
"Sodding Gryffindors," he grumbled, pulling away from her quickly with only a disgusted glance to leave behind. She watched him closely as he disappeared behind his door, and the October chill suddenly caught up with her.
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