The Head Girl headed back to her chambers with some Christmas gifts and the new dress in hand. Ginny's incorrigible and convincing behaviour was to blame, but Hermione would admit that she felt a little more relaxed after some shopping and a Butterbeer in the freshly-decorated pub, but it dissipated as she came to stand in front of her door.
Taking a deep breath, as she always did, she shoved it open and cursed herself yet again for forgetting her charmed bag as she struggled with her purchases. Her plan to make her entrance quiet and quick was hopeless when she stumbled, and some of her bags went flying across the floorboards.
"Bugger," she murmured, kneeling down to collect them.
She grabbed the final item just as she heard Draco's door open, and she kept her eyes low as he strode into the sitting area. The air in the room instantly shifted and grew heavier, and she swallowed back some nerves as she rose to her feet and rolled her shoulders.
"What's that for?" he questioned critically, gesturing to her dress in the transparent cover.
He was partially blocking her way, and the answer slipped out of her mouth before she could catch it. "Christmas Ball," she mumbled quickly, manoeuvring awkwardly around the sofas, but he moved into her path anyway; his eyes lingering on her dress. "Get out of my way please-
"You've been avoiding me," he accused in a scratchy voice. "Why?"
Hermione averted her gaze. "You know why, Draco," she snapped. "Move out my way-
"Exactly how long you do you intend to keep up this silent treatment?" he continued irately. "It's starting to piss me off-
"I won't ask you again," she said between tense lips, clumsily rummaging in her pocket for her wand. "Get out of my way, or I'll make you."
He regarded her with conflicting eyes, biting the inside of his mouth with irritation, before he stepped to the side with a resigned breath. His balled fists were shaking at his sides as she brushed past him, and she tried desperately to ignore the breeze of his comforting scent. His breath stroked across the shell of her ear, but she managed to stifle the shiver that threatened to betray her weakness.
"We have argued before, Granger," he said before she could reach the door, his voice almost dejected. "Why are you so…effected this time?"
She halted her steps and felt the ire rise in her chest. "You asked me to leave you alone," she responded coldly. "And that's what I'm doing-
"But I-
"You made this bed, Draco," she told him stiffly, determined not to get dragged into an argument. "So lie in it."
Fumbling with her wand, she cast a quick Muffliato to whisper her recently-changed password; Crookshanks. She doubted Draco would know the name of her beloved pet, and knew now to be careful when going into her room. She thought she heard him whisper something as she went inside, but she refused to dwell on it.
"Wait," Draco murmured, but she slammed the door anyway.
He recalled that fickle phrase his mother had used when he'd first started to attend Hogwarts and he'd denied he would miss the Manor; you don't realise what you've got until it's gone. After a fortnight with only a handful of sentences exchanged, he was beginning to regret the way he had handled their tempestuous row, and she was apparently adamant to not even look at him. It was beginning to slowly erode his resolve to pretend it wasn't bothering him, but the pride-damning truth was he pined for something from her.
A passionate fight, an educated discussion…a kiss.
Anything.
.
.
Wednesday had the pace of a limp-limbed sloth.
Hermione's classes had droned by, and she had spent the remainder of her afternoon helping to finalise the decorations for the Great Hall. She had managed to tear away from the overly-enthusiastic Prefects and steal a few hours in the Library, but her research on Horcruxes had been frustratingly unproductive. It was around ten in the evening when she decided to yield to her heavy lids and return to her dorm, hoping that Draco wasn't loitering in the sitting area.
She managed to sneak soundlessly inside and grab a glass of water, but a knock at the main door startled her. The glass shattered at her feet and she cursed under her breath, casting a wary look at Draco's room.
"Are you okay in there, Hermione?" Michael's voice called from outside, and she rolled her eyes. "Did I hear-
"I'm fine," she bit back. "What do you want, Michael?"
"Just a quick word-
"I'm just about to go to bed," she told him, sidestepping the shards carefully. "We can discuss it tomorrow-
"It won't take a moment," he insisted. "Come on, Hermione, it's only ten."
The witch exhaled and massaged her forehead, turning to give Draco's door a sceptical glance. Surely he knew better than to reveal himself when she had a guest, but he was unpredictable at the best of times. Deciding it was best to get rid of Michael as quickly as possible, she transfigured her clothes into pyjamas and kicked off her shoes, leaving her bag and wand in the kitchenette before she made to answer the door.
"Can I come in?" the Head Boy asked once she's opened it a crack.
"Not right now," she shook her head, too tired to even invent an excuse. "What do you need?"
"Well, I was just wondering what the arrangements are for Friday?"
"You know what's happening," she frowned. "I sent you all the details."
.
.
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