Manacled by Senlinyu

Chapter 32: Flashback 7

The next week, Hermione got up even earlier to go foraging. She took vials and trays, and fully prepared the potion ingredients before packing them away in her satchel. She couldn't afford to waste a week's supply again.

When she apparated to the shack she took several deep breaths, trying to brace herself before opening the door. She had concluded that there was a fairly decent chance that Malfoy would repeat the same dueling method again.

The cruel, satisfied glint in his eyes the week before as he'd stashed his wand made her expect it.

The room was empty when she arrived.

She set her satchel in a corner and warded it. Then she stood waiting. Her fingers kept nervously tapping against her leg. She felt almost faint.

She hated waiting. She hated being left to dread things. Her mind always began running wild with scenarios of what would happen. Usually her imagination was worse than reality.

But Malfoy had an unusual talent for blindsiding her.

He was nearly five minutes late.

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to keep waiting. He'd said he would only wait five minutes for her, but he'd never said anything about how long he expected her to wait for him. She didn't think he was going to abandon the Order just because he'd finally gotten to hex her.

She was nearly ill with anxiety. She couldn't—

She wasn't going to just sit there waiting for him to lash out at her again.

She turned abruptly and took the wards off her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. She was stepping through the door when he appeared in the room with a crack.

She stopped and stared. The mere sight of him gave her a sinking sensation. She felt like something was lodged in her throat and she could barely swallow around it.

He stared at her. He didn't look irritated. He looked—awkward.

"I'm late," he said.

She nodded and stepped back into the shack, closing the door. There was a pause.

"The same again this week?" she asked quietly, glancing away from him.

"No." He said it so abruptly that she looked up sharply at him.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It was the most overt gesture of discomfort she had ever seen from him.

"I—overstepped," he said, which was not an apology. "I won't do that to you again."

"Alright," she agreed automatically, not trusting him at all. She was sure that if given enough time, he would find some new vindictive action that he could rationalise.

He stared at her for several seconds. Hermione suspected she still had a slightly wounded expression on her face. For some reason, no matter how much occlumency she used, she wasn't able to wipe it entirely away.

He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something else, but then swallowed the words.

"What?" she asked bitterly. Bracing herself for whatever he was about to do next was the worst part.

"I—said I wasn't going to hurt you," he said in a low voice. "And then I did. I'm sorry."

She looked at him in confusion. He was such a pile of contradictions.

"I always expected you would."

His eyes flashed with irritation. Ah, she'd clearly offended his moral code again.