A Wonderful Fortuitous Love

6. Slytherin Ambush

“You’re sure you don’t want my help?”

Malfoy glared at Hermione as he roughly shoved past her and levitated his luggage through the door.

She watched him follow his bags up the stairs, wand pointed, directing them further up into his designated room until he emerged once again. He stomped down the carpeted stairs, pushed Hermione with his shoulder again, and went to retrieve more of his luggage.

Hermione sighed to herself when he stepped inside the lift for what had to be at least the fifth time, and was out of sight once the cream coloured doors had closed.

Was it really only yesterday he’d shown up in her office? Had it really only been this afternoon when he’d interrupted her meeting? It felt as though weeks had passed rather than two days. She glanced up at the wooden grandfather clock near the television and stifled a yawn: it was 9:37pm.

Hermione tiredly went over to the fridge as she heard the door being barged through again followed by two more bags floating up the stairs with a very disgruntled Malfoy trailing behind. She pulled out a bag of oranges to briefly satisfy her hunger (it was too late to even bother cooking a real meal) and began cutting up pieces with her wand, eating as she went.

“Brilliant!” Malfoy exclaimed, coming down the stairs. “What am I supposed to eat?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “There is food in the fridge, you know.”

He stared at her incredulously. “You actually expect me to… to eat the same food as you?”

“Uh, yes.” She popped another cut up piece of orange in her mouth.

“I’m not eating the same food as you,” he said firmly. “There’s no telling what you’ve done with it or how filthy it is.”

Irritation surged through her. Hermione reminded herself not to let him get to her – she was better than that. Be civil. “Well, Malfoy, I’m sorry to say but you’ll just have to scavenge for your own food then.”

“Malfoys don’t scavenge,” he said, disgusted. “That’s yours and Weasley’s kind. Tell me, how is he? Sprouted out any children yet, or haven’t you had the wealth to keep them? Have you had to sell any?”

“Keep your mouth shut,” she spat with so much venom laced into her words, that for a moment he seemed taken aback. However, Malfoy soon recovered, a triumphant look on his face.

“Ooh, I’ve hit a nerve, have I? So I’m presuming you have had to sell a child?”

And before Hermione could even process what she was doing, she had hurled the rest of the orange at him, watching it bounce straight off his forehead.

For a moment he could only gape at her, his hand slowly coming up to touch the wet spot where the fruit had collided with his head, as though he could not believe what had happened. Malfoy then looked down, staring at the mangled fruit. He stomped on the orange with his shoe, leaving a right juicy mess.

“I believe that’s what monkeys do too, throw food. Very sophisticated on your part, Mudblood,” he sneered.

Shooting him a very dark look, Hermione forcibly crammed the oranges back in the fridge and slammed the door shut before storming past him and also slamming the bathroom door behind her.

Draco marched after her to the bathroom door and pounded his fist against it. “GRANGER! Who stepped up and made you in charge? Who said you get to have the first shower?”

“I did!” she shouted back.

He laughed without mirth. “Oh of course you did! Typical Granger, always in charge, always the boss, as long as everything goes her way she’s content –”