Azael's Chains

Lessons

"Granger." The curt rap of knuckles sounded against her door. "You can't stay in there forever, you know. The only reason I have yet to barge in is merely courtesy."

Hermione's ribs still ached with every breath and her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed from a night spent tormenting herself once she'd escaped at last to her room the night previously. She stared toward the window and did not flinch at Draco Malfoy's knock.

"Well, I've warned you." A hiss of irritated pain escaped grit teeth as the door creaked open.

"I'm not hungry." It was a repetition of what she'd told the elf earlier in the day.

"That's bollocks. The Cruciatus uses a lot of energy. I've spent enough time under it myself to know." She could sense him staring into her back. "Dolohov'll be pissed if he comes back and you've lost weight. You hardly have any to lose as it is. I'd eat my wand if you're more than seven stone."

The familiar tone sparked at the flinty shield guarding her mind and Hermione rolled up to sit, favoring the Slytherin with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "I'm certain I weigh more than that," she bit back. "Why would you even care?"

His eyes had violet bruises underscoring his lack of sleep and his hair was mussed as though he'd wrung a hand through it innumerable times. "He's a deft hand with curses. I'd rather not gain firsthand experience."

Teeth ground her inner cheeks as she imitated his usual sneer. "That's my problem because...?"

"Look, Granger. I didn't want to curse you yesterday. I didn't really have a choice, so retribution is just cruel. I know you're not cruel."

"I'm not about to parade downstairs in another ridiculous evening gown for you and your Dark Lord to strip and humiliate."

"Wilty." Confusion stirred until an elf popped in and bowed low.

This one had the longest ears and shortest noose she'd seen on an elf, and the hair from the drooping appendages of his head swished the floor with his movement. "How may Wilty serve Master Draco?"

"Fetch dinner service for two and give Mother my apologies. Miss Granger is unwell." The elf swept low an]gain and disapparated.

"What--?"

Efficient flicks set about rearranging the furniture of her room so that the two seats, one usually by the fireplace and the other by the window, were both in the open space at the latter place. The side table for the bed tipped and swayed over the rug into it settled between them.

It was onto this the elf, Wilty, set the tray laden with dinner plates, food, and drink.

"Well? Sit."

Smoothing hands over the dressing gown that was her primary clothing of the day, Hermione dropped into the ivy-patterned chair. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"Am I?" He took up silverware and sliced delicately at his roast beef; the cutlery made no noise against the sleek china. The rhythm of Hermione's meal was far more noisy. It filled the silence with the disapproval of his denial. "What's the point in being an arse now, Granger?"

The tender meat melted on her tongue and her eyes drifted shut to embrace the complex spices co-mingling with a hint of blood and light sauce. Her stomach gurgled appreciatively and she glared across at the boy who ineffectually hid his smirk with his napkin. "Was there ever a point, Malfoy? Other than trying to feel superior over everyone else."

His ears flushed pink with his blush, coloring flourishing across pale features as though by a deft artist. "I was raised believing that, as a Malfoy, I was superior to everyone else. All of my friends were stupid, with the possible exceptions of Theo and Blaise. But Theo is socially inept and Blaise is infatuated with his reflection, so neither were competition. I'm wealthy beyond reason, my family is-- was-- is--" his hand waffled with his expression. "The Malfoy name has always carried weight. I knew even at a young age that women would flock to me when I was older; my parents are gorgeous and I would be too, and I have a wizarding pedigree in Britain that dates back to the Norman invasion." He swigged wine that seemed to drain the flush and allow him space to think and breathe. "I was better. And then Potter came in and refused my friendship in favor of a Weasley, and later a mud-- muggleborn who bested me in every single class. You broke the rules constantly and were praised for it. It seemed the three of you could do no wrong, even when you were punching me in the face or running around the school after hours. And you, Granger. You're everything I was told you were not supposed to be. Sure, you were always an irritatingly bossy little swot, and you went through a bit of an awkward phase with the-- the hair and the teeth-- sorry about that, by the way--"