The Danger of Love: Chapter Eleven
Title: The Danger of Love
Genre: Humor/Romance
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, innuendo
Spoilers: Takes place sixth year; if you haven't read that far, what are you doing here?
Disclaimer: No, I do not in fact, own these characters, minus Mathias... well, I don't really own him either, because he's based off of another character...
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single wizard in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife.
Comments: I said I would post this chapter ages ago, but this BLOODY LIVEJOURNAL is such a pain to post on, I had to hold back for a bit. I hope no one minded terribly.... >< Sorry for the long wait! And, just so you all know, I'll be gone, out of the country, without the ability to write, for ten weeks, starting the last week of August. *sigh* Sorry again!
Chapter XI
Hermione awoke slowly to the sound of her alarm, cursing the short rest she had. Last night’s detention with Madame Pomfrey and Malfoy had been bloody awful. Not only had he tormented her whenever Madame Pomfrey wasn’t looking, but after the professor had dismissed the both of them, Malfoy had insisted on discussing each book she had given him in the library, keeping her occupied until midnight. It had left her with little time to do her homework, and she was up until four studying. She did not want to go through another day of this. Mumbling to herself, she shoved a pillow over her ears and tried to ignore the buzzing.
“Hermione!” Parvati groaned. “What is that noise? Make it stop!”
“You make it stop,” Hermione insisted blearily.
“I don’t know how! Get your lazy arse out of bed!”
As if by magic, Hermione was suddenly wide awake. “Sorry, forgot you didn’t know,” she muttered in apology before shutting it off.
Hermione scrambled out of her bed and took a quick shower before she dressed for classes. (She didn’t even try to tame her hair. Those battles only ended in tears and heartbreak.) In her bookbag, she packed a fresh copy of her DADA essay, her books and some supplies. She also packed her alarm clock, which she quietly fiddled with before she placed it surreptitiously at the bottom. It was a battery-operated alarm clock, one her aunt had given her for Christmas last year. Hermione didn’t really believe in alarm clocks, and at Hogwarts, it was more for show than anything. Usually, she just had her wand set, but her mother insisted that she bring it to school this year. She only set it last night because she knew she’d need something extra-annoying to wake her up. Now, she considered it a small blessing.
She hardly had any breakfast, as she was still half-asleep. A slice of toast tided her over. Harry looked a little concerned, but otherwise, nothing was out-of-the-ordinary. They headed to Defence Against the Dark Arts together and sat in the back row.
Draco entered the classroom almost immediately after Granger and her lapdogs did, and he could not pass up the opportunity to see how tired she was. He saw her bushy head struggling to stay uplifted and sneered. Dropping Pansy’s hand (her lips drew into a thin line), he approached the Golden Trio casually. “Well, what do we have here?”
“Go away, Malfoy,” Potter immediately responded as Weasel shifted to partially hide Granger from sight. Draco pretended to notice none of this.
“Seems like Miss Perfect can’t even keep her eyes open today.”
The red-head was going to speak up, but Granger beat him to it. “You know bloody well that it’s all your fault! I only got to sleep for three hours!”
“Wow, Granger. I didn’t know thinking about me kept you up at night.” She glowered at him as his smirk widened. “Watch out, your face might get stuck like that.” If possible, Granger’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Oops, guess I was too late.”
“Go sit down and leave me alone,” she seethed. Her eyes were sparking with malicious intent. Beside her, Potty and Weasel look dumbfounded, as if they’d never seen her and Draco argue for an extended period of time. They really weren’t bright, those two. Fortunately for Granger, Snape chose that moment to enter the room.
“See you in detention,” Draco murmured to her as moved towards his desk. He didn’t see her faint smile.
Pansy was pouting when Draco sat down beside her. “What?” he asked innocently.
“You know what. Were you trying to get another look at her eyes?”
He scoffed.
“Silence,” Snape commanded from the front of the room, and the classroom chatter immediately died. “As a continuation of our lessons, we will again be practicing non-verbal spells. Today will be the Summoning Charm, which - although not necessarily a defensive spell - is a precursor to highly-advanced non-verbal spells. I have at the front of the room four dozen eggs. Each of you must summon one undamaged egg before I dismiss class. Are there any questions?” He paused, but no one spoke. “As a final note, the non-verbal Summoning Charm at first takes total concentration, and total silence. Whoever speaks out or causes a disturbance will have to answer to me.”
With that, he sat at his desk and allowed the students to get to work. It started out slowly. Draco, for one, was having a particularly hard time concentrating. Every time he seemed to get a good hold on the egg, his eyes would drift to Granger, who was struggling for once in her perfect life, and his own spell would fail.
Then, something unusual happened.
His pocket started to buzz. Loudly.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape hissed.
And the buzzing persisted. Draco panicked as he pulled a strange contraption from his pocket, one he’d never seen before. It vibrated in his palm. “What the hell?” He bashed it on the table, but it only clanged loudly.
“Mr. Malfoy, shut it off immediately!”
“I’m trying!” He began smashing the flat part onto his desk as hard as possible. It didn’t work. The class began to snigger. Draco growled and pulled out his wand. “Expulso!” he barked. Immediately, the buzzing halted with the small explosion that jolted him back in his chair. Panting hard, he picked up what was left of the contraption. It looked like . . . a clock.
“A simple Silencing Charm would have sufficed,” Snape uttered coolly from his desk. Another round of laughter passed the class, but the professor’s stiff gaze hushed it immediately. “Back to work.”
Hermione turned back to her book, trying her best not to burst into hysterics. Malfoy’s reaction had been exactly what she had hoped for. It even seemed as if he didn’t know it was her - or, at least, he couldn’t exactly find proof. She caught him staring at the clock more than once, an impossibly deep frown on his face. When Snape finally dismissed them, Hermione, Harry and Ron almost burst out of the classroom, ready to joke about Malfoy on their way to the Great Hall.
Unfortunately, they didn’t get the chance.
Someone nudged her shoulder rudely, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with the bloody ferret. Parkinson, looking a bit uncomfortable, was standing at his left shoulder, glancing between him and Hermione. It appeared as if Malfoy had shoved what was left of the alarm clock in his pocket, and Hermione valiantly fought back her laughter. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
“Who, me?” He smirked coolly. “Nothing much. I just had a question for you.”
Hm. A small bit of her began to worry, but she swallowed a rebuttal and simply folded her arms in front of her, waiting for him to speak. To her horror, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the face of the clock.
“It’s about this, really. I was just thinking that clocks like this are used by mudbloods, so -”
“Five points from Slytherin for using that appalling word,” she interjected heatedly. In the sudden quiet that followed her declaration, Draco could literally hear the jingling of the emeralds falling into the bottom of the pile. He stood and gaped at her cheeky behaviour. How dare she take away points from his house? And for something as silly as a name!
“Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting me,” he retorted, choking in his rage. He felt a bit more satisfied when five rubies joined the emeralds at the bottom of the pile.
Granger obviously didn’t feel the same way. “What did you just say?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Whatever you think I just said.”
“Then five points from Slytherin for abuse of power. And for spending more time on your hair than your schoolwork.”
Ouch. Low blow. Draco growled. “Ten points from Gryffindor for being an annoying bint!”
“Twenty points from Slytherin for being you!”
Beside them, Potter cast a nervous glance at the hourglasses that contained house points. The Gryffindor and Slytherin ones looked like they were raining now. Forecast: More rain with a 65% chance of Hufflepuff winning the house cup for the first time in two hundred fifty-three years. Yippee.
Hermione didn’t seem to notice, as she was now engaged in a full-out shouting match.
“I know you put that bloody clock in my pocket!”
“You can’t prove anything, Malfoy!”
Fuming, he pulled the metal plate off the back of her alarm clock and pointed to a small bit of it, his eyes harsh. Hermione hesitated at first, but curiosity won her over and she peeked at the heap of metal.
Happy Christmas, Hermie! Love Aunt Beckie
She gulped. Oh bugger.
“All I know is that you’d better be ready for hell when you come to detention tonight,” he hissed, shoving the pile of machinery into her hand and stalking past her. Parkinson sniffed at her before she, too, left.
“Touch her and you die, Malfoy!” Ron shouted to his back, shaking his fist in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. Harry, however, concerned himself with Hermione.
“Are you alright? What’d he do?”
She wrung her hands in front of her, and couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. He just figured out that I put the alarm clock in his pocket.”
Harry gaped. Even Ron stopped shaking his fist to turn and stare at her. “Hermione, that was you?” he exclaimed. “Brilliant work!”
“Thanks,” she murmured, but her brow was still puckered into a frown. They continued to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione’s mind was still on Malfoy all the way there. It remained there until she saw him at six that evening.
It looked like he hadn’t quite forgiven her yet. In fact, even Madame Pomfrey seemed a bit wary of him. She shot him a questioning look as she said, “You both will be preparing the potions ingredients for tomorrow’s class. All of these beetles must be diced and placed in this cauldron. I’ll be in my office if something should happen.”
“Yes, Professor,” said Hermione.
Glare, from Malfoy.
Hermione wearily sat at a desk and began sorting through the pile of beetles as Madame Pomfrey disappeared into her office. There didn’t seem to be a terrible lot of them, but dicing them could prove to be a hassle. The beetles liked to bite, and the poison on their pincers - although not dangerous even in considerably large amounts - was usually enough to make a person light-headed and sleepy. They would probably be brewing some kind of sleeping draught tomorrow. She glanced up and saw Malfoy still staring at her, face frozen in rage.
That is, if she survived until tomorrow.
The pair began to dice in silence. Draco, of course, was silent because he didn’t trust himself to speak. He worked diligently, only pausing to nurse a beetle bite or to glare in Granger’s direction. He had figured out a long time ago, via an old witch’s tale, how to avoid the dizzy spells that came from these beetles. Human saliva was powerful enough to destroy the toxins, so he just sucked each wound briefly before continuing. Judging by Granger’s pale face, however, she did not know this trick.
That was new.
He faintly recalled that they were supposed to be talking about the paper due in Healing that Friday. He’d almost overlooked that one. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to breach the topic himself. For all he cared, she could write the bloody thing on her own. He glanced at her again and saw her eyelids flutter. Apparently, the poison was getting to her.
He was, of course, right. After about an hour of dicing and numerous untended beetle bites, she swayed into his shoulder. “Watch it, Granger,” he snapped. She held a hand to her forehead and hissed back, “I’m dizzy, you prat! Can’t you show a bit of compassion?”
“Sorry, fresh out.”
Sending him a glower, she said, “Why aren’t you dizzy?”
He smirked. “Malfoys are immune to such lowly poisons.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” The next beetle bit her so hard, it was still clinging to her finger when she gasped in pain. Draco had the decency to mask his laughter behind a cough. “Malfoy!” she growled.
He didn’t understand what happened next. It looked like she was going to punch him. Her fist was balled as she pulled it back, rage evident in her glinting eyes. Draco lifted his arms to defend himself . . . and then she was laying face-down on the floor next to him.
“Ug,” she groaned, rolling into a sitting position. “What happened?” Before he could reply, Madame Pomfrey burst from her office.
“Mr. Malfoy!” she exclaimed. “Why is Miss Granger on the floor?”
Draco shrugged. “I think she tried to hit me, but she missed.”
“I don’t feel good,” Granger complained from the floor.
Madame Pomfrey bustled over and helped the girl up. “You may leave, Mr. Malfoy, but I expect to see you here tomorrow at six exactly.”
“Professor, I didn’t -”
“Enough.” Her lips pursed and her eyes were dangerous. “You may not have pushed her to the floor, but you certainly haven’t helped her. I am extremely disappointed in you.”
Draco wanted to defend himself, but there was really nothing more to say on the subject, so he clamped his jaw shut, turned on his heel and headed back to Slytherin, feeling worse than he had in a long while. He tried to reason with himself - he hadn’t technically done anything wrong. She hadn’t asked, he didn’t tell. Simple as that. And so what if she face-planted? She’d been trying to attack him, for Merlin’s sake! The bloody girl deserved it!
He thought all of this vehemently, but a tiny bit of him nagged, and nagged. It was a feeling he didn’t fully understand. An echoing, cavernous feeling right below the ribs. It made him want to crawl into a corner and hide for the rest of the month, or maybe the entire year. All of his anger was swallowed up in the hole, and he trudged back to his room, trying to think of the word for this despondency.
It was guilt.
Link to Chapter Ten here
Link to Chapter Twelve here
Genre: Humor/Romance
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, innuendo
Spoilers: Takes place sixth year; if you haven't read that far, what are you doing here?
Disclaimer: No, I do not in fact, own these characters, minus Mathias... well, I don't really own him either, because he's based off of another character...
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single wizard in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife.
Comments: I said I would post this chapter ages ago, but this BLOODY LIVEJOURNAL is such a pain to post on, I had to hold back for a bit. I hope no one minded terribly.... >< Sorry for the long wait! And, just so you all know, I'll be gone, out of the country, without the ability to write, for ten weeks, starting the last week of August. *sigh* Sorry again!
Chapter XI
Hermione awoke slowly to the sound of her alarm, cursing the short rest she had. Last night’s detention with Madame Pomfrey and Malfoy had been bloody awful. Not only had he tormented her whenever Madame Pomfrey wasn’t looking, but after the professor had dismissed the both of them, Malfoy had insisted on discussing each book she had given him in the library, keeping her occupied until midnight. It had left her with little time to do her homework, and she was up until four studying. She did not want to go through another day of this. Mumbling to herself, she shoved a pillow over her ears and tried to ignore the buzzing.
“Hermione!” Parvati groaned. “What is that noise? Make it stop!”
“You make it stop,” Hermione insisted blearily.
“I don’t know how! Get your lazy arse out of bed!”
As if by magic, Hermione was suddenly wide awake. “Sorry, forgot you didn’t know,” she muttered in apology before shutting it off.
Hermione scrambled out of her bed and took a quick shower before she dressed for classes. (She didn’t even try to tame her hair. Those battles only ended in tears and heartbreak.) In her bookbag, she packed a fresh copy of her DADA essay, her books and some supplies. She also packed her alarm clock, which she quietly fiddled with before she placed it surreptitiously at the bottom. It was a battery-operated alarm clock, one her aunt had given her for Christmas last year. Hermione didn’t really believe in alarm clocks, and at Hogwarts, it was more for show than anything. Usually, she just had her wand set, but her mother insisted that she bring it to school this year. She only set it last night because she knew she’d need something extra-annoying to wake her up. Now, she considered it a small blessing.
She hardly had any breakfast, as she was still half-asleep. A slice of toast tided her over. Harry looked a little concerned, but otherwise, nothing was out-of-the-ordinary. They headed to Defence Against the Dark Arts together and sat in the back row.
Draco entered the classroom almost immediately after Granger and her lapdogs did, and he could not pass up the opportunity to see how tired she was. He saw her bushy head struggling to stay uplifted and sneered. Dropping Pansy’s hand (her lips drew into a thin line), he approached the Golden Trio casually. “Well, what do we have here?”
“Go away, Malfoy,” Potter immediately responded as Weasel shifted to partially hide Granger from sight. Draco pretended to notice none of this.
“Seems like Miss Perfect can’t even keep her eyes open today.”
The red-head was going to speak up, but Granger beat him to it. “You know bloody well that it’s all your fault! I only got to sleep for three hours!”
“Wow, Granger. I didn’t know thinking about me kept you up at night.” She glowered at him as his smirk widened. “Watch out, your face might get stuck like that.” If possible, Granger’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Oops, guess I was too late.”
“Go sit down and leave me alone,” she seethed. Her eyes were sparking with malicious intent. Beside her, Potty and Weasel look dumbfounded, as if they’d never seen her and Draco argue for an extended period of time. They really weren’t bright, those two. Fortunately for Granger, Snape chose that moment to enter the room.
“See you in detention,” Draco murmured to her as moved towards his desk. He didn’t see her faint smile.
Pansy was pouting when Draco sat down beside her. “What?” he asked innocently.
“You know what. Were you trying to get another look at her eyes?”
He scoffed.
“Silence,” Snape commanded from the front of the room, and the classroom chatter immediately died. “As a continuation of our lessons, we will again be practicing non-verbal spells. Today will be the Summoning Charm, which - although not necessarily a defensive spell - is a precursor to highly-advanced non-verbal spells. I have at the front of the room four dozen eggs. Each of you must summon one undamaged egg before I dismiss class. Are there any questions?” He paused, but no one spoke. “As a final note, the non-verbal Summoning Charm at first takes total concentration, and total silence. Whoever speaks out or causes a disturbance will have to answer to me.”
With that, he sat at his desk and allowed the students to get to work. It started out slowly. Draco, for one, was having a particularly hard time concentrating. Every time he seemed to get a good hold on the egg, his eyes would drift to Granger, who was struggling for once in her perfect life, and his own spell would fail.
Then, something unusual happened.
His pocket started to buzz. Loudly.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape hissed.
And the buzzing persisted. Draco panicked as he pulled a strange contraption from his pocket, one he’d never seen before. It vibrated in his palm. “What the hell?” He bashed it on the table, but it only clanged loudly.
“Mr. Malfoy, shut it off immediately!”
“I’m trying!” He began smashing the flat part onto his desk as hard as possible. It didn’t work. The class began to snigger. Draco growled and pulled out his wand. “Expulso!” he barked. Immediately, the buzzing halted with the small explosion that jolted him back in his chair. Panting hard, he picked up what was left of the contraption. It looked like . . . a clock.
“A simple Silencing Charm would have sufficed,” Snape uttered coolly from his desk. Another round of laughter passed the class, but the professor’s stiff gaze hushed it immediately. “Back to work.”
Hermione turned back to her book, trying her best not to burst into hysterics. Malfoy’s reaction had been exactly what she had hoped for. It even seemed as if he didn’t know it was her - or, at least, he couldn’t exactly find proof. She caught him staring at the clock more than once, an impossibly deep frown on his face. When Snape finally dismissed them, Hermione, Harry and Ron almost burst out of the classroom, ready to joke about Malfoy on their way to the Great Hall.
Unfortunately, they didn’t get the chance.
Someone nudged her shoulder rudely, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with the bloody ferret. Parkinson, looking a bit uncomfortable, was standing at his left shoulder, glancing between him and Hermione. It appeared as if Malfoy had shoved what was left of the alarm clock in his pocket, and Hermione valiantly fought back her laughter. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
“Who, me?” He smirked coolly. “Nothing much. I just had a question for you.”
Hm. A small bit of her began to worry, but she swallowed a rebuttal and simply folded her arms in front of her, waiting for him to speak. To her horror, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the face of the clock.
“It’s about this, really. I was just thinking that clocks like this are used by mudbloods, so -”
“Five points from Slytherin for using that appalling word,” she interjected heatedly. In the sudden quiet that followed her declaration, Draco could literally hear the jingling of the emeralds falling into the bottom of the pile. He stood and gaped at her cheeky behaviour. How dare she take away points from his house? And for something as silly as a name!
“Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting me,” he retorted, choking in his rage. He felt a bit more satisfied when five rubies joined the emeralds at the bottom of the pile.
Granger obviously didn’t feel the same way. “What did you just say?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Whatever you think I just said.”
“Then five points from Slytherin for abuse of power. And for spending more time on your hair than your schoolwork.”
Ouch. Low blow. Draco growled. “Ten points from Gryffindor for being an annoying bint!”
“Twenty points from Slytherin for being you!”
Beside them, Potter cast a nervous glance at the hourglasses that contained house points. The Gryffindor and Slytherin ones looked like they were raining now. Forecast: More rain with a 65% chance of Hufflepuff winning the house cup for the first time in two hundred fifty-three years. Yippee.
Hermione didn’t seem to notice, as she was now engaged in a full-out shouting match.
“I know you put that bloody clock in my pocket!”
“You can’t prove anything, Malfoy!”
Fuming, he pulled the metal plate off the back of her alarm clock and pointed to a small bit of it, his eyes harsh. Hermione hesitated at first, but curiosity won her over and she peeked at the heap of metal.
Happy Christmas, Hermie! Love Aunt Beckie
She gulped. Oh bugger.
“All I know is that you’d better be ready for hell when you come to detention tonight,” he hissed, shoving the pile of machinery into her hand and stalking past her. Parkinson sniffed at her before she, too, left.
“Touch her and you die, Malfoy!” Ron shouted to his back, shaking his fist in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. Harry, however, concerned himself with Hermione.
“Are you alright? What’d he do?”
She wrung her hands in front of her, and couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. He just figured out that I put the alarm clock in his pocket.”
Harry gaped. Even Ron stopped shaking his fist to turn and stare at her. “Hermione, that was you?” he exclaimed. “Brilliant work!”
“Thanks,” she murmured, but her brow was still puckered into a frown. They continued to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione’s mind was still on Malfoy all the way there. It remained there until she saw him at six that evening.
It looked like he hadn’t quite forgiven her yet. In fact, even Madame Pomfrey seemed a bit wary of him. She shot him a questioning look as she said, “You both will be preparing the potions ingredients for tomorrow’s class. All of these beetles must be diced and placed in this cauldron. I’ll be in my office if something should happen.”
“Yes, Professor,” said Hermione.
Glare, from Malfoy.
Hermione wearily sat at a desk and began sorting through the pile of beetles as Madame Pomfrey disappeared into her office. There didn’t seem to be a terrible lot of them, but dicing them could prove to be a hassle. The beetles liked to bite, and the poison on their pincers - although not dangerous even in considerably large amounts - was usually enough to make a person light-headed and sleepy. They would probably be brewing some kind of sleeping draught tomorrow. She glanced up and saw Malfoy still staring at her, face frozen in rage.
That is, if she survived until tomorrow.
The pair began to dice in silence. Draco, of course, was silent because he didn’t trust himself to speak. He worked diligently, only pausing to nurse a beetle bite or to glare in Granger’s direction. He had figured out a long time ago, via an old witch’s tale, how to avoid the dizzy spells that came from these beetles. Human saliva was powerful enough to destroy the toxins, so he just sucked each wound briefly before continuing. Judging by Granger’s pale face, however, she did not know this trick.
That was new.
He faintly recalled that they were supposed to be talking about the paper due in Healing that Friday. He’d almost overlooked that one. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to breach the topic himself. For all he cared, she could write the bloody thing on her own. He glanced at her again and saw her eyelids flutter. Apparently, the poison was getting to her.
He was, of course, right. After about an hour of dicing and numerous untended beetle bites, she swayed into his shoulder. “Watch it, Granger,” he snapped. She held a hand to her forehead and hissed back, “I’m dizzy, you prat! Can’t you show a bit of compassion?”
“Sorry, fresh out.”
Sending him a glower, she said, “Why aren’t you dizzy?”
He smirked. “Malfoys are immune to such lowly poisons.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” The next beetle bit her so hard, it was still clinging to her finger when she gasped in pain. Draco had the decency to mask his laughter behind a cough. “Malfoy!” she growled.
He didn’t understand what happened next. It looked like she was going to punch him. Her fist was balled as she pulled it back, rage evident in her glinting eyes. Draco lifted his arms to defend himself . . . and then she was laying face-down on the floor next to him.
“Ug,” she groaned, rolling into a sitting position. “What happened?” Before he could reply, Madame Pomfrey burst from her office.
“Mr. Malfoy!” she exclaimed. “Why is Miss Granger on the floor?”
Draco shrugged. “I think she tried to hit me, but she missed.”
“I don’t feel good,” Granger complained from the floor.
Madame Pomfrey bustled over and helped the girl up. “You may leave, Mr. Malfoy, but I expect to see you here tomorrow at six exactly.”
“Professor, I didn’t -”
“Enough.” Her lips pursed and her eyes were dangerous. “You may not have pushed her to the floor, but you certainly haven’t helped her. I am extremely disappointed in you.”
Draco wanted to defend himself, but there was really nothing more to say on the subject, so he clamped his jaw shut, turned on his heel and headed back to Slytherin, feeling worse than he had in a long while. He tried to reason with himself - he hadn’t technically done anything wrong. She hadn’t asked, he didn’t tell. Simple as that. And so what if she face-planted? She’d been trying to attack him, for Merlin’s sake! The bloody girl deserved it!
He thought all of this vehemently, but a tiny bit of him nagged, and nagged. It was a feeling he didn’t fully understand. An echoing, cavernous feeling right below the ribs. It made him want to crawl into a corner and hide for the rest of the month, or maybe the entire year. All of his anger was swallowed up in the hole, and he trudged back to his room, trying to think of the word for this despondency.
It was guilt.
Link to Chapter Ten here
Link to Chapter Twelve here