Haunted

5 | rage, fresh and fiery

"Soldiers don't normally use the library."

Hazel stood in the entrance to the aisle, staring dumbfounded at Malfoy who was watching her with a book cracked open in his palm. His eyebrow raised after a few seconds passed and she'd still said nothing, her lips parted foolishly.

"Um, sorry, I'll go," she stammered, her embarrassment overshadowing her purpose in chasing after him. But her body betrayed her, her feet rooted to their spot on the floor. He blinked, waiting. "Actually," she said, clearing her throat.

"You know, it's rude to follow people," he deadpanned, interrupting her. His eyes were that same stormy silver as before, only now they were devoid of emotion. Churning weather with no passion. Unreadable.

She struggled to find an adequate excuse but there was none. She couldn't very well say that she hadn't followed him; it would be a blatant lie. "I wasn't following you." The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. A falsity that they both knew the truth of.

Her cheeks were turning a shade of scarlet. This wasn't going very well. "Oh? You just happened to find yourself in the library only moments after me?"

No, this wasn't going very well at all. The train was swiftly veering off the rails, and she needed to grab the wheel and steer it back. Did trains even have steering wheels? "No— I mean—" She swallowed suddenly, inspecting her feet as if the words she needed to say would be written on her shoes. She breathed air out of her nose, and then somehow found the courage to peek back up at him. He was still surveying her. Waiting. The corner of his mouth skewed upwards in amusement. Bastard. "I came to apologize." No reaction. "For yesterday."

And there it was. A slight twitch of his eye. Enough to indicate that he knew very well what she was referring to. "I don't know what you mean," he replied coolly.

Perhaps she was mistaken? Then the amusement flickered on his face, so subtle that she almost missed it. No, she wasn't mistaken. He was just an expert at hiding his emotions, it seemed. "I lost control of my actions in our duel and I went too far." She searched his expression as imperceptibly as possible, fishing for something to hint at his feelings towards her apology. "I wanted to say I was sorry. And that it was an accident."

He blinked. "Nonsense." Her anxiety calmed for a moment. "You only went that far because I let you." Just as quickly, confusion replaced the anxiety. "If I hadn't been holding up an additional shield, things would have been different."

"Well—"

"If I'd been casting Killing curses, you wouldn't have gotten so lucky," he continued, snapping the book in his palm closed and crossing his arms across his chest. He seemed taller, all of a sudden. Was he standing up straighter now?

"I was the only one—"

"You made a plethora of mistakes that would have been costly if you'd been in a real battle." His eyes narrowed. "Would you like to know the cost, Hazel?" She didn't reply. And evidently, he hadn't expected her to. "Your life. You would have paid with your life."

She had the urge to scream. Not just howl some strangled cry, but bellow absolute obscenities in his pale, snooty face. The anger was bubbling up in her stomach, a rolling boil of tumultuous thoughts and feelings. Steam could have been coming out of her open mouth for all she knew. "I beat you," was all she could manage, glaring so hard that it was hurting her eyes, straining them. He didn't say anything. "I was the only one who beat you."

All of her noble intentions were smashed, just like that. Her anxieties and worries about protecting his fragile male ego had disintegrated. They were burned, their ashes floating up to the ceiling's moving painting. If she looked up, maybe the cherub would be coughing on the ash. In their place was red-hot anger. Rage, fresh and fiery.