Manacled by Senlinyu

chapter 14

"Are you trying to provoke me or sway my allegiance, Mudblood? How terribly audacious of you."

Hermione studied his face for several moments before quirking an eyebrow of her own. "You've already thought it. If you hadn't, you'd be offended right now," she said.

He continued to study her face for several moments before a slow smile curled across his lips. "You know, you almost seem like a Gryffindor again."

"I've always been a Gryffindor," she replied.

His eyes flashed faintly.

"True. I suppose you have," he said.

The moment stretched out. They kept staring at each other. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she appraised him.

It seemed impossible that he was only twenty-four years old. No one so young should have had such icily restrained rage behind their eyes. Hermione had seen many faces aged by the war but Malfoy's expression was unique. He was so precisely contained, but his eyes were a storm; they looked like they contained the power of the sea.

How many people had he killed? People he knew, people he didn't know; none of it seemed to faze him. His face was somehow unmarked by worry; young and indolent. She could see the war in his eyes, though. All the deaths he had caused and seen, as though the grey in them were ghosts.

Ginny. He'd killed Ginny. Strung her corpse up in front of all her friends and left it to rot.

And Minerva. Poppy Pomfrey, who'd first taught Hermione healing. Neville, Hermione's first friend in the wizarding world. Moody.

Malfoy had killed everyone left after the war. He'd wiped out the Order of the Phoenix.

Even under the potion, the hatred and rage she felt toward him for it was inescapable. She did not merely hate him emotionally. The fury over all he had destroyed was a structure in her mind. He deserved to suffer deeply for everything he'd done. She did not need to feel emotions to believe it.

She couldn't understand what he got from doing any of it. He was wealthy but he didn't seem to do anything with it. He was powerful but he was obliged to keep it anonymous. He had no apparent hobbies other than efficiently killing people and reading. He didn't even seem to particularly enjoy killing people.

His life seemed bizarrely empty of anything satisfying. What drove him?

She opened her mouth to prod but caught herself and refrained. She had to tread cautiously. She wanted to think more about it.

He smirked when he saw her mouth close.

"Composing a psychological sketch of me?" he asked.

Hermione quirked her mouth into a faint smile.

"Yes," she said.

"I'll look forward to seeing it," he said turning to continue down the hallway.

She sniffed and glared after him.

There was a sharp click of heels and Astoria suddenly came around the corner. When she caught sight of Hermione and Malfoy her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed themselves.

"Are we all socializing together now?" Astoria asked in a saccharine voice.

"Just touring the manor," Malfoy drawled, Astoria's face whitened slightly. "The door to the drawing room in the south wing was opened."

"Perhaps the house-elves left it open," Astoria said stiffly.

"Indeed," he said with a smirk. "It was undoubtedly the house-elves."