The venomous words dangled in the cold breezy morning.
Her grace fell down in a cascade like fragile petals caught in a tempest. She stood in the ruins of her pride, watching every brick collapse onto the ground.
Mortification clawed at her, its presence etched on her features. Her pale cheeks mirrored the deep stains of a red wine—flushed with embarrassment and wounded pride. The stormy silver eyes locked onto her, harboring nothing but sheer hatred and disgust.
Her mahogany ember irises, wide with shock, stared unflinchingly into the stormy silver abyss.
She yearned to retort with a venom equal to the poison in his words, but her voice remained shackled by the violent force of tears.
Her best friend wrapped his arms around her.
Ron stepped forward, fueled by fury. "How dare you call Hermione that, Malfoy!" he thundered, his wand extended as it collided with the surface of Malfoy's Slytherin tie.
"Oh, the little weasel is enraged? Perhaps, your girlfriend could get you another wand by exchanging her Mudblood parents' money into our coins..." He snickered, directing a taunting gaze at Hermione. "Won't you, Hermione?"
The argument threatened to escalate into an ugly showoff of spells. However, before the first incantation could be spoken Harry intervened. In his peripheral vision, he had caught sight of Hermione drawing her wand, and with a swift instinct to avoid further detentions and house point losses, he stepped in.
"Enough of this," Harry declared. "We don't need more detentions or house points lost."
Draco's simmering hostility redirected as he couldn't resist one last jab. "Potter, always playing the hero. I suppose it's the only role you're fit for."
Before Harry could respond, Hermione's eyes flashed with a fire that matched her Gryffindor spirit. "Better a hero than a coward hiding behind insults. Your words may wound, Malfoy, but they can't conceal the emptiness within."
With that, the golden trio had walked out of the quidditch pitch. Draco's cold gaze never left Hermione's retreating figure. She, the Mudblood who dared to retaliate against him, had ignited a seething anger within him. The sting of her words bruised his pride.
Hermione had wounded him, and in the furnace of his resentment, a resolve to burn her in return simmered.
The ember of revenge flickered in his silver eyes.
Each thought of her was a venomous ember, scorching his pride and leaving behind a bitter taste of humiliation. The mere thought of her stirred a tempest of resentment within him, a tempest he vowed to unleash upon her unsuspecting world.
Draco Malfoy nurtured a brewing storm of vengeance, his emotions a turbulent sea of anger, wounded pride, and an unrelenting desire to turn the tables on the Mudblood who dared defy him. ┦
