Bex-chan

Well, Hermione could safely tell those people that it was all bollocks.

Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks.

She was petrified. That's right. Screw the stereotypes that came were her Gryffindor colours, sometimes it was rational to be frightened.

She loved her friends dearly, but if she was right Harry was probably having a mental breakdown every hour, and Ron would most likely be tripping over his own feet.

If she was going to be angry and anxious about the state of the world, she didn't want anyone but Harry and Ron to know about it.

What a shit week. Shit month. Shit year.

"And Miss Granger has agreed to this arrangement?" the older wizard questioned with a sceptical tone.

"Not yet."

Draco's golden eyebrows rose high on his pale forehead. Not yet? The woman was digging his grave faster than Voldemort.

Her fawny eyes darted away, needing to focus on something else, and that's when she saw him.

Him.

She locked on to his icy-cool glare and felt something in her soul snap.

She didn't remember sprinting over to him, everything was blurry and fast. When she was close enough, she drew back her balled fist and rammed into his face, hard enough to scorch her knuckles. She felt a feral growl vibrate in her throat, and drew her fist back again, the blood slithering down his chin and across her fingers no where near satisfying enough. She wanted to pound his face until it was unrecognisable, until it stopped reminding her of what he'd done.

But McGonagall's spell dragged her to the other side of the room. And she was screaming again.

He hid his irritation with an amused snort as he slowly wiped the back on his hand across his mouth again, keeping his stare locked onto hers. He realised then that her eyes weren't brown; they were more like gold.

Lost with the seductive ink-kissed pages, she could forget almost anything.

Knowing Gryffindors and their fetish for friendships,