Bringing Down the House

Title: Bringing Down the House
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,037
Summary: “What on earth?” she muttered. Because if she hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought that the alleged explosions were coming from the Slytherin dormitories. Poor, righteous Gryffindors, what ever have you done now?
Author's Notes: Let's say that Draco and Hermione went back for an eighth year at Hogwarts after the War to finish their education. Written as a late entry for the nosmutforyou prompt-a-thon. My prompts were accidental rudeness, extreme, low, onomatopoeia, point, stop, and training.



Bringing Down the House

BOOM!

Hermione stopped mid-step, furrowed her brows, and listened. She almost thought she had heard some sort of explosion, but that was ridiculous; she had spent half the night studying for a Potions exam, after all, and that meant she was possibly hearing things. Possibly.

BOOM!

Possibly not.

This time, the floor shook, and Hermione drew in a breath sharply.

“What on earth?” she muttered. Because if she hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought that the alleged explosions were coming from the Slytherin dormitories.

Having just come from the aforementioned Potions exam, she was already well immersed in the maze of the castle dungeons; it was only logical, then, to follow the sound until she could confirm its source. Mind set firmly, she scurried forward.

She didn’t know exactly where the Slytherin dormitories were—rather, just the general area of them—since it had been Harry and Ron who had infiltrated them their second year, not she. And of course, she didn’t know how to gain access to them, either, being that all prefects kept their house’s passwords from one another. But if it was the Slytherins causing all that noise—well. She would make a point of knocking at and around their theoretical door until someone came out for her to reprimand.

As it turned out, however, such an action was not quite necessary.

Because incidentally, there happened to be an extremely large hole in the wall.

BOOM!

Hermione shielded her face as a great cloud of dust and rubble spewed forth from the hole, a few large stones falling to the ground.

“What on earth?” she repeated, this time more loudly. She paused for a moment, steeling herself for the task now at hand, and began to advance slowly on the wreckage.

Just as she did so, however, someone burst through the hole, stumbling over the scattered stones and shouting numerous frazzled obscenities back into it. Perhaps, Hermione thought, she might not have to go inside, after all.

“Excuse me,” she called in a clipped, business-like tone—for that was best when dealing with Slytherins.

But the boy—it was definitely a boy—merely shot past her, accidentally treading upon her toe as he went.

“Excuse me!” she cried angrily. The boy neither flinched nor made to pause.

When Hermione squinted, though, she realized that the rumpled hair beneath the layer of ashes and dust was a particularly distinct white-blonde color.

Of course.

“MALFOY!” she shouted, starting to run after him. Malfoy glanced over his shoulder, saw who was pursuing him, and grimaced in what seemed to be horror. He also sped up.

Thoroughly vexed and already out of breath, Hermione drew her wand and yelled out to him again. Malfoy looked at her once more, the beginnings of a smirk upon his face, but when he spotted her wand, he immediately halted where he was.

“That’s better,” she nodded, marching toward him. When she was but a few feet away, the smirk reappeared as he noticed her heaving chest and shoulders. (He himself appeared not so much as a little winded.)

Hermione ignored this, raising her chin slightly. “Malfoy, what—?”

“Your face,” he remarked, amused.

“What?”

“It’s covered in dirt. Tell me, Granger, are you in training to become a Weasley already?”

She felt her skin burn slightly in embarrassment, but refused to wipe her face upon her sleeve.

“I could ask the same of you,” she said, recovering. “You look bedraggled as a rat.”

A frown threatened to twitch across his lips, but he suppressed it. “Clever.”

They stared at each other briefly in silence.

Hermione, of course, was the one to break it and arrive straight at the point.

“Why have you destroyed your common room?” she demanded. Her hands rested firmly in the vicinity of her hips.

Malfoy forced out a bark of laughter. “Oh, right, as if you don’t know.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?”

“You can’t not know, Granger. I doubt anyone in Gryffindor knows how to keep their pathetic mouths shut.”

“Gryffindor didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Malfoy snorted. “Yeah, of course. Us silly, evil Slytherins just randomly decided to blow up our own living quarters today because we were bored.”

Hermione arched a brow, smiling.

This time, it was he who colored. “I was being sarcastic, you stupid—Granger. Surely sarcasm can penetrate that freakishly large skull of yours.”

Hermione was unfazed. “Look, Malfoy, clearly you’re mistaken. My housemates would not lower themselves to such—such childishness. They—”

He burst into laughter. “Really? Really? Were they just doing a good deed, then? Poor, righteous Gryffindors?”

“I told—”

“They left a bloody note, Granger. I had the pleasure of reading it myself right before my bed exploded.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re lying. You must be.”

He copied her gesture. “I must be, mustn’t I? That’s always how it goes, after all. Honestly, you call us prejudiced. I suppose none of you bothered to notice that those of us that are left are on your side.”

She stared at him. “But I can’t believe—”

“Believe what you want, Granger. I won’t force the truth down your throat, however much I want to see you choke.”

Hermione blinked. The bitterness in his words stung.

“Maybe…” she said slowly. “I mean, I suppose I could speak with them. Just—just to prove their innocence in this.”

“You do that.”

“And if… And if they did, by some minute chance, have something to do with this, I could… I could speak with Professor McGonagall regarding their unacceptable behavior.”

He shrugged. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“Well, if that’s all you’re going to accost me about, I’m afraid I don’t have time for you any longer,” he said, coughing.

“Er, yes, right,” she nodded quickly.

He gazed at her thoughtfully for a second, then sneered.

“And Granger?”

“Yes?”

Before she realized what was happening, he brought his sleeve to her cheek.

“Clean yourself up. Dirt doesn’t suit you.”

Malfoy withdrew his hand, turned, and left.

And Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if—BOOM!—something about the world as she knew it had just changed a little.

Possibly.

THE END