Draco dragged the trunk into his room and quickly examined the contents with a critical eye. Well, it could have been substantially worse. While the clothes consisted of items he would have never picked himself, at lest there were no horrid hints of red or gold amongst the fabrics. There were a few pairs of black trousers, some white and black shirts and then three or four polo-jumpers in black and grey too. At the bottom of the chest were some simple vests and a set of standard wizarding robes, accompanied with some black shoes, socks and extra underwear.
It was more than he'd expected, but less than he'd hoped for.
With a bitter grunt, he started to organise them in the provided wardrobe the Muggle way. Merlin, he missed his wand. McGonagall may as well have ripped off one of his limbs, the sodding cow.
His wand had managed to keep him occupied when he'd been confined to the shed with Snape; whether he'd simply stretched the extent of his conjuring and transfiguration skills or practised new spells, it had always encouraged time to go that little bit quicker. And now that scraggly old hag had confiscated the only thing he could use to divert himself from hollow hours of nothingness.
He changed his clothes and simply sat on his bed for Merlin knew how long, trying to think of something to do.
He was no idiot; he knew that his inactivity and the imprisonment would do damaging things to him. His sleeping pattern was already buggered, and it was only a matter of time before his mind would start to close in on itself. He'd read the countless stories of foolish wizards who had locked themselves in closets and eventually gone insane after staring at the same four walls and having nothing to do.
He needed a deterrent; something to concentrate on and provide him with a goal, not matter how insignificant it seemed.
Draco headed into the main area of the dorm and steered himself toward the small kitchenette, pointlessly plucking open the cabinets. They were full of the expected products, but he had no idea how to prepare them without his magic.
He settled on two green apples and slowly scanned his surroundings, his stormy eyes settling on a set of shelves practically buckling under the weight of various books. He stared at them for a long minute, rationalising that reading would be an ideal way to keep him engaged.
But no. They were the Mudblood's. He didn't want to touch her things if he could help it.
He continued to study the room as he gnawed away at the ripe fruit, and absently started counting.
.
.
She didn't meet her friends for lunch.
It was a conscious decision, and one that she regretted a few hours later, but she'd honestly thought she'd found something interesting. However, she'd forgotten that the French and Latin translations for the word crux were two entirely different things.
She'd made a quick trip to the kitchens to collect the extra food she'd requested and grab a simple ham sandwich, but otherwise didn't leave the library. When the day had finally started to simmer into the evening, she'd barely noticed. Time was an irrelevant mess amongst the creaking bookcases, but when night blanketed the sky and her Lumos started to waver alongside her concentration, she decided it was best she return to her room.
A sad glance at her watch informed her that it was midnight, and it had been yet another disappointing day without any progress. She blamed the echoes of her argument with Malfoy for her inability to engage completely with her task, but accepted that her insomnia probably didn't help.
Trudging her aching limbs back to her room, she allowed herself a relieved sigh when she found her dorm bathed in darkness and no sign of the Slytherin bastard who should have been suffocating in an Azkaban cell.
Mumbling a spell to illuminate the room, she set about putting the food in the appropriate cupboards and made herself a clumsy cup of tea. And then she could feel eyes on her, rubbing angry splinters into the back of her head.
With a startled gasp, she spun around and knocked over her hot drink to find him loitering in his doorframe again, observing her with fresh irritation. He watched her closely, like a territorial wolf who'd missed two meals. He'd been waiting for her to return after the inevitable boredom had ignited the idea to pick a fight with her the moment she'd walked through the door.
"Little jumpy there, Granger," he remarked quietly, crossing his arms. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"
"You make me sick," she told him squarely, her words crisp with honesty.
"Believe me when I say the feeling's mutual," he snarled. "You're making noise again-
"Shut up and go to bed-
"Put some silencing spells on my room-
"NO!" the witch yelled, her chest inflating as she drew in a seething breath. "I made it very clear that I would NOT waste my magic on you!"
"Yes, you will," he responded calmly, taking a few strides and effectively circling her. "I shouldn't have to listen to you-
"Well, tough luck," she snapped, slamming her palms against the counter between them. "This is MY room! I shouldn't have to listen to you, or even look at you!"
"Tough luck," Draco echoed, a crease slicing across his forehead with impatience. "Take it up with the old bitch and do us both a favour-
"Shut up!" she shouted, scrunching her eyes closed and quaking with her anger now. "Just stay out of my way, Malfoy-
"And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?" he fired back. "In case you haven't noticed, I can't leave your little shitty dorm and it's hardly the most spacious room."
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