"Bitch," he tells her, and spits on the ground by Hermione's face, and she flinches as drops spatter cold on her cheek, lying there shivering, staring up at him, every muscle trembling and tears and snot smearing her face. She curls up, making a ball on the ground, trying stupidly to hide, hands covering the front of her knickers as though they can protect her. He had – he had – when Malfoy had said they wouldn't actually...but that, that had felt like actually to her. Even if it hadn't been technically actually, it had felt pretty fucking indistinguishable. She shuts her eyes, blocking out the sight of him. Just right now, she doesn't care that he is helping her, that it is all just pretend – she just hates him. Loathes him.