"What are you trying to say, Granger?" The shaking blonde forced through gritted teeth, unsure whether his arms were quivering from rage or something else. He couldn't afford to think about it, not when a bushy haired, know it all was once again trying to tell him how things were supposed to be; when they both knew she was wrong. She, for once, was wrong this time.
"I'm saying," she breathed, biting her lip against an unwanted break in her will. "I'm saying that we can't keep doing this. We can't keep muddling the line and expecting to have a happy ending. What we have- had together isn't the kind to end that way, Draco. We weren't meant to last."
And she was driven to kill whatever they had before it was ever able to flourish.
It was just the two of them; after almost a month of purposefully avoiding one another, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were in the same room without prying eyes. For the first meeting after so long, it was amounting to nothing spellbinding. If anything, the air was turning putrid between them with lukewarm silence and the festering memories of times neither of them wanted to remember. At the same time, neither of them wanted to forget, because of the moments in between the horrible, that gave promise to something better. Hermione clung to the flashes of his gleaming smile, so foreign to her now that so much had happened. She grasped for the time when he’d said her name with such sweet reverence that it made her blush red hot. She wished so desperately he would reach through the tension now, that he’d reach out for her as she was for him.
For now, she settled for second best: his allowance of her presence. It had been so long since she’d seen his moonlit hair, now drained of its vibrancy. His stunning eyes were shrouded in a haze she could not see past. Yet, he was still beautiful. Even with the terrors of war nipping at their feet, with the horrors of torture lingering in his shadow, he was a sight to behold. Even when there was a room’s width of distance between them, though miles would have given the same effect for all the attention he was giving her.
His face was downcast, as it had for an hour or so now, and darkness clung to him and weighed down his shoulders. That same darkness had threatened to swallow her whole in the past months, and it pained her to see him suffering.
And it was all because of her.
“Did it,” his voice made her jolt into an upright position, her back groaning from being slouched over for so long. His eyes roamed over the floor, avoiding her at all cost. She frowned, unsettled but at the same time overjoyed. He was speaking and, presumably, to her.
“What?” She dared to ask, voice low and soft. She found herself bending forward, as if that small gesture would close the gapping hole in front of and within her.
He exhaled, the deep breath shuddering with something she couldn’t exactly pinpoint: anger? Fear? Exhaustion?
“Did it mean anything to you? I mean, I must have loved you a lot but did you?” He spewed out in a rush, already a look of disgust forming upon his face. She sat back against the wall, momentarily stunned even though it made sense for him to ask. After everything, it made sense but it still sparked anger deep in her belly. Her face was smoothed over of any emotion, though. She’d been warned beforehand not to do anything to unsettle him, to provoke. Even though she wanted to scream in outrage and frustration, she kept it in and simply stared back at him until, finally, Draco met her eyes.
He looked so hollow. And then, like that, there was that spark: the dangerous one that flared red somewhere in him. He shook his head and looked away, grimacing at the worn wallpaper that constituted the walls of Grimmauld Place.
“What am I even thinking? Of course it didn’t. You played me, didn’t you? Everything was just a show, to trick me,” he spat at the wall. His hands, resting on his knees, balled up into fists and Hermione could see the pulse of his veins just beneath the surface.
But at the moment, she didn’t give a damn about his spite.
“To trick you? To trick you?” She exclaimed, a harsh whisper meant only to attack him and ensure that no one would rush in, though she was certain they were far too enveloped in strategizing to care. This was the only time she’d ever be able to say what was bottled up inside her, bubbling and bubbling up to the surface. She could only hold in the explosion for so long.
She could already feel the tears burning in her eyes, demanding to be purged along with her feelings.
“How dare you! I did it to protect you, I did it to keep you safe and, for your information, I meant every word and every touch,” she burst out, blinking back the waterworks. “How dare you say I’m a liar? How dare you toss away everything that happened, just like that? Just because Bellatrix, a woman you hate, told you lies?”
Her breath was coming out in heavy heaves and, without her knowing it, she’d risen to her feet. But, Hermione wasn’t the only one who’d lost the reign on her control.
In a flash, Draco flew up from where he was seated and came upon her; raw, harsh life emerged in those blue eyes she adored. The hands that had once caressed her face in secret were wrapped about her neck, tight enough to restrict her airflow but not enough to knock her out, not yet. He was not aiming to kill her this time, not like when he’d first arrived; there was no question what would have happened if he’d had his wand.
He pressed her against the wall, his face merely inches away from her own and the strong urge to kiss him was there, screaming at her despite the rage they both shared. His breath was heavy on her face, the aroma of fresh mint and a tinge of pine from his time in the forest wafting over her. She was wrapped up in him, in memories of kinder times when he would have bent down slowly to press his lips against hers.
Today, he was more likely to kill her.
“To protect me?” He hissed. “TO PROTECT ME?” the screech pierced her ears and the warning signs screeched along with him. He might just kill her. He could do it. He wanted to. She could feel it in the downward flex of his fingers. Was he simply restraining himself because of the others? Because he was simply a good person provoked by her past deeds? She felt a swell of desperation inflame her heart.
And then his cold laughter chilled her to the bone. His fingers tightened and she began to gasp, hands grasping onto his. Still, not enough to kill her. It was almost a pity.
“Tell me this, Granger,” he snarled, inching closer and closer to her face. “When you played me like a fiddle last year to gain my trust, toying with my emotions just to get information on the dark lord, was that really for my protection?”
“Or, how about when you told Potter about my death mark, so he could tell all his little friends at the Order? Or when you left me for DEAD when the death eaters came to Hogwarts? Was that all for my PROTECTION? Do,” Draco roared, slamming Hermione hard against the wall, “tell!”
And the truth tore at her more effectively than any cruciatus curse that had been hurled at her thus far.
“I didn’t mean to,” she broke, sobbing openly and hating herself for it. She had no right to cry, especially when he’d exposed all her wrongs. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered again, falling limp between him and the wall. She didn’t want to face it any longer, the reality that was set in his eyes.
It didn’t matter that she’d started out trying to get information out of him, only to fall for him. It didn’t matter that she had been trying to help him in some way by informing the Order of his forced alliance, or that she’d been pulled away when the war had started that fateful night almost a year ago. What mattered was that it had all happened, it was because of her that the death eaters had turned on him, that Bellatrix had taken and tortured him for months because he’d switched sides.
She hadn’t protected him. She’d destroyed him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this to you, for this to happen,” she continued to chant, as if it would fix everything. His fingers were easing and she could breathe, but she knew the battle would not be won. He still looked down at her with disgrace and hatred.
“But it did. Happen, Granger,” he replied coldly.
When Harry burst through the locked door, Draco had released her, simply staring at what had once been his lover.
“Where were you?” A feminine voice called out, the harshness of the words teetering off with a quiver. The sound was followed by the click of a door being closed, somewhat discretely but it wasn’t enough to fool the interrogator. Still, a moment of palpable silence hung in the air where the question mark lay idle, waiting for a response. Nothing would reach out into the darkness and ease the tension, not yet. No, for Draco Malfoy was too much of a coward to face up to her, not today.
A sudden burst of light shot forth from a wand, illuminating, at its end, the Slytherin’s grim, worn face. His shoulders were taunt, braced for the powerful gust of anger that was sure to come his way, accompanied by waves of guilt no doubt. But what was he to say? He couldn’t say anything, he could not answer her question, no matter how much she pleaded or demanded. It wasn’t in him. His dull eyes reflected as much as he glanced up from the spot he’d been admiring on the stone floors, as he looked into those undeterred brown lens that could see right through him.
“Where were you?” Hermione asked again, her voice shaking with anger, though her hand remained steadfast on her aimed wand; there was nothing but light streaming forth but he was sure she could very easily hex him to death on the spot. But he wouldn’t mind, not really, as long as he’d be able to rest his eyes on her. And she was lovely, bloody lovely. From head to toe, she was bathed in a beauty he could not have denied, ever since his first year. Her hair shaped a golden brown halo of curls about the glorious, determined face he worshipped for its strength; where he had none, she glowed with it. Only, tonight, it was cloaked in dried tears she must have hurried to swipe away when she heard him coming. But even that, even then, he would have killed to have simply a picture of her; even a muggle one would have sufficed.
And to say he would kill, that was not an understatement. Not anymore.
“Damn it, Draco,” she broke and rushed forth, seizing his collar and all the while pressing the wand into his chest, which throbbed relentlessly. “Every time, every time I trust you, you spit in my face,” she sobbed, screeched.
“What was it tonight, hm? Decided not to show just to demonstrate how pathetic I am?” Her hiss chilled him, almost made him relent immediately when he could not. He had to be cold, his posture rigid and face distant; reactions Hermione loathed. He hated himself even more for it. If that were even possible.
She seethed, gritting her teeth and pounding a fist against him, barely moving him. She glared, hot iron in her eyes as she seared through him. She raised her wand, to no defensive response, and then suddenly she was off of him and bolting across the room; as if, she couldn’t stand being near him anymore.
Her back was to him, and he drank in her loveliness while she wasn’t watching, hoping she’d never look back and see the real monster that stood in the prefects room with her. For now, she complied.
“I waited for you,” a faint voice so unlike the gryffindor’s stated. “I waited for you, all excited and hoping that you’d like what I’d put on for the dance. But, you didn’t come. And I looked like a fool. That-,” she took a deep breath, and he wondered what it would feel like if she simply breathed him in, “that is the last time, Malfoy. That is the last time you humiliate me because I fancied you.”
His face crumpled but quickly repaired itself in time for when she turned, a gentle wind picking up on the ground from the cascading layers of her dress. She was a goddess, angry and scornful. She would deny him of everything.
And it was rightly so.
“Get out. Get out of my life. I don’t even know why you’re still standing here. To mock me? Show how much you don’t care? Well, it seems the joke is on me for the last time,” she hissed, raging tears bubbling to the surface, making her beauty raw and terrible.
“I hate you,” her voice cracked, “I hate your guts, I hate you!” She screeched at him, not knowing how efficient her words were. She thrust her wand towards him but not a spell came forth, just the empty promise of pain she had no idea she’d already fulfilled.
He was so close to begging her for forgiveness.
And then, the scar, so deeply imbedded in his arm, burned and reminded him: he had no business being forgiven. He had no right to be accepted by her, to be loved. She could hate him, and he would hate Draco Malfoy just as well.
Before he had to watch her break, already seeing crumbling bits in the way she shook and bit her lip so forcefully, Draco turned and rushed from the room. The door shut itself fast behind him, leaving him enveloped in darkness again to revel in his self-loathing, and the overwhelming love that could never fully be realized.
