Savior || Dramione || Requested By Anon
Requested By Anon
{ I actually like how this turned out tbh?? Ill probs hate it tomorrow but w/e yo }
[ x ]
Hermione kind of blames herself. This has all become so unhealthy, so dangerous and she's lost her wits trying to get a hold of things. It's all going to turn out bad for her, in the long run, a small voice chides. Hermione knows this, because in no way is she stupid. She knows this is horrible on her behalf, complete and utter betrayal. It's horrifying, really.
The guilt builds higher and higher because she knows exactly what would happen if anyone were to find out.
But she continues, with lips steady to his and regret rolls off her tongue with every bittersweet kiss. Sometimes she lies to herself, telling herself it's just love and thats perfectly alright but it isn't. It isn't love and it isn't alright. It's poison and it's playing with fire, Hermione knows this, too.
She knows she would be on a terrible end if things got out. But every single hot breath against her face sends jolts through her mind, effectively quieting the voice and all her thoughts. But when her mind is clear of the fog,--clear of him, it all comes rushing rapidly back to her.
It's like she's drowning and can't keep her head up at all, and in that struggle the guilt and blame are weighing her down further and faster than ever.
He's not just bad for her. He's not completely to blame, no matter how many ways she wishes that so. She's just as unhealthy for him. Thats how things go for them, how they deal with being the death of one another. The blame game keeps them above water.
Hermione wonders how long she survived that way. Survived by telling herself, short blissed out moments at a time, that this was okay. Acceptable, even. She'd lied to herself over and over, just to keep along with her secrets. The only thing that seemed to help her cope with losing her battle of inner will, was that she'd not neglected her loyalty in helping Harry. In helping The Order.
But her loyalty was always left on the floor, along with her robes and little bits of her crumbling honesty if you looked close enough. Focus on the other side of the war was abandoned in favor of focusing on how many minutes it took to undo just around seven buttons.
And in moments where his arm was slung over her with ease, face tucked carefully into the curve of her neck she really lets herself believe its acceptable. Just until bleary brown eyes meet grey ones when light begins pouring into their little haven. Then it hits her again, and the battle of wills, and the battle of both sides, continues.
Things turn out okay in the end, she guesses. Because in the end, he really knew what was best for her. Hermione felt like a puppy, upset at the refusal to be given chocolate. To be given something so bad for you, but something you nonetheless wanted.
But he knew, all along, how this was going to end. Maybe thats why he was so collected through it all. So at ease with every single moment. Because he'd known long before the thought would have ever crossed her brilliant mind.
He'd shoved her off, back to her content little world of just Harry, Ron and herself. Her calm existence with just the few people she adored, along with the families she'd loved as much as her own. That was possibly the most caring thing he'd done, in their time together. No longer were her legs tangled in silk sheets, but caught in underbrush from their run of the battle. Coping wasn't something she'd had to deal with, considering death was constantly following her, pushing her legs from under her.
He'd forced her to hate him all over again. To bury the secrets and retreat back behind the walls they'd both built years ago. With the sudden change, Hermione caught on quick. He was forcing her to leave of her own accord, before it all got worse and ruined them both faster than they could ruin each other.
She went along with it. Let the insults sting again. Let the hatred burn and grow. Let interlocked fingers become fists while secret, soft smiles became thin lines of obvious disgust.
Teaching one another how to hate each other again was the best they could offer. It was their way of saving each other. In that, there was no mourning period for the other. Because the line between hate and love had been so clouded they'd lost it altogether. It was easier to forget, to pretend they were just as oblivious to it as everyone else.
In the end, they'd saved each other. With grace and regretful hatred, they'd managed to somehow keep the other afloat.