Bittersweet
By tearsofher
Disclaimer: don't own the characters, just the plot.
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One shot fic. Thanks to Joanne for beta-ing this piece.
I wrote this about four months ago—I was slacking off, yet again. And then my beta sent it back to me, and I guess I just saved it on my hard-drive and I forgot about it... until, about a month ago, I was looking over my folder in my comp. And I found this. I was debating whether to post it up, but I just decided to. Another Draco/Hermione piece, folks. This, I think, is one of my saddest one-shots. But you know, the ending's not so bad, in my opinion. So, I hope you like it; it's not so different from my other fics—still lots of angst. But I think this Draco is a lot meaner and more Draco-ish, to me, which I find difficult to write in my other multiple- chaptered fics, so I just tried it in this one shot.
So, I hope you find it to your liking. And please do not forget to review.
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It wasn't easy falling for the boy that her friends despised absolutely too much. But... it was, at the same time. She didn't force herself to-- no force was needed at all. All that was needed was his smile. Not his smirk that she wanted to slap off his face at times, but his smile... his real, genuine smile. That was all it took.
She knew better than to fall in love with someone like him. He was cruel, mean, and heartless. But somehow, when he was with her, it didn't matter. It seemed to fade away, all that negativity. He laughed and talked to her, his eyes twinkling like never before. And that's when she started thinking, wondering. Wondering if he enjoyed being with her, as much as she enjoyed being with him. She wanted to ask, but somehow she knew that once those words escaped her lips, she would be met with a dead, awkward silence that would make her cringe and grimace. And then he would remember that she was a Mudblood, and he was a Pureblood. Mudbloods and Purebloods did not go together. She was almost positive that he would reply with a scathing remark, then leave her alone. Stunned, sad and angry. She did not want any of that-- any of that at all. So she just spent time with him, laughing along and chatting. But every time she would just look at him in silence, watching him, and he would look up as if sensing her gaze...
She would open her mouth, but-- realizing what she was just about to do-- close it again. And he would just look at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. She would look down slowly, ashamed, and close her eyes once he had looked away. She would swear mentally, noticing that it was no longer safe to be around him, for the fear of saying those words, or worse, saying something more.
But she still came to the Library everyday, sitting next to him. It was dangerous but she didn't care. She needed to be around him, needed to hear his laugh and see his smile. Sometimes, that was all it took to make her day. That was all it took to take her breath away. And slowly, she could feel it changing...that feeling, that feeling in her heart and at the pit of her stomach. Slowly, it grew to just being in love. Slowly, it grew to love.
But one day, things changed. She didn't know how or when exactly, but she just knew it the moment she looked at him. He stared at her coldly, his expression serious. She looked into his eyes, trying to understand, but he made sure that she could not see through. And that was it. That was how it all ended.
They did not speak to each other, or even look at each other. At least, he didn't. And every time she did catch his gaze, he would smirk or glare at her-- sometimes a combination of both. And she would just sigh silently, realizing that what had come to pass made no difference. All those times, those days... they did not alter the reality they had been born and brought up in. But, fool that she was, she had actually thought that they had become somewhat in a position of... friends. Obviously, she was wrong.
She still longed for him, madly. Her heart still ached and called for him when he was in the room-- even when he was not. Her nights were spent without rest, just thinking about the boy with the silver gaze who had managed to capture her heart along the way. She recognized the feeling of agony and misery, anger and sadness. Hurt and pain. She did know what and how a broken heart felt like—and this was it.
She knew that people changed, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst. Though when it came to his case, she was so unsure to which it truly was. Deep inside her, her heart screamed that it was for the worst, but-- the smart and kind witch that she was-- she tried to imagine it from his view, from his shoes. But as she tried to see it from his view, she could not see a thing. It was blurred, blotched as an ink-filled paper, soaked and drenched in rain. She could not see anything clearly; and it was bloody frustrating. She tried to understand what had happened, what had turned him away... but she knew. Deep down, she knew.
She was a Mudblood. And he was a Pureblood. She was a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin. There was a huge gap amongst their kind. She tried to ignore it, but she knew it was there. It was always going to be there. Draco was not her kind, stupid as it was. She found it pointless. He was a human; she was a human. He was a Wizard; she was a Witch. But it wasn't just as plain and simple as that. Status and blood was something of value and a ladder of respect in the Wizarding World. Mudbloods were looked down upon and despised along with Muggles. She tried to fight it-- and she could -- but she knew that she would only be wasting her breath and strength. Things could not change. Not for anyone's sake. They would die a Pureblood or Mudblood-- segregated, generation-to-generation, until the bloody apocalypse. But maybe the apocalypse would end it all.
All of it was ridiculous, she knew. But just because it was ridiculous, didn't mean that it was going to change. That was just how it was.
She sought comfort in her friends. And they made her happy, they did. But when she was alone... that void was still as empty and vast as ever. Even they could not fill it. And she went on to thinking that that void would never be filled, and for a time she was fine with it. She told herself that she didn't need some Slytherin prat to make her happy. She had Harry, and Ron, and that would be enough.
But one night, tears escaped her. She told herself that they were enough, that it was enough, but even to her own ears it sounded unconvincing and false. It was never going to be enough. Harry and Ron... they were going to have their own life, get married, and have children. But her... she was just going to stand in the corner, her back against the wall, watching and waiting for time to go by until it was finally time for her dying day. But she knew better than to try and convince herself that it was not going to hurt, watching her two best friends get on with their lives happily, whilst she stayed behind and still mourned over her first love and broken heart. She would watch them marry, love in their eyes; then cradle their newly born child in their arms, adoration filling their gaze. She would see it all, but then coming back to her own life, empty and lonely... she would only think of him. And how he had taken her heart and never given it back. She could never move on without it, and she needed it back. If only she could work up the courage to ask for it back, to tell him and move on. But she had a feeling... a feeling that made the pit of her stomach drop deeper, hollow and painfully vacant, that she would never get the chance to tell him. She would never get the chance to retrieve her heart from his hands.
She had the frustrating and driving urge to tell someone, to confess. But there was no one. There was no one at all. Harry was there... Ron too. But they couldn't understand. No matter how much they told her that it was fine, that they understood ... they never would. They couldn't possibly. They didn't know how it was to fall in love with the boy that she was raised to hate through the years. And for a time, she did. She hated him along with Harry and Ron. But things change, people change.
And soon she ended up giving her heart to him, only he took it and never looked back. He never knew just what he had taken from her.
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But as the days went by, the weeks passed and faded, her motivation and happiness became drained, drop-by-drop. Her laugh was fake and false; her smile was weak and tired. Each night she lost more and more sleep, and she was tired through all her meals and classes. She became quiet-- too quiet --and her work became careless. She refused any help that her Professors offered, denied any problems that she might have been having. Slowly, she was turning into someone else.
She wasn't Hermione Granger anymore.
But such a change as that could never go on so unnoticed. Harry approached her, one day, concerned and worried. He had seen how pale she had turned over the weeks, the bags under her eyes every morning, her eyelids drooping and her robes hanging much loosely than before. And he also noticed that her strength was wavering; she was getting weaker and weaker. He feared for her too much.
He asked her what was wrong, but she just smiled lamely and told him that it was nothing.
"I'm not a fool, Hermione," he told her. "I know when something's wrong when I see it."
"There's nothing wrong," she lied. "I'm just..."
"Just what? What's happening?" She looked at him uncertainly then looked away. She stayed silent.
"Hermione," he sighed. "Just tell me. I want to help you. This... you... you're not... you."
"Don't, Harry," she whispered. "Just leave me alone."
"Leave you alone?" he asked, incredulously. "You want me to bloody well leave you alone? Have you seen yourself lately, Hermione?" he said, frustrated. She sighed and covered her face with her hands, shaking. She wondered how he would react about all of this if he knew the reason-- the real reason. Her reason.
"Hermione," he said, his voice faint. "I'm worried to death about you. You're... you're not healthy. Even your schoolwork's lagging. Something's wrong. Don't lie to me and tell me that nothing is, because I think I deserve much better than that."
"Harry," she whispered. "I don't want to talk about it. I just need some time."
"'Time'? You need 'time'? Time for what? Do you know what's happening to you?"
"Do you think you have the answers, Harry? After all, you're lecturing me on--,"
"Stop, Hermione," he said, frustrated. "Just stop it. Just tell me the truth."
"The truth.... I don't think I have it. I really don't," she said, her voice trembling. Harry sighed, before leaning close and wrapping his arms around her. He held her tight, and she started sobbing into his chest. She didn't explain to him that night -- or any other night after that -- because she refused him, and he knew that she would tell him when she needed to... when the time was right. He trusted her. And he needed to rely on their trust for it to fully come through.
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She remembered the day when she was sure that her heart was in such small pieces that it was impossible to mend again. It was when she heard that Draco was going out with another Slytherin -- a beautiful, female Pureblood, just like him. She remembered feeling as if she was going to be sick, but she held it in and was able to bear the rumors and stories -- but only barely. She didn't need any proof to believe it, because it was obvious. She knew it to be too true to need any evidence. She looked up to the Slytherin table, and her breath hitched in her throat as his gaze was fixed on her also.
He was telling her something, but he looked away too soon for her to fully comprehend just what it was. When his gaze left hers, she just wanted to cry all over again. For that one moment, she felt complete, his silver gaze filling that void. But it felt as if it was snatched away so quickly and roughly that she was left in such shock. It had felt like her heart had been there deep inside her once again, and then a cold, bitter hand plunged deep inside her chest and stole it back before she was fully aware that it was there. As soon as she had felt that slight fulfillment was as soon as it disappeared, leaving her to stare after it, puzzled.
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Anyone would've said she had already become numb to the daily heartache and pain; that she would've moved on by now. They would've said that she was no longer longing after him, no longer crying in the deep confines of her dorm when she was alone. They would've said she hadn't really had a chance to know him any better than any of them, therefore not mourning after his immediate absence in her life. They would've said she did not miss him in any way.
But they were wrong. They were wrong in every possible way. She did miss him -- in every way imaginable.
They would say that it did not hurt her when he would glare and smirk at her so evilly and coldly, just like their years before. They would say that she would not wake up crying because she dreamt of him again. They would say that there wasn't a chance in hell that Hermione Granger could've possibly fallen in love with him, let alone love him like so.
They didn't know her. They could never know such things.
When she thought about him, it felt as if her heart was breaking all over again, though she was almost positive that it was no longer there. She could hear the splintering shatter again, and that sickening feeling in her stomach that made her want to double over. Her throat would suddenly become dry, and she could feel sobs just bursting to come out. It was almost bittersweet with a twinge of pain, a pinch of shame.
She still hadn't found out how she could have let herself fall for him. Draco Malfoy. No one could be so foolish, so reckless. She knew right away that there would be pain, worse than anything of a physical matter. She knew that her wounds would never fade away into scars, but always open and would never get a chance to heal. And every time she would see him, think of him, dream of him -- she could feel white-hot daggers piercing through each of her wounds, twisting and wrenching into her flesh. It was the worst kind of pain she would ever feel in her life. And she knew that to be true all too well to try to convince herself otherwise.
She wondered when he would ever know. She wondered when he would finally find out, and what he would think. She wondered if he would just smirk and say, "stupid Mudblood." She wondered if he could ever fall for her, if blood really meant so much to him that everything else did not matter. But thinking that, she would feel sadness swell up in her. No, of course not. He would never fall for her even if he had a chance. He would never be so foolish. He would never give his heart away to a dirty Mudblood, just as she did so irresponsibly to him. He was smart; he knew better than to fall for a girl like her. And that hurt, deep inside, though it was true. Draco Malfoy would never get a chance to love her, just as she loved him.
She was still in ruins. A deep, ugly mess. But slowly, she realized what Harry was saying. She looked in the mirror one day. Her brown wavy hair was completely dreadful, sticking up in all directions and so untamed. Her face was pale, and she had definitely lost some weight to the way her skin clung to her cheeks tighter than before. There were dark circles under her eyes, her brown eyes sad and dark. She felt so ashamed. Looking this way, for feeling this way. That she had been so caught up in her heartache that she had let herself turn this way. She tried to smile, and the girl in the mirror smiled slightly, crookedly. In her eyes there was not a trail of happiness, her smile seeming awkward on such a sad face.
She could not be Hermione Granger. The girl in the mirror. She could not be her. But as Hermione looked behind her, there was no one. She looked back at the mirror slowly, and saw that the girl's eyes were bloodshot and glossy.
Her. Her reflection. This was whom she turned into. A stranger.
She watched as a tear escaped from her eye, and slid down her cheek into her mouth. It tasted warm, salty. Bittersweet at most.
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Slowly, she began to transform back into the bookworm Hermione Granger again. She began to study and stay in the Library as often as before, and always succeeded in getting the highest and perfect scores on her tests. The professors were relieved to see that she was herself again, and so were Harry and Ron. Harry, in particular, was overjoyed. The moment she plopped down beside them in breakfast, books in her hand, reaching over for a muffin, he saw that same sparkle in her eyes. Or, at least, some trace of it. But that was enough. It was enough for him. She was back. Maybe not completely, but she was. At least a piece of her returned. That was all he could ask for.
The moment she opened her mouth and started, "Sorry I'm late. I had some studying to catch up on, and I was rereading my Transfiguration essay to make sure that I didn't miss any--," he had wrapped his arms around her tightly, making her halt mid-sentence. He was grinning madly, just glad to have her back. Hermione, shocked, wrapped her arms around him too, absolutely glad that he was happy. Behind them, Ron made a gagging sound, and the other Gryffindors snickered and giggled.
A couple of tables away, Draco Malfoy looked away abruptly, his dark silver eyes hard and sharp.
They pulled back, smiling, and as they saw that everyone was looking at them with bemused expressions on their faces, they both blushed a deep red. Hermione saw the sparkle in his deep emerald eyes, his wide smile.
"Glad to have you back, Hermione," he said. Hermione smiled slightly, but threw him a puzzled expression.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," she said, sounding puzzled. She smiled wider. "I never went anywhere."
Harry smiled. "Oh right. I forgot." And they both laughed faintly, Harry thinking about how nice it felt to have his best friend back again, and Hermione... well... something somewhat of the same. But she couldn't help but look over at the Slytherin table and catch his gaze. He was looking at her intently, his eyes dark and hard, as if trying to penetrate through her but at the same time, unsure and so far away. She felt something call out to her deep inside, as she held her cup to her lips and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. His gaze brought back memories, flickering and swirling deep inside her, as if she was somehow sinking...
...Until Harry nudged her and she looked over to see that Ron was choking over his blueberry muffin. How he had managed to do so, she had not a clue. Harry just laughed as he clapped his back a few times, her redhead best friend's face coming awfully close to the shade of his hair when he was finally done choking and coughing.
She just smiled and reminded Ron of her warning weeks ago that if he kept eating at such a hasty pace, he would no longer be able to breathe to keep up with the shovels of food he jammed in his mouth. He sent her a glare before he, too, burst out laughing. She smiled to herself as she took another sip of her juice. Slowly, things were going back to how it was before. And she was glad for that. But as she glanced over at the Slytherin table again, she was puzzled as to why he was no longer there. She looked over to the Great Hall's doors quickly enough to watch him walk out, a flash of platinum blonde hair noticeable but gone before she could fully understand. She stared at the doors, the juice tasting sweet in her mouth. She wondered to herself why he had left. She even considered going after him, but she just sighed and put down her cup.
She had hoped that with her transformation back to Hermione Granger, that she would be able to leave all of that behind, too. That she would be able to finally turn from her hurt and pain, and her longing for him. But she just felt that same overwhelming feeling swell up inside of her, before she shook away her thoughts of him, knowing better to dwell on such thoughts as those.
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Hermione went along the aisle slowly, her hand trailing her gaze, scanning the books' sides carefully. She sighed, as her eyesight began to waver, and she began to rub them. She was awfully tired. Twenty minutes looking for that book she needed for Potions, and still nothing. And worse, it seemed as if her luck was not going to kick in yet. Not for another hour, at least. The library was quiet; she knew that people had better things to do then to be in the library at this hour. Except for her, of course. Harry had politely offered to study with her in the common room, but she just smiled and told him that she had to go look for her book.
Her fingers slid on the tops of the sides of the books, reading the chipped, gold letters that were supposed to identify the books for what they were. Unfortunately she was having a rather hard time. After searching for another fifteen minutes, she let out an exasperated sigh. She closed her eyes for a moment, after feeling as if her world was spinning and swirling. She stepped back, feeling as if she was unbalanced and was going to fall backwards suddenly. She opened them again, and everything seemed to be much clearer.
"I must be tired," she said to herself, as she continued to go down the aisle. But as she heard a voice -- that voice that haunted her dreams, haunted her for so long -- she halted immediately. Her eyes stayed frozen on the books in front of her, her heart pounding. She heard footsteps as he approached her. She had the urge to run away, but the urge to just be near to him was stronger. She wanted to look into his eyes again, see if that person she had spent all that time with, in this library, that person that she laughed and talked with, somehow still existed. If he was still inside there, somewhere. She just wanted to hear his voice again. She just wanted to be near him, to be near him outside of her dreams.
"Are you looking for this?" she heard him ask, his voice firm but quiet. There was no amusement or mockery in his voice. It took her a while before she closed her eyes and tried to fully comprehend that he was really here, talking to her. That this wasn't just some dream or mirage that she would find to be gone in a mere second, or wake up from. That would just be too heartbreaking. She swallowed hard as she heard him speak to her again.
"Granger?" he asked. "Are you alright?" She nodded before turning to him.
The way his eyes pierced through her so easily made her knees weak and her bones tremble. She looked into his eyes, although she tried her best not to get lost in them. She had gotten lost in his deep silver, bottomless pools too many times before. She would never really fully recover until he was gone and she was left all alone.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. He just looked at her. "I'm just tired." He raised his hand and offered the book to her. She looked at it blankly, before turning her gaze back up to him. She could feel her heart pounding, loudly, almost too loudly that she was almost sure that he could hear it too. But he made no remark about it.
"Potions," he said, his voice denying any sign of emotion whatsoever. "It is quite hard to find, but it just takes time." She nodded, before she took the book from him, silent. Her gaze slowly traveled up to him, as it seemed as if time had suddenly frozen still. She met his gaze, and something filled his eyes. Something that she recognized and had seen before, but did not exactly know what it was. It made her frown with puzzlement just thinking about it, for he was not really the kind of person to make his emotions known from his eyes. Although it was all too true that the eyes were the windows to the heart, to their emotions, he did his best to prevent anyone from looking in. Especially her.
"Thanks," she said softly. "I've never been so frustrated looking for a book." He seemed to ignore this, however.
"Where's Potter?" he asked her, his voice tinted coldly. "I'd expect him to help you find it. After all, you two had no problem finding each other." She stared at him.
"What?" she asked, confused. "Harry's not here. I came here by myself. He's studying in the common room," she said, still bewildered by his sudden interest in where Harry was. "Why?"
His eyes turned cold, dark and icy. "It wasn't such a surprise that someone like you would fall for scarhead, now, was it?"
"What are you saying?" she asked, still confused. "Me and Harry? We're-- we're not--," she was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out her name and coming up behind her. She glanced at her side and her raven- haired best friend was standing beside her. He looked at her quickly, before glancing at Draco coldly. Draco glowered at Harry, and Hermione could feel the intense silence bubbling. Something was going to happen. She quickly looked at them, before planning to speak, but Harry cut her off.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked icily. Draco's eyes seemed as if they could freeze someone wholly. They were dark, angry and piercing. Then he brought his gaze to hers. Something unexplainable flickered in them, as she stared at him, still confused but now awkward.
"The Bookworm and The Hero. It's no use coming up with conclusions between you two, surely. Not when it's been staring you in the face all this time." His hate-filled gaze turned to Harry. "How low of you, Potter... your own best friend. Where was it? Here, right in this bloody Library?" he looked at them disgustedly, while Harry was practically shaking with anger.
"You shut the hell up, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "You mind your own business." Draco's gaze returned to Hermione, and she felt something deep inside suddenly freeze up. Everything inside her seemed to be as frosty as the look he was giving her. She could not speak -- what had happened? She knew what he was implying, but why was he so bloody angry? Suddenly, she was quite angry herself. How dare he ignore her then attack her with insults and remarks?
"Different, eh?" he asked her coldly. "Not so different when it comes to Harry Potter." Hermione suddenly felt like crying all over again, but not so much about what he had said. It was the pain he brought back, the mere action of him just approaching her only to attack her with invective remarks after all this time. The way he looked at her so coldly as if he hated her to the fiery flames of hell. And yes, maybe he did hate her. But she hadn't done anything to deserve it. Nothing at all. Just then, in all her swirling emotions that she seemed to have drifted off in, she noticed that he had disappeared. She heard his rapid footsteps stalking off out of the Library, before walking off after him, fuming. Harry grabbed her arm before she got very far, but she jerked away. Her deep brown eyes were fueled with rage.
"Hermione, don't--," he started, but she didn't let him finish.
"He's gone too far this time," she said, her voice vindictive with anger. "I'm not going to let him get away with it," she said, before hurrying off, leaving Harry stunned and alone in the Library. She bolted out of the Library, and ran up to Draco, halting in front of him, furious. He stopped in his tracks, surprised at the sight of her. She was shaking with fury, as she walked closer to him, until his face was only inches from her own.
"How dare you?" she hissed. "How dare you?" His eyes never left her. "How dare you approach me and start making insolent remarks about me and Harry? How dare you?" she almost yelled. Her glittering brown eyes were dark-- so dark that they were no longer a shade of brown. "After all this time," she screamed at him, "you were the one who ignored me after it all! Not me, you! And then you come up to me and start attacking me with-- "
"That's not it, Hermione," he said lowly, through his teeth, infuriated also.
"Hermione?" she asked, her voice filled with hate and rage. "Don't you dare call me that... don't ever call me Hermione, you--," he caught her arm and held it tight as she made to slap him, his fingers digging into her skin. She tried to jerk away, but he held on tight.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, her arm stinging and aching from his touch. "Let go of me!" Her voice was hoarse, as she continued to scream and yell, but he wouldn't let go no matter how hard she resisted. He raised his hand and held her shoulder, holding on tight, making her shoulder twinge with sharp pain as she cried out. She pounded her fists against his chest, trying to free herself. But soon, her resistance and screams became weak, her throat dry and sore, and hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. Slowly, she stopped screaming, but hit him on the chest feebly, as she began to sob. It was too much, feeling his all too familiar touch, his gaze that had been imprinted in her mind for far too long that she could not go on a single second without being haunted with his image. Her skin was hot, smoldering and scarring from his painful fingers imbedding into her skin.
Soon he held her close, as she sobbed onto his chest. He held her tightly; his arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders, as if making sure no one could pry her from his grasp. She felt too limp and weak to struggle, as she continued to cry. She could hear his heart beating through all her sobs and gasps for air, as she could feel him embrace her tighter.
Draco closed his eyes, feeling his arms and fingers tightening around her firmly.
"How dare you... how dare..." she sobbed. But she could not find her voice, as her lungs shrieked for more air, her heart throbbing sorely and her arms and hands pressed up against him, feeling the warmth of him come through his robes. She wanted to wrench away free from his grasp, but she did not have the strength to. She did try, but all he did was bring her closer to him again. Deep inside her she could feel herself breaking all over again. That pain returned -- that same searing warmth that brought her comfort one minute then destruction the next. She could not live like this. She could not take any of it anymore. She had to leave him, run away. She was not going to let him do this to her again, to hurt her and leave her in ruins. She was already in ruins.
She was not going to let him break her all over again.
She gathered up strength to twist herself from his firm embrace, and soon he only held her by her arm. She was breathing hard, her vision blurred and her eyes stinging from hot tears. His fingers tightened around her arm and she gritted her teeth from the shooting pain that sprang up from his fingers pressing too hard into her flesh He was saying something to her, but she could not hear. There was a loud, deafening, white noise in her ears, the sound of her thoughts screaming at her, her heart calling out to her. She could not hear anything, just feel. She could feel her palms sweating, her heart suffocating, her lungs crumbling and breaking down, her knees weak, her head pounding and her world spinning.
She knew, as his piercing silver gaze bore into her, that there was only one thing that kept her from lying limp in his arms. From letting him embrace and trap her in the arms that she had fantasized and dreamed so often about. There was one thing -- one thing that held so many other things on by a chain -- that kept her from telling him how she felt.
That one thing was sheer determination. But tied along with that, dangling on by a strong thread was pain, hurt and memories. The heartbreak that she promised herself that she would never endure ever again -- from him. Not when he was not hurting either. Not when he was not feeling the slightest bit of regret. Not when he hadn't missed her as much as she missed him.
More tears stung her eyes, as he would not let go.
"Let go of me," she cried out hoarsely. "Let go. What do you want from me? What else do you want from me?" she began sobbing. Her body was trembling, shaking, as he held on tighter. "What else do you have to take? What else don't you hold in your hands that aren't mine? What else do I have to give up? What else do you want from me?" She was crying harder by the second, and she was afraid she was going to collapse to the floor, on her knees if he held on. She did not know what to do if he was not going to let her go. She did not know what he was holding onto her for, what reason he could possibly have to want to keep her here.
"Hermione, just stop--,"
"Why are you keeping me here," she wept. "Just let me go. Let me go, please. Just let me--," but before she could finish, she was suddenly pulled back to him. But he was no longer holding her. She was stunned, shocked, but her nerves and senses were screaming and buzzing with excitement and unfamiliarity.
His hands and fingers were framing her face, as she could feel his warm lips press against her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin, her forehead. His hands felt as if they were ablaze with a roaring and intense fire that burned deeper than the depths of her soul. Draco felt a bittersweet and saline taste on his lips and mouth, as he continued to kiss away her tears, as she trembled and shook gently in his touch. He could feel his heart bellowing, his senses on overdrive, his fingers crackling with glowing electricity that numbed. And before she could pull away, she felt his lips press against hers, holding her tightly.
The world had stopped. Time had completely frozen stiff. The corridor was dead quiet, and all she could hear in her ears was her heart's thunderous beating, his breaths against her skin. Slowly, she raised her hands and entwined them in his silky hair, as he deepened the kiss further. She felt his warmth and sweet lips invade her, making her weak and feeling as if everything inside her had stopped functioning. In her mouth she tasted the bittersweet tears that he had kissed away, accompanied by his saccharine and filling taste. Embers crackled through her veins, bursting and sparking off. His hands slowly slid down and wrapped around her waist, pulling her much more closely than she had been before. Slowly, they ended the kiss and pulled back. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed silently. Her fingers intertwined at the nape of his neck, her touch making his skin tingle with a burning cold he had experienced only when he was with her. She looked at him, her brown eyes searching through him.
"I need you," he whispered to her, only barely. But she still heard it, loud and clear. It chimed in her ears, as her lips stung and smoldered.
"Why?" she asked softly. Uncertainty filled her chocolate brown eyes, as she waited for a reply. "Why me?"
For his reply, however, he leaned down and kissed her. Love surged through her, as she responded, bringing him closer.
And that was enough. No response was necessary at all...
...no, none at all.
By tearsofher
Disclaimer: don't own the characters, just the plot.
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One shot fic. Thanks to Joanne for beta-ing this piece.
I wrote this about four months ago—I was slacking off, yet again. And then my beta sent it back to me, and I guess I just saved it on my hard-drive and I forgot about it... until, about a month ago, I was looking over my folder in my comp. And I found this. I was debating whether to post it up, but I just decided to. Another Draco/Hermione piece, folks. This, I think, is one of my saddest one-shots. But you know, the ending's not so bad, in my opinion. So, I hope you like it; it's not so different from my other fics—still lots of angst. But I think this Draco is a lot meaner and more Draco-ish, to me, which I find difficult to write in my other multiple- chaptered fics, so I just tried it in this one shot.
So, I hope you find it to your liking. And please do not forget to review.
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It wasn't easy falling for the boy that her friends despised absolutely too much. But... it was, at the same time. She didn't force herself to-- no force was needed at all. All that was needed was his smile. Not his smirk that she wanted to slap off his face at times, but his smile... his real, genuine smile. That was all it took.
She knew better than to fall in love with someone like him. He was cruel, mean, and heartless. But somehow, when he was with her, it didn't matter. It seemed to fade away, all that negativity. He laughed and talked to her, his eyes twinkling like never before. And that's when she started thinking, wondering. Wondering if he enjoyed being with her, as much as she enjoyed being with him. She wanted to ask, but somehow she knew that once those words escaped her lips, she would be met with a dead, awkward silence that would make her cringe and grimace. And then he would remember that she was a Mudblood, and he was a Pureblood. Mudbloods and Purebloods did not go together. She was almost positive that he would reply with a scathing remark, then leave her alone. Stunned, sad and angry. She did not want any of that-- any of that at all. So she just spent time with him, laughing along and chatting. But every time she would just look at him in silence, watching him, and he would look up as if sensing her gaze...
She would open her mouth, but-- realizing what she was just about to do-- close it again. And he would just look at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. She would look down slowly, ashamed, and close her eyes once he had looked away. She would swear mentally, noticing that it was no longer safe to be around him, for the fear of saying those words, or worse, saying something more.
But she still came to the Library everyday, sitting next to him. It was dangerous but she didn't care. She needed to be around him, needed to hear his laugh and see his smile. Sometimes, that was all it took to make her day. That was all it took to take her breath away. And slowly, she could feel it changing...that feeling, that feeling in her heart and at the pit of her stomach. Slowly, it grew to just being in love. Slowly, it grew to love.
But one day, things changed. She didn't know how or when exactly, but she just knew it the moment she looked at him. He stared at her coldly, his expression serious. She looked into his eyes, trying to understand, but he made sure that she could not see through. And that was it. That was how it all ended.
They did not speak to each other, or even look at each other. At least, he didn't. And every time she did catch his gaze, he would smirk or glare at her-- sometimes a combination of both. And she would just sigh silently, realizing that what had come to pass made no difference. All those times, those days... they did not alter the reality they had been born and brought up in. But, fool that she was, she had actually thought that they had become somewhat in a position of... friends. Obviously, she was wrong.
She still longed for him, madly. Her heart still ached and called for him when he was in the room-- even when he was not. Her nights were spent without rest, just thinking about the boy with the silver gaze who had managed to capture her heart along the way. She recognized the feeling of agony and misery, anger and sadness. Hurt and pain. She did know what and how a broken heart felt like—and this was it.
She knew that people changed, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst. Though when it came to his case, she was so unsure to which it truly was. Deep inside her, her heart screamed that it was for the worst, but-- the smart and kind witch that she was-- she tried to imagine it from his view, from his shoes. But as she tried to see it from his view, she could not see a thing. It was blurred, blotched as an ink-filled paper, soaked and drenched in rain. She could not see anything clearly; and it was bloody frustrating. She tried to understand what had happened, what had turned him away... but she knew. Deep down, she knew.
She was a Mudblood. And he was a Pureblood. She was a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin. There was a huge gap amongst their kind. She tried to ignore it, but she knew it was there. It was always going to be there. Draco was not her kind, stupid as it was. She found it pointless. He was a human; she was a human. He was a Wizard; she was a Witch. But it wasn't just as plain and simple as that. Status and blood was something of value and a ladder of respect in the Wizarding World. Mudbloods were looked down upon and despised along with Muggles. She tried to fight it-- and she could -- but she knew that she would only be wasting her breath and strength. Things could not change. Not for anyone's sake. They would die a Pureblood or Mudblood-- segregated, generation-to-generation, until the bloody apocalypse. But maybe the apocalypse would end it all.
All of it was ridiculous, she knew. But just because it was ridiculous, didn't mean that it was going to change. That was just how it was.
She sought comfort in her friends. And they made her happy, they did. But when she was alone... that void was still as empty and vast as ever. Even they could not fill it. And she went on to thinking that that void would never be filled, and for a time she was fine with it. She told herself that she didn't need some Slytherin prat to make her happy. She had Harry, and Ron, and that would be enough.
But one night, tears escaped her. She told herself that they were enough, that it was enough, but even to her own ears it sounded unconvincing and false. It was never going to be enough. Harry and Ron... they were going to have their own life, get married, and have children. But her... she was just going to stand in the corner, her back against the wall, watching and waiting for time to go by until it was finally time for her dying day. But she knew better than to try and convince herself that it was not going to hurt, watching her two best friends get on with their lives happily, whilst she stayed behind and still mourned over her first love and broken heart. She would watch them marry, love in their eyes; then cradle their newly born child in their arms, adoration filling their gaze. She would see it all, but then coming back to her own life, empty and lonely... she would only think of him. And how he had taken her heart and never given it back. She could never move on without it, and she needed it back. If only she could work up the courage to ask for it back, to tell him and move on. But she had a feeling... a feeling that made the pit of her stomach drop deeper, hollow and painfully vacant, that she would never get the chance to tell him. She would never get the chance to retrieve her heart from his hands.
She had the frustrating and driving urge to tell someone, to confess. But there was no one. There was no one at all. Harry was there... Ron too. But they couldn't understand. No matter how much they told her that it was fine, that they understood ... they never would. They couldn't possibly. They didn't know how it was to fall in love with the boy that she was raised to hate through the years. And for a time, she did. She hated him along with Harry and Ron. But things change, people change.
And soon she ended up giving her heart to him, only he took it and never looked back. He never knew just what he had taken from her.
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But as the days went by, the weeks passed and faded, her motivation and happiness became drained, drop-by-drop. Her laugh was fake and false; her smile was weak and tired. Each night she lost more and more sleep, and she was tired through all her meals and classes. She became quiet-- too quiet --and her work became careless. She refused any help that her Professors offered, denied any problems that she might have been having. Slowly, she was turning into someone else.
She wasn't Hermione Granger anymore.
But such a change as that could never go on so unnoticed. Harry approached her, one day, concerned and worried. He had seen how pale she had turned over the weeks, the bags under her eyes every morning, her eyelids drooping and her robes hanging much loosely than before. And he also noticed that her strength was wavering; she was getting weaker and weaker. He feared for her too much.
He asked her what was wrong, but she just smiled lamely and told him that it was nothing.
"I'm not a fool, Hermione," he told her. "I know when something's wrong when I see it."
"There's nothing wrong," she lied. "I'm just..."
"Just what? What's happening?" She looked at him uncertainly then looked away. She stayed silent.
"Hermione," he sighed. "Just tell me. I want to help you. This... you... you're not... you."
"Don't, Harry," she whispered. "Just leave me alone."
"Leave you alone?" he asked, incredulously. "You want me to bloody well leave you alone? Have you seen yourself lately, Hermione?" he said, frustrated. She sighed and covered her face with her hands, shaking. She wondered how he would react about all of this if he knew the reason-- the real reason. Her reason.
"Hermione," he said, his voice faint. "I'm worried to death about you. You're... you're not healthy. Even your schoolwork's lagging. Something's wrong. Don't lie to me and tell me that nothing is, because I think I deserve much better than that."
"Harry," she whispered. "I don't want to talk about it. I just need some time."
"'Time'? You need 'time'? Time for what? Do you know what's happening to you?"
"Do you think you have the answers, Harry? After all, you're lecturing me on--,"
"Stop, Hermione," he said, frustrated. "Just stop it. Just tell me the truth."
"The truth.... I don't think I have it. I really don't," she said, her voice trembling. Harry sighed, before leaning close and wrapping his arms around her. He held her tight, and she started sobbing into his chest. She didn't explain to him that night -- or any other night after that -- because she refused him, and he knew that she would tell him when she needed to... when the time was right. He trusted her. And he needed to rely on their trust for it to fully come through.
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She remembered the day when she was sure that her heart was in such small pieces that it was impossible to mend again. It was when she heard that Draco was going out with another Slytherin -- a beautiful, female Pureblood, just like him. She remembered feeling as if she was going to be sick, but she held it in and was able to bear the rumors and stories -- but only barely. She didn't need any proof to believe it, because it was obvious. She knew it to be too true to need any evidence. She looked up to the Slytherin table, and her breath hitched in her throat as his gaze was fixed on her also.
He was telling her something, but he looked away too soon for her to fully comprehend just what it was. When his gaze left hers, she just wanted to cry all over again. For that one moment, she felt complete, his silver gaze filling that void. But it felt as if it was snatched away so quickly and roughly that she was left in such shock. It had felt like her heart had been there deep inside her once again, and then a cold, bitter hand plunged deep inside her chest and stole it back before she was fully aware that it was there. As soon as she had felt that slight fulfillment was as soon as it disappeared, leaving her to stare after it, puzzled.
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Anyone would've said she had already become numb to the daily heartache and pain; that she would've moved on by now. They would've said that she was no longer longing after him, no longer crying in the deep confines of her dorm when she was alone. They would've said she hadn't really had a chance to know him any better than any of them, therefore not mourning after his immediate absence in her life. They would've said she did not miss him in any way.
But they were wrong. They were wrong in every possible way. She did miss him -- in every way imaginable.
They would say that it did not hurt her when he would glare and smirk at her so evilly and coldly, just like their years before. They would say that she would not wake up crying because she dreamt of him again. They would say that there wasn't a chance in hell that Hermione Granger could've possibly fallen in love with him, let alone love him like so.
They didn't know her. They could never know such things.
When she thought about him, it felt as if her heart was breaking all over again, though she was almost positive that it was no longer there. She could hear the splintering shatter again, and that sickening feeling in her stomach that made her want to double over. Her throat would suddenly become dry, and she could feel sobs just bursting to come out. It was almost bittersweet with a twinge of pain, a pinch of shame.
She still hadn't found out how she could have let herself fall for him. Draco Malfoy. No one could be so foolish, so reckless. She knew right away that there would be pain, worse than anything of a physical matter. She knew that her wounds would never fade away into scars, but always open and would never get a chance to heal. And every time she would see him, think of him, dream of him -- she could feel white-hot daggers piercing through each of her wounds, twisting and wrenching into her flesh. It was the worst kind of pain she would ever feel in her life. And she knew that to be true all too well to try to convince herself otherwise.
She wondered when he would ever know. She wondered when he would finally find out, and what he would think. She wondered if he would just smirk and say, "stupid Mudblood." She wondered if he could ever fall for her, if blood really meant so much to him that everything else did not matter. But thinking that, she would feel sadness swell up in her. No, of course not. He would never fall for her even if he had a chance. He would never be so foolish. He would never give his heart away to a dirty Mudblood, just as she did so irresponsibly to him. He was smart; he knew better than to fall for a girl like her. And that hurt, deep inside, though it was true. Draco Malfoy would never get a chance to love her, just as she loved him.
She was still in ruins. A deep, ugly mess. But slowly, she realized what Harry was saying. She looked in the mirror one day. Her brown wavy hair was completely dreadful, sticking up in all directions and so untamed. Her face was pale, and she had definitely lost some weight to the way her skin clung to her cheeks tighter than before. There were dark circles under her eyes, her brown eyes sad and dark. She felt so ashamed. Looking this way, for feeling this way. That she had been so caught up in her heartache that she had let herself turn this way. She tried to smile, and the girl in the mirror smiled slightly, crookedly. In her eyes there was not a trail of happiness, her smile seeming awkward on such a sad face.
She could not be Hermione Granger. The girl in the mirror. She could not be her. But as Hermione looked behind her, there was no one. She looked back at the mirror slowly, and saw that the girl's eyes were bloodshot and glossy.
Her. Her reflection. This was whom she turned into. A stranger.
She watched as a tear escaped from her eye, and slid down her cheek into her mouth. It tasted warm, salty. Bittersweet at most.
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Slowly, she began to transform back into the bookworm Hermione Granger again. She began to study and stay in the Library as often as before, and always succeeded in getting the highest and perfect scores on her tests. The professors were relieved to see that she was herself again, and so were Harry and Ron. Harry, in particular, was overjoyed. The moment she plopped down beside them in breakfast, books in her hand, reaching over for a muffin, he saw that same sparkle in her eyes. Or, at least, some trace of it. But that was enough. It was enough for him. She was back. Maybe not completely, but she was. At least a piece of her returned. That was all he could ask for.
The moment she opened her mouth and started, "Sorry I'm late. I had some studying to catch up on, and I was rereading my Transfiguration essay to make sure that I didn't miss any--," he had wrapped his arms around her tightly, making her halt mid-sentence. He was grinning madly, just glad to have her back. Hermione, shocked, wrapped her arms around him too, absolutely glad that he was happy. Behind them, Ron made a gagging sound, and the other Gryffindors snickered and giggled.
A couple of tables away, Draco Malfoy looked away abruptly, his dark silver eyes hard and sharp.
They pulled back, smiling, and as they saw that everyone was looking at them with bemused expressions on their faces, they both blushed a deep red. Hermione saw the sparkle in his deep emerald eyes, his wide smile.
"Glad to have you back, Hermione," he said. Hermione smiled slightly, but threw him a puzzled expression.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," she said, sounding puzzled. She smiled wider. "I never went anywhere."
Harry smiled. "Oh right. I forgot." And they both laughed faintly, Harry thinking about how nice it felt to have his best friend back again, and Hermione... well... something somewhat of the same. But she couldn't help but look over at the Slytherin table and catch his gaze. He was looking at her intently, his eyes dark and hard, as if trying to penetrate through her but at the same time, unsure and so far away. She felt something call out to her deep inside, as she held her cup to her lips and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. His gaze brought back memories, flickering and swirling deep inside her, as if she was somehow sinking...
...Until Harry nudged her and she looked over to see that Ron was choking over his blueberry muffin. How he had managed to do so, she had not a clue. Harry just laughed as he clapped his back a few times, her redhead best friend's face coming awfully close to the shade of his hair when he was finally done choking and coughing.
She just smiled and reminded Ron of her warning weeks ago that if he kept eating at such a hasty pace, he would no longer be able to breathe to keep up with the shovels of food he jammed in his mouth. He sent her a glare before he, too, burst out laughing. She smiled to herself as she took another sip of her juice. Slowly, things were going back to how it was before. And she was glad for that. But as she glanced over at the Slytherin table again, she was puzzled as to why he was no longer there. She looked over to the Great Hall's doors quickly enough to watch him walk out, a flash of platinum blonde hair noticeable but gone before she could fully understand. She stared at the doors, the juice tasting sweet in her mouth. She wondered to herself why he had left. She even considered going after him, but she just sighed and put down her cup.
She had hoped that with her transformation back to Hermione Granger, that she would be able to leave all of that behind, too. That she would be able to finally turn from her hurt and pain, and her longing for him. But she just felt that same overwhelming feeling swell up inside of her, before she shook away her thoughts of him, knowing better to dwell on such thoughts as those.
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Hermione went along the aisle slowly, her hand trailing her gaze, scanning the books' sides carefully. She sighed, as her eyesight began to waver, and she began to rub them. She was awfully tired. Twenty minutes looking for that book she needed for Potions, and still nothing. And worse, it seemed as if her luck was not going to kick in yet. Not for another hour, at least. The library was quiet; she knew that people had better things to do then to be in the library at this hour. Except for her, of course. Harry had politely offered to study with her in the common room, but she just smiled and told him that she had to go look for her book.
Her fingers slid on the tops of the sides of the books, reading the chipped, gold letters that were supposed to identify the books for what they were. Unfortunately she was having a rather hard time. After searching for another fifteen minutes, she let out an exasperated sigh. She closed her eyes for a moment, after feeling as if her world was spinning and swirling. She stepped back, feeling as if she was unbalanced and was going to fall backwards suddenly. She opened them again, and everything seemed to be much clearer.
"I must be tired," she said to herself, as she continued to go down the aisle. But as she heard a voice -- that voice that haunted her dreams, haunted her for so long -- she halted immediately. Her eyes stayed frozen on the books in front of her, her heart pounding. She heard footsteps as he approached her. She had the urge to run away, but the urge to just be near to him was stronger. She wanted to look into his eyes again, see if that person she had spent all that time with, in this library, that person that she laughed and talked with, somehow still existed. If he was still inside there, somewhere. She just wanted to hear his voice again. She just wanted to be near him, to be near him outside of her dreams.
"Are you looking for this?" she heard him ask, his voice firm but quiet. There was no amusement or mockery in his voice. It took her a while before she closed her eyes and tried to fully comprehend that he was really here, talking to her. That this wasn't just some dream or mirage that she would find to be gone in a mere second, or wake up from. That would just be too heartbreaking. She swallowed hard as she heard him speak to her again.
"Granger?" he asked. "Are you alright?" She nodded before turning to him.
The way his eyes pierced through her so easily made her knees weak and her bones tremble. She looked into his eyes, although she tried her best not to get lost in them. She had gotten lost in his deep silver, bottomless pools too many times before. She would never really fully recover until he was gone and she was left all alone.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. He just looked at her. "I'm just tired." He raised his hand and offered the book to her. She looked at it blankly, before turning her gaze back up to him. She could feel her heart pounding, loudly, almost too loudly that she was almost sure that he could hear it too. But he made no remark about it.
"Potions," he said, his voice denying any sign of emotion whatsoever. "It is quite hard to find, but it just takes time." She nodded, before she took the book from him, silent. Her gaze slowly traveled up to him, as it seemed as if time had suddenly frozen still. She met his gaze, and something filled his eyes. Something that she recognized and had seen before, but did not exactly know what it was. It made her frown with puzzlement just thinking about it, for he was not really the kind of person to make his emotions known from his eyes. Although it was all too true that the eyes were the windows to the heart, to their emotions, he did his best to prevent anyone from looking in. Especially her.
"Thanks," she said softly. "I've never been so frustrated looking for a book." He seemed to ignore this, however.
"Where's Potter?" he asked her, his voice tinted coldly. "I'd expect him to help you find it. After all, you two had no problem finding each other." She stared at him.
"What?" she asked, confused. "Harry's not here. I came here by myself. He's studying in the common room," she said, still bewildered by his sudden interest in where Harry was. "Why?"
His eyes turned cold, dark and icy. "It wasn't such a surprise that someone like you would fall for scarhead, now, was it?"
"What are you saying?" she asked, still confused. "Me and Harry? We're-- we're not--," she was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out her name and coming up behind her. She glanced at her side and her raven- haired best friend was standing beside her. He looked at her quickly, before glancing at Draco coldly. Draco glowered at Harry, and Hermione could feel the intense silence bubbling. Something was going to happen. She quickly looked at them, before planning to speak, but Harry cut her off.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked icily. Draco's eyes seemed as if they could freeze someone wholly. They were dark, angry and piercing. Then he brought his gaze to hers. Something unexplainable flickered in them, as she stared at him, still confused but now awkward.
"The Bookworm and The Hero. It's no use coming up with conclusions between you two, surely. Not when it's been staring you in the face all this time." His hate-filled gaze turned to Harry. "How low of you, Potter... your own best friend. Where was it? Here, right in this bloody Library?" he looked at them disgustedly, while Harry was practically shaking with anger.
"You shut the hell up, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "You mind your own business." Draco's gaze returned to Hermione, and she felt something deep inside suddenly freeze up. Everything inside her seemed to be as frosty as the look he was giving her. She could not speak -- what had happened? She knew what he was implying, but why was he so bloody angry? Suddenly, she was quite angry herself. How dare he ignore her then attack her with insults and remarks?
"Different, eh?" he asked her coldly. "Not so different when it comes to Harry Potter." Hermione suddenly felt like crying all over again, but not so much about what he had said. It was the pain he brought back, the mere action of him just approaching her only to attack her with invective remarks after all this time. The way he looked at her so coldly as if he hated her to the fiery flames of hell. And yes, maybe he did hate her. But she hadn't done anything to deserve it. Nothing at all. Just then, in all her swirling emotions that she seemed to have drifted off in, she noticed that he had disappeared. She heard his rapid footsteps stalking off out of the Library, before walking off after him, fuming. Harry grabbed her arm before she got very far, but she jerked away. Her deep brown eyes were fueled with rage.
"Hermione, don't--," he started, but she didn't let him finish.
"He's gone too far this time," she said, her voice vindictive with anger. "I'm not going to let him get away with it," she said, before hurrying off, leaving Harry stunned and alone in the Library. She bolted out of the Library, and ran up to Draco, halting in front of him, furious. He stopped in his tracks, surprised at the sight of her. She was shaking with fury, as she walked closer to him, until his face was only inches from her own.
"How dare you?" she hissed. "How dare you?" His eyes never left her. "How dare you approach me and start making insolent remarks about me and Harry? How dare you?" she almost yelled. Her glittering brown eyes were dark-- so dark that they were no longer a shade of brown. "After all this time," she screamed at him, "you were the one who ignored me after it all! Not me, you! And then you come up to me and start attacking me with-- "
"That's not it, Hermione," he said lowly, through his teeth, infuriated also.
"Hermione?" she asked, her voice filled with hate and rage. "Don't you dare call me that... don't ever call me Hermione, you--," he caught her arm and held it tight as she made to slap him, his fingers digging into her skin. She tried to jerk away, but he held on tight.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, her arm stinging and aching from his touch. "Let go of me!" Her voice was hoarse, as she continued to scream and yell, but he wouldn't let go no matter how hard she resisted. He raised his hand and held her shoulder, holding on tight, making her shoulder twinge with sharp pain as she cried out. She pounded her fists against his chest, trying to free herself. But soon, her resistance and screams became weak, her throat dry and sore, and hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. Slowly, she stopped screaming, but hit him on the chest feebly, as she began to sob. It was too much, feeling his all too familiar touch, his gaze that had been imprinted in her mind for far too long that she could not go on a single second without being haunted with his image. Her skin was hot, smoldering and scarring from his painful fingers imbedding into her skin.
Soon he held her close, as she sobbed onto his chest. He held her tightly; his arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders, as if making sure no one could pry her from his grasp. She felt too limp and weak to struggle, as she continued to cry. She could hear his heart beating through all her sobs and gasps for air, as she could feel him embrace her tighter.
Draco closed his eyes, feeling his arms and fingers tightening around her firmly.
"How dare you... how dare..." she sobbed. But she could not find her voice, as her lungs shrieked for more air, her heart throbbing sorely and her arms and hands pressed up against him, feeling the warmth of him come through his robes. She wanted to wrench away free from his grasp, but she did not have the strength to. She did try, but all he did was bring her closer to him again. Deep inside her she could feel herself breaking all over again. That pain returned -- that same searing warmth that brought her comfort one minute then destruction the next. She could not live like this. She could not take any of it anymore. She had to leave him, run away. She was not going to let him do this to her again, to hurt her and leave her in ruins. She was already in ruins.
She was not going to let him break her all over again.
She gathered up strength to twist herself from his firm embrace, and soon he only held her by her arm. She was breathing hard, her vision blurred and her eyes stinging from hot tears. His fingers tightened around her arm and she gritted her teeth from the shooting pain that sprang up from his fingers pressing too hard into her flesh He was saying something to her, but she could not hear. There was a loud, deafening, white noise in her ears, the sound of her thoughts screaming at her, her heart calling out to her. She could not hear anything, just feel. She could feel her palms sweating, her heart suffocating, her lungs crumbling and breaking down, her knees weak, her head pounding and her world spinning.
She knew, as his piercing silver gaze bore into her, that there was only one thing that kept her from lying limp in his arms. From letting him embrace and trap her in the arms that she had fantasized and dreamed so often about. There was one thing -- one thing that held so many other things on by a chain -- that kept her from telling him how she felt.
That one thing was sheer determination. But tied along with that, dangling on by a strong thread was pain, hurt and memories. The heartbreak that she promised herself that she would never endure ever again -- from him. Not when he was not hurting either. Not when he was not feeling the slightest bit of regret. Not when he hadn't missed her as much as she missed him.
More tears stung her eyes, as he would not let go.
"Let go of me," she cried out hoarsely. "Let go. What do you want from me? What else do you want from me?" she began sobbing. Her body was trembling, shaking, as he held on tighter. "What else do you have to take? What else don't you hold in your hands that aren't mine? What else do I have to give up? What else do you want from me?" She was crying harder by the second, and she was afraid she was going to collapse to the floor, on her knees if he held on. She did not know what to do if he was not going to let her go. She did not know what he was holding onto her for, what reason he could possibly have to want to keep her here.
"Hermione, just stop--,"
"Why are you keeping me here," she wept. "Just let me go. Let me go, please. Just let me--," but before she could finish, she was suddenly pulled back to him. But he was no longer holding her. She was stunned, shocked, but her nerves and senses were screaming and buzzing with excitement and unfamiliarity.
His hands and fingers were framing her face, as she could feel his warm lips press against her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin, her forehead. His hands felt as if they were ablaze with a roaring and intense fire that burned deeper than the depths of her soul. Draco felt a bittersweet and saline taste on his lips and mouth, as he continued to kiss away her tears, as she trembled and shook gently in his touch. He could feel his heart bellowing, his senses on overdrive, his fingers crackling with glowing electricity that numbed. And before she could pull away, she felt his lips press against hers, holding her tightly.
The world had stopped. Time had completely frozen stiff. The corridor was dead quiet, and all she could hear in her ears was her heart's thunderous beating, his breaths against her skin. Slowly, she raised her hands and entwined them in his silky hair, as he deepened the kiss further. She felt his warmth and sweet lips invade her, making her weak and feeling as if everything inside her had stopped functioning. In her mouth she tasted the bittersweet tears that he had kissed away, accompanied by his saccharine and filling taste. Embers crackled through her veins, bursting and sparking off. His hands slowly slid down and wrapped around her waist, pulling her much more closely than she had been before. Slowly, they ended the kiss and pulled back. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed silently. Her fingers intertwined at the nape of his neck, her touch making his skin tingle with a burning cold he had experienced only when he was with her. She looked at him, her brown eyes searching through him.
"I need you," he whispered to her, only barely. But she still heard it, loud and clear. It chimed in her ears, as her lips stung and smoldered.
"Why?" she asked softly. Uncertainty filled her chocolate brown eyes, as she waited for a reply. "Why me?"
For his reply, however, he leaned down and kissed her. Love surged through her, as she responded, bringing him closer.
And that was enough. No response was necessary at all...
...no, none at all.