Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own anything except for the storyline.
It was a difficult evening.
There was nothing prominently wrong with it, in truth. It was the middle of September, and the warmth of the glorious summer days was gradually fading away to greet the arrival of a slight chill that came along with the crisp golden colors of the leaves on the trees - Autumn. The sky had darkened to a deep blue, with hints of regal purple; the time did not permit it to transform to midnight raven black yet. But the moon and its twinkling companions had already revealed themselves for another promising, yet dangerous night. There were no unwelcomed sounds to be heard, except for the occasional hoot of the wise, sagacious owl, and the gentle, soothing swish of the breeze, of the zephyr peacefully nurturing the earth.
It was a beautiful evening.
Yet, there was something missing. Something needed to complete the scene of utter perfection. Like the last piece of a puzzle, like the last dab of color to an otherwise capturing painting. The lack of presence of this meaningful object - whatever it may be - made the mysterious night ever so hollow, so empty. And suddenly the night lost its touch of feeling. It was no longer eerie, haunting, unpredictable. Instead, it had become dull and eventless. Flat. Indeed, its absence was ominous.
In her private Head Girl room, Hermione Granger seemed to have felt it as well. She was sitting at her desk, like every other night, and after completing a three-foot long essay for her Potions class, had folded up the parchment, placed back her quill, and opened up a thick leather-bound book, hoping to indulge herself. A fierce, lively flame was dancing in the fireplace, warming up the room, and the windows were slightly opened the way Hermione left it every night. But unlike every other night, she surprisingly found that she was unable to lose herself into the story, and it was a muggle romance novel that usually brought her the most pleasure in reading and was therefore most treasured. Hermione had never encountered this odd situation before, as books had never failed to ease her into complete relaxation and take her mind off of all unpleasant things. Honestly, Hermione loved books almost more than anything else, so naturally she sensed that something tonight was wrong, but she couldn't quite place what it was.
Sighing, she stood up, and taking the book with her, decided to head to the library - a place where she often went to seek comfort and occasionally stayed until the depths of midnight to study or read, long after the librarian Madame Pince had left. Hermione contemplated whether this was the correct thing to do or not as she quietly walked down the dark corridors. Students were not allowed to roam the school grounds after curfew, but Hermione could say that she was performing her prefect duties and doing her rounds...or would that be abusing her powers? However, as this was not an ordinary night, she decided to go anyway, but instead of the library, her feet unknowingly led her to another place - the Astronomy Tower.
Cold and deserted as it was, Hermione found herself feeling grateful for coming here. She didn't do so frequently, but she instantly felt an attraction to this place and knew that this would soon become one of her nightly routines. The ground was lit up by the soft, milky gaze of the serene full moon. She carefully took a step forward.
"Granger?"
Hermione froze at the sound of her name. She desperately wished whoever it was wasn't a teacher, or else her prefect position and her Head Girl badge would surely be ripped away. But on second thought...she recognized that voice.
"Malfoy?" She croaked, shocked at the revelation that her enemy was here as well.
The Slytherin prince silently walked towards her from the corner of the tower where he had previously been so that she could see him. "Even Miss-know-it-all couldn't resist the temptation of breaking a few school rules, now could you, mudblood?" He sneered.
Hermione remained silent for a while. It was unnecessary to protest against him. He was Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin, a pureblood, the son of a Death Eater, a person who was probably going to become one himself; a bully, and amazingly – the Head Boy. He was the boy that had insulted Hermione for the past six years of her life, the boy that she had argued with too many times to keep count, her best friend Harry Potter's arch nemesis. She hated him. But she couldn't help suspecting that his maliciousness and cruelty didn't all belong to him. It was the society's perceptions and expectations of him, or at least, of somebody with his status. She couldn't help wondering why her feelings of pure hatred towards the person currently standing in front of her had gradually, unknowingly, morphed into sympathy and possibly even forgiveness.
"You can stop pretending now, you know," Hermione said, so softly that it could barely be heard.
This sudden accusation shocked Draco, and for a brief moment, an expression of surprise and anger flashed across his face. But he had composed his visage immediately and Hermione nearly missed the flicker of his barely noticeable emotions.
Draco snorted. "You think I'm pretending?" His voice was still as confident and superior as ever, but Hermione thought she could detect how it was very slightly faltering. "And supposedly they say you're the brightest witch of our age."
"I know you are," Hermione said evenly to the astonishment of herself. She sat down on the ground, wincing slightly at the iciness of the concrete floors.
"Well then, you don't know anything." He retorted with a scowl.
She ignored him. "Isn't it tiring, to pretend, all the time?" She inquired curiously. "To put on an act for everyone else to see...and know that your portrayal of the character will never end? That you'll have to go on forever? Is there ever a time where you could finally put down your guard and just be...yourself? Without having to worry about other people's remarks and opinions? Will you ever have the chance to be who you want to be and do what you want to do instead of what everyone expects of you?" She hadn't even known how passionate she had been until Draco sat down beside her and hesitantly reached out a hand to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks with pale, slender fingers. Hermione was shocked by the sudden contact. She felt a spark, as if she had been electrified, at his surprisingly tender touch. Was this what all the books and films had talked of? The spark of romance? No, Hermione refused to acknowledge it. This was Malfoy, after all.
Draco stared at her. And in that moment, their eyes locked. Stormy grey met chocolate brown. The moment felt as if it lasted for an eternity.
"I didn't know you cared so much, Granger," Draco finally said mockingly, but his voice was softer now. The haughtiness that had previously been etched in his tone was gone.
Hermione blushed. She felt her cheeks burn. "Well, it had me wondering. To my disappointment, the answer I'm looking for isn't one I'd easily find in a book, you know. Trust me when I tell you I wish it wasn't this way." She was flushing so much her skin was certainly a deep scarlet now. "Don't get used to my concern for you," she muttered.
To the immense amazement of Hermione, Draco laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, chuckling.
There was a twinkle in his eye, and his smile - what seemed to be a sincere, genuine smile and for once not his signature smug-looking smirk - lit up his face. He was not brooding, but almost carefree, lively, the way a seventeen year old boy should look. Hermione found herself wishing that he would smile more frequently, because it looked so nice, so...charming. And for the first time, she understood. She understood why Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil always giggled and squealed when he was near, whispering excitedly into each other's ears in a manner Hermione had always deemed as silly and frivolous. But there it was. The platinum hair, the grey eyes, the tall figure...she had to admit, his handsomeness could not be denied.
Hermione blushed again. She had not been marveling at Draco Malfoy's looks! She couldn't even begin to fathom the reactions of Harry and Ron if they knew what she had been thinking not a minute ago. It was horrible enough that she was sitting next to a Slytherin after curfew sharing a half decent, civilized conversation without throwing each other insults and hexing one another. And not just any Slytherin, but the prince of all Slytherins! There was definitely something wrong about this particular night.
"Aren't you ever going to answer me?" Hermione said, not daring to look at the blond beside her. She kept her eyes safely on the ground.
Draco didn't say anything. The silence of the night was unnerving. Hermione fidgeted uneasily, waiting.
"You're right." Draco replied. Those two words. So simple, yet so intricate, expressing a thousand meanings. "I never wanted to be the person I am now." He paused. "But anything different is completely beyond my comprehension. Being a Malfoy, I am expected to keep up the family reputation. Every single thing I do, I have to please my father. Only if he's satisfied am I safe from his lectures and beatings. He was furious when he found out my grades were lower than a muggle-born." He glanced at Hermione, who felt her heart flutter when he said "muggle-born" instead of "mudblood."
"And there's the war and everything with You-Know-Who. I don't want to fight for him. I don't want to get the Dark Mark. He's a bastard, sickening, a poor excuse for a human being. But like with everything else, I am never left a choice. I have to do it. I have to become a Death Eater because that's what my father wants for me. He doesn't care about me, just the Malfoy name. The only person in this world who I care about is my mother. They threatened to kill her if I don't obey the Dark Lord and I can't let her die. I might seem proud and tough but inside I'm bloody scared, damn it!"
Hermione felt her heart break as she listened to Draco let out his inner feelings, probably for the first time. She couldn't imagine what he had to face each day, the pain and agony. It was terrible. And he was only a young teenage boy of seventeen! A child!
"You could always join us...the Order would welcome you..." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Draco shook his head. "Believe me, I couldn't."
"T-that's awful. I-I'm so sorry..." She could hear that her voice was wavering, and her chin was slightly quivering at the melancholy of his situation.
"You don't have to feel sorry for me, Granger. I never let you easy," he said dryly. "All that 'mudblood' and everything. But the way I was taught...my father would have me killed in an instant if he knew I was being friendly towards someone like you. To be honest with you, I never really hated you."
"Could've fooled me," Hermione muttered. "Would've saved me a lot of tears."
"I...I made you cry?" He demanded, appalled.
Hermione didn't want to admit that his insults had upset her. She had always thought that crying was a sign of weakness, of defeat. But over the years, her opinion had slowly changed. Sometimes, she came to realize, the overflow of emotion such as crying was needed to feel better. Still, she didn't do it often. Hermione nodded her head. "A few times," she confessed, embarrassed. "But not anymore. They barely have any effect on me now, so your insults are futile attempts anyway, just to let you know." A ghost of a smile appeared on her face.
"I'm sorry..." Draco stuttered, his voice laced with...regret? Remorse? Apparently it was the first time that he had ever whole-heartedly apologized to someone in all seventeen years of his life. "But you're still an insufferable bookworm. I wish I could've seen it, though. The brave Gryffindor know-it-all of the Golden Trio cry, and because of me!"
The smile forming on Hermione's face quickly turned into a glare. "Just when I thought you weren't as coldhearted as I originally thought you to be. You can't stand the idea of someone having a pleasant impression of you, can you?"
He smirked. "I may not be willing to do everything my father tells me to, but that does not mean I would rather be a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, which is worse I cannot decide. I am still proud to be in Slytherin, you know, and I am still a Malfoy, so don't expect my disposition to suddenly be all nice and ridiculously affectionate."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Hermione replied with a smirk of her own, quoting what the blond had said earlier.
Draco's eyes were focused on something above them. Hermione followed his gaze, and saw the glittering night sky. The stars were shining mischievously, watching them, each one so perfect, so distant, and yet so near. They were like glistening diamonds, lighting up the vast, limitless sky. Hermione let out a small gasp.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Draco said.
"Breath-taking," Hermione murmured in agreement. It was brilliantly awe-inspiring, ethereal; a romantic and spectacular sight that left her bereft of words. It was magical.
The silence enveloped them, and it seemed as if hours had passed. But they were content, unlike an awkward, uncomfortable silence. There was nothing that needed to be said. Unspoken words traveled between the two, through their minds, perhaps, and they knew that after tonight, nothing would be the same again.
Hermione sighed. "How I wish I could paint." There was something sorrowful and wistful about her tone, her warm brown eyes never leaving the scenery above her.
"So that you could paint a self-portrait of yourself without the awful mess on that head of yours you call hair and finally have a chance at being pretty?" A wicked smirk played on his lips. "Or so you could paint a portrait of me and hang it on your wall so you could constantly worship and admire my dashing looks?"
"No, you stuck-up, annoying ferret!" Hermione said, aghast. "Your arrogance is ridiculous, Malfoy, and no human being should have an ego as big and intrusive as yours." She ignored Draco's snicker. "I wish I could paint so that I could capture the extraordinary beauty of the sky and always remember this wonderful moment." It truly was a wonderful moment for Hermione. Not only was she witnessing the perfection of nature that could be rivaled by no other, but she had also discovered the truth in Draco Malfoy. What a peculiar night it was! Hermione thought to herself for the umpteenth time.
Draco raised a white-blond eyebrow. "You may not be particularly talented in drawing, but you could write it down like one of those journal entries girls are always so fond of."
"You know, Malfoy, that is actually not a bad suggestion."
"Of course it isn't bad." He looked as if Hermione had just come up with the most preposterous notion. "Merlin, it's a brilliant suggestion! I came up with it," Draco said, as if that explained it all.
Hermione sighed again. "But you see, words simply cannot do it justice."
Draco turned his head to look at the Gryffindor girl. The playfulness that was evident on his face not just a moment ago had left, only to be replaced by seriousness and solemnity. "By saying that, you have already done it justice." There was no more of his boisterous nature. His voice was soft.
He wondered why his opinion of her had always been befouled with repugnance and contempt. Hermione wasn't beautiful, not in that ravishing, obvious way. Her prettiness came in the form of natural simplicity. It was in those two warm, affectionate, chocolate brown eyes, in her petite frame and even in that mortifying untamed hair. Exceptionality was in her know-it-all, miss-goody-two-shoes attitude, her bossiness – which at times reached the point of being unbearable – and in her studious, bookwormish disposition. It was in her bravery, determination, kindness and unfaltering loyalty.
Meanwhile, Hermione pondered over everything that she had discovered. Slowly, gradually, she was beginning to understand and comprehend. Past his cold demeanor that he wore like a set of metal armor for protection, was actually a lost boy that needed to be cared for and loved. Despite all the hurt and frustration that had been inflicted on her before, she couldn't blame him anymore for his past deeds. The world had never shown him any compassion, so how could he treat everyone else with it? He had been born into a loveless, power-induced society that wouldn't even take mercy on the youth. Hermione knew that over time, she would learn to forgive, and perhaps someday, even love.
"You should talk...to your friends," Hermione suggested. "If you haven't already, I mean."
"You don't seriously expect me to have an intimate tête-à-tête with someone like a pathetic Hufflepuff and spill all my secrets, do you? Exposing our inner emotions is strongly disapproved of and a case of utmost humiliation. And my father...if he found out, he would certainly Crucio me without any hesitation." Draco spoke with such nonchalance, such indifference, it was heart wrenching.
"But...Crabbe and Goyle?" She knew the two were more like bodyguards than confidants, but Hermione was desperately clinging onto her last piece of hope no matter how unlikely it seemed, wishing, praying, that she would receive an affirmative reply. It was really too unfair for anyone.
Draco's countenance was emotionless, but his loneliness was beginning to seep through. "They aren't my friends. They only stay near me so that they could be nearer to the Malfoy wealth and reputation. They only want my power, not my companionship." He chuckled, but the sound was lifeless, icy, humorless. "Sometimes I really wish I had a friend, but I don't even know what that is." Draco paused. "Bloody hell. Why am I bloody telling you this?"
Silence.
"You have me."
Hermione flushed as she realized she had just offered Draco Malfoy - Malfoy, of all people! - her friendship.
Draco seemed to be in a state of shock as well. But a sense of gratefulness washed over him and he felt...oddly warmed. Touched. Like a forbidding icicle that suddenly melted. He debated on what he should say in reply, but finally settled on two words. Two words that he rarely said to anyone. Two words that he didn't even know he was capable of saying. "Thank you."
Hermione smiled.
"You know, I've always rather enjoyed our spats and quarrels," Draco mused.
"Why?" Hermione asked curiously. She had found their wretched banters to be painful occurrences and attempted to avoid them on all occasions. "So you could find satisfaction in seeing me irritated?"
"Well," Draco drawled. "It is rather enjoyable to see Potterhead and the Weasel get all mad and defensive. But I think it has more to do with the fact that you are the only person who can keep up with me in an intellectual conversation. You're the only person who just might be smarter than me."
Hermione scoffed. "Might? I am! That must wound your ego."
"Perhaps a little." He eyed the object that Hermione was holding on to. "What's that?"
Hermione looked down at her lap. "Oh! I forgot I brought my book with me!" She tenderly brushed her hands against the soft covers. "I was meaning to go to the library to read. It's a muggle romance novel."
Draco took the book from Hermione's hands and inspected it.
"Aren't you afraid of filthy muggle germs that will contaminate your being?" Hermione taunted, teasingly.
Draco shot her a dirty look. "Pride and Prejudice. By Jane Austen," he read, and flipped the pages, skimming over the context. "Seems quite feminine to me. Is it any good?"
"Oh, it's the best," Hermione replied dreamily. "One of my favorites."
Draco constantly found fulfillment in reading as well and unbeknownst to others, spent a large amount of time doing so in his Head Boy room. He was rather intrigued with the book that Hermione expressed such liking in and praised so highly of.
"The two main characters are often ruled by their pride and prejudices, and came to many disagreements and disputes at first, but in the end..." she trailed off, discovering that the storyline reminded her greatly of two certain someones that she happened to know, one of which she was very closely acquainted with. "...They found love."
Draco studied Hermione with a look of curiosity. "Do you believe in love, Granger?"
Hermione wasn't sure what to say in reply to such a sudden, unexpected question that she had previously never given much thought to. "I've – always admired the concept of love that is portrayed and explored in the books I have read – but I've never personally experienced it – but...I suppose...I do." She shrugged. "What about you?"
Draco flashed his signature Malfoy smirk. "Malfoys don't answer sentimental questions as such."
"But you asked me and I answered you! And it was an honest answer, too!" She frowned. "I would have thought you to be incapable of love before tonight, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps…you're just out of practice." Hermione bit her lip. "I just...want to see the real you," she blurted out quietly with uncertainty.
There was a long pause.
"This is the real me."
Hermione, for unknown reasons, thought her heart might burst from happiness. She checked the time on her small pocket watch that she always kept in the pockets of her school robes. It had been a gift from her parents. Upon seeing the hour hand, she gasped. "Oh, Merlin! It's already past three o'clock! We should go; we both have class tomorrow morning." She hurriedly stood up and Draco soon followed.
"Granger," Draco said. "What I told you tonight…you don't tell anyone else, yeah?"
Hermione could perceive how serious Draco was in his request. "Well, I was actually going to announce it in the Great Hall during breakfast tomorrow morning so that everyone would know."
Draco's grey eyes narrowed into slits. "Granger." He hissed. "Utter one single word and I will personally hunt you down and make sure you die a slow, torturous, painful death." His voice was low and dangerous.
"I was just kidding, Malfoy," Hermione said, laughing, although she knew that Draco's warning was far from just an empty threat. He meant it. "I won't tell anyone, I swear."
"You better not."
"We should get going…" Hermione's voice hovered quietly in the air.
Her heartbeat quickened when she felt how close the two were standing. The only sound that she could hear was that of their even, peaceful breathing. Then, Draco hesitantly leaned in and it was as if there were a million butterflies flittering in her stomach. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead that left Hermione's skin tingling.
"Good night...Hermione." It was the first time that he had ever called her by her first name, and the sound of it coming from his lips made Hermione's heart flutter for yet another time that night. It seemed so beautiful, so lovely.
His mercurial eyes were so intense and mesmerizing. Hermione blushed. "Good night, Draco," she said, her voice like a soft whisper.
"Oh, and Granger?"
Hermione swiveled around so quickly she nearly lost her balance. "Yes?"
Draco smirked. "What happened tonight, doesn't mean I like you."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Typical Draco Malfoy, she thought, laughing inwardly, and flashed a smirk that was nearly as impressive as the blond's. "Likewise…Malfoy." And then she turned around and left.
When Hermione arrived back to the warmth of her own room, she found the fire still burning, her books and parchments still neatly placed on the desk and the window still half opened. Except there was a handsome black owl tapping on the glass. She quickly pushed the window further open to allow the creature to come in and muzzled its head and fed it a little treat. Then, she carefully took the parchment from the owl and it flew out the window.
The note had been wrapped up by an emerald green silk ribbon. Hermione unrolled the parchment and read the message that had been written with a neat, elegant script.
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man
in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."
Perhaps it is time for me to start practicing, don't you think?
You forgot to take your book with you when you left. I will
bring it to class with me tomorrow. Don't worry.
- D.M.
Hermione smiled widely when she finished reading the note. She was in such a content and delighted mood, despite the fact that it was already at a very late hour and had it been another night, she would have been fast asleep long ago. But suddenly the somberness that had plagued the night was gone, and Hermione could now succumb to rest knowing that it was perfect. It suddenly struck her, what it was - what the missing, indescribable object had been, if it could be called an object at all. It brought life and passion to nature. It was what made the world no longer simply just an inanimate place. And it was kindness, and forgiveness. It was the hope of a newfound friendship, newfound happiness.
It was love.
A/N: I had this written for a while now, and thought I'd post it here to see what everyone thinks of it. Hope you enjoyed reading it ;)
I'd also like to say thank you, to all those who reviewed. If you have any comments or suggestions, please feel free to leave me a message.
Hugs and kisses to all you kind people out there in advance ;)
- silver. ink13