This is another one-shot. I guess I'm in a one-shot mood or something. I've been reading a lot of them and thinking up my own as well, and I'm so impatient (and forgetful) that I have to do them right away.
His heart wrenched and he fell to his knees, a pain so sharp and pure that it stunted his breathing. How could this have happened? Hadn't he been so careful, so stringent?
The note curled on his desk, its message more deadly than the Avada Kedavra could ever be. The lines were short and to the point, the meaning clear to any who cared to read it. He ink was green, the parchment dirty and yellow, torn carelessly from the roll. He had read it twenty times over, sure each time that he was reading it wrong, that he must be mistaken, that they had the wrong house, the wrong person. And when he couldn't pretend anymore, he collapsed to the floor, begging God to undo this.
I know I've done wrong. I know I've hurt people. I know what I am, but I don't deserve this
But in his heart he knew he did. He deserved it more than anyone.
"But she doesn't," he whispered, forcing himself to his feet. She, who was none the wiser, who lived for justice and the good of all creatures. She, the girl with the wild brown hair and even wilder deep brown eyes. The girl who birthed such fire and compassion that it made her magic ten times stronger.
The girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart.
He had been playing both sides for so long now that he could scarcely remember when it began, if not for one single moment plucked out of thousands. The moment that changed his life forever.
The change had been so sudden, so unexpected. His father had made a terrible mistake, upsetting the Dark Lord, who unleashed his wrath in a blinding green light. His mother was the next to go, defending her husband's honor and memory. It was then that he decided he was going to kill Voldemort. Not to avenge his parents, who he never liked, and definitely never loved, but because he could be next in line at the drop of a hat. He made the arrangements to leave, on a "scouting" mission, and would not be back for some time. He was paces from the street that the Order of the Phoenix's hiding place was rumored to be, when he felt a presence behind him.
It was a Death Eater, cloaked in black and ready to kill him.
"Back off," he hissed, brandishing his own wand fearlessly. Yet inside he was trembling. He could die at any moment. And no one would care.
"I don't think so Draco," the man crackled. "When Voldemort finds out about this you'll be dealt with the same way your parents were."
"Not if I kill you!" Suddenly he was angry at the mention of his parents.
Brilliant jets of light shot through the air, crashing into lampposts and mailboxes, but never hitting their intended target. And soon Draco knew he couldn't win, that he wasn't nearly as powerful and evil as he needed to be to kill this Death Eater.
And so he did the only thing he could think of. He cast a quick fogging spell and ran, as fast as he could, towards a distant wood. He ran, breathless, through the trees, his heart racing, his legs barely strong enough to carry him. And yet he went on, enduring only because if he did not then he would die.
"Stopping running boy! You're only making this harder! And when I—"
Draco stopped dead, panting and covered in sweat. There was a flash of green light just far enough away that he couldn't make out the other figure that stood before his assailant. The light faded back to normal, followed by a rather loud thud.
He couldn't move, let alone call out to whoever had saved him. Not that he wanted to.
The shadowed figure, wearing an undistinguishable cloak, advanced in his direction, wand out. A mild breeze cut through the air, pulling at their hood, and out tumbled tresses of long, curling hair.
"No," he whispered, his frown etching deep in his face.
"Why was he trying to kill you?" a female voice asked. If he wasn't certain who it was before, then he definitely was now, and by the time her face came into view he had recovered enough to appear lucid.
"I pissed him off," he said shortly, puffing up his chest. "Why did you save me?"
"Because you came here with good intentions."
"But you just asked—"
"I've been practicing Legilimens," she said matter-of-factly. "That filthy Death Eater was under the impression that you came here to try to join us." She leveled her gaze with him, and he couldn't not look away. "Was he right?"
"So what if he was."
She sighed and stuffed her wand into her robes.
"I'm the new Secret-Keeper for the Order," she informed him. He was stunned silent. "I'm telling you this, because I believe you are here for a good reason. I'm willing to let you inside, if you can live up to your boosts."
"Excuse me?"
"Be a double-agent for the Order. Spy on Voldemort and relay information to us."
"And how can you be so sure I won't go back to him and tell him what you're up to?"
She only laughed and turned away from him.
"Where are you going, Granger?"
"Back inside. It's freezing out here."
"You didn't answer my question."
She sighed, looking over her shoulder.
"You didn't kill Dumbledore, even when you knew your life was in danger."
That had been the beginning, a start to his new life. Hermione, and very few others, would talk to Draco, let alone look at him. Harry and Ron flat out refused to accept him, and so it seemed it was all up to her. She passed false information to him to give to Voldemort, who was under the impression that Draco had successfully infiltrated the Order. The story had been simple enough: Draco said he was angry about his parents and wanted revenge, and Voldemort somehow believed him.
Some nights they were up until dawn, figuring strategies. And somehow, over time, they became friends. Not buddy-buddy shares their deepest darkest secrets best friends, but friends nonetheless. If you spend enough time with someone you hate you can't help but like them. Or so they both reasoned to themselves.
"Come on, Draco!" Hermione laughed, holding a stitch in her side. "We have to finish this by morning."
But he wasn't ready to get to work yet. So, instead of cracking more off-color jokes, he resorted to tackling her over and clawing at her belly. She let out such a cry of laughter that he was sure someone would come downstairs and berate them. But no one did.
"St-Stop!" she cried, shoving at him. She was laughing so hard it was getting difficult to breath. Finally, however, she got the upper had and turned him over. Her hands were ready, but he pulled her tight to him, pinning them between their stomachs. "Damn you," she breathed, exhausted.
"Don't underestimate a Slytherin," he laughed.
"Now you're just overestimating yourself, ferret boy."
He didn't know why that made him do what he did next, only that he could never regret it.
His slid one hand up her back, pulling her head down. The kiss was so soft and perfect that he almost forgot who he was kissing.
"Draco," she whispered.
"Yeah?" He didn't dare open his eyes.
"Look at me."
Slowly, his lids separated.
"Thank you."
"What?" His brow narrowed in confusion. Surely he deserved a slap for that!
"I was too afraid to do it."
From then on she was his girlfriend, his very secret girlfriend. So secret in fact, that no one even guessed they were together.
And today was their one-year anniversary.
"Draco?"
He looked up just as the door slowly creaked open.
"Can I come in?"
He nodded and she stepped in, closing and locking the door behind her.
"I missed you," she sighed, folding perfecting into his arms. He'd been away for over two weeks on a mission.
"Come here." He led her to his bed, pulling back the covers. And when they were finished, he held her in his arms, trying so hard not to cry.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, concern written all over her face. "Draco? Are you alright?"
"I love you, Hermione," he answered.
Her voice caught in her throat.
"W-What?"
"I said I love you."
"What happened?" she demanded, panic rising in her throat. "What did he do to you?" She had never been okay with him playing both sides, not after they got together. And lately the missions had become more reckless.
He reached over and removed a piece of parchment from his bedside table.
"B-But how!" she stuttered, her eyes glued to the green letters.
"I don't know," he snapped, though not at her. Again he reached into the drawer, a cold metal object held in his trembling hand. "But I love you, and no one can take that away."
"I love you too. But I—"
"You were too afraid to say it," he finished, smiling.
"Exactly," she whispered, uncontrollable tears breaking free and sliding down her powder-soft cheeks. "Tell me again," and she was almost begging.
"I love you more than you could ever know," he whispered back, his tears finally falling as well.
The sheets were dyed red in seconds, her chocolate brown eyes fading into nothing as he cradled her in his arms.
"You were everything to me," he cried softly. And he didn't even feel the blade as it pierced his heart.
The yellowed note kicked up in the gentle breeze that came in through the open window.
Draco,
You have been playing the Dark Lord false for too long. Now you and your precious mudblood will pay.
—A messenger of Lord Voldemort
From the beginning they had planned it, prayed it wouldn't happen, but been prepared for the worst. They had no other choice. To save themselves, their love, to save her, he had to kill her.
I know it's sad, very Romeo and Juliet, but I just needed to get this out of my system I guess. :P
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