Hello darlings!
I know i haven't posted anything in a while but i've been working on many stories which I can't seem to finish -_- Anyhow, this mini-story however is almost done and i just couldn't wait to share with you the first part. I quite like it if I may say so. I'm not sure why... maybe it's the mood of desperation, maybe it's something else.. I don't know but whatever it is, i hope you'll like it as well. The second part is almost done and i'll be posting it maybe later tonight. There might be just 3 chapters to it... or two... I haven't quite decided yet but
Let me know what you think yeah?
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P.S : If you like classical music (i do!) and would like to have an audio for what Draco was playing, check out Rachmaninov's Prelude in C Sharp Minor on youtube and just assume the piece is way longer than 4 minutes! =) Let me know if you liked it!
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What Matters...
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Unable to fall asleep, Hermione swung her feet over the bed and got up. Tying her hair atop her head in a messy bun, she slipped on her slippers and pulled a sweatshirt over her pajama pants. Without having to look at her reflection, she knew she looked just like a mess. But it was late, no one would see her. And if they did, her appearance was honestly the last thing she could care about. She felt so tired. Her mind ached from being on overdrive 24/7, her body was sore from all the battles. And as if that wasn't enough, sleep refused to pay her a visit when she lied down at night. So in turn, she grew everyday looking a bit more like a ghost. She was getting skinnier by the day and dark circles painted around her eyes like a mural. And it was all because of Voldemort.
As she walked down the hall of their refugee house, she thought about the people they had lost to this war. The list was long enough without even adding her parents. She choked back the tears and wandered absentmindedly down the halls of Zabini Manor, refusing to think of them.
She had no specific destination. She just needed to walk and maybe it would tire her out enough to fall asleep.
Eventually, she ended up in the dungeons of the house. And just as she was about to turn around and make her way back to her room, she heard it…
Soft piano notes playing an agonizing tune. It was like nothing she'd ever heard before. It oozed pain. Each note, though ever so soft and smooth, seemed to detonate in an aching cry of anger and helplessness.
Her brows pulled in tightly, she took cautious steps forward. She knew perfectly well who lived in the dungeons. He had retreated there about 2 years ago when they had all decided the manor was a better place for cover than Sirius's house. He only came upstairs when his presence was required and in turn, nobody ever went to bother him down there except maybe Blaise. And despite having joined the Order, he still remained cold to anybody who ever approached him.
Moving as silently as possible towards the door at the end of the dark hall, Hermione held her breath. Slowly, she reached for the knob, pushed the door open and slipped inside without a sound.
The room was immersed in complete darkness. She shuddered as the crisp cold air grazed her skin. Slowly, she let her eyes adjust to the complete lack of light, the unfamiliarity of the surroundings forcing her to stand close by the door. And besides, she hadn't come here looking for adventure. All she wanted to do was listen to that music that seemed to have hypnotized her and leave before her presence was noticed.
In the back of her mind, she knew she was invading his privacy, but there was nothing she could do at this point. Her body seemed frozen, refusing to leave just as her mind fixated on those lulling notes that flew in the air ever so swiftly. And although the melody was all too painful, she stayed there, focusing on that sound that seemed to be coming from the far right corner of the room.
It felt like a few minutes went by, or maybe an hour or two, before the music eased its way to its end. There was no hope in those last notes. Only a pain that concealed some type of unreleased anger. And as she stood there, waiting for him to start a new piece, a whisper reached her ears just as blinding lights came on all around the room.
In complete shock, Hermione blinked a couple of times, stepping back into the wall, as if looking desperately for its protection and desperately feeling the door for the knob. The vast room finally came in clear view as her eyes readjusted to the lights. Quickly, her eyes made a sweep of the white furniture against the white walls. The only colors that painted the place were those of the steel legs of the small table in the middle of a living room; the black of the bed frame, of the piano standing across the room and… of the sweats hanging loosely from Draco Malfoy's hips.
As their eyes met, Hermione froze once more. She had never seen so much anger in a person's pupils. And she knew he had every right to be angry because she had intruded. Just because he had joined the Order and was now fighting on their side didn't exactly mean they were friends. In fact, they weren't. They merely exchanged greeting words out of politeness. Of course he wasn't his arrogant old Hogwarts self and didn't insult her every chance he got anymore but their "relationship" didn't go any further. He ignored her most of the time. And that was fine by her. She had no interest whatsoever in befriending him. But as far as she could remember, he had never looked at her with so much anger. Never.
And that burning flame that seemed to consummate his eyes lifted every hair on her body. If there was one thing everyone in the manor knew very well it was never to anger him. Better yet, to stay clear of him whenever he was madder than usual. Because after witnessing his wrath when he learned of his mother's death, they all knew what he was capable of.
She watched as he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, his already cold face contorting to one more ferocious. As her hand finally reached the knob and realization dawned on her that it was locked, a hiss escaped her dry lips. The air suddenly felt overly charged with aggression as he reopened his eyes. But that wasn't what shocked her.
As his eyes focused on her, the metal-like color they usually held looked like it had melted away, leaving a faint trace of silver slowly disintegrating into the white part of his irises. And behind them, anger burned, in a raw manner that made her feel like a miserable prey haunted by the deadliest animal on earth. He almost looked possessed.
Unbeknownst to her, she stepped back closer to the door if possible, trying her best to mold into it, praying absurdly to become invisible. But one minute, she was all the way across the room and the next, her body was being forcefully dragged closer to him even before she faintly heard him mutter the spell.
Her muscles cringed in pain as she fought the pull he was exerting on her. Soon enough, despite all the might she put into resisting, she was a few feet away from him. And up close, he looked like the personification of terror.
His lips twitched with disgust and mockery as he saw the look of panic that flew across her face when he closed the distance between them.
Still unable to move, Hermione stood there, her brain desperately looking for a solution of escape.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of your intrusion Granger?" he asked quietly, making a move to cross his arms over his chest only to quickly drop them back down along his body with a wince.
And just then, Hermione's eyes fell upon the fresh tattoo running down his left forearm. The snake that had been imprinted there probably mere hours earlier moved slowly between his pores, as if looking for an escape as well.
How ironic, she would've thought if she wasn't completely dumbfounded.
"You got the mark…" she managed to whisper, her voice sounding more like Harry's than her own.
"How attentive you are…" he spat, "maybe you deserve a special place in the afterlife for your keen observations!"
She cringed, getting the meaning of his words. Fear sprang behind her eyes, but when she spoke, it was with determination:
"I'm not scared of you Malfoy. You won't hurt me."
And with that, she crossed her arms over her chest, although unsure of her previous statement.
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Out of nowhere, a slash of pain cut through his arm. The mark, was his one and only explanation.
He had gotten it 4 hours ago and it still burned achingly.
He was angry at the world. His father, his mother, Voldemort, Potter… But most of all, he was angry at Hermione Granger.
How dare she come in his room and invade his privacy? How dare she walk in here and take a bit of his anger away from him with every minute she stayed?
He liked being angry. It reminded him that his mother was dead. It reminded him he was a double agent for the Order. It reminded him of his hate for his father.
It was that rage, above all, that kept him alive. He fed from it every day, getting in it the strength to fight against Voldemort and alongside people he didn't like. It was the only thing that gave meaning to his life.
And yet, she had waltzed into his room and had taken it away from him.
He hated her.
He hated the fact that she was ridiculously smart. He hated the fact that she cared just about everyone. He hated that she never cared about him.
She was a great friend from what he could see from her relationship with Potter and Weslaid. And he hated that also.
He loathed that aside from her late fatigue, she was always full of life when he was dead inside. She could laugh at about just anything, and he couldn't.
But what he detested the most was that he had been taught from a young age to despise the likes of her… the mudbloods.
Had that not been the case then maybe, just maybe…
With fury, he pushed those silly thoughts away from his mind.
He hated her. It was as simple as that.
Not because she was a mudblood. He really didn't care about that nonsense any longer.
No, he hated her because she was the personification of all the things he always wanted to be.
Another slash of pain sent shivers down his spine as he glared at her. His hands balled into fists, the blood visibly pumping angrily through the veins that drew clearly under his skin.
"Let me see it…" she whispered, her voice so faint he wasn't even sure she had really spoken.
Shock registered in his eyes as he heard her voice echo around the room. Still, he didn't budge, pushing away those too many killing thoughts singing in the back of his head.
"Let me see it…" she reiterated softly, her eyes clinging to his in a demanding manor.
"You'd do well to leave Granger, before I snap your head in half" he scowled after a few minutes.
As if disappointed, she shook her head slowly, her eyes dropping back to his arm.
And out of nowhere, she reached for it, extending her hand ever so slowly to finally circle her thin fingers around his wrist.
A hiss of horror escaped his lips involuntarily as he finally realized she had brought his arm to her eyes for examination. She looked at it for what seemed to be a long time but for the love of everything he held dear, he could not find the strength to pull his arm away from her and throw her out of his room with half a life left.
Frozen as he was, he stood there, looking down at her with bewilderment, unable to understand what was happening.
As if standing outside of his body, he watched her release his arm and disappear behind him. His arm still in the same position, his brows furrowed in confusion, he saw her come back in front of him a moment later with a towel seemingly wet.
With much precaution, she took his right hand and pulled him to the couch where she instructed that he sat.
And without protest, he did as he was told, his left arm still extended in front of him. Bringing the towel to his fresh mark, she deposited it carefully on his arm, never bringing her eyes to meet his.
"Am I hurting you?" she asked in a murmur.
He willed his mind to snap back to reality and send her crawling outside his room in pain but instead, his head shook slowly as an answer to her question.
She sat on the coffee table in front of him, still moving the cold towel softly against his skin.
"You play the piano very well… I'd never heard anything quite as beautiful as the piece you executed earlier…"
Her voice was soft, shaking just a slight bit. And Merlin help him, it comforted him, taking a bit more of his anger away with every passing second. And the pain in his arm followed suit, reducing with every stroke of the towel.
At least a good hour passed between her going to the bathroom to dampen the towel with fresh cold water and coming back to care for him.
He really didn't understand what was going on, his mind racing painfully over the fact that he was letting Hermione Granger within a few inches of his personal space. So much so that she was touching him.
A grimace distorted his features as he watched her work the towel over his arm… The arm with the deatheater's mark on it.
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After one more round to the bathroom, Hermione came back, yawning to the point that her jaw could've easily touched the floor.
"Keep this on for a while longer… If in the middle of the night it starts hurting, just wet the towel again and do what I've been doing and you should feel better…" she said, stifling one more yawn.
She got up from the table, looking down at him. He looked puzzled, lost and completely out of it. His eyes fixed on an object of his choice, he seemed to be oblivious to her presence.
Sighing, she moved slowly to the door, finally ready to let the angel of sleep take her away to a surreal land of nothingness.
Her hand on the knob, she turned one more time to see him in the exact same position.
"I'm sorry you had to get the mark Malfoy…" she said softly.
As he seemed to ignore her completely, she sighed once more and exited the room.
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So Munchkins?
What are we thinking? Yuck? Ewww? What did she write that for? Where did she learn how to write? Awww it was cute? Hum interesting?
Well whatever you decide, I just want to have your most sincere opinion of the story so leave me a review and let me know if I should post the next chapters or not!
Kisses,
MrsMalfoyy.