Draco & Hermione: Fall To Black and Fade
Two Lovers embark on a journey destined for damnation. Love is the drug which overcomes all pain, which masks the façade of loneliness.
"In the harmony of death, came forth a truth, a realization of rebirth. A new beginning sparked through the community in the Great Hall."
Chapter One
When The Tree Hung In
This is my first time writing an angst and tragic story. I am usually all for fluff so I am totally out of my element here. Still, I'd appreciate your comments and your reads and giving me a chance at this kind of stories. It just came to my mind last night when I was listening to Damien Rice's CD, 9. The two songs which inspired this story were 9 crimes and The Animals Were Gone both by Damien Rice on his CD 9. Also Balcony Scene by Craig Armstrong, and also Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. I don't have much talent in writing songs but the song touched me so much I adapted it and tried my best to switch the lyrics to fit into this story. Please don't sue me!! It's great if you happen to have the songs which I mentioned and read this story as you listen to it. Please, please tell me what you think. I'd like very much to improve on my writing.
"Stop staring at me."
"Staring at who?"
"Me. Malfoy. Stop staring!"
He could irritate me so easily. There were times where I felt like punching him right in the nose. Again. It would have been fun to see his nose bleed.
I asked him if he wanted to go through the script again. He shook his head. He said no way in hell was he reading that shit again with me, he was tired and wanted a rest.
I poked him curiously around his arms. I saw his eyebrows furrow and whack my fingers away as though I were some bothersome little pest, hovering around his pale smooth skin, threatening to blot his flawless forearm.
I could not help the barely-visible smile which formed involuntarily. As I turned my head to look away to the ceiling, the soft sunlight danced through our window panes, illuminating a small area near the chair.
The chair had been sent to Draco by Narcissa, Draco's mother. It was stitched with fairy green cloth. I don't remember what the material was exactly, but I recall the feel of it. When I run my fingers past it, it feels soft, rough-silky. It has a satin finish to it. Yes. Perhaps it is satin? Strange how when you close your eyes and concentrate hard on a certain item you wish to resurface in your mind, you can feel the texture.
I feel my index finger and thumb rubbing against each other, relishing the chair's upholstery. This friction causes my palms to sweat. I am prone to having sweaty palms.
Waves rush over my skin.
It feels so familiar. What's that? Wha'? Wha'?
It's satin which tastes like peaches and cream, peaches from Mr. Botts and cream from one of those aerosol cans which Draco bought the day before from Hogsmede.
"Do you like that? Do you, Hermione…" he barely gasped my name. His slick thrusts were quickly sending me to the edge.
"Yes…" I could feel my eyebrows arching upwards as he hit some sensitive spot which I never knew existed. I heard myself give a sharp moan of frustration. My hands grabbed a fistful of the peach satin, cramming it into my own mouth along with my fingers. I bit down, as I exhaled, I could feel my breath getting shallower.
My body jerked up with his rhythmically, both of us in complete sync. There was cream silk under my back; it followed my shoulders up and down, up and down.
We smoked in the afternoons after our romps. The peaches between my legs, the silk on his shaft.
He was the one who taught me to smoke. I remember my first puff. It was grey. Like his eyes, smoldering and addictive. It felt right as it went down my throat. I did not choke up. Just a little cough here and there.
I nudged my backside close to his silk, he took my messy braids and sprawled them across his chest. I laid my head on his chest. I turned my face to look at him squarely in the eye. I asked him if it tickled, he nodded, took my mouth in his and licked my tongue. I felt weak whenever he kissed me, but my smoke still lay firm between my index and middle finger. He said he wanted to taste my smoke. He said no two smokes taste alike.
We spent the rest of the night tasting each other's smoke.
He was bullshit-ing me. I did not detect anything different about our smokes.
He painted.
The asshole never told me he painted. If I did not find his stash of drawings, I would never have found out. I screamed and threw things at him. He caught some projectile easily but missed some.
Later on when I cooled my jets, I plastered his afflictions.
"Fuck you." He was angry at me.
"You want to don't you."
Silence always meant consent. It did not happen though. We don't spoil tender moments like that with tantric sex.
I told him he was starting to look like Harry. He swatted my hand away from the slight gash at his forehead. He ruffled his hair to cover the cut. He smirked. He asked me why I was so angry at him for keeping that secret from me.
I told him it was important we knew everything about each other before the sixth of July. He nodded cynically.
"Smoke?"
There were times when we were the occasional normal, happy couple. I hated those times though, only because it gave me false hope. I was thinking of babies, licorice and basinets. He was thinking of sex, sex and more sex. So we basically fantasized of the same thing.
The best time when we were together was when he sang a song for me.
I was wearing my favourite light brown silk blouse dress and patchwork scarf around my neck. The weather was fine, not too cold, but not warm enough for us to venture out too far out into the forest. I remember he said he liked my pink leg warmers. When he said it, light puffs of cold smoke came out from his mouth and our nostrils as we breathed. That was how cold it still was.
Maybe love warmed us up. I don't know.
Heck, he wore his usual get-up, but when he played, everything changed.
It was a wooden guitar. I teased him about his recently roughened fingertips which had developed since his new hobby took a place in his heart. He smirked again.
A pained expression was in his eyes. We both look more aged than we had ever been. As he prepared for his song, I noticed he had let some stubble grow on his chin and upper-lip. My hair was drier than usual. I used the scarf to hide the tips.
Who knew sweet melody could emit from a Malfoy. Not me for sure. He surprised me.
As he played the chorus melody first, he said he dedicated this to me. I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I swore I felt my them brighten through the water.
When The Tree Hung In
Opened my eyes, realized the tree was hanging in,
Braches hung over me like the morning.
You said "Let's have a romp."
We made love through my dump.
I saw you hanging over my chair,
Like a rag doll, with lousy hair.
When you danced on my bed,
Your light came through, in my head.
You're my gunshot,
You're my poison,
You cause me, deadly intoxication.
I love your empty boxes, your quirky unquenchable thirst.
I love your second toe, that's bigger than the first.
Oh, I see I've corrupted you,
But I know I love you,
So please let down your hair.
And being without you,
Is like reading a book full of poo.
The clock reminds us our time may soon be gone.
We could live in a house, fill it with encyclopedias,
Making babies and having your charred sausages.
I've been a liar and I've been a cruel fool,
But baby, I'm glad we broke the rules.
Our cavern is deep and dark,
We shut our lids, but we still see me and you.
Oh, I see I've corrupted you,
But I know I love you,
So please let down your hair.
And being without you,
Is like reading a book full of poo.
If I fall without you, I don't want to wake up,
'Cause waking without you, is like drinking from an empty cup.
I love you…
He made me cry hard that day. We both cried hard.
Harry and Ron hated me for seeing Draco Malfoy. The whole school was against it. Mcgonagall, Snape, Dumbledore. Everyone who knew us personally, ganged up together for once, to try to break apart what could have been the start of true unity between the haters and the hated.
They threatened to end the "Golden Trio".
I pretended to care.
So they would not catch on.
They threatened to tell Lucius.
He pretended to care.
So they would not catch on.
The Mid-Year Festivals were always well anticipated. Draco and I had been set to play Romeo and Juliet, the famous muggle story told by the famous Shakespeare, since the start of the year, long before anyone knew we had been in love, even before we had known it ourselves.
We did not have time to produce the entire play. The chosen act was the last one, when Romeo and Juliet died.
Everyone was excited of course. I can still hear the buzz of talking, drinking and laughter behind the curtains. Our scene is almost up. I remember how I felt when the curtains rose and we started our lines.
At first, my tongue felt like sandpaper, dry and scratchy. The words were drilled into my head a million times before. He was more confident than I was.
"my intents are savage-wild/More fierce and more inexorable far/Than empty tigers or the roaring sea"
I recognized this line to be the one which marked the beginning of the end of our scene.
I could feel bile rising in my throat.
No Draco. No.
"I still will stay with thee;/And never from this palace of dim night/Depart again"
His voice is shaky and cracking as he utters those words.
Boom, Boom, Boom.
The drums sounded for effect in the last scene.
I feel sick to my stomach, but I force myself to keep still on the stone.
Then, Draco does something unexpected. He looks and speaks to the crowd. I feel my tears brimming my lids.
Boom.
"Here, here will I remain / With worms that are thy chamber-maids"
Boom.
"O, here / Will I set up my everlasting rest, / And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars / From this world-wearied flesh"
Boom.
A sob nearly escapes me. I am trembling. Trembling with desperation, I want to jump up, lock my arms around Draco, and shield him. Run away, elope. Everything is possible with love!
No, not with the death eaters outside, this very moment, with instructions to kill Draco if we do not break up tonight, this keeps my limbs locked, my fists balled in anger.
Boom.
The final beat.
I hear the soft gurgling sound of liquid down a man's throat. The sound magnifies into my ears a hundred fold. I heave slowly, urging my heart not to break just yet.
I hear Draco's soft strumming on his guitar.
It's sweet. For a while, it is all I hear.
"Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you / The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss / A dateless bargain to engrossing death!"
You're my gunshot,
You're my poison,
You cause me, deadly intoxication.
Draco lays down beside me to accordance in the play. I feel his shaking fingertips grasp my hand for a fleeting moment. But we do not touch, we do not break.
Our resolve is firm.
"Here's to my love!"
"O true apothecary! / Thy drugs are quick"
I hear Draco mutter the last sentence straggly as the drug takes its effects. It seems so real, more real than they think. I hate the audience. They mock us with their attention.
"Thus with a kiss I die."
I feel tears pour freely past my cheeks. I feel Draco's head sink further into the hollow of my chest. Heavier than usual, just like when he sometimes falls asleep on my chest.
When Luna steps in as the Friar, I know I must be numb. I feel floatingly calm. I cannot feel my hands or feet.
"O comfortable friar, where is my lord? / I do remember well where I should be, / And there I am. Where is my Romeo?"
I must be almost delirious. As I say that line, I look around; truly, truly, TRULY! searching for my Draco, hope viciously sparked and tore into my heart.
I never prepared for the hard, sharp spear of sadness which pierced my heart when I saw him lying on the stone beside me.
It felt so real.
I realized now how convincing our acting must have been to those sick fools watching us.
Bastards.
"O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop / To help me after?"
In my eyes now, there is only me and Draco. No stage. No school. No Great Hall. Just me, and my lover.
"I will kiss thy lips; / Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, / To make me die with a restorative"
Restorative. Restore me with Draco, please. I send a silent urgent prayer to whoever is listening to our story. I hear the song Draco sings to me.
"Then I'll be brief"
I've been a liar and I've been a cruel fool,
But baby, I'm glad we broke the rules.
My hand. The dagger. How sharp, it gleams in the stage lights.
"O happy dagger! / This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die"
Our cavern is deep and dark,
We shut our lids, but we still see me and you.
I thrust the dagger into my heart. Intense pain overfills me. It overcomes my heart's pain for a while. I am gasping for breath, an involuntary reflex. I crawl to Draco's side, I feel warm blood trickle down relentlessly, down my hand, down my breasts. Staining the stone upon where we are laid. Where Draco is, his face is pale and peaceful.
I smile as I lay on his chest. The play is forgotten from my mind.
If I fall without you, I don't want to wake up,
'Cause waking without you, is like drinking from an empty cup.
I hear someone screaming for Madam Pormfrey and some other distracting noises.
How utterly, utterly annoying.
"Don't worry my love; don't let them worry us anymore. The deed is done baby. Let's fall to black and fade." I chuckle at my poetic-ness.
"You're right honey," I continue with my last breath, "they are noisy bastards."
My eyelids are heavy. "I love you Draco. Forever."
We are epic.
Fin