Second Chances, a harry potter fanfic

Second Chances

...

Summary:She was tired and weary, firewhiskey swirling in her veins. The ache between her legs magnified when she fell into bed. The cacophony of gasps and moans stuck her. And that night, Hermione Malfoy fell asleep to the sound of her husband making love to another woman.

...

Type:Songfic, One-Shot

Rating:M for language and content

Date:30thJune 2012 to 4thJuly 2012

Song: Second Chances by Paper Route

….

…

"A broken heart bleeds tears,"

~ Steve Marboli

…

Bleed-

i need your blood,

bleed-

i have to see you dying,

bleed-

i must rip you to pieces,

bleed-

i could let you be free,

but

your wounds need to be opened once more,

and when we pick at the scars,

over and over again,

we BLEED.

The Night Before

He came into the room like a shadow, wearing only his boxers and her heart beat so loud in her chest that she was sure it would explode and lodge itself in the ground. His chest was well formed and his hair were slightly wet. His eyes glittered like steel in the darkness, predatory and empty as he crept forward. She lay on the bed, clenching her fists and shutting her eyes so she could block it all away. The sheets were sticky with sweat and her mouth was dry with fear. What would he do? How would they do it? Why did they have to do it? Because she had to bear the Malfoy heir and what not. Narcissa Malfoy had made the message very clear. Hermione felt desperate and when his gaze locked with hers, the breath left her.

"We don't have to do this..." she said quietly, and her voice trembled as she trailed off, lying very still as he closed in upon her.

"We've no choice. My mother will know if we don't fuck. She'll probably cast a spell on you and check, Granger," he said coolly and she flinched at the bleak word he put in the sentence, her body cold with apprehension.

"I don't...know..." she flushed and swallowed before continuing, "..how to...do it," Properly, anyway, she thought to herself. I've only ever been raped, you know...she said internally.

"Take off the gown and I'll do what needs doing," he replied coolly, sitting on the edge of the bed, his molten eyes taking her creamy skin in as she attacked the cords with trembling fingers.

His hands came and gripped hers, instilling warmth in her cold fingers as he took them away. He took the cords in his own hands and began to undo them, the look on his face concentrated and empty. He didn't look like he cared. She did. When his calloused fingertips grazed her skin, her body arched at it's own accord and her breathing came as shallow and broken. His surprised eyes flew to hers and the world shattered. He looked away and pulled the gown off, exposing her satin skin to the chilled air. He pushed her back down, none too gently, before pulling off his boxers. It was hard to see his member in the darkness and she looked to her side, burying her cheek in the silk sheets. It was better to pretend that this meant nothing that to try and understand what it meant at all.

He parted her legs to accommodate himself between them and his shadowed eyes looked at her that was creased with turmoil. Her long, golden eyelashes fluttered with little movement and her satin skin was slick with perspiration. Her body was alight whenever he touched her and he avoided that. He didn't want to touch her and feel the reality of their actions. He wanted to believe that it meant nothing. His member was rock hard- that's what she did to him but he thanked the dark shadows around them. She wouldn't know.

Anything.

"Right...this might hurt," his warning was cold, as if he were conducting a little experiment or something.

He pushed himself into her slowly and the primal sound that threatened to spill was crushed inside his throat. She was so tight. So fucking tight and hot and wet. A virgin, really or that's what he assumed anyway. Her scream was there, loud and clear in his ears. She was in pain and he couldn't wait to move. His whole body was clenched in tight control and her nails dig into his back, drawing blood and leaving half-moons. It hurt to be inside her. God. Fuck. She felt so good. He squeezed his eyes shut so she could see no emotions in them and let her adjust.

She wriggled her hips, whimpering. It hurt and it hurt bad. Sure, a man had thrust into her before but that time hadn't been pretty- it had been reminded her of the time when that thick, hairy, bulky man has pushed past her barrier and if it hadn't been for Harry...then..she would..be...This was like a nightmare and the tears fell down her cheeks, unnoticed. God, why? Why? She wanted it to be special..but this was...this was not.

He lost control.

"Fuck," he hissed hoarsely as he pulled himself out of her tight opening, ignoring the pain that shot through his shoulders, down his back, right down to his toes.

The thrusts became faster and her whimpers of pain and gasps of dizzying pleasure drove him insane. He wanted to die inside her- live there forever and ever. He fit so perfectly inside her and her walls clenched him so tightly. If he had opened his eyes, he would have seen her face, slack with tears and desire and pain and pleasure and her brown eyes drowning in clouded lust and muddied pain. He would have seen how she bit her lip to hold back her sound of ecstasy and how she wrinkled her nose when his member hit that spot which increased the heat in her stomach. Something hard coiled inside her and she held onto him for dear life, too lost to care for feelings. Only wanting release.

"Please...please...please," she whimpered against his neck when his head fell into the crook of her neck and his hot breath raised goosebumps on her skin.

"Fuck you...Hermione," her name was thick and hot on his tongue and tasting it was like an addiction.

His thrusts were fast and primal and sporadic as he moved faster, his member hard.

And then, the tension snapped.

She screamed his name when her juices spilt all around him and in a few thrusts, he was spent.

The colours were blinding and the flashes were great. She lay there, panting, her hands resting on his back. His bare chest was pressed against her pebbled nipples, igniting flames within him. His lips rested against her neck and he pretended that the hair across his neck was coppery brown and she pretended that the hand on her hip was slender and calloused from years of fighting.

Immediately, he pulled himself out of her and stood up, wobbling. He didn't look at her even once.

He dressed silently and met her gaze, emotionless and cold.

"Goodnight," he muttered formally before leaving.

The ache between her legs was loud and the cool in the air was painful. She felt broken. He was gone- the soiled sheets the only sign that he had ever been here with her, inside her, holding her. Now, he was nothing but...a dream.

They were nothing- she was nothing. This whole night was nothing. It meant zilch. Yes, it meant nothing.

She wept herself to oblivion.

She turned in those pallid sheets, restless and cold as if the warmth of the sun did not touch her broken skin and the pores did not suck in the comfort they wanted. They turned again; her face contorted with discomfort and anger as her small fingers gripped slippery, white sheets amongst themselves and curdling sweat with unbidden desperation.

With a jerk and a soft grunt; she woke.

The room was dappled in soft sunlight and the morning blossomed with all the perfection it could possess on such a beautiful day. She let out a quivering breath she hadn't realized herself to be holding and let her body ease its way out of the tangle of satin sheets, sweat, faded screams and blood, her cold feet landing on hot stone. They burned each inch of it as they tread lightly across the stone floor until they touched the cool smoothness of the glass door which held the World at bay. She always slept naked; she felt free and unused when the poison air touched her filthy skin; she felt real when the ice cold water rippled down her chest, between her legs, washing him away; she felt herself in her nakedness because no clothes covered her, hid her, filled her. She was just herself.

She-unhurriedly and reluctantly- picked up the black, flimsy dressing gown and slid her aching arms into the soft, soft sleeves. With little haste, she took the cords and tied a loose knot across her flat stomach, her finger matted with her own blood. Oblivious to the crimson stains on her fingertips and resonating ache between her legs, she slid open the glass door, smearing brass with ruby.

She didn't notice the single tear slip down her cheek.

...

…..

…

thud.

my heart beats so hard..

aching to be yours..

thud.

falls my body each time…

you push me away…

thud.

clatter the pieces of my existence…

when you deny me reality.

thud.

are your footsteps on the shadows…

as you walk away..

thud

thud.

…

…..

…

….

…

….

…

He moved with the litheness of a panther, his long legs carrying him across to the shower cubicle, his feet shuddering from the cool of the marble. He didn't look at himself in the mirror to know he was Shit personified; he could feel it deep down inside until the very depths of his frozen soul; his hand spun with the feeling of it, his arms throbbed, his mouth dried and he knew. (Like he knew most things)

He stood in front of the shower door, his cool hand on a cooler, silver handle; grey, endless eyes staring into resembling reflections in the glass. The slight chill in the air pervaded the barrier of warmth he had himself wrapped in and felt its way to his bones, embedding itself into the fibres of the skeleton which held his body up. His back was covered in her nail marks, the pain as raw and as fresh as this bitter morning and his ears echoed with the sound of her desperate, anguished screams and though he denied it to himself, he felt a little perturbed by how troubled he felt about the act he'd committed. With a non-committal shrug of well-defined, broad shoulders, he found himself redeemed of crime and guilt.

Satisfied, he opened the cubicle door and stepped in, peppered with sweat and nightmares- though he no longer screamed, those dreams still evaded his conscience and made his sanity teeter on the edge of inevitable demise. His slender fingers turned the Muggle dials with faint disgust and the steam engulfed his nakedness into oblivion. He let himself burn. Would Hell feel like this? Would its Fire burn him in this perverse way? Would the smoke fill his existence until he was nothing but air? Or would he be nothing but ashes anyway?

The papyrus of his skin burned with heat and the fibres of his being collected the warmth. The water eased the memory of her from his skin and he hummed in satisfaction.

He did notice- or if he did, he ignored the blood that ran down his back.

…

…..

…

….

Can you place yourself in a moment's notice,

In my situation?

III

They sat opposite one another, the distance of a large, ten feet table between them. The breakfast was laid out- as per usual- in expensive, traditional Malfoy silverware, steaming hot and deliciously fresh. The heavy, velvet drapes were drawn to let the golden sunlight enter through the polished, French windows and lighten the room with its radiance. The Hall was large and the fireplace burned with a subtle fire because even the mornings in the Malfoy Manor were freezing despite the summer raging outside. The sausages sizzled in their serving plates, he freshly baked bread piping in its basket, the baked beans lay untouched in a pot, the pancakes were few on the white plate, the orange juice was halved in its jug and the coffee steamed in its pot.

He did not think of hercompulsion.

She did not think ofhis compulsion.

They did not empathise with each other; they barely even conversed.

They could not find themselves in each other's situation.

They did not want to.

So when conflicted grey eyes rose up from the Daily Prophet to meet copper ones, it was no surprise that she spilt juice onto her black dressing gown. Those conflicted orbs burned with hatred but they kept the façade up.

Like every other day. But this day, she knew, was different.

"Why are you wearing a flimsy gown to breakfast?" he asked coolly.

Determined not to be put down, she sipped her orange juice slowly.

"You've never minded before," she said calmly, not even worried by the brief flash of anger in his eyes.

"Malfoys never wear nightclothes to this table," he snapped irritably, himself dressed in a crisp, white shirt and ironed black trousers.

She felt like spitting on his face and leaving, never to come back.

Instead, she swallowed.

"Very well. I'll go and change, darling," she said as demurely as it could be said.

She rose as if to leave but with one look, he had her fixed to the chair.

"I wasn't done," he said coldly, eyes flashing dangerously.

She picked at the bread in her plate, not hungry but only bored.

"I didn't realize. Please continue," she said calmly, her eyes fixed on the food she never wanted in the first place.

"We are going to Blaise's house tonight. He's hosting dinner in my honour. Our honour,"

"We?"

"Yes. We will be going; you are my wife and it is your place,"

"It will be you talking and me smiling, yes?"

"It will be us representing my family name,"

"It will be boring,"

"You have no choice in the matter. Just try and look human,"

"As human as a Mud-blood can look,"

"You will not use that term in my house,"

"You used it for seven years. I never objected,"

"If you don't shut up, I'll find a way to make you,"

"Don't you dare touch me, Malfoy. I would rather burn in Hell, than spend another night with you in a bed,"

"You will not speak like that to me,"

"You will not touch me ever again; Malfoy or I'll kill you. I swear to it."

"Don't flatter yourself. I had to consummate our marriage and now that it is done, don't delude yourself by thinking-or even entertaining the idea that I want you because I don't. This is all a lie and you'd better learn to live with it, Granger, "he finished coldly, his jaw clenched hard and a muscle ticking in his forehead.

He pushed himself back, rose from the table and stormed out.

She sat there for a long time, her fingers latched together ever so tightly, her knuckles whitening impossibly until she was certain the circulation of blood had stopped completely. She swallowed the bile in her dry throat and made an attempt to calm herself so her voice did not tremble when she shouted for the house elves.

They came quickly, quietly, eyes on the ground and trays in hand.

She found herself walking up the stairway with the stain of his words impressed on her weary mind. The large entry Hall was empty. She looked at everything with dead eyes and a blank face. She did not hurry. There were some things her pride would not allow her to do. So it was a grave, silent walk to her room and upon entering, she cast a Sound-Proof spell over the small, bare space with a swift muttering of calloused words.

Thundering, heavy sobs echoed in her ears.

She cried and cried with greet, heaving sobs, her broken, filthy body shaking with the effort of controlling herself. The tears were like a torrential downpour, scarring her cool skin with with their heat as they hurried, dripping down her jaw, smoothly over the skin of her neck until they disappeared into the neckline of her gown. She practically broke apart with the force of her grief and she wondered why Malfoy had chosen to consummate the marriage so late. Perhaps Narcissa had found out that he did not touch her and she had forced her son to complete the task. Her sobs grew louder and more hysterical, too oblivious of the blood running down her wrists from the wounds her nails caused by digging into her palms. The pain was too far away from her reality for her to worry and she cried some more.

Harry and Ron had been so horrified...so heartbroken when they had heard. Their faces had been imprinted in her mind for so...so long and now, as she wept, those expressions conjured themselves up until her sobs turned into wails- she screamed like a banshee, a slow, lingering madness taking over her until all she saw was Ron's horrified face and Harry's pity. The oxygen left her slowly and the tears fell slower and her voice amplified into a loud, loud wail-like scream that dragged on and on. Everything inside her broke.

She cried until she could cry no more. Until she was dry and deprived like the desert, devoid of all pain and tears. Until Malfoy's words were merely whispers in her head. Until her voice died inside her throat as if a flame put out and her tears evaporated into air.

She cried until she was empty.

She sat, then on the bed, rocking herself back and forth

Dead, dead eyes looked into nothing.

A dry voice haunted a drier throat.

The bed was soaked in her tears.

he moved forward and back swiftly as if trying to steady herself.

Another, last, echoing scream left her chapped lips.

She didn't pick at the weeping pieces about her.

She didn't see the blood covering her hands.

She saw nothing.

Nothing at all.

...

Increasingly you've made me cold and afraid;

a lonely companion...

She looked at her reflection with indifference as if nothing could interest her; not after all that she'd been through and she'd been feeling for the past year. Anyone would have left. But she would not be able to do that. She was not anyone and her pride asked a lot from her. She did, however, deep down inside like the seductively elegant dress her body was encased in. It was a deep auburn colour, a tad crimson in certain lights but more like the colour of fie. It had a high, curved neckline, stretching from her left shoulder to her right effortlessly and the silk hugged her torso, sticking to the curve of her waist, tapering into narrow, slender hips before blooming like a flower, endless and smooth. It tailed behind her and pooled around her feet. Her chestnut-gold hair were open and in their natural, tamed curls as they onto her bare shoulders. No make-up adorned her face and yet, she looked good. Her ivory neck was bare as were her ears, the only piece of jewellery on her right hand's finger; her wedding ring. It was simple; gold with a crimson garnet in the middle.

Malfoy had good taste in rings. And in gems. The garnet, he told her once in one of their few conversations as human beings, that the garnet was the sign of him.

Her bare back felt the twinge of the cold in the summer air and the cold dripped down to where her dress began, just above her rear, in line with the dip of her hips. She turned with the soft rustling of the auburn dress and glide over the stone floor, this time, her feet did not burn because of the flats protecting the sensitive skin. Like a mute feline animal, she moved swiftly to the door, letting her throat dry further into a desert and suddenly in all he emptiness, she felt terrified. This was the first time she would leave the dreary, heartbroken Malfoy Manor to meet anyone. Especially because most of them would be ex-Death Eaters which would make her the target for so many there. She fretted because she suspected that her social skills would fail her miserably. She hadn't spoken to anyone save the Malfoys and the house elves and the empty walls only to hear her voice resonate back like a pitiful whisper of pain and desperation.

When she met her husband at the bottom of the steps, he said nothing.

Placid her grey eyes met hers as they Apparated away.

In a flurry of clouds and depression, she was sure of the fact that he'd killed everything within her. In one year, he'd taken all that was warm and incredible and fearless inside her and turned her into this cold and fearful being who was dry and sore and empty. Slowly but surely, his shadow had cast itself over her and she was entitled for doom. Hermione Malfoy only hoped she'd live through it.

...

pinch me,

i want to feel pain and know,

i am real,

slap me

i want to feel pain and know,

i am here,

kick me,

i want blood streaming down,

my face,

wound me,

i want a heart choked to

pieces,

fight me,

i want to scream until i have

no voice,

scar me,

with blades and words,

and cold ice,

and empty promise,

and cursed spells,

until i am

MARKED.

...

Apparently love runs on one-way courses,

away from contentment...

"You look darling in that dress. Where did you find it?" Astoria Greengrass asked ever so sweetly, her cool eyes searing into brown, dead ones.

Hermione forced something that resembled a smile onto her aching face.

"Thank you. Draco bought it for me," she replied sweetly, even his name tasting like bitter poison on her tongue which made it harder for her to sound happy.

Astoria gave her a surprisingly comforting smile.

"Draco is difficult," she said softly, a hint of frustration evident in her smooth voice.

"I don't understand," Hermione said quietly, letting her gaze slip away because she understood, she understood all too well but she did not want to.

A smooth, war hand grabbed her arm.

"I think you do, Hermione. You are no fool. He's cruel,"

"He doesn't look cruel beside Pansy," came her snappy reply and Astoria followed her gaze to where Malfoy stood, his arm wrapped around Pansy's thin waist.

"He's difficult,"

"He's a whore, Astoria,"

"Give him a chance,"

"A chance? Are you kidding me? Because that's funny. Last time I checked, he hated me and the feeling is pretty mutual,"

A pause.

"It was messy, wasn't it? He hurt you, didn't he? He fucked you like some common slut and then left, didn't he? He was your first, too..." Astoria spoke up, her tone cold with anger and perhaps something like sympathy.

Hermione's head whipped round so quickly that one couldn't have muttered a Silencio in that moment.

Both women regarded each other mutely.

Brown-hazel eyes flickered with fear and a feeling that even Astoria couldn't fathom.

The brunette took a long sip of champagne, swallowing thickly before smirking a sad, hurtful smirk that almost killed Hermione inside- the action, it seemed to her, was impossible in such a situation as one that she was in- and yet, she did it with perfection.

"You're good, Greengrass. Really good; I'll give you that,"

"I don't hate you, Hermione,"

"No-I don't suppose you do. How did you guess?"

"I was one of his conquests and of course, I have my eyes everywhere,"

"You have sources in Malfoy Manor?"

"Everywhere, Hermione," confirmed the tall, sleek Greengrass.

The said witch took another sip of her champagne, surprised to find a Muggle drink her and she shook the curls from her eyes, carefully looking at her Astoria.

Her dead, dead eyes flickered with vindication and trepidation.

"Anything about Harry...or Ron?"

Astoria Greengrass hesitated- a first in her twenty years of living- she actually hesitated.

Then, she cleared her throat.

And then, she downed her wine in one, elegant move.

"They are here," she said thickly and then with a rustle of black damask, she walked away.

BOOM.

That was how hard and loud her heart in her ears. For a moment, she was sure that everyone in the room had heard her heart thumping but she dismissed the idea instantly, cursing her blatant idiocy before downing her champagne completely until her throat buzzed with heat.

Hermione stood in solitude, in her beautiful dress, pondering.

The lights brightened and her solitary confinement felt cool against her skin.

Where were they?

She examined the bright lights that glowed like fireflies on a moonless night. No one seemed interested in her; the beloved of Draco Malfoy. Most of them probably hated her; she fought with the Aurors in the War and put away dozens of Death-Eaters into Azkaban. She hadn't - of course- contemplated their fates. If she did, she was certain she would spew the contents of her stomach onto the marble floor and prove herself to be- in reality- a crazy, perpetually sick muggle witch. They already hated her; need she give them more reasons? No.

No, she really did not want such a dilemma to face.

When a waiter passed by with a tray of fizzing Firewhiskeys, she all but charged him down with the order to leave thirty glasses for her. She had nothing to do, but get drunk anyway. She might as well go for it. When his watery eyes cast her a probing, almost askant look, she scowled and threatened him with one of her death glares. He nodded dumbly and left her to moping with Firewhiskeys. She sighed wearily and picked up a glass for herself and wondered why she had been gifted with the pain of marrying a Malfoy; how had Narcissa survived such a life? She supposed that the older woman had been cut out for such things..for such people but she couldn't be strong, not when her husband flirted with all the women but her and spoke to her as if she were some kind of scum of the earth. It hurt her. It did. She wondered why he asked in the first place when he clearly, no- plainly- liked Pansy much more. She wondered why he always her Granger-almost as if they weren't actually married to one another. That didn't sting. She finished her glass and looked at the ring on her finger with growing, unburdened regret. Her dead, dead eyes traced the glittering garnet with loathing but it was an apt feeling. She hated the ring and looking at it only reminded her of the fact that she was bound to him for the rest of her miserable life.

She felt the monumental force of the decision he'd made and was shocked that the force of hit her...not him; it grounded her to despair and tears. And because she did not want to live like this, she began her desperate Firewhiskey roll.

She was on her twenty-second glass when a voice spoke to her.

"Isn't that a little fast?"

Hermione turned slowly as if reluctant to find the owner of the voice because her head was buzzing, the voice seemed to ricochet in her mind and the world blurred when she moved anything faster than a centimeter a second.

"Harry," she muttered drunkenly, recognizing those turquoise eyes in the bloody haze hanging over her eyes.

"Hermione," he said too loudly, his voice clear and painful.

She grimaced, finishing the glass before grinning like a maniac, crazy and desperate.

"Meeeeeeeesed you...sooo much...sucha drag...." she slurred, stumbling over her own two feet.

He did not help her- nor did her reach out to steady her, but merely blurred like some phantom speed walker in her line of vision.

She steadied herself by grabbing the table by her hip.

"Imma soooooore...loser...All byy masellf...and wwweaaariii...and so...t-

"Should I sober you?" came his distant voice once more.

To her great distress and against her own will, her head nodded while her heart ached for oblivion.

"Sobrietus!"

And then World came back into focus.

She tried to even out her ragged breathing but all she saw Grief...standing before her in the form of Harry Potter.

She cleared her throat and her dead, dead eyes met his reflective ones.

He knew everything was wrong but he did not mention it. Her eyes gave away the whole story away but he couldn't grasp it. Not all of it, anyway. It was like sand in his hand, each grain of it slipping through the gaps between his fingers before he could hold them. It was like water in his fist, trickling slowly out of his grasp until he was left with nothing but the sweet remnants of its moisture on his coarse palm.

He regarded with shrew curiosity and wondered where his best friend had gone and this old woman had replaced her with dead eyes and broken limbs that hung so limply by their side that he would have deemed them useless if he hadn't known that she was fine. Harry knew she had changed- everyone had changed after the War but she...somehow had been scarred in more ways than one and he couldn't remember all the reasons because his memory failed him. Perhaps it was that one time when a Death-Eater had raped her in the darkened woods, and he'd run in on them. Perhaps it was that one time when she was beside Ron and the dead Fred Weasley, holding a cold hand and letting hollow tears slip. Perhaps it was that one time when Harry, himself had shouted at her like a crazy madman because she reminded him of his mother sometimes and yes, she acted like that and it hurt him because he could never have his mother back.

Perhaps it was that one time when Bellatrix had engraved an accursed word onto her pale forearm and shouted and screamed. He couldn't tell. She was hurt in more ways than one. And she had no one to help her through it. Harry had his wife and his children- Ginny loved him and cared and looked after him and that was all that mattered because when he had nightmares, he could hold onto her. Ron had his girlfriend and their newborn child and they had their family. They could vent their rage and pain and live on... But...who did she have?

Draco Malfoy.

Harry realized then, suddenly and abruptly, that both of them- Ron and himself- had never tried to stop her. When she had come to them with the news, they had been shocked and horrified. They had not questioned her actions. They merely played the best friends who never cared and the force of his stupidity hit him like a ton of bricks crushing him and even if he put his arm through the rubble, he wouldn't be pulled out because he was too far in to get out and she was too far along pretending to try and become something else- perhaps, the girl she had been. But he had failed the test of time...

She looked dead.

God- what had Malfoy done to her?

She looked so...so unreal...so grief-stricken that the Light in her eyes had been reduced to a flicker of trembling existence and all that had been young and beautiful was twisted into lurid and servile ugliness which dampened her essence and made her into some frail, broken being.

And where was the git?

How could he let his wife drink ounces of Firewhiskey like some desperate, crazy alcoholic Muggle witch?

His finger-at its own accord and without his assent or bidding- touched her cheek.

She flinched and stepped back, the feel of her calloused, cool skin merely a flitter of something old and something forgotten.

Harry knew her Pain well. He recognized it. Hell, he felt the same thing.

"What did he do to you?" he managed to say coolly though he felt like taking hold of Draco Malfoy and using some Unforgivable curse to hex the bastard into oblivion.

"I think you should go," she replied, her voice nothing but a whisper, her voice nothing but a strangled choke.

He couldn't have been more hurt if she had slapped and now it was turn to flinch, his shoulders twitching with the painful force of her fugacious words.

She couldn't dissemble him- never before had she succeeded and not even now, could she pull it off. She was hurting and she didn't want him there.

So, instead of listening to the voice in his head and shaking her to see the truth, he turned slightly as if to leave but he also muttered a few words.

"We all wanted to come to see you, Hermione, because we only met you at your wedding and then, Draco forbade my visits and said if I were to come, I would be hurt and well, if Ginny came, she would be even more in danger. She's with our children, right now. She really wanted to see you but I needed her to be with them. They wanted to meet you, too, you know? And Ron's with Lavender...she's delivering a baby just now and they both wanted to meet you..but circumstances...I...I did try coming before...but...Blaise allowed me here, tonight...so...I'm sorry, 'Mione," he trailer off lamely, wringing pale hands with paler fingers.

She didn't look at him- she couldn't have managed that. Looking at him would only have worsened his discomfort and hatred and his grief- he would see the friendship sempiternal was only a distant memory of the way that Life had been and now, she was a like penumbra- a half shadow of what she had been. So when he did turn to go, she merely nodded a curt farewell to him and looked up at the ornate ceiling, wishing for a different life.

With a strangled breath, he left. As if he had never been there.

Hermione wanted to hurt like him- feel something so sharp and tangible and real because she lived in an illusion of perfection.

Perhaps, perhaps if she bled hard, bled hard enough, her very existence would be stained crimson...

...

[flashback]

She'd been sitting in the coffee shop for over an hour, sipping her fifth cup of coffee, pulling at the threads of her jumper when a familiar platinum blonde wizard appeared before her.

She nearly screamed. She nearly spilt her coffee.

Her eyes travelled across the table and over his torso to his face.

Storm-grey eyes lined with white-gold lashes looked at her.

She sighed, perplexed.

"Yes, Malfoy?" she asked sombrely-reluctant to be civil to him.

She sipped her coffee slowly, waiting.

A pause.

"Marry me," he hurried swiftly, suddenly, his words sharp and coarse.

She did drop her coffee then.

And yes, she screamed loudly (much to the disapproval of the elderly women seated nearby..), then recklessly found her wand and Apparated away, disregarding the fact that she was still in the Muggle world...

...only to find herself locked in a toilet with Draco Malfoy with her wand in his hand and she wasn't sure how he had managed to pull such a feat off without using some kind of dark magic.

Needles to say, Hermione was terrified and utterly devastated. Was this how low he would stoop to mock her? It sickened her no doubt; the git had no honor, or integrity whatsoever. Her honey eyes noted the changes in him fearfully and his lips curled into a snarl.

"I asked you once. I repeat once more. Marry me, Granger..."

"God-NO! What are you? Sick in the mind? I'd rather die, for the love of God! Whatever gave you the idea of this jo-"

"I don't do jokes. Now, what's your answer?"

"Never, no. Okay? I say no,"

"You know I could do anything, Granger...anything to your precious Pothead and Weasel and those stupid Patel twins and...yeah, Ginny...I could ruin everything, Hermione, in the blink of an eye and their lives wouldn't even exist and you'd have to live with the fact that you were responsible for their demise. I could kill them and you know it," he smirked at the end, his voice brutal and harsh, his eyes cold with winter and his fingers curled into a fist. Noticing her shoulders sink in defeat, he continued..."I could make you all pay for the Great War, end all the perfect lives you live and the pretense you keep up...so, I ask you once more, Hermione, will you marry me?"

She didn't breathe- not properly, anyway.

"Yes...Y-Yes.."

SIX MONTHS LATER

It had been raining for several hours now and she'd been standing beneath the heavens since two in the afternoon. Still, she didn't feel cold enough. It was when she was looking up to a burdened sky, her bare arms spread open and her lips parted that he'd appeared, her darling, beloved fiance.

He stood right there, merely two inches from her- the one time in her life when she had felt that even if he were a centimeter from her, he would never really be hers.

His hair were wet and messy, his face drawn in and his endless eyes held the same iciness as before as they looked into hers, yet she found herself drowning in them, anyway, unable to breathe..and only see.

He spoke up, shattering the spell and she had only counted five blue flecks in his grey eyes before he blinked. And she stepped back.

" I've got your ring, here. Our wedding ceremony will be public,"

She ignored the tingle when he grabbed hold of her cold hand, reinforcing its life with his warmth and forced a brilliant, garnet ring onto her pale ring finger. Instead, she swallowed thickly.

He stepped back and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

She wanted to kiss him..so badly...so badly that she actually took a step forward.

His eyes flew open, cold and resolute, a if he had sensed her need.

"Wear the ring always, Mudblood," there was something remotely scathing about the way he spat the curse out this time.

He turned as if to leave but threw a few careless words over his shoulder to ensure her ordeal.

"Your friends, Potter and Weasley, have been invited,"

She was left wanting and hating in the rain.

"You have no reason to do this, Granger,"

"It's Malfoy, now, my dear husband,"

"You will not leave this house to go and meet Potter,"

"Oh and if I do?"

"I'll hex you,"

"Oh the terror! My darling husband is so scary. I'm shaking,"

"I want you back in your room, Hermione...now,"

"I am not your prisoner,"

"Oh, but you are. If the Death Eaters out there know that Potter is outside the Manor..."

"No...No...you wouldn't dare hurt him,"

"Oh, my beloved, you and I both know I would..."

"Fine, I'll go to the damned room..but he must come to no harm,"

"Noble...and so predictable..."

She snapped then.

With three quick strides, she found herself a centimeter from his taut, tensing body.

Copper-brown met grey-black.

His gaze flew down to her sinuous lips and they parted at their own accord.

Hearts beat fast.

She moved in, and he moved in too, his pupils dilated.

Hot breath fell on cold lips before they touched-colliding against each other.

All of her sanity exploded and he buzzed with electricity.

Unwilling to lose, and just as his fingers came towards her hair, she pulled back, triumphing at the shock and desire on his face. She smirked, feeling cruel.

"How's that for predictable, Malfoy?"

He didn't look at her after that day- not properly anyway, because whenever he did, he never saw her. He saw nothing much.

He didn't sit with her, nor stand beside her.

He didn't visit her.

They had met once before the wedding day.

He had nodded.

She nodded.

He had checked the ring.

She noted how it had shined.

He nodded again.

She nodded back.

He left.

She slept.

They met again at the altar, her with a bouquet of white lilies and him with a bow tie, looking at each other but never seeing.

They took each other's hands, never once feeling anything.

He did not kiss her.

She did not kiss him.

They walked down the aisle, a thousand eyes on them.

She didn't speak.

He didn't speak.

And then, the nightmare began...

[flashback end]

A cool hand on her arm made her flinch before turning herself around to come face to face with Pansy Parkinson.

To her credit, Hermione immediately put Pansy down as beautiful.

She had long, perfectly sleek hair that were blacker than night and yet, unusually thick. Her nose had now become perfect and sleek, holding its place on her translucent face and her lips were full and yet, subdued. Her eyes- though- were by far the most incredible feature on her face. They were a deep indigo (a shade Hermione had never seen before, nor imagined to be in existence...)- a breathtaking shade of the sky in the faint hours of twilight. They were lined with dark, thick lashes which fluttered in every movement they made. Her perfect, womanly body was wrapped in a dark-blue silk dress and a silver locket rested on her ivory collar- Hermione recognized the tainted garnet instantly.

Her throat constricted.

Her head throbbed.

"You look brilliantly lovely in that dress," Pansy said softly, a touch of poison evident in her smooth voice and a malign intent glimmering in those indigo orbs.

"Thank you," she replied as calmly as she could, her voice coming out hoarse and rough as if charred in a fire.

"So, tell me, my dear, how was it?" the raven-haired woman asked, her eyes glinting with a sick, twisted glinted that made Hermione's flip in anticipation.

Hermione looked at her, instead, questioningly.

Pansy sighed as if disappointed in her opponent's skills.

"Oh...you know...the sex," Pansy said gleefully and her face was no longer happy- it was frozen with the intent of trapping a prey.

"I...I..." Hermione could no longer speak, her eyes rooted to the garnet locket on a pale throat.

"Was it good? Let me tell you how it was with me, Hermione,"

The lighter-haired witch tried to speak but her throat was parched. Her fists were clenched and heart was racing like a desperate creature needing salvation from its cage.

"He was so slow and so gentle with his hands. He took forever to kiss every inch of my body...his fingers tracing patterns on my burning skin..."

Hermione's dead eyes burned with hot tears...

but she couldn't speak.

"His tongue found my pulse and his marks lasted a lifetime. His touches were like feathers. And his eyes darkened ever so when I cried out his name. His breath ragged..."

The oxygen left her and the pain which burned...

only raged in her silence.

"And you know, he screamed...he screamed when ecstasy came and our slick bodies moved for eternity, locked so intimately. He lay with me, still inside me and we fell asleep...like lov..."

The words flowed into nothingness...

and the sickness split her heart open.

Hermione staggered, running and falling, her only thoughts to find a place to vomit and let the world go. She was made to be broken. Yes. Yes. Oh God. The sick rose up her throat, burning the dryness inside with a wildness she'd never understand as she burst through the doors and hurled herself into a cubicle and then, she retched.

Her howls were loud but no one was there and she hurled several times, each time more forceful than before until her body felt sore and shattered. Her eyes burned with saltiness which refused to leak and so, she put her arms on the toilet seat and lay her head on top of them, wondering about Pansy and Draco and listening to each crack as her heart fell to pieces.

...

VII

Draco Malfoy was enjoying himself, Firewhiskey in hand and Pansy, once more, by his side as he chatted with a fellow Slytherin. He was charming and he was elegant; he was the Prince of Slytherin, the boy who defied the Dark Lord and the man who had wrapped everyone around his finger, twisted to suit his needs and his desires. He was the first of his kind to marry a Mudblood. He took another sip of the Whiskey and it burned his throat as if the flesh inside was coated in oil. The ring on his finger felt like lead and was so, so cold against his warm skin.

He looked around the room in hopes of spotting the crimson dress his wife wore but to no avail; she was missing. He felt a little uneasy by the fact that he'd spent the evening with every woman but his wife. He ignored the nervousness and sipped his drink.

Then, he turned to to ask Pansy where she had talked to his wife last.

"Pansy, where did you leave my beloved wife?" he asked quietly, his grey eyes searching her indigo orbs.

"Oh...just ov-

"Draco, I need to go home," a sharp voice cut in coldly, a hint of desperation lingering in the throaty sound.

He turned and wince at the unkempt sight of the woman he'd married. She was deathly pale, her eyes were dead with dark shadows hanging below them and were rimmed with red and her whole posture was that of someone who had lost a War. She fixed him with an emotionless gaze.

"What happened to you?" he muttered coldly, before turning to his companions with an apologetic smile and, "Excuse me," he pulled the muggle with him to create a distance between them and the others.

He could feel Pansy's irate gaze carving itself into his back.

His fingers dug into his wife's cold arm, sure to leave marks.

"What thefuck have you done?" he snapped, his stormy eyes searching hers.

"I need to go home. We...need to go home," she replied tonelessly.

Furious, he let go of her, drink in the other hand and his lip curled into a familiar, trademark snarl.

"You go. I'll come home later," he said menacingly.

She didn't spare him a glance as she turned and walked away swiftly.

His eyes followed her as she bid adieu to Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

They watched as she Apparated into nothing.

They lingered on her until she was gone.

...

It was raining when Hermione Malfoy realized that she was in love with Draco Malfoy.

And he did not love her back.

She walked all the way back to Malfoy Manor, barefoot and dry even as the rain hit her like a flood- because the tears refused to come. The road was empty and she cut through the Darkness like a flow of gold and crimson. Her chest felt lonely-empty as if her split heart had been cut open and ripped out and fed to the dogs. She hummed a soft Muggle tune under her laboured breath, her wounded hands yelling in alacrity as the skies wept onto them. Her dress was soaked, torn and smelly. It was like every other passage in a soppy romance novel. It was so cliched. It was like every other scene in a sad, romantic movie. The girl was heartbroken and the boy did not love her and she went home in the rain. It was so cliched, so damned surreal that she would've laughed.

Except this was real. He didn't love her.

It felt like being stabbed over and over through her chest.

This was true.

This was happening to her.

And it was no stupid novel.

Her whole life was coming apart, like her heart.

It was so...so...real.

When she managed to find her way into the Manor, she noticed he had arrived (before her...) because his musk lingered in the empty air and his shoes were at the bottoms of the stairs. She looked at her bloody feet, unwilling to cast a spell on them or herself and instead, she walked the stairs, noticing a woman's pair of shoes on the landing that did not belong to her. Her heart thumped so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her pace increased and she found herself listening...listening...hard. But perhaps some part of her did not want to find out what was really happening and so her bloody feet found their way to her room. She was tired and weary, Firewhiskey swirling in her veins. The ache between her legs magnified when she fell into bed. The cacophony of gasps and moans struck her. And that night, Hermione Malfoy fell asleep to the sound of her husband making love to another woman.

...

Or maybe there's anger that can't be expressed,

that fuels your resentment...

VIII

Breakfast was a hushed affair.

The house elves tended to every need of their new guest, Pansy Parkinson, with zeal and determination. They bid Master a good morning, glanced at their Mistress, noting the danger in her hazel eyes and taking the hint, they left the dining hall. Pansy was wearing a soft, azure dress that enhanced her slim figure and set off those wide, indigo eyes. The garnet on her throat seemed terribly bright, like a big, fat globule of reminder and pain. She ate with all the grace of a lady and she could have put Narcissa Malfoy to shame. Hermione was silent and controlled, her face blank and her eyes glinting (dangerously.). She wore her comfortable black dressing-gown and her hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She didn't wonder why her breakfast tasted like ash and desolation- the reason sat beside her husband.

Draco cut his sausage neatly in half and was about to set the sizzling piece in his mouth when his wife spoke up.

"Please could you pass the juice..." she said quietly, her voice toneless.

Pansy and Draco, both, reached for the jug at the same time.

A smile spilled onto Draco's face, so sudden and abrupt that Hermione (literally.) stopped breathing. His sinuous lips curved upwards and the genuine happiness reached his eyes- she, suddenly, realized something. With he grieved, his eyes were a stormy grey, the exact shade of a sky pregnant with rain and when he smiled, those orbs melted into pools of liquid silver, so tender and so vulnerable. She found-despite everything- herself to be staring. When he smiled, the curtain before her eyes lifted and she saw. Why couldn't he smile ather like that? Why did hesmileat Pansy? And then, as suddenly as it had come, the elusive moment was gone.

Pansy passed her the jug while he went back to eating.

Hermione grit her teeth and poured the juice into her glass.

"What do you say to some shopping? Just you and me? Some girl time?" Pansy spoke up.

Hermione looked up coolly, though she was already searching the other woman's face for the glimmer of the predator she found last night.

Pansy's face was innocent and sincere, her eyes on Hermione's aloof expression.

The young brunette sipped her juice before raising her gaze to meet indigo eyes which seeped with sincerity and-love.

"I don't think it would be proper to visit Hogsmeade with my husband's whore. It would damage the Malfoy reputation," she finally said, her voice holding a deadly, icy calm.

Pansy's lips thinned and knuckles whitened. Her eyes flashed with a furious predator before the indigo slipped back into calm.

For Draco's benefit, thought Hermione. She could feel his eyes drilling holes into her head but her cold rage was fraught with the need to be released.

"That's a fallacious idea, my dear. Draco and I are just good friends. Besides, I am also ma-" Pansy began to say quietly, controlled and moderate.

"Married?" Hermione interuppted. "Oh, Pansy, you and I both know that you have no shame," She sipped her juiced again, slowly. "You are not innocent. What is that garnet on your throat?"

Pansy opened her mouth to speak but once more was cut off.

"Don't you dare say that it's just a gift. Malfoy doesn't do gifts. I know the meaning of the garnet; it's on my bloody ring. So, tell me," she snapped ferociously, enjoying the fear dance in indigo eyes before continuing. "Are you really that innocent, Pansy?"

A terse silence followed.

Dark-grey eyes say on her head as if deducing a price for it, but Hermione did not look his way.

"Nothing happened! Nothing. I just needed some place to stay. Blaise and I keep arguing. I needed to think," Pansy burst out, rising from her seat as her chair toppled over and indignation burned in her gaze.

Hermione sipped her juice patiently and kept her face blank and closed.

"You two were loud enough to be heard by the Ministry,"

Pansy's eyes bulged but she did not look away. Her grip on the glass was tight and her fingers were numb but she did not back down.

"How dare you," Pansy snapped angrily.

"How dare I? How dare you come in here like a guest and fuck my husband in the room beside my own?" Hermione retorted icily.

Pansy colored, her fingers clutching cutlery in an effort to control herself.

But when Hermione raised her brow, the Slytherin girl lost it.

"YOU BLOODY SLUT! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE WITH HIM! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT HIM OR THE FAMILY NAME...OR THE LEGACY HE WILL LEAVE BEHIND. YOU, BITCH! YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS. YOUR WEASLEY LEFT YOU- HE HATES YOU. EVERYONE HATES YOU, YOU CUNT. AS THAT DOES THAT MUGGLE GUY, JAKE AND EVEN THEO NOTT! YOU THINK DRACO CARES ABOUT YOU? NO. HE HATES YOU THE MOST. NO. HE HATES THE VERY AIR YOU BREATHE. YOU BLOODY BITCH!"

Pansy's shrill voice echoed in the Hall.

Hermione's whole body chilled and tears threatened to spill but her pride refused to be submissive. This woman had encroached all of Hermione's sanity and torn everything to pieces.

Malfoy stood up, mouth open to speak when a dead, dead, steely voice resonated in the Dining Hall.

"Leave, Pansy Parkinson. And don't come here, ever again," Hermione said quietly before her hollow eyes met her husband's gaze. "If you need her, you will use her elsewhere. Not here. Not ever. Not near me,"

Malfoy stiffened and words them onto his tongue when spoke, his voice was taut with control and his eyes found Pansy.

"Leave, Pansy," he said so softly that no one would have heard it if it weren't for the silence.

The said woman was sobbing, when she stumbled out of the Hall.

Hermione sipped her juice in a vain effort to infuse calm into her being after hearing all those...foul things. Her numb hand wrapped itself around the glass and her knuckles were paper white from the force.

Her heart was like a war drum beneath her black dressing gown?

Malfoy locked his unforgiving eyes to her hand.

"Where is the ring, Hermione Granger?" he said furiously.

Oh-the ring is at the bottom of a lake. Felt like chucking it away and so, I did.

"There seems to be no need for it any longer. I will divorce you soon enough to ensure happiness for you and your beloved Pansy. Per-"

"Where is the ring?" he interuppted angrily.

Hermione stood up abruptly and pushed herself away from the table.

"I threw it in the lake," she replied loosely.

Another terse silence broke their peace.

"You-what?"

"I threw the bloody thing in the lake,"

"It belonged to your family. My family. My great-grandfather gave it to my great-grandmother,"

"She'd have been ashamed to have seen it on my filthy finger. Mudblood wed a Malfoy? Oh, that would be so horrifying,"

"Stop it,"

"We're too far in to back down, now,"

"Just shut the fuck up!"

"Are you angry? Are you pissed? Why did you marry me, anyway, huh? If it's such a pain, why, then?"

"Are you jealous?"

The question stopped her in her thoughts and her heart froze in her heaving chest as her eyes clouded over with misery and pain. Hermione looked into his eyes and felt each breath become more ragged and more strenuous. Her nails dug into old wounds and drew blood and the sneer on his beautiful face cut right through he, leaving nothing but lifeless pieces of desolation.

"Why did you marry me?" Her voice was broken.

"I was given no choice, Granger. The Order wanted assurance as to the fact that the Malfoys posed no threat to the new, reborn world of Wizards and that we were no longer prejudiced and my parents thought that it would be best if I were to marry you and be happy with it because we live on, Granger- Malfoys never give in and so I listened to them and married you,"

"You...you...I hate you! I fucking hate you! You invited your whore for breakfast! Your goddamned whore, Malfoy! How could you? There's something called dignity...something like...integrity...humanity- clearly, you lack all of them. How could you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"You gave her a garnet," she sounded like a whisper of the hopeless winds.

"So? She is mine,"

"And you're hers," she concluded visciously.

The confirmation was present in his stormed-grey eyes- he needn't have spoken to prove that.

She stepped back.

He stepped forward.

She drew in a shuddering breath.

"Why do you resent me? Speak to me. I can help you,"

"You sound like Dumbledore. He tried to help m and he died for it. Do you want the same fate?"

"Get rid of me, then and you'll be free to be with her,"

"Mother says you must remain with me for at least five years...until the Order settles down,"

"Why don't you express yourself instead of your blasted mother, Malfoy?"

"Why did you throw the ring?"

"Because I am not yours and I never will be, Malfoy..."

"A Mudblood will never be mine,"

"How...dare...you?"

Each word was like a sting; a bee sting that hurt a little at the actual impact but would swell up with resentment and hurt so bad. Each second was like torture; a defined torture that penetrated deeper than skin and bone and reached the soul.

Each look was like a slap; so sudden and vile and horrific and hard as it slid across skin and met eye.

Her hands hurt, she thought dimly, but your heart hurts more.

He looked positively smug as if he were enjoying her pain.

He sneered, lips curled and eyes ruthless.

"Petty,clandestine, little, bitch, areyou, Granger? You think you're so poorly unlucky and so bloody innocent? You think your life is the fucked up one? You think because I fuck Pansy, I'll give a fuck if you scream at her or upset her little pussy feelings? No. Because guess what, Hermione Fucking Granger, I'll never give a fuck about you, you pathetic, sniveling, lying, conceited bitch!"

She wasn't sure what she was feeling.

Her whole system was shut and herself detached from a bleeding body.

A small dot of blood lined the clean, white floor.

A stray silence root itself between a rift of thousand words.

A heart so broken beat ever so hesitantly, trapped in a rib-cage.

A glass of orange, orange juice fell to piece.

Now, orange lined the clean, white floor too.

Now, the hatred and the lust burned into demise.

Now, grey eyes clashed with hazel ones.

Now, the hopes grew wings and took flight and the sadness grew roots and settled in.

Hermione, Granger once more, turned and padded across the floor, on the very path of her ex-husband's whore's retreat as the slow, steady trail of ruby drops followed her out. She walked through the Hall, up the stairs slowly, silently, saying her goodbye to her prison. The last year confinement in this Hell. She reached her room and sense rushed in.

Swiftly, she got out her suitcase; a trunk of some sort.

Throwing the lid back, she went through drawers, taking what was hers and discarding what was Hermione Malfoy's.

She stepped out of the gown, slid on some underwear, jeans and a jumper before looking at the bare room.

With a soft word, she slid her wand into her pocket numb and cold before striding out, suitcase in hand.

Dimly she remember the one time they had fucked; rough wild and meaningless.

He'd never once looked at her when he had been inside her.

The World outside was bright with morning and the air chilly with ice. She walked on, hoping perhaps he'd come. Stop her. Or something. The numb state she was in made it hard for her to see clearly.

She kept walking, black converses on grey tarmac.

The bushes came to an end.

Her eyes pricked and his words echoed in her mind.

Petty little bitch.

She turned around, eyes searching for the man who would never come.

The Malfoy Manor loomed over her, like a big, black shadow.

She took out her wand and muttered a spell.

The last thing she saw was a house elf running towards her and then, she wished that it had been him instead.

...

If you gave me a chance to show you,

would I come back and show you?

"What the hell have you done? You let her leave? Just like that? As if she meant nothing?" Astoria snarled furiously, her cool eyes blazing with a deadly fire.

He yawned and glanced at his lunch, hot and waiting.

"She does mean nothing to me," he said lethargically, stretching his legs to ease the ache in the muscles.

Her fingers curled into a fist and since he knew her so well, he was fully aware of the meaning of the almost unnoticeable twitch of her lips- she was about to explode.

"Why? Why on earth did she leave?" she said exasperatedly instead, throwing her hands in the air, trying to swallow her anger.

He looked up and met her questioning, irate gaze with indifference.

"Why do you care so much, Astoria?" he asked, bored, though under his devil-may-care facade, he was genuinely curious.

Her lips pursed and eyes narrowed- Draco Malfoy awaited her fury.

"Fuck you, Draco! She's someone I actually like...one of the few girls I have ever met and the first to ever be associated with you...God-are you insane? Your mother will kill you! You are supposed to carry out..." she trailed off, her voice falling from a shout to a whisper.

He just sat back and crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the lunch.

"Tell me, why did she leave?" Astoria asked firmly, her tone leaving no room for an argument.

"Pansy," he replied coolly after a length, some form of uncharacteristic shame rising in his chest.

Astoria's jaw fell slack and her placid eyes widened with horror, her cheeks paling with astonishment.

"You...you...what?"

"Pansy was there. She came home with me last night,"

"No...no...Oh God...Oh...Fuck...Malfoy...Did you...?"

"Yes. Yes...we fucked,"

"I cannot...believe...this," she muttered lowly before crumpling into her chair, her fingers interlocked tightly.

He looked at her; the woman who had loved him, who had been his conquest, his win and he found that she was worried- no, she looked furious. Why was she so angry? And why did the Mudblood mean so much to her? She was young, still like the girl he had won over and yet, there was something more mature about Astoria. She was the same and...she was different. She was pretty, still and he felt guilty for upsetting her so when she had given everything to him. He heaved a sigh so heavy that it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his straining lungs.

"What do I do?" he asked quietly in a way that was very un-Malfoy like as he pushed his hair out of his face.

Her watery eyes looked at him for only a moment before going up to the ceiling.

"I...do...you...like Pansy?" she seemed to find it hard to say the woman's name.

"Feelings? Really? Honestly? You know me better, Astoria,"

"I thought you were better, Draco...but you've proved me wrong. I don't really know you..."

"Wha- What?" came his bewildered answer.

"Do you have any idea as to what Pansy said to Hermione at Blaise's party?"

"They spoke, then?"

"Yes...God, Malfoy. How could you be such a..."

"Bastard?" his annoying smirk let itself loose on his handsome face.

"Fuck you, Malfoy. Do you have any idea how much you've hurt her? No! You...forget it. You will probably never realize how...how could you do this? I'm going to leave...deal with your mother yourself," she snarled angrily, pushing herself back and the chair toppled over as she stood up, breathing heavily.

He opened his mouth to speak but no mouth formulated on his tongue because another outrageous, colourful insult shut him up.

The door slammed loudly as she left with her storm.

He sat there, lit up a cigarette and smoked.

...

He smoked the night away, watching algid darkness bloom into crimson, then gold, then yellow, trickling into a soft, tender blue.

He smoked the breakfast away, reading insensible words in the Daily Prophet as the hot coffee steamed in its cup of solitary confinement.

His movements were clumsy.

His eyes were red, large and hooded by penumbras.

His hair was wild and uncombed.

His fingers were cold with ash and helplessness.

His clothes stank like shit but he could not move.

His gaze settled on the words Harry Potter and he wondered where his wife was now- if she was alive, that was.

The Manor seemed dead.

None of the elves came out- they knew his moods well.

They also knew his fragile mind would unleash its brutality if they did the wrong thing.

He was...alone.

For the past year, she had provided him with company.

She had spoken words, useless but words nevertheless.

She had looked after the bedrooms, the Manor and the elves.

She had organized the work, the labour and the papers in his office- his parents secretly had admired her management skills.

She had sat at breakfast with her hateful eyes and that annoying black dressing gown.

She had listened to his orders with little resistance.

She had watch him studiously, sometimes with pity, or perhaps even curiosity,

She had rebuked him furiously, her dewy eyes lighting with a fire that had burnt him to ashes, just like the the residue on his skin.

And she had died when he spoke cruel, cruel words and her shoulders had dropped, her lip hard curled into a line and her brow had become lined and her eyes had extinguished.

When the hot heat of the lighter hit his finger, Draco Malfoy realized something.

He missed Hermione Malfoy.

...

XII

"She WHAT?" Narcissa Malfoy shouted, deafeningly loud.

"She left, Mother," he repeated for the eighth time that evening, his tone now defeated and useless- a contrast to the ice he used before.

Narcissa Malfoy was the perfect picture of agony and frustration curdled into a beautiful, thin body and the trademark white-blonde hair. She gripped the champagne glass tightly, her eyes boring holes into her son's face as she awaited his explanation with waning patience. Her eyes narrowed into slits when his silence echoied in the room and her mind and her lips pursed, curling inwards until an imperceptible line appeared-a sign of her control over her words.

Over the last few hours, she had asked the same question again and again but only to meet utter silence, or perhaps, a placid, cool answer. Her shock was tangible and her son could have reached out and touched it only to have tasted a bitter memory. Now, as the news sank in and the alcohol hit her head, she wanted an explanation.

Her next words were measured and collected when she spoke- her voice could even have held a soft, melodic genteel if one were to listen carefully.

"Draco, my dear, why did Hermione leave?"

Sharp grey eyes shot up, widened just a little at the use of his wife's first name. His mother had always referred to his partner as 'her'.

A soft, tremulous sigh spilt past his lips.

He lowered his gaze, feeling hollow and empty.

"Pansy came home with me last night...and we had...we..." he trailed off.

Narcissa's face was devoid of any emotion, remote and cool. She said nothing, her mute response egging him on towards inevitable demise.

"So...at breakfast, she told Pansy to leave...and then, I said a few things...to her...and she recognized the garnet...on Pansy's finger...and left,"

"You let her go? You simply let your wife leave?"

"Yes, Mother,"

"I'll try and find out where she is. You are to get her back at any cost- apologize and leave Pansy completely. You spend the rest of your life with that girl...Understood?"

"Perfectly, Mother,"

...

XIII

It was burning when Draco Malfoy realized he was in love with Hermione Granger.

And she did not love him back.

Rather- the Manor was burning; it was on fire. He could smell the smoke rising in the air, feel the heat as it grew like fungus on his pale skin, taste the ash on the tip of his tongue- salty and cool and he could see translucent flames lick his childhood home away. He wasn't sure what caused the tears in his bloodshot eyes but he attributed the crime to the blistering hotness that suffocated him and stuffed his chest with smoke. The tears were cold ice on his hot flesh and the parchment was barely intact in his clammy fingers as he stumbled through the corridors of regrets and the doorways of yesterday.

He had set off the fire- the cigarette has set it off, actually. It was his seventy-ninth cigarette that had dropped to the ground, it's heat sparking something in Potter's gifted carpet and before he knew it, the study was illuminated with red flames and white heat.

His shirt was charred and back covered in the bloodied scars of his Father's rage which bled with profuse, profound crimson streams. He remembered how he had fallen to his knees on the ground and his Father's belt had come down with hatred and vengeance. His eyes had pricked, fingers curled and an inhuman cry had left his parched mouth- he'd been beaten for that sound of weakness too. Weakness wasunacceptable.Vulnerability was foolish. Malfoys were not like him. In his anguish, he struck a burning book and the heat jolted him out of his pathetic daze.

She had been seen with Potter- the parchment contained separation papers. She'd filed for a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. She did not want to be with him.

Pansy Parkinson had not mattered. No. He'd realized that when he'd consummated the marriage and fucked Hermione as if it was all a rule and not something more. He had found the deceit so true that he'd clung to it as if it were actually the truth. He had made himself believe in an illusion Pansy had fabricated and now amidst the flames, the web of lies burnt away and Draco Malfoy would now be freed by the woman he loved to marry the one he'd never loved at all...

...

If you gave me chance to love you,

could I come back and love you?

XIV

ONE YEAR LATER

He found her in her bedroom in the cost flat in Central London. She was bent over a large book, pencil in one hand and the other turning pages quickly as her eyes searched printed words for something he couldn't fathom from so far away. Her slight form wore the same black dressing down she had worn to breakfast and her ruthless expression reminded him of all the pain he had given her. Three hundred and sixty-five days had taken nothing from her- and neither had they given back her any joy, or happiness that she had possessed before the marriage. He stood in the doorway, slender fingers gripping the door frame tightly as he drank her in, his heart beat steadily rising to the pace of a race care. She had never looked more beautiful to him than when she looked up at the ceiling and frowned.

He felt so afraid.

He hadn't signed the papers- he simply couldn't. It would mean that he had let go of her and he couldn't do that. He could never manage to even put his quill to the parchment because just looking at it made his stomach turn. It had taken him a whole year to find her. His Mother had slapped him several times during that period of time. His Father had died just when Draco had begun his search- the cause was said to be an overdose of Muggle sleeping pills. Iron, really. Draco did not go to the funeral- he had spent that day walking through shadows and feeling the tenderness of the summer breeze as it raced across his face. She'd stolen his heart the day she had left and he was far behind with nefarious memories and a mother who screamed at him every day..

Draco watched her as she stared up at the ceiling, then took the pencil and made some notes on a piece of paper as her teeth nibbled her lower lip. Hermione Granger had taken everything he'd known and pulled it down to pieces.

"Hermione..." he whispered softly and her whole body tensed, her shoulders bunching up and her neck muscles tightened.

She turned slowly and took his breath away.

Her eyes were lighter-relieved of their earlier dead-ness and free of the icy agony she had lived in for a year. Her skin glowed as if it were covered in some ethereal light and her lashed were no longer wet with constant tears. Her face was free of lines and wrinkles and dark circles. She looked...happy. She was happy without him, he realized. She was stunning, he thought again, as her eyes darkened into a queer calm and her tempting lips pursed into a thin line. Her aura changed from careless to strained. He wasn't sure how he could judge her so well when thought he had never payed attention to her but Draco was not here to look at her until she was carved into his existence. He wanted to ask her- hear it from her soft, tender voice that he didn't matter.

He wanted to know that she no longer needed him, no longer felt anything as simple as pity...or even understanding for him. He wanted to be told that he deserved nothing but eternal loss and refret and to be reminded that his heart was hers forever...to do as she pleased. She could keep it safe in her small, warm hands...or she could rip it to shred and bury him into madness...she could break it to pieces and...she could burn it to ashes...she could ruin him.

Draco would end where he had begun.

Hermione had been his beginning (the real one..) and she would be his end.

She took a tenative step forward, almost as if she expected him to disappear.

"Draco," she whispered softly and his whole body tense, his shoulders bunching up and his neck muscles tightened.

...

I gave you everything but I...

I couldn't give enough...

"What are you doing here? she finally asked after a lengthy, breathing silence as her face regained a mask of indifference and boredom.

He swallowed the need he garnered for her.

"I had to tell you..." he replied calmly, unsurprised to see that she barely changed the expression on her porcelain face.

"Where are the separation papers- Oh, I heard about your Father. I'm sorry for your loss,"

"Don't be. I'm not."

"He was your Father, Draco and he...did car-"

"Care for me? What a beautiful life, isn't it? You know what, Hermione? I'm sick of lies. I want you to know the truth. I am falling apart...Ever sine you left...I've lost the will to live...I...I just..can't...go on..."

"Wha-...What are...you...saying?"

"You're the one person who ever understood me...and I never...knew..."

"NO! NO! You...cannot...do this...you..." she broke off, her voice cracking weakly as she took a step back only for him to take two steps forward.

"I can do what I want...and right now, I want you...to know what...I feel,"

"Did you sign those papers, Malfoy?"

"I need you back, Granger,"

"HAVE YOU got...the papers? Sign them now and let's be over..."

"I'm a crazy monster...Granger...but you keep me sane...I need you back in my life,..God...I want your stupid arguments and your high pitched voice...I want your heady smell in the fucking Manor...I burnt it..you know. I burnt the goddamned Manor t the ground...I think I am going mad..without you..Hermione...I have to have you..I need...I want..."

Draco paused to take a breath and his harsh breathing mixed with her unsteady breaths. Within a few moments, he had her trapped between himself and the blank wall, the distance of bleeding hearts thick between them. His eyes were a dark, iron colour- crazed and blanketed by perpetual darkness. His lips were parted as he sucked in air in a vain attempt to steel himself to calm. She looked terrified as he leaned closer, close enough to kiss her as his liquid emotions ran askew. He came undone, word by word, breath by breath, hope by hope, crack by crack, moment by moment- he unfolded before her, bearing his translucent, thumping heart to her as he teetered on the edge of a breakdown.

"You're lying," she said quietly, and her eyes were drenched in liquid pain.

He really should have expected nothing less but he was hurt nonetheless. She had no faith I him- well, why would she? He had proclaimed her to be the source of his hatred and the epitome of everything he despised. Why should she believe him now? What had changed? Him. He had changed and she would doubt it because he gave her no reason to believe in him.

"You think I'd come here, all the fucking way to hear this…from you? Honestly? I don't go around, parading my fucking feelings and you know that, Granger. Can't you bloody see? I'm dying, for God's sake and it's because of you! You realize what you've done…? You've got me- I'm in love with you…" he snarled maliciously, enjoying how the disdain and abhorrence flashed across her pretty face.

"I'm not coming back, Malfoy," she said slowly, gently as if she were conversing with a child.

He reeled back as if the blow from her gentle words hit him square in the face. It was strange really, how he was so affected by her, now. What had he expected? That she would be swept off her feet and would love him with her whole heart? No. She hated him. She may have cared then, but now, it was all emptiness. He tried to come to terms with the fact that she no longer needed him- that was what he wanted, right? He wanted to know that she didn't feel the ache that he did and he had his answer. He swallowed thickly and stepped back to create adequate distance between them. He wasn't used to this- this begging and asking for one more try at…at whatever they were.

"Granger…please…" he swallowed again and pushed a few strands of platinum hair from his face before continuing, "…give me..one more chance..and I swear..I'll…" he trailed off.

Her hazel eyes did not change, or waver but met his somberly, without any expression.

"I couldn't if…I wanted to, Draco…" she said softly and inhaled deeply to steel herself. It was going to hurt to tell him but the truth had to be told and while he had done that to her publicly, she would not lie and pretend. So she spoke up again, flinching at the pained look in his eyes, "…I slept with Teddy,"

The blow struck and the droop of his broad shoulders was like a punch to her gut. She held her ground and did not go forward to help him. He had done the same to her- he could not condemn her for such a thing, possibly. He was getting his own medicine, wasn't he? She wasn't sure if she felt vindicated or ashamed. The sickness rising within her was disgusting and she so wanted to pull him into her arms and hold him until the pain washed itself away and they were happy once more. But there were some things her pride would not let her do. So, she watched him and his contorted face as it shut each emotion away and he stepped back until there was a huge, unyielding rift between them.

He looked up then and there was no wounded look in those breathless eyes. It was all calm and empty. She grit her teeth and waited.

"Once?" he asked, knowing the answer to the question already but wanting to hear the words from her pert mouth anyway.

"No," she replied calmly, surprised at how hollow she felt and how nothing seemed to matter anymore.

The truth was out. He didn't even blink at her answer.

"Do…you want…me to sign those papers, Granger?" he asked formally, his voice devoid of mockery or malice, or even desperation. It was steady and even.

She gave him a curt nod. She couldn't forgive him and he wouldn't forgive her. Stalemate. Ha, she would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much.

She handed him a cheap biro and waited quietly, silently by his side as she watched his trembling fingers- the one sign of weakness on his part- hold the metal object and scrawl his name into the parchment. He stood up, rearing to his full height and turned to meet her inquisitive gaze.

"Know that I don't…believe…" she swallowed her forgiving heart into her cold soul and continued, "…you and your words, Draco…"

He didn't move or speak- merely watched her with passive eyes that spoke of nothing and echoed of everything.

"You..came here to get me because your Mother sent you, right? This…" she gestured between the two of them carelessly and said smoothly, "…is nothing, right?"

His nod was barely perceptible and when the action caught her eye, she sighed with relief. This made it less painful. She held her control and told him to leave and warned him not to come back again…ever. He said a complacent, empty OK and walked out. She took the separation papers into her shaking hands and stared at the un-neat scrawl of the D until the tears began to run and she could no longer breathe properly.

She spent the night weeping into her pillow, wishing that she could have forgiven him instead.

...

Turns out that I don't really love you at all...

'Coz love would find..forgiveness...

XVI

"So that's it, mate?" some blonde Muggle said drunkenly.

Draco was stone drunk- a vulnerable state for him because now was the one time he would be completely honest.

"Yeah...so I signed those papers..." he replied, slurred and incorrigible.

"Why can't you forgive her?"

"I don't love her,"

"You're a shitty liar...mate..."

"God, I've...fucked up,"

"She slept with your best mater right?"

"She did..."

"Finish your beer...what did you say your name was again?"

"Draco, my nutjob,"

"Right, Draco, finish your beer so I can get you some more..."

"My head's spinning blondie- just shut up!"

"Name's Ray..."

"Whatever- let me get drunk and die..."

Save your ammunition for somebody else...

I'm all second chances..

"She likes you, mate and you're obsessed...just get back together..."

"She hates me- she fucked with my mind and now...I know nothing!"

"Mate, why can't you just chill and like...live a life?"

"Why did it have to be? God fuck it...why? Why me?"

"Let's find you a replacement- a better babe.."

"She's already coming, blondie..

"She hot?"

"When this fucking thing end?"

"When you get drunk and die?"

"Alright," Draco concludes.

And then downs his beer.

Save your ammunition for somebody else...

I'm all second chances..

"Ray, you ever been heart..broooken?"

"Nah, mate. I don't swing in the romance wing,"

"Fuck, this sucks. My head's splitting,"

"Hermione...that's her name, right?"

"I told you to quit saying herfuckingname!"

"I might know her..."

"Like I give a shit,"

"Draco, is her last name Granger?"

Silence.

Ray turned to meet air.

More silence.

Draco had passed out.

...

XVII

Faint tremors of golden light poured through wispy clouds onto a dismal world below.

He was retching on the side of the pavement, hands flat against the tarmac and his eyes bulging to the size of huge marbles. His vomit looked green and the air was crisp, stingy with winter. His bare arms felt cold but he was too busy living his hangover. Last was was a fading memory to him, hidden in the crevices of his dark mind. He vomitted some more and sat back on his haunches, watching as the cit of London birthed life. Some people glanced his way and sneered- others ignored him. He stayed there for a while, then slowly stood up, stretching his cramped limbs, a thundering headache attacking him.

Draco walked listlessly down towards Tower Bridge, the Thames flowing grey to his right and the road flowing grey to his left. The bitter taste of the bile and vomit lingered in his mouth. His head echoed with pain.

Nothing's good...nothing's right...

But I love you...

He had made his decision. Slender fingers dug into his pocket and touched the garnet ring there. A helpless, hollow smile pulled his lips up.

His choice was final.

...

XVIII

She baked a cake and waited for Harry to come.

Her flat was a mess as if a tornado had struck the poor home. Her mind was hazy and her body ached for him. Her eyes were hooded, her hands bleeding and un-bandaged and her body thin from the loss of appetite. It had been a month since Draco had come to her house, discovered her disgusting secret and signed the papers. She was now, finally, a Granger. It was how she had wanted things to be...right? She put a few strawberries on the pink icing and sat on her couch, legs up on the table and a glass of wine in her fingers. She wore her black gown- the one memory of her life as a Malfoy.

Nothing's good...nothing's right..

But I love you..

Her heart hurt. She had been hurt for so long that when she left the Manor, the first and only thing on her mind had been Theodore Nott and the priority of was hurting Malfoy for hurting her. She had wanted Malfoy to understand how pain really felt- she had realized her true feelings for him, but misused her husband's best friend anyway. She had seen the way Pansy and Draco fit in so snugly. They completely fit. She had been ruthless and Teddy had obeyed- he'd complied with every one of her stupid whims. He had listened to her rants, he had held her when she cried, he had soothed her when she dreamed of pain and death, he had cared for...he had, perhaps even...loved her. He never mentioned it, of course. The story unraveled in his eyes and in the last year, she had solved him...

Harry did not come that day. She had finished the cake, showered and gone to bed naked. It began as a sudden idea and became a routine. She had baked that day only for Harry...but he never came. She began to bake cakes every day and it kept her from shouting, screaming and doing unthinkable, cruel things to herself. Hogwarts sent her letters, offering her a prestigious position in their staff as a Professor. She refused. The school had too many memories of the War, and of him.

People called her up, Muggle friends who remembered and asked her to join in at a party. She agreed. That was her life. She dressed in small clothes, laughed, got drunk and woke up with a ferocious headache and a permanent tattoo. She baked cakes and began to sell them. She earned good money. She never spoke to Teddy again. She did some jogging to keep fit, read her books to keep her mind functioning and held her wand to remind herself that she was...still...a witch. She didn't sleep well at night- the nightmares of dead faces and lost voices came back but her days were OK. She tried to be happy and carried on. She tried to survive. In short, she tried to mend a broken heart.

Nothing's good...nothing's right...

But I love you...

XIX

When she visits the Burrow in the summer to meet the Weasleys, she catches sight of an article in the Daily Prophet. He's in there, smiling genuinely as the cameras flash in the moving picture. His sinful lips move and involuntarily, her fingers run over the beautiful feature until her body ignites with heat at the remembrance of the one kiss they had shared. She realizes that she craves him- her body craves him. His eyes look right into hers from the beautiful picture and she catches Molly Weasley watching her. She passes Hermione a sad, pitying smile. The young woman doesn't smile back.

When she sees Ginny with a pink baby in her arms, Hermione feels something stir deep inside her. It breaks her...seeing everyone so happy when she is anything but that. They know that the rumors of his marriage have reached her ears but they avoid speaking to her about it. She meets Harry but never mentions the cakes, or the three days she spent crying for his friendship and company, or the pain of letting go of the very man who had spited her for so long and then, taken her heart and torn it into pieces that were so small and jagged they would simply not fit back together again. She masks her disappointment and pretends to be happy and he grins back, never once doubting the credibility of her recovery. She is not bad at pretending, anyway. She's learnt that in the last few years because people always speak to her about it and she has to smile a thin smile and keep her eyes dry. Harry congratulates her on her split and every person in the room freezes with shock. They're all looking at her, she realizes and she forces yet another fake smile. Then, everything is fine.

When she walks down Diagon Alley, people laugh and scamper away from her as if she were the plague, sneering at the state of her emptiness. She finds them at a shop, arms entwined, eyes locked, white-blonde hair mixing with ebony locks. They are looking at some baby clothes, in a wizarding baby shop, she realizes. The bump in Pansy's usually so slim figure is sorely evident and his soft fingers run over it with aching tenderness. Hermione's not sure why she can't seem to form a coherent thought, or even try to look away. The burning pain inside her eats away at her soul as she watches them...click together. The bump is huge and the look of absolute ecstasy in his stormy orbs is like a knife through her. She stands there, watching them. He whispers something to Pansy, who smiles gently at the bump and then laughs, planting a flittering kiss on those lips. Hermione dies inside. Almost as if he has noticed her intent, impregnable gaze, he looks up and she can't seem to breathe anymore. His soft eyes harden into molten steel and they clash with her hazel ones that seep with grief and loss. The world seems to stop and everything folds itself away, leaving him and only him. His name is like a death wish on her lips, fruitless and vain. It hurts. It hurts like hell. And then, Draco loos away and Hermione know that she will never...ever...forget.

When she stands under a jet of ice-cold water-the tears are invisible. The blood mixes with the soap and her howls are deafening. Her wrists hurt but the blade is bent anyway and she stops with one last cut. The ruby droplet explodes across her pale skin and blooms into a beautiful flower before the icy spray washes it away. There are several cuts that she makes out through the blanket over her eyes. Her tears drop onto the cuts, burning them and igniting hatred within her. Weak, though she is, she finds it in herself to punch the wall with a curled fist. The pain is blinding as it shoots through her body, up her arm, curling around her bones, twitching into her muscles, right up her jaw and into her brain, fizzing and hot. Her knuckles bleed. Her cuts bleed. She drops the blade to the shower floor, letting the crimson flow into the foam. The hollowness in her chest is a reminder. The cuts on her arms will be a reminder. The bruises on her knuckles will be a reminder. The ache between her legs and between her fingers will be a reminder. Her very own existence will be a reminder that the one thing she denied herself and him a chance- one more shot at something that could have been so beautiful and incredible and eternal. But she can't forgive him and she knows that he can't either. Because they both hurt each other so much, in such a way that one could not heal the other and there will be no happy ending for them.

Nothing's good...nothing's right...

But I love you...

His name is the last word on her tongue.

She cries until her heart, too, bleeds into her bloody hands and the World fades away...

-fini-

AUTHOR NOTE:

Just an idea of mine which came swiftly into making when I heard the song:

SECOND CHANCES- Paper Route.

LET ME TELL YOU ONE THING- It's really hard writing about someones who is cutting themself and somehow, enjoying it.

I would recommend it to all of you and hope you like it as much as I do. Please do comment and favourite this story. I would love support and love. Ha. Wouldn't everyone?

It's SO SAD. I don't like writing like this- I HAVE SO MANY EMOTIONS. *cries* I mean, like, writing this fic has made me realize that I love Dramione and that they belong and that Hermione should have given him a chance.

Do flame, if you deem this to be inappropriate or something. BUT PLEASE...LEAVE REVIEWS...

HOW WAS THE lemon? :P I mean, it's a cruel sort of thing..but a lemon, yeah?

Thank you anyway for reading.. and PLEASE REVIEW :P

WhereBrokenHeartsLie

26th July 2012

UPDATE: (12th August 2012..)

I changed my ending and the part where Draco came to see her because it (ACTUALLY) didn't make any sense and I want this story to be perfect. I give my HUGE and SINCERE thanks to:

FantomWriter

for writing a huge and amazing review and telling me that my story needed amends...like immediately. I do realize that she never really gave him some chance and Hermione wouldn't just crumble because he 'confessed' his feelings for her because she wouldn't believe him. Draco isn't upset by the fact that she sleeps with Teddy because he's done the same to her. He hides his pain and she hides her. And in the end, none can get over the pride and they can NOT forgive one another because they're hurt too bad. So, there it is. I mean, I realize that I am a bad author and I need to improve with my plots and all.

Also thank you to the Guest Reviewer who gave me a long review too. Erm- FantomWriter, I have also mentioned the rape in the lemon...Draco thinks she's a virgin when she's not and she begs him PLEASE PLEASE only because she wants it to end (it reminds her of the rape.)

My sincerest thanks to the following:

cutie

aura

FantomWriter

TorahDanane

yankeerose

MissMalfoyDaughterOfHades

LunaP

FREEZEiceFREEZE

Molly Dooker

Dramione57

and the Guest reviewer.

I HOPE NOW THAT THE STORY IS GOOD ENOUGH AND FINE! Ha. THANK YOU 3

Thank you SO SO SO much for reviewing...it means the world to me.