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A SPRINKLE OF SNOW
Winter had arrived in all its icy glory, covering the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in several layers of sparkling snow. Snowflakes would often waltz to the grounds to the rhythm of the melodious breeze that would gently caress your cheek and ruffle your hair.
Hermione trailed around the grounds, completely in awe of the glorious sight splayed out before her. She loved the snow.
It is always easy to hope when it snows.
She loved the way the snow cascaded sensuously towards the ground and she loved its silence, so completely unlike the rain that would thunder on your rooftop or clatter noisily on your windowpane (snow is violent too, but only sometimes). It was like a ray of hope that would lead the way to a new dawn, a new beginning; a new year, a new life…
It is always easy to forget your woes when it is snowing.
The snow was mesmerizingly beautiful. So much, that she would forget all her problems concerning anything from her parents, friends, ups, downs, failures and her fears…. to death.
She could just let it all go for a few moments as she allowed herself to get lost in the snow.
When it snows, it makes everything pretty.
Draco was seated on his favourite chair beside the window in the Head Common room, a book on Potions propped precariously on his knee, trying his damned hardest to ignore the snow. How he hated the snow.
It is never easy to hope when it snows.
To him, snow is like the candle that singed the moth. Outwardly, very attractive but as you draw closer, its icy coldness would burn you to death. The silence of the snowflakes was like the calm before the storm. It would attack when you least expect it, unlike rain that would rhythmically pound on your roof or windowpane, warning you of its mood.
Snow would never provide hope. It marked the final end, the dusk; the end of the year and the end of life. It scared the living daylights out of him.
It is never easy to forget your woes when it is snowing.
Snow never brought him peace. It reminded him of everything in his life that had been cold – his father, the Dark Lord, family pressure, their expectations from him, the cold and lifeless eyes of all those people he had been unable to save….death. He could never let it all go, it haunted him, sucked the happiness from his very existence.
Hermione could not help it. It had to be done whether it was right or wrong.
So she gave in to the childish urge and with a squeal loud enough to make ears bleed, flopped down onto the snow-covered ground and waved her arms and legs around to make a snow angel. She laughed happily having the time of her life. She laughed like she never had laughed before; until tears of mirth rolled down her cheeks; until her stomach hurt badly.
She closed her eyes as allowed all the negative emotions to flee her mind and concentrated on all her happy emotions and memories.
Twenty minutes had passed and he was still reading the same word of the same sentence in the same paragraph and on the same page. Ugh! He could NOT concentrate, his thoughts had run amok and all he wanted to do right now is to sew shut the mouth of that unfortunate soul, that was laughing and squealing their lungs out in the snow. It was driving him up the wall.
When the laughter reached its highest point yet, he slammed the book shut with a menacing growl and angrily strode out of the portrait hole, his shoes clipping an abrasive rhythm on the stone floor, intent on shaking the teeth of the person so hard, their teeth would rattle.
See if he didn't.
"Aren't you a little too old for that?" a voice said crossly from somewhere above her. One that she would recognise unmistakably in a cacophony of millions of voices. Her eyes snapped open and met the grey orbs of Draco Malfoy, his trademark smirk plastered onto his visage.
She groaned inwardly, not feeling up to dealing with him right then. Even though, both of them being the school Heads, they had to share a common room, and had, since then, steadily remained civil towards one another, and had accepted to their civility as a wayward form of tentative friendship, it definitely did not mean she would let him tease her about her momentary lapse in judgement (why else would the resident bookworm want to make snow angels and squeal like a mouse being trodden upon?).
"Oh, just go away, Malfoy!" she snapped, attempting to get up.
"Keep that up, Granger, and you'll spoil your angel." He drawled, pecking at an invisible piece of dust from his robes, before holding out his hand for her to take. "Here, let me help you up."
Hermione could only gawk at him like he'd sprouted ten heads that would breathe fire. The only thought that came to her mind was that this was all a sick joke and as soon as she falls for it, he would drop her hand like a sack of potatoes and laugh in her face about what stupid little mudblood girl she was and how she was utterly foolish for thinking he would help her only to end up getting mudblood germs on his body.
She shook her head. What are you thinking? Of course he wouldn't do that. We are sort of friends after all, aren't we? She thought.
He must have sensed her confusion because he raised his eyebrow questioningly at her, causing her to snap her mouth shut and tentatively place her rather small hand into his comparatively larger one.
Apparently, she was being paranoid, because he only pulled her to her feet, careful not to spoil her angel.
Holy pants of Slytherin! Thought Draco as he stared into her eyes, which were the colour of roasted coffee beans with flecks of mocha latte and a hint of caramel. They were staring at him with a mixture of confusion, suspicion, happiness and something else he couldn't exactly fathom. What the hell did I just do?!
Deciding that this was about as much drama a guy could take in one day, and that he'd had enough, he abruptly turned on his heel and marched away from her, determined to not let her hurt expression get to him.
When he'd purposefully strode out of their common room, resolving to give that squealing git a piece of his mind, he had not expected that person to be her. He had been fully prepared to shout obscenities at them and dock points off their house, but when he'd seen the blissful expression on her face, he hadn't had the heart to yell at her. After all, in the aftermath of the war, seeing such peaceful expressions on anybody's face was like trying to hold water in your hands – there one minute, gone the next.
Now, though, he'd helped the girl and he was sure she was seriously contemplating sending him to the permanent ward for brain damage in St. Mungo's. Yes, they had been on good terms (including Potter and Weasley), but he hadn't yet helped her, per se. He groaned, hoping it was all a dream.
"Damn it, woman!" he screeched (well, you can't really blame him, can you? The deranged witch had totally lost her marbles!) as he pelted down due to the force with which Granger aimed the snowball at his back. Hearing the laughter spewing from her mouth didn't help any and he found himself glaring daggers at her.
When she'd reigned in her laughter enough to notice his expression and realise that he was NOT amused, she shut her mouth immediately.
"Uh, sorry." She muttered awkwardly, not looking him in the eye. She did, however, notice him bend down to pick a handful of snow and with a shriek, darted in the opposite direction.
"Oh, I'll teach you to be sorry!" he said as he pelted snowballs at her, laughing as she retaliated in kind.
After what seem like centuries, he was truly feeling happy. He couldn't remember ever feeling that way before. He was light headed, his cheeks were flushed from the cold and the exertion but he did not mind it one bit. He was laughing without feeling guilty about it and he did not once think about all that had happened in the past. It just might not have happened at all.
A thrilling snow fight and stomach-numbing laughter later, the two eighteen year olds collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath, before bursting into uncontrollable, raucous fits of laughter. Again.
"Have you… You look carefree and young and good when you laugh." she gasped out between breaths. "You should laugh more often, you know." She smiled.
Hermione watched as his laughter dwindled slowly before stopping altogether and he scowled darkly. As she wondered what she could have said wrong, he jumped to his feet and all but sprinted back to the castle.
She was sure, though, that she heard him whisper – I don't deserve to.
It was then, that all the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
While everyone else had slowly risen from the ashes of war, violence and death, like phoenixes, Malfoy was still trapped in the past, blaming himself for something he had had no choice over. Knowing she had to do something to convince him of his innocence, she quickly went to their common room, sure that he'd be in his room.
Sure enough, she could hear him inside his room and she knocked softly on the door and asked if she could go in. He stopped whatever he was doing (she couldn't hear anything anymore) and gave no response.
Taking that as a yes, she gently opened the door and peered inside, only to nearly jump a foot in the air.
His room was a complete war zone. His bed was unmade, clothes were strewn about everywhere and there was blood on the wall from when, she presumed, he'd punched it repeatedly. His school books were thrown haphazardly on the floor and his mirror was shattered. The boy himself was seated at the edge of the bed, nursing his broken fist and trying to stem the flow of blood with a handkerchief. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was shadowed.
She stepped into the room and winced slightly when a small piece of glass sliced into her foot, but promptly ignored the searing pain. This was about the blond and not her.
She sat down beside him on the bed and timidly wrapped an arm around him, expecting him to tell her to go drown herself. Instead, he let her hug him tightly to her chest, clutching onto her jumper and promptly sobbing into her neck.
Her heart broke at the sight and she rocked him back and forth, hoping to somehow soothe and heal all his numerous wounds. He was muttering incoherently, but she could decipher words like 'my fault', 'hate myself', 'coward' and 'death eater'.
She said nothing until she was sure he'd calmed down enough to listen to her and pulled away from the bone-crushing hug. Taking his face in her hands, she looked intently into his grey eyes, which were the grey of the ocean just before the golden rays of the sun struck them at dawn.
"You're not a bad person, Draco." She murmured. She held out her hand when he looked like he was going to protest. "In fact, you are a very brave person. You did something that nobody would have been able to do. You lived under the same roof as that monster; saw him murder innocent people, their screams echoing in your ears. You didn't go against him or his bunch of followers, as much as you would have liked to, knowing it was in everyone's best interests. And you did help their victims in your own special way."
"If it had been me, I'd have Avada'ed myself after only two hours or so, but you had the courage to sustain them for a whole year. That takes guts, believe me. You're a Slytherin Gryffindor, Draco. There is no doubt about that."
She kissed him gently on his lips, letting all her emotions flow into it – forgiveness, friendship, admiration… and, dare she say it, love. Yes, she realised that she loved the snarky blond, although, how that happened was still a mystery to her. Maybe it was the almost civility they had developed after becoming Heads together or maybe it was the constant bickering - teasing and pulling each others' legs- that created these feelings. Whatever the source, though, she was glad she realised these feelings.
She broke away from the kiss and smiled reassuringly at him, letting him know through her eyes that she would be there for him any time he needed her and that he had her undivided support.
He returned her smile. It was the first time he had actually, really smiled at her and she realised that she wanted him to keep smiling at her like this for eternity. Her smile could have lit up an entire city, it was that bright.
When it snows, you realise that this life is too short for hatred, especially hating yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone fails. That's what makes us human. What would we be, if we didn't make mistakes or fail in our life? Would it not mean, that we haven't really lived at all? You're like a snow angel; you may get covered by layers of snow, but the real you is still there somewhere, bidding your time, awaiting the moment when you will be able to resurface again, because that's who you really are and you have to bring that angel out.
You may be offered a helping hand; take it. It may your most beautiful magic spell yet…
No two snowflakes are the same; they're all unique, as are you. There is always someone out there who loves you for your smile or that sparkle in your eyes.
If you wait for something magical to happen, it never will. You have to take those little sprinkles of snow (moments) and make them magical.
That's the secret to true happiness.
And that's it, guys. Hope you loved it and you will review to let me know your opinion on this. Thank you so much for everything.
P.S. I was wondering if you could give me a plot for a dramione story as a challenge. No deadline, though.