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"I'm marrying him tomorrow," she said in a soft voice.
Draco drew back, pulling himself out of her warm comforting arms. Had he heard right? Of course he had. He didn't want to hear it but he had. And in that instant he felt his heart shatter and the pieces fall into an icy grave.
Draco had been with her for almost a year now, starting just a few weeks before their seventh year ended. It had taken him till seventh year to realize something. That something was now the end of him.
He had fallen for her.
Draco Malfoy had fallen in love.
With Hermione Granger.
She had him since before he hit puberty. He didn't even notice that he had fallen for her. The constant teasing, the cruel antics he used to get a rise out of her, it all made sense once he realized how he felt. Her eyes would flash and smolder when she was angry. He loved seeing her eyes like that. Only during the times that he made love to her did her eyes ever light up like that again.
Seventh year had come and they were put into the same dormitory together because both had been made Head students. He wasn't cruel to her, he didn't make fun of her bushy hair, nothing. Over that summer he had come to accept what his heart was telling him.
He was the closest to a gentleman that he could be, opening the occasional door for her, standing up for her when she wasn't around, bringing her meals when she missed them because she was studying. He had even joined S.P.E.W. for her.
He welcomed anything she had for him, whether it was a simple "good morning" to a lengthy debate over whatever. Whenever she'd brush by it was a stolen moment to him. He'd often play dumber and ask her to go into detail and explain part of their homework to him, not too often but he did. He enjoyed how she always chewed her lip while thinking of how to explain it, how she'd twirl her hair on her finger when reading, everything about her.
There had been a dance in the winter of their seventh year, something Dumbledore had though appropriate for the almost graduates. He was going to ask her out, he had it all set up. A romantic set up in their common room, a bottle of elf-made wine, candles, everything to make the evening romantic.
Only to be shot down.
Potter. Always The-Boy-Who-Just-Does-Not-Get-A-Hint-To-Die. Potter this and Potter that. The big hot-shot only because he killed the Dark Lord. Only because he's so famous does he get her. Draco wondered if she even really loved him.
He had walked out, looking for her. He knew it before he saw them. In the pit of his stomach, he knew. He had hoped and prayed that the feeling was wrong, scared out of his mind that he was only fooling himself.
Then he turned the corner. There, proudly displayed for his broken heart, was Potter and Hermione in a passionate lip lock. Blood poured into his ears and rage filled him but when he saw how happy she was, he gave up.
That was the first night he had started trashing his room, ridding the dormitory of any evidence that he had cared. The cruelty was back with an icy vengeance. He didn't even go to the dance, instead went flying until he passed out in Hagrid's vegetable patch from sheer exhaustion.
He withdrew into himself and did the only thing he knew how to do. He acted like a Malfoy.
The year was almost over, the school buzzing with laughter and plans after the N.E.W.T. testing. He wasn't among them, sitting with his cronies and wishing he could hate her. He had retired to his room, reading so not to trash what little was left of his room. He was trying to be engrossed in it when she came. She said nothing while she shut him up with a kiss of passion. He hadn't resisted. How he wished he had.
By morning she was gone, leaving no trace of evidence but the stains on the sheets. He thought he had something to live for now, something to wake up to other than pain. Breakfast proved him wrong. There she sat, entangled in Potter again as if last night had never happened.
Over the year he had hoped she would realize she didn't love him. Hoping she would leave him for Draco. It was the only thing that kept him alive for a year, hoping that after each night she would stay and tell him it was over with Potter.
How wrong he was.
He looked at her now, chocolate meeting grey in a painful look. She looked away first, stepping out of the black satin sheeted bed to retrieve her clothes. She did it quietly, never looking at him as he watched her, not believing her.
"Did I mean anything?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. His voice wasn't working, he didn't sound like himself. She didn't answer, instead waved her wand to straiten her hair and righting her clothes. Her hand was on the knob to leave the room before she turned back. Her eyes were empty, cold like ice.
"No Draco, you didn't. I'm happy with him. You," she said as she opened the door and stepped out. "You were nothing to me." With that she was gone.
Draco lay there, cold and dead inside, wishing he really was dead.