Disclaimer: I own zilch.
A/N: First D/Hr. The idea struck as I was riding home and saw two teenagers smoking on the side of the road. Awkward, isn't it?
Masquerade
Masquerade: n. A disguise or false outward show; a charade.
The cigarette was dangling between her index finger and her middle finger. Oh, the little white and tan stick of death. The gray smoke rising from it was beginning to form a cloud around her petite form. Her curls ran down her back. In others perspective it wouldn't look like it did in his eyes. She hadn't changed much, only matured. He could see that too. But something about that cigarette hanging there, and to see her barely distinguishable in the gray cloud of pollution was just so seductive.
Yes, it was hard for him to admit.
He couldn't break his gaze now, he was too attached. But he noticed something; she only let the cigarette lie there between her fingers. Not once has she brought it up to her mouth to inhale since he's been watching her.
…Not that it has been that long.
Was it just there for the show of things? He noticed that she lightly blew her own, clean air away from her full lips in an attempt to blow the smoke away. She lightly turned her head away from the smoke in the air, and he found that quite odd. Shouldn't she be basking in the smoker's glory instead of turning away from it?
Now he had a good idea she was pulling off some masquerade.
He saw her begin to bring the item entangled in her fingers closer to her red lips only to see her look around her and drop her hand back to her side. Since when had she worn such a deep shade of red lipstick? Her red cocktail dress enhanced all her right curves, or maybe he was over exaggerating. Love is blind, you know. But he wasn't in love.
Now he knew she was faking this whole smoking deal.
She tapped the gray ashes with her thumb, and the flecks fell down to the gray concrete like falling feathers. Everything was just… gray. The smoke was still engulfing her and her beauty was barely visible through it. She had a revolting look on her face as she threw the cigarette on the ground, and began squishing it with her skinny, but high heel. Since when did she wear shoes like that? She wasn't the same person, but in some odd parallel universe you could tell it was the old her. By the way she looked at the smoke surrounding her. By the way she blew it away from her. And by the simple look of misery on her face.
She wasn't the only one miserable in this world, so why did he pay so much attention all of a sudden?
She wasn't special by any means. Not to him, not to anyone. But saying something like that would be lying to himself. He began wondering why again he was watching her in muggle London on the side of a rundown concrete building. Her whole body fell lightly against the concrete wall in the middle of the darkened alley. She was near a silver metal back door with a tin can trash can right next to her. She pulled out another cigarette from her small purse, lit it up, and let it dangle all over again.
When was she going to be finished with this façade?
But then he realized how long it's been since he's seen her. Since he's really seen her in person- and he saw it's been quite awhile. He looked back in her eyes, and could see her amber orbs. The wind made the smoke blow away from her for a split moment, and he finally got a view of her. It was hard to see with the only light being the one shinning off the outside cheap lighting. His blonde hair fell over his silver liquid eyes while he began to move.
Why was he moving closer? He wasn't sure. And he wouldn't be able to answer.
His feet sounded like atomic explosions in his silent mind. Of course with the loud, obnoxious traffic and music playing from the club right where she was standing, drowned his footsteps out to everyone else's ears but his own. She didn't look his way.
Did she not hear him? Or did she choose to ignore all other souls?
"Granger…" He began, and didn't even realize he said anything until her head spun around to look at him. She seemed startled at first but relaxed.
"Malfoy…" He heard her soft voice say. It wasn't full of the annoying high pitched 'I'm right' tone anymore, but more of a laid-back 'I don't give a shit' tone. Why was that attracting?
There was a long silence.
"What's with the cigarette?" He finally asked, and she once again seemed startled by the question he chose.
"What kind of question is that?" She returned. She flicked the ashes off and they blew in the darkness of the alley.
"You're obviously not smoking it, so why do you have it in your hands, polluting your clean, precious lungs?"
"Why the hell are you so concerned with my health all of a sudden?" She said offended by his point, which was very true in reality.
There was another long silence. She had a very good question, but he didn't know the answer.
"Why are you here?" She inquired still holding the lit cigarette.
"I was just taking a walk down…"
"Cut the bullshit," she snapped. Oh how this was a large turn around. She was the one snapping, and he was the one staying calm and collected? Whatever happened to these two very different people? Ironic, everything is.
"I'm not bullshitting anything, Mudblood," he spat. And he's back now. She'd become so immune to that comment, it didn't really matter anymore. They're both adults, but neither one of them were acting like it anymore.
"So why are you associating with me?" She chose to ask a different question this time.
"What's with the interrogation?" He returned. This was full of too many issues; both forgot what they were even talking about to begin with. What a nasty cycle.
"Why not go return to your expensive flat? Do you know what people would think if they saw the infamous Malfoy trot around areas like these?" She looked away from him, deciding to throw the end of her lit cigarette in the darkness of the alley, only to grab her purse and repeat the process all over again.
"What the hell happened to you Granger?"
"Good question."
It was quiet again. There were those long periods of silence, but she didn't decide to go inside, and he didn't make a move to leave.
"Look, you shouldn't be here," Hermione said, standing up straight, away from the wall. She seemed like she was beginning to gather herself together to go back inside. Something odd stirred in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he didn't want her to go back.
"Neither should you," he shot back. She gave him an odd look while shuffling her feet.
"What else am I supposed to do?"
Another good question. She was just full of them tonight. He certainly didn't know any sort of answer to this one either.
"Why don't you just go back to your lousy father, and live the rest of your pathetic life away from me?" Wrong thing to say.
"That's like me asking why don't you just go back into that building and strip to your full potential! God knows you're men's favorite on weekends. Then you can just go fuck away your worries on the week nights," he was fuming. And he couldn't control what came out of his mouth. But he was too cold to feel guilt for saying anything of the sort. She kept quiet and wasn't looking at him.
"I've got to go…" She muttered while turning around.
He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around. It was the first time he's made any physical contact with her tonight. She looked angry as ever.
"Don't touch me," she said through clenched teeth.
"Then answer me."
"Answer you what?" She screamed, and you could hear it echo down the alley.
He stopped.
"How'd you know I was here?" She questioned. He was silent, not wanting to say anything. Not wanting to admit anything. She looked deeper into his eyes and came to a realization. "You've been watching me?!"
The looks in his eyes were enough to confirm his answer.
"Oh that's just bloody brilliant, isn't it!?" She yelled with sarcasm coating her voice. She threw the cigarette to the side unintentionally. She took her hands and ran them through the top of her hair, keeling over. He stood still.
"Why do you do it?" He asked, but she only yelled more.
"Because I can! Merlin, why the hell do you care anymore?" She took one hand out while running the other through her massive amount of curls.
He didn't know again. He didn't know a lot of things, and frankly it was getting them nowhere. If there was no beginning, there can't be an end.
"I'm leaving," she said and turned around grabbing and lighting another cigarette on her way.
"Will you at least answer me the simple question of what the hell this whole cigarette thing is?" He stumbled on his words, trying to find the right ones. But only failing.
"It's an act you know," she said.
"Yes I know," his pristine voice sounded annoyed. "But you didn't do it before…"
"I know that too ferret," she interrupted. "Look, what are you doing here- there's obviously some reason you came."
He was deciding in his mind if he should answer, or leave it alone. He weighed out all possible outcomes for the few seconds he had in her presence. "Yeah, you can say that."
"Then spit it out, would you? I have things I need to take care of in there," she said, muttering the last part. He looked at her, and went on.
"I'm running away."
Oh, this was certainly a change of events.
She seemed dumbfounded for a moment, before regaining herself. She only sighed 'oh' not pushing the subject anymore. He wasn't complaining. He deliberately made a point to come here and let her know.
"But why…"
"I can't take this whole hiding business much more. I just decided to run away. It always makes things easier," he explained.
"Running away from your problems doesn't fix them! They'll come back to you eventually," she said, and he could tell part of her was back.
"Thanks mother," he sarcastically whispered.
"Shut up."
"Look, I just came by to let you know. I should be leaving by Tuesday." He left the air open for anything she would like to close with. Both of them knew exactly why he was here. She didn't say anything for a couple minutes, and he began walking away. His black cloak was skimming the concrete ground below him as he strode off. But in a way, he was walking at a slower pace, hoping she would say at least one more thing. Just one.
He kept walking, his pride too high for him to stop and say anything else. Not all of his hope had diminished when he heard her call out his name. He stopped, slightly cocking his head to one side. He couldn't really see her face, and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of turning around fully, but she continued on.
"So I'll see you Monday night, I'm guessing?" Hermione asked, and even if he couldn't see her he could tell she was wearing a small but hidden smirk. He nodded his head, and she understood. It's how it happened most of the time anyways.
"Monday night Granger," he whispered to himself before disappearing into the dark streets of Muggle London.
Fin.