This collection is written for the ever awesome Amber Moonbeam's birthday! Happy Birthday!
Enjoy.
Title: Different
Words: 638
Rating: T
They weren't star crossed lovers, nor did they experience love at first sight. Draco didn't even believe in love anyway. It was just a bunch of crap, spouted by hopeless romantics who wore their hearts on their sleeves.
They were enemies, from different houses, fighting on different sides. He was a Pureblood, she a Muggleborn. Purebloods despised Muggleborns, calling them Mudbloods. He called her that, once, in second year.
"Nobody asked your opinion, Mudblood."
It was true. She was always sticking her nose into things that didn't concern her, piping up with her opinions in that know—it—all voice. She was so, so bloody stubborn and determined, standing up for what she believed in.
She obviously believed in Hagrid, because she slapped him—boy, did it leave a red imprint for ages afterward—when he'd insulted Hagrid. She stuck up for0020`her friends, and certainly adopted a fiery attitude to those who weren't. Especially those who mocked her friends. Fitting the description perfectly would be him. Malfoy. The terrible person who caused all damage. The Amazing Bouncing Ferret.
And yes, he knew about that. He had his sources, after all. Actually, no, that wasn't true. He eavesdropped on their conversation after the Incident. He'd heard Weasley's comment, him being Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.
He also heard what she said "He(Professor Moody) could have really hurt Malfoy though. It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stooped it."
There was her know—it—all voice again, but behind it was—concern, if he was correct.
"Draco," A whisper calls him. He opens his eyes—and stares into brown ones. He struggles to sit up—there's an insistent throbbing in his head. "Granger," he says, but his tongue feels like a block of wood and he knows his words are slurring.
Hermione Granger is startled to find Draco Malfoy slumped against a wall. At first she thinks he'd dead, but a close look reveals his flickering, almost—but—not quite closed eyes. So she calls him, and he answers, albeit weakly. He sits up, wincing. She glances up his body, her eyes landing on his head.
The dark shade of blood starkly contrasts against his platinum blond hair. It flows, slowly, turning his hair almost red. Swallowing, she pushes back the bile threatening to rise.
"Draco, Draco," Hermione whispers. She feels him slipping away, into unconsciousness. "Don't leave me. Stay. With me."
At her words, his eyes jerk open again. Molten silver orbs stare into milk chocolate ones for a moment, before the gaze is broken.
"What are you doing here, Granger?' he asks tiredly. The world's growing dimmer and all he wants to do is lie back and sleep. "You're hurt—your head," is her reply.
When he hesitantly touches her shoulder, she freezes for a second, breath hitching. He removes his hand, showing her. It's blood.
"Oh." She had not realized that.
The surprise on her face is evident. What a silly girl she was, not even realising she was injured. Instead, she went about caring for others—him—instead of taking care of herself.
"I guess I'll meet you in heaven Malfoy."
He stares at her, disbelieving. "No you won't. I'll be in hell, you'll be in heaven."
"Malfoy, do you really think you're irredeemable? You aren't. We will meet in heaven. Together." Hermione states firmly.
She reaches out, touching his lips to hers.
She tastes like strawberries, mixed with a salty tinge of blood. She tastes of sweet redemption, of innocence intact.
He tastes of blood, regretful. Of surrender and despair. Yet, there is innocence, thought to be long lost.
They wrap in each other's embrace, leaning into each other, their blood mixing together.
Blackness overwhelms them. They will meet in heaven, together.
They were poles apart, so different, but meant to be.