Title: Falling into Place
Disclaimer: Basically, I don't own anything. (Even though I'd very much like to own Draco.) Oh, and I took one little line (incidentally its title) from a fanfic called Nothing a good Imperius wouldn't solve by afterthree.
Summary: "And here is my promise to you: When the moment comes, I will not need you, nor want you, nor rely on you in any way. When the time is ready, I will have forgotten you. You will be free of me. And that is the best I can give you."
A/N: My first attempt at Dramione! Please excuse any grammar mistakes and the fragmental story line. It's really meant to be just sort of a collection of, um, fragments. And please leave a review and tell me what you think about it! (:
FALLING INTO PLACE by whisperend
Draco was to ninety-nine percent sure that his life sucked. Sucked badly. And he had been reassured when he told Pansy about it and she anwered: "Only ninety-nine percent? You should start being realistic. Look at your life: Your family is in disgrace, your father is in Azkaban, you have lost half your family's fortune and you look as if you had bulimia. That's a hundred percent straight." He could really nothing but agree, but after dumping her, he felt better and subtracted one percent, and that's how it turned out to be ninety-nine percent.
On the other hand, she had had no idea of what was really dragging his life down like nothing else. She had not incorporated the factor of his mission. His mission to kill the old man, which was not only impossible because he was like the best wizard out there (except for the Dark Lord, of course, he added dutifully) but also because Draco had his problems with killing people. Not that he didn't want to – all those mudbloods deserved nothing better – but it was simply the force behind the curse that was never enough to extinguish a life. Not to mention the fact that he himself and all his family would probably get killed if he failed.
But still, he was Draco Malfoy, and that was something nobody could take away from him. He thought.
There was a constant ringing in Draco's eyes as he walked away from the Three Broomsticks, and it kept getting louder and louder. The piercing sound filled his ears and soon enough, his brain, too. He had heard the sirens the muggles used, and none of them meant anything good, and he was pretty sure this ringing that sounded so similar didn't either. It was the sound of panic, and as the thing the alarm had announced arrived fully, he began running. He didn't stop until the gates of the Hogwarts castle closed behind him.
He had to calm down. There was nothing he could do now, anymore. He had used the Imperius on that Gryffindor, given her the locket, and that was all he could do about it. The rest was up to her, and if she would reach Dumbledore before anyone would stop her.
It was still December, and nobody except for Potter seemed to suspect him. But he would have to be more careful next time. Yes, there had been too many things that had been able to go wrong in his plan, and they had. The plan had been no better than the first one. Next time, he could not rely on another person. He had to do it himself… somehow.
The Vanishing Cabinet was a good start… he guessed. He stood up and took another look at it. Although he was not bad at spells, he had no idea how to fix it. That was higher magic hre was pretty sure he couldn't perform. But he couldn't ask anyone else either, could he? Snape had offered his assistance, but he was about the last person Draco wanted help from.
At least he had a good hiding place. The Room of Requirement was barely known to other students, and if he was careful enough, he'd be able to keep it that way even though he'd spend a lot of time there. Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't be hard to fool, although… it was probably not the worst idea to let them assist him. Maybe.
On one of the tables across the room, there was a very old, ticking clock, and in the middle of the silence, it striked time for dinner. Slowly, Draco turned around and made his way to the door. He'd come back later. There was a small bed, but it was enough for him, and it was almost impossible for him to sleep in the dorms anymore. It wasn't the snoring or the company of the other boys (although he could go without Blaise's)… it was purely the fear of a crowd, and also the fact that he had not slept through a night without waking up screaming in a month. He turned the doorknob and opened the door.
In the corridor, directly in front of him, stood Hermione Granger, staring at him with her eyes wide open. Before he could move, they had flickered across and behind him into the room. Panic rushed through him. Of course, she couldn't know which of the things belonged to him, but it was enough for her to know he spent time here. This was a disaster. Of all people, Granger had to be the one to discover his secret. Without thinking, he grabbed her arm and shoved her into the room with him before slamming the door shut.
"What are you doing here?", he snarled in hope of scaring her as his grip tightened around her arm. She didn't wince or show any other change of facial expression, she just looked around curiously and answered: "I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy."
"I was-" He tried, but there was no excuse he could come up with. "I put something here last year and I wanted to get it. Not that it's any of your business. Mudblood.", he added quickly.
"It sure isn't, but it's none of yours what I am doing here either."
Just for a second, he wished it was.
These days Draco couldn't make up his mind anymore if he was warm or cold. He couldn't make up his mind about pretty much anything anymore, actually. It wasn't because the choices were so difficult. He could have looked at the other students and seen that they were wearing warm boots and coats and woolen scarves, and he could have seen the snow or felt the way it hurt his eyes with its brightness. It wasn't because he didn't care. If he did one thing properly, it was caring. Although he ought to stop doing that, more than anything. It caused him too many sleepless nights, panic attacks and sudden heart races. On the other hand, it was numbing some of the other things. He didn't care about girls anymore, for instance. Pansy had never seemed more uninteresting, and he forced himself not to think of the holidays and that night he actually couldn't remember. Since he could remember the morning, it counted anyway. He didn't care about school, which was probably a bad thing, but he had later to worry about that.
For now, there was only one thing that counted, and that thing was the reason why he couldn't make up his mind about anything else anymore. This thing was so huge, so powerful, so enormous, that it made everything else seem small and unimportant in comparison, and that's why he didn't care about anything else. So much of him was consumed with that thing that there was simply no space left.
Their foreheads touched, and she could hear him sigh in the dark. His skin was so soft and warm in a way Hermione could have never imagined it to be. She had always thought that his body had to be as cold as his soul. But his hands, resting on her hips while his fingers traced tiny circles that made her shiver, were warm through her robe, and his breath warmed her face. She felt how her whole body was actually trembling with excitement and warmth, and there was this amazing longing inside of her that almost ripped her to shreds and that she had never felt before. And he had to be feeling the same way, because the longer they remained still, the tighter his armes clenched her and the faster his breathing went. She opened her eyes. His skin was pale, but there was a slight flush, and his lips were definitely quivering. Then his eyes flashed open, too, and they were so painfully icy that Hermione flinched. "Nobody can ever know about this." He stretched out every syllable and if she hadn't heard them, she could've read them in his glance. There was nothing but coldness, and distance. So much distance, although their bodies were pressed up against each other and they were in the smallest broom closet of the whole world. "And it will never happen again. This was nothing but a slight-" He was searching for the right word, and Hermione, who had always been the encyclopaedia for everything, gave it to him.
"Slip.", she said. "It was a slip."
He seemed surprised that she answered him, and that in such a cool and steady voice. Then he nodded. "Exactly."
Hermione nodded, too. "It was the same for me. It's best we pretend it never happened."
"Alright", he said, but stared in her face as if he didn't believe her. "Then-" – he opened the door – "ladies first, I guess."
All of a sudden, there was venom in her eyes. "Yes, but mudbloods last." She said tonelessly. "You go first."
"I didn't ask you how, I asked you why." Draco's voice again had this irritated, superior tone. "How can you have forgotten the past five years? How can you look at me, what I say and who I am, and still… feel this way?" As if he was only grasping his own words now, he shook his head and stared straight into her face as if the answer was there to find. "Are you a masochist or are you just plainly stupid? And that was a rhetorical question, because I know how smart you are. We've had arithmancy classes together.", he added.
Hermione stood before him as defenseless as ever. "I don't know", she finally said. "I know that I don't want to. I really don't want to feel this way, and I hate myself for being so weak. And I hate myself even more for admitting it to you, because you are the last person on earth to trust. But I do it anyway. No matter how hard I try, something just keeps pulling me back to you."
"I want you to stop harassing Neville.", she finally blurted out, and he could watch her blushing. Such lovely skin, what pity for it to be covering such dirty blood. Some muggle would really get the kick out of her some day. But for now, he could be sure that she was blushing only for him.
"And why do you think I would do that?", he asked in a low voice and moved slightly closer to her. As his breath swept over her skin, she blushed even more.
"Because I am asking you for it.", she said as firmly as she could, but her eyes were locked on his lips. "And because it's the right thing to do."
"That doesn't work for me." Draco slightly retreated. A grin had appeared on his face, as teasing as his hand that was slowly tracing the lower of her back. "What are you going to do if I don't stop?"
"I-" He could see her forming the words in her head and then recoiling because they were impossible.
"Are you going to break up with me, Granger?", he taunted her. "Because if you're thinking that it would work, go on and try." Again, he closed the distance between them so his lips touched her temple. She shivered and he saw that her eyes were closed. But as fast as her reaction had set in, her eyes had flashed open again and she flinched. Only then he could actually look her in the eyes. They were filled with something similar to anger, but there were tears, too, on the edge of pouring down her cheeks.
She inhaled clatteringly. "I hate you so much right now, Malfoy." Then she turned around and left.
"I hate this and I hate you and mostly I hate the way I feel tonight." Draco stepped away from the fountain and kicked a stone. "This is not supposed to be, and we both know it."
"Well", said Blaise at breakfast the next morning, "if you're not bursting to tell me everything about it, I assume that either you didn't get into her pants or the mudblood actually hides something worth looking at underneath these robes."
"Oh please", Draco replied and hoped as confident as he wished to be right now, "as if it would be of interest for you what it's like to shag a mudblood. You wouldn't touch her anyway."
Blaise' eyes widened in amazement. "Am I getting that right and you're hedging here? Well, let me tell you that although she is a mudblood, she is quite hot. I usually don't go for curls, but imagine what you could do with them… and those legs look just as if they were ready to open."
Under the table, Draco's hands clenched into fists. "She wouldn't do it with you anyway." His voice, too, was shaking with anger. Blaise had to be noticing it all too well.
"First, so she wouldn't do it with me, but you're a much better person to turn to in that matter, right? So trustworthy, respectful and honest. And second, that's nothing a good Imperius couldn't solve."
It took Draco everything he had not to smash his fist into Blaise's face, but he resisted and forced himself to speak instead. "You wouldn't-"
But Blaise already interrupted him and glanced over at the Gryffindor table lustfully. "Just imagine what you could get her to do-"
"DON'T YOU DARE AND TOUCH HER!" Draco screamed, jumped up and pointed his wand at Blaise. "I swear, there is no curse that would-"
Blaise leaned forward and perked his eyebrows up. "I want to see that."
„Did you ever think I could honestly love you? Do you have a brain?" Draco laughed humorlessly. "You're a mudblood, Hermione. Do you think I have ever forgotten that for one single minute?"
Hermione slammed her fist on the table. Once again he couldn't help but notice how fragile she was. There wasn't even much of a noise, it more sounded as if her hand was breaking. But when she spoke, it didn't sound fragile at all. "You know what? Yes, I may have feelings for you in a way you don't have for me, and you can hurt me a lot more than I could ever hurt you. But if you think that makes you stronger, you're wrong. Because if you haven't realized why you acted the way you did and why you chose me to be with you, you know nothing at all, and you're the weak one."
"We're nothing but procrastinating the inevitable.", Draco said slowly. "I know that now. And here is my promise to you: When the moment comes, I will not need you, nor want you, nor rely on you in any way. When the time is ready, I will have forgotten you. You will be free of me. And that is the best I can give you."
"I never want this to end."
The words had slipped out before he could stop them – or think about them – or judge them. And now they were out, hanging in the air like a spider net, and there was no way of taking them back. Even if he tried – this was nothing but uncensored, and Hermione would know it immediately. She'd grab the words and make them hers, she'd keep them and use them in the right moment – just like Pansy always did. When he, once in a while, pronounced something he'd actually felt, she'd turn and twist it until it worked for her, and some time later, she'd blame him for it and make him feel so guilty that he'd stay. And he saw that coming with Hermione, too, because she was every bit as smart as Pansy was – no, a lot smarter – and she'd know that this was the only way she'd get to keep him.
But Hermione was silent. She didn't smile at him as if it was Christmas, she didn't hug him or kiss him or did anything else widely inappropriate. She just stared at her hands.
And suddenly, for the first time in all of his life, he felt as if maybe he was the one who was feeling too much while she was feeling too less. "What is it?" How had his voice suddenly become so dry?
Still, she wouldn't look at him. "Don't lie to yourself." It was barely more than a whisper. "Of course you do. This is nothing but a single moment in between a thousand years."
They stood before Dumbledore's grave. Hermione's hand was warm in his, just the opposite of what he felt like. As if she had become the warm light he could cling to to pull him out of all of this. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he could really trust someone. She wasn't going to go away like everyone else: not going away like his father did to prison, not leaving him alone with this weight on his shoulders like his mother without help, not going to die and prove him wrong like Dumbledore did. She had been there all along.
Suddenly, Hermione broke the silence. "I never thought we would make it.", she said softly and looked over at the grave as if she wasn't even talking to him. "I always knew who you were, and I knew there was only a certain degree to which you could change. I never set all of my hopes on you because I knew you would never put yours on me."
The words spun around in his head and slowly got to him, but they didn't make sense. This was Hermione talking, the one who'd believed in him since the start. She had been pushing and helping him to change – and even that had failed a bit in the end – she wasn't supposed to give up. She was the one who believed in him because he didn't. "What are you saying?", he asked, and his voice cracked.
She didn't look at him, but slowly exhaled and drew her hand out of his. It burned in a weird icy way where their skin had touched. "That this is how we part." Only when he heard her speaking, he noticed the tears in her eyes that were just shortly before streaming down her face. "I can't do this. Be honest to yourself for once: you have chosen your alliance, and mine was laid out for me anyway. There is no correlation in us anymore. After this year, I will not be returning to Hogwarts. I will make all efforts I can to take Voldemort down, while you are among those who will try and prevent me from doing so. I'm a mudblood, just like you said. There is nothing we have in common."
She was drawing away from him, turning to the castle and leaving, he knew it before she moved, and automatically he stepped in her way and grabbed her arm. If he had expected resistance, he was surprised. She quietly looked at his arm and swallowed. "I'm leaving now, Draco, and this is the only sensible decision I can make. And you know it."
And all of a sudden, everything was falling into place, every part of the picture, every pixel and every line, and Draco saw what really had been. Hermione was not masochistic, and she was no hostage of her love. She was no Juliet that would rather die than lose this love. She was neither weak nor fragile. She was not clasping to him and she was not helpless. She was not blind.
He was. He was all of these things. Maybe he had appeared to be the strong one because he had decided which way to go, he had pulled the strings and constructed the building they were together. But he had had no idea of reality.
She had known everything, even from the start. All these moments that he thought had been moods had actually been efforts of her to get away from him, they had been efforts to pull away. Because she had known what was going to happen. He could have known it too. He could have, he could have.
So many things could have been, and now they were gone. All the things that had been, those that were, those that could have been and those that could be. Still.
And he would nod and pretend not to care (as he always did) and a million years later he would look at her from the distance and everything would just blow up in his face.