NOTHING TO FORGIVE.
He is not human, the boy with the quicksilver eyes and the white-blond hair that slips through her fingers like the finest silk the first time she kisses him. He is not human, the boy who claws at her with the horror of being who he is; the boy who begs for her hatred because that's all he's ever known. He is a hurricane, moving with speed to cut and a violent frenzy that draws everyone he passes into his wake; spiraling and spinning and whirling until all control is lost in a dizzying madness. Oh, what a storm Draco Malfoy is — he of the hard lines hewn from years of trying to be in control of a soul that makes the world tremble. What a facade of vibrancy that hides the quivering fragments of a boy who grew up too fast in the cold arms of death. He knows nothing but Crucio, and Imperio, and Avada Kedavra. He knows nothing of love, or friendship. He knows nothing of the world Hermione has woven for herself in the land of magic and mayhem. Her world is not a world for hurricane boys.
Hate me, he pleads with a pretty mouth and a twisted tongue — hate me, because I don't want the alternative. She looks him straight in the eye and forgives him anyways, absolves the guilt from the fucked-up choices of a child soldier weaned on the milk of blood prejudice. It's not much, but she is not a woman of empty words and hollow promises. Draco almost believes her — except that he doesn't. Is there anything that will wash away the hate of a lifetime?
Hermione realizes he's addicted to the pain when she listens to his apologies. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The words slide off his tongue like rainwater, the endless pitter patter of a broken boy learning to live again washing over her like a wave that threatens to wash her away; spinning, spinning, spinning. It makes her angry when he doesn't stop, and she wants to slap some sense into his head. Instead she kisses him, hard and unforgiving. But that comes later. He tells her he is a drowning man. She retorts that she is an excellent swimmer. If anything were true about Hermione, it was the indomitable strength that limned every inch of her body in the beauty of her spirit. Maybe it was what drew her to Draco that night, the sense that she had what he needed to make himself whole. Little miss save-the-world and her mission to drag this boy back from the edge of the abyss that threatens to swallow him whole. Or maybe it's the irresistible allure of darkness in him that calls to even the brightest of hearts. His world is a strange place for a girl who grew up in the warmth of family, a world of dark secrets and Pureblood politics she knows nothing of. His world is not a world for stormchaser girls.
Their worlds are not made for each other, but when have either of them let the barriers stop them? Hermione possesses a golden heart and a brilliant mind; Draco, a silver tongue and the heaviness of a boy who has seen it all. If there wasn't something they could find to transcend all the walls built by society to keep people collated and quantified — what is the hope that anyone can?
This is a tribute to the brilliance that is 'THE DIE', written by the lovely Colubrina. She's given me her blessing to write this mock-companion piece to her story, and I will try my best to do so. The theme of the 'hurricane boy and his stormchaser girl' will feature heavily in the entirety of this story, and the source will be revealed in the final chapter. If you haven't already, check out Colubrina's 'THE DIE', because anything I write following this will probably not make an ounce of sense to you if you don't follow the plotline of her piece.