Author's Note: Everything up to HBP is fair game. I've decided to make some comments on this story at my LJ (which you can find linked as my Homepage in my profile page – username: newslayer). You can review there if you want, I will reply. The entry is tagged as 'fic'.
Stumble and Break
He took in the yellow light coming from her bedroom, giving it a sense of haven from his place in the darkened hallway. It was unusual for her to leave the door wide open, particularly at that time of night; and although he had already been there a number of times – all of them uninvited – he couldn't help but feel he was prying by taking a step forward.
He spotted her easily. She was sitting on the floor, the soft winter breeze that came unbidden through the open window caressing her cheeks, candle light shining over the tears she made no effort to hide. Her face still held the dignified expression she always wore – even more so as she became aware of his presence.
Waves crashing on the shore just outside her window, even at that moment he already knew he would have been infinitely better off staying away. But something on the way her fingers played with the hem of her dress – or maybe the simple fact that she was actually wearing a dress, and on such a cold night – warmed his heart.
She looked up, acknowledging his company, and returned her gaze to the wall, and he understood what he had known all along. She had been the one to mention how valuable an acquaintance he could be, the only one that seemed to tolerate him, and she had gotten only more barbed insults for her trouble. But that was who she was. Noble, and compassionate, and loyal, and he hated her for it; he hated her for seeing in him what he couldn't even begin to fathom.
They weren't friends. They weren't anything at all.
Yet something inside him, something he couldn't comprehend or even begin to grasp made him go in and sit beside her, without saying a word. He leaned on her bed and just stared at the wall, ignoring her just as she had ignored him. But she chose to look up again, and take a look at him – really look at him – and her expression softened.
She didn't say a word though, and he didn't try to speak; even if the lump on his throat had allowed him to, what could he say? Instead, he pondered on the fact that they, who never ran out of things to say, were speechless.
He had no comfort to offer. He wouldn't pass his arm over her shoulder, or brush her tears away, or whisper to her ear. He didn't know how to do any of that. He knew how to snog a girl, he knew how to take advantage of a girl; he knew exactly what to do to get her in bed with him, and how to leave her before she even knew what was happening, but he didn't know how to get her to smile.
He had never needed to. He had never cared before.
But she must have recognized his silence as a peace offering, because after a few minutes she sighed and wiped away her tears, and gave him a faltering smile as if he had been the one who needed reassurance. And maybe he did.
The small gesture reanimated him, and he found his hand had moved to offer his handkerchief, which she graciously took. Perhaps whatever this was, it wasn't so hard after all. Or perhaps she had a way to make things easier.
He watched her as she clutched the token as if it was a lifeline, and he knew he would never accept it back – confused by the fact that she would have something that was his, even if that wasn't quite the reason she held it so dear.
His heart still swelled with pride when she finally decided to get up and take a deep breath. He did the same, and, feeling a little bit bolder, he let her see his smirk before turning around and heading for the door.
"Don't you want to know what was all that about?"
The firmness of her voice was remarkable, and he simply admired her capability to keep it together despite the sorrow and the pain. He didn't move to face her.
"I already have more than enough to use against you, Granger. I didn't know you needed any particular reason to whine." He shrugged. "You never did before."
The look on his face said he thought there were already enough reasons, and that it was a wonder she hadn't broken down before, but she could only see the back of his neck.
"I broke up with Ron."
It was all he could do not to turn around. She turned away from his questioning gaze, and muttered more to herself than to anyone else.
"There's someone else. I'm in love with someone else."
-
Deep down, he had always known that going to them would be his biggest mistake; but at the time it certainly didn't feel like he had much of a choice. They had been reluctant to take him in, and his pride wouldn't have had it any other way.
After all, he hadn't really changed a bit. He still hated mudbloods, and Harry Potter and everything he stood for – just not enough to murder anyone.
And he certainly valued his and his mother's life more than Voldemort's so-called credo.
Granger had been the self appointed voice of reason, which had cost her many an argument – and he couldn't have cared less. She had been the one to remind them that he could be a valuable asset, something he had counted on from the beginning.
The Order protected his mother without much objection. Poor marriage choices aside, she hadn't done anything wrong as far as they knew. But he was a confirmed Death Eater marked by the Dark Lord himself, one responsible – directly or not – for Albus Dumbledore's death.
It would have been funny really, had it been anyone else. As a Death Eater he was their sworn enemy, but that would never be enough now. He had failed to accomplish the mission Voldemort had commended him, which meant he was as good as a dead man. His own father would probably be the one to do the honors.
He needed all the help he could get.
So he had relied on the only thing he knew could be his saving grace: Hermione Granger. Unlike the rest of her house, not only did she have a brain – she knew how to use it. It was a wonder she hadn't been sorted to Ravenclaw, but he supposed it had to do with a feisty wild side he suspected she had hid very well. That, and the fact that sometimes her heart got in the way.
Which was the only explanation he had been able to come up with for her relationship with Weasley.
In his case, he had hoped both things would work his way. He had never endeared himself to her – and he had never wanted or intended to anyway – but if anyone could recognize that his allegiance was worth something, if anyone was to give him a chance, it would have to be her.
Of course that the fact that she was the one person Harry Potter would listen to didn't hurt either.
-
Whatever flaws Ron Weasley had as a wizard, he more than made up for with his fists. It was clear that in his case, the Weasley flare for all things muggle had manifested itself in an innate talent for muggle fighting.
And Draco Malfoy's newfound sense of honor wouldn't allow him to back down from a fight.
She became the reluctant referee to their daily encounters; she wouldn't let Harry be burdened with such trifles as the time for the final battle approached. It had been easier while dating Ron, because he had been more prone to listen to her back then, but now she found herself appealing to the Slytherin's decency, common sense, and whatever respect she inspired him.
He seemed to have none.
"Honestly, Granger." He usually mocked her with a smug smile, while the red head shot him death glares from the other side of the room, where Harry tried to hold him down.
"You actually think it's funny to piss him off, don't you?" She asked him once, tired of playing games. He shook his head as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
"I just happen to think that you are funny when you are mad, which is quite often." He snorted.
The vase barely missed his head, and a very startled Hermione spun around looking for the source of the attack.
"I don't know why you even bother, but I'm not putting up with him anymore." Harry spat the words at her and glared at the blonde before storming off. She gave him a disappointed look and shook her head in disbelief before following the brunette.
"Harry…"
He watched her go, before turning back to Ron, who was approaching.
"What? Want another round Weasel?"
But the look on the Gryffindor's face held a smug expression he had never seen before on him, and it made him uneasy. The boy simply walked up to him, and moved to speak in a low voice.
"I hope you know she didn't break up with me because of you"
-
The end of the Second War had been rather anticlimactic, as far as he was concerned. No mass murders or great tragedies. Most members of the Order had survived, which meant most Death Eaters hadn't been that lucky. He had not been spared; he taken a nasty curse to his shoulder in a successful effort to try and keep her safe, but at least two halves of the Trio had gotten much worse than him – a thought that left him feeling quite self-satisfied.
He supposed he would have been able to actually enjoy the sense of superiority, had he not been looking for her. Anything to avoid Weasley's incessant whining, and Potter's ever-present horde of groupies.
Anything to ease the cold dread that filled his chest.
He thought about checking Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The ghost had finally gotten around her unfinished business, he assumed, for she had been nowhere to be seen for quite some time. Reaching the first floor, though, he could hear someone crying.
That's how he found her; sobs wracking her body, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had never been one to enjoy letting people – he least of all, he knew – see her show that much emotion. Everybody had assumed that after spending the last couple of days sitting outside Hogwarts hospital ward as the so-called Savior of the World debated between life and death, the news of his miraculous recovery would knock some sense into her and she would finally agree to go and get some sleep.
But she was completely broken down, and he knew for certain that her tears were not so much a reflection of the joy she felt for the well-being of her fellow Gryffindor; and that the despair that crossed her features had a lot more to do with the anguish of two days of uncertainty and his warm reaction to one Ginevra Weasley, who had been allowed to stay by his bed all along.
One more look at her, and he tightened his jaw, feeling the vile rise up his throat. The Hermione Granger he knew could take a hell of a lot more than that without so much as flinching. He was utterly disgusted at the sight, and so furious he could barely keep himself from shaking.
"You filthy little mudblood," He spat, and she looked up at him with so much hurt in her eyes that he hated her even more. "I thought you were better than this. Stupid."
But turning around, with his jaw still clenched so hard he wouldn't be able to utter another word for days, he wasn't so certain who was the intended target for that insult.
His very grey eyes burned with tears of his own.
She doesn't mean you.
It was the last anyone saw of Draco Malfoy for some time.
-
Despite the many pleas of her only son, Narcissa Malfoy decided that if their family was ever going to regain the social status they had traditionally held, the first thing to do under these new circumstances was to separate themselves from anything that could lead people to link them to the Dark Lord; and that there was no better way to get people to think of them as allies to the Order than throwing a party for Harry bloody Potter, wizard extraordinaire, at Malfoy Manor.
He didn't have the heart to tell her that there wasn't much one could do when the head of the family was the most well-known Death Eater there had ever been, but he supposed that the common wizard had so few brain cells that they could make only one connection at the time, so her plan was very much likely to work.
In any case, that didn't mean he had to be the life and soul of the party – Pothead had that covered – or even a good host. He stuck around for a while, and when he didn't think he could bare the carefully hidden pain in her eyes as she watched the hero and his girlfriend bask in each other's company, he sought shelter in one of the many balconies in the further wing of the Manor.
Darkness hid him well as he took a drag from his cigarette, the one muggle habit he had picked up. His father would have thrown a fit. Hermione certainly had.
But she didn't seem to be in such a mood as she came to stand beside him and looked at the midnight sky. She turned to him for a while, offering him a sad smile but not quite meeting his eyes. He just snorted and shook his head, knowingly. They hadn't spoken since his little outburst.
He still threw the cigarette down the balcony.
"I have to leave." She said calmly, as if she had been commenting on the weather. He knew she didn't mean the party.
"Bloody savior of the world." He muttered. "Stupid git."
She smiled bitterly, biting her lower lip as she nodded slowly. And he found that he still had no comfort to offer. He wouldn't pass his arm over her shoulder, or brush her tears away, or whisper to her ear. He didn't know how to do any of that.
But apparently, she knew well enough for the both of them, because she wrapped her arms around him softly, as if she knew how easily she could break him, and rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. He stood there, responding instinctively.
And perhaps, whatever this was, it wasn't so hard and it didn't hurt so much after all. Or perhaps she had a way to make things easier.
His embrace tightened around her, and he pressed his forehead to hers, pretending not to feel whatever was left of his heart – had he ever had one – shattering in a million pieces.
"Bloody bastard…" He started again, but she shushed him. Her gaze found his, and he felt his eyes betray him, and a single angry tear escaped the corner of his right eye. "I really, really hate him."
"I know. I'm sorry." She whispered, disentangling herself from his arms, but not without kissing him briefly, as chastely as he had ever been kissed, in the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry."
He opened his mouth to reply, but his hands, still on her waist, felt her go stiff. Her eyes, fixed over his shoulder, held an expression of terror he had only seen grace her face during those dark days that immediately followed the defeat of the Dark Lord; days when, more than once, she had thought everything was lost.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt anything." He heard, and he expected her to react somehow. But she seemed to be unable to do anything, including breathe.
And even at that moment, he still knew he would have been infinitely better off staying away.
He squeezed her arm, calling her attention, and their eyes met. He took one last look at her, and offered a reassuring smile that he could barely recognize as his own.
"Potter." He called over his shoulder, and he felt the sound of steps moving away stop. "There is nothing to interrupt."
He turned around and started moving away, but his hand remained on hers, giving her one last squeeze as if it refused to break contact. When it finally let go of hers, he knew he would still be able to feel her warmth for the rest of the night. And maybe, he would be able to keep a part of her with him no matter where she went.
Harry eyed him disbelieving, but Draco didn't care much. He paused beside him for a second before going back into the house.
"She… I think you should check on her." He whispered, in such a soft tone that the once Boy-Who-Lived gave him a confused look before starting towards her.
But he didn't return to the party right away. He stayed hidden in the shadows, drawn by the scene that was unraveling; mesmerized by the look of anticipation in her face, wishing she had been able to look at him like that at least once.
"Hey," He heard him say. "I was looking for you."
"Really? I thought you were busy with Ginny back there." She replied, softly, but making a pitiful job at hiding the hurt in her voice. Potter didn't seem to notice as he pushed his glasses back in place.
"I think I'm just about the last person she wants to see right now." She raised an eyebrow, and he looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes. "I broke up with her."
"Oh." She, the one who never ran out of things to say, was rendered speechless.
"Yeah," He said, without breaking eye contact. "I think… I mean, I…"
He stumbled upon his words, and he looked away for a second. But his hand seemed to find its way to her cheek, and he brushed away a strand of her hair, as if that simple contact could break whatever prevented him from saying what he meant.
His eyes fixed on hers now, his hand still on her hair, he cleared his throat.
"There is someone else." He smiled, tentatively. "I'm in love with somebody else."
His grin became wide, and she looked away in a futile effort to keep herself from grinning as well. Still, a smile spread upon her lips.
"I see." She said, before looking back at him, her eyes shining brightly. "Do I know her?" She paused, teasingly. "I mean, are we even talking about a 'she'?"
And Draco Malfoy couldn't help but smile fondly. Perhaps, she would also keep a part of him with her no matter where he went.