Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This is my first time trying a one-shot fic. I wanted to see how it went. I also tried to write something different and somewhat eccentric. Read and Review and let me know what you think! ) btw, this was a quick write, so I just looked through for grammatical mistakes and saw none, but I was probably oblivious to them, so just let me know if I need to fix anything, criticism is much appreciated, just don't be too mean.
The Last Kiss
Murder.
The word alone ran in Draco Malfoy's head like the ringing echo of a dropping knife in utter silence.
Murder her? Murder a harmless, innocent girl? Sure, she was a mudblood. Sure, he had no regards to her well-being whatsoever. But to be responsible for taking the life of someone else… well, that alone was disturbing to even think of.
"Dispose of the mudblood," he hissed at him. "It is not a matter of choice, you understand?"
Draco just stared at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact. "Yes, my lord."
The task would be simple for any normal Death Eater; however, he was not a normal Death Eater. He was young and still innocent and was not capable of such a thing. So why would the Dark Lord give him such a task?
"He wants you to prove your loyalty, Draco. Don't let him down. Don't let me down." Lucius Malfoy said when he saw the questioning look in his son's eyes.
He was given a month to do the task. It was simple: kill her, be discreet.
But once he saw her, he could not to think why he should kill her when she did not deserve it. But he knew he had to, or else death would be upon him and he tried to logic with himself by saying that his life was more valuable than that of someone he didn't even like.
But he could not stop staring at her.
It was not because he was at all attracted to her, but because as he was plotting her death in his head, he couldn't help but stare at her – at what he was about to end. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help but memorize her features: her bushy hair, her slender figure, her pretty face, and her brown eyes. Why he did this puzzled him. He knew in the end it would only be harder for him to kill her when he knew so much about her behavior, and the little things about her appearance, the way her hair fell down her back, and the way her hand still shot up to answer any question asked in class and the way her mouth moved when she talked, the way her lips parted when she smiled…
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She found herself in the cold of a dark room. She had a horrible headache and her intuitions told her that something was not right.
"Hello?" she said, hoping that someone would reply. But no one replied and all she heard was the echo of her own voice around the room.
She scanned the room, hoping that there was some way out, but the room seemed to have no doors and no windows – initially no way out. She wondered how such a secluded room could be so cold.
She stayed in her corner and sat on the stone floor. She was close to crying now. She didn't know where she was, why she was there, or who took her there. This lack of knowledge was killing her, and she did not feel right at all.
It was because she felt another presence in the room and she didn't like that this other presence was silent. She didn't like it at all.
"Please tell me where I am, or why I'm here," she pleaded. "I don't want to be here…" she added, half to herself. When she heard no answer from the mysterious someone, she began to silently cry to herself.
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Draco Malfoy watched Hermione Granger in silence. He should have been amused at her actions, but he was not. He did not reply because he did not know what to say. He had poisoned her and kidnapped her and took her to a place he was sure she didn't like.
After several minutes, or perhaps hours, he finally decided to show himself.
"Lumos," he said, and he walked towards where she was.
"You?" She asked incredulously. "You took me here?" He could see that her eyes were red from crying.
"Yes," was his simple answer.
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In any other moment, Hermione would have spat back with an insult. But in this instant, Hermione knew she was defeated. What was the point in trying to fight back? She was wandless, in addition to being clueless as to where she was.
After a long moment, she said, "Why?"
"Because I'm supposed to kill you."
"Why?" she asked again. He saw the defeat in her eyes.
"I don't know." He answered truthfully.
They stared at each other in silence for some time, him standing and her sitting. He finally took a seat next to her on the floor.
"Do you want to die?"
"No."
After some more awkward silence, she said: "Do you want me to die?"
He did not answer right away.
But when he did it was: "No."
"But you have to?" she asked again.
He did not know. Did he really have to?
"I suppose it's a matter of choice."
"Voldemort doesn't give choices."
He was surprised at her retort. "No, he doesn't," he paused. "But I have a choice. I can kill you and save my own life. Or you can live and…"
"I don't feel much sympathy for you, do you understand?" she said, staring at him.
He barely nodded his head.
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They sat there not knowing what to do. In some ways, Hermione didn't want it to end. In this cold, secluded room, there were two choices: die or don't die. The fate wasn't in her hands, but it was, in some sort of sick and twisted way, a relief from everyday life. There were so many choices in the world outside this room, so many things to think about, so many more ways to think about surviving… but in this room, she didn't have to make a choice. She only had to wait.
"What are you going to do?"
He shook his head.
"Murder is a morbid thing," he said, "I don't like you."
She just stared at him. "But you don't hate me."
"If I hated you, I would have killed you by now."
She did not say anything to this.
"I don't like you, but I know more about you than you know. I know everything about the way you look, everything about the way you act, and everything you do in between. I know so much that I didn't want to know, but I couldn't help myself…" when she did not say anything, he went on, "it's strange, but when I was given the task of killing you, I was drawn to study everything about you. I don't know why."
"It's going to haunt you forever, you know, once you kill me," she did not say this as an act to save herself from dying, but rather as a fact.
The silence was comfortable to both of them. It was neither awkward nor scary.
"Maybe we should just stay like this forever, it's comforting," she acknowledged, laughing ironically to herself.
"Why are you laughing?" he asked curiously.
"Because, Malfoy, I'm supposed to be dead. The knowledge of it is ironically funny. One day I'm alive and happy and the next moment I know I'm suppose to die but I'm not dead yet. People don't know when they're going to die, but here I am, waiting for it."
That's when he pulled a bottle out of his pocket. "Here, drink this."
"Is this my potion of death, Malfoy? Will I finally die?"
He shrugged. "It's up to you." He finally reached a point of logic. He could not go wrong. He had captured her, and given her poison to drink. He was not denying it was potion, and he was not forcing it on her. Whether she died now, was her choice. He would be no murderer.
"You're still a murderer, Malfoy, no matter how it's done," she said, holding the bottle in her hand. When he did not reply, she said, "Maybe it's what we both need."
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand."
"Oh, look at us, still in this room. It's clear we both don't want to leave. I'm miserable, you're miserable, and we both lead pointless lives," she said simply.
He stared at her. She began to open the bottle and brought the opening to her mouth.
"To life," she smiled and drank.
He did not feel as guilty. She did it to herself. And after all, he didn't like her anyway.
But there was something about what she last said that was true. After all, what was there to live for anyway? He thought about it as he stared at her lips, now moist with the potion of death he had given her moments ago. And he memorized the movement of the lips as they parted into a smile, but this smile was one he had never seen before.
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With one sudden and swift movement, she grabbed him and pressed her mouth against his, forcing his mouth open with her tongue and letting some liquid flow from her mouth to his. She was not surprised when he did not refuse the liquid, or push her off. There they were, like lovers in a passionate lip-lock. It was almost sweet, if it had not been so morbid.
When they parted, he laughed bitterly.
"You didn't think I was going to go down alone, did you?" she asked him, smiling viciously.
"It was literally the kiss of death. The last kiss of my life…"
They both began to laugh bitterly as they felt the effects of death flowing through their body.
"Hold my hand," she said. He took her hand and entwined it with his own. "It's comforting to know that I won't be dying alone."
They looked into each others eyes as death began to take over their bodies.
"I don't like you…" he said, with a small smile.
"I don't like you either," she replied, "but thank you for dying with me."
The End
A/N: Sooooo what are your thoughts??