Title: It wouldn't kill you to be nice
Words: 828
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, but the story is.
A/N: This was oddly inspired by an episode of That '70s Show where Eric tells his grandmother that it wouldn't kill her to be nice, and then she dies on the spot. My story was originally going to be humorous, but it came out sad instead. Also, if you like this story, you may also like some other stories I've written (yes, I'm plugging my own stuff); they are called A Small Buzzing Noise and It Just Started to Rain. Anyway, enjoy!
The fluorescent light fixture hummed and flickered when Hermione flipped the switch. She strode to the smoggy mirror that hung on the wall, framed with smudges and fingerprints. She studied her hair and noticed a stray strand. With a quick spell, her hair returned to perfection. "You might want to get dressed," she said as she reapplied her scarlet lipstick. "We only get this room for another fifteen minutes."
"We can rent it for another hour, if you'd like," her companion said, with a softness in his voice. It was similar to the kind of voice you used when you haven't quite woken up in the morning.
"My lunch break finishes soon, and I still need to pick up my lunch from Sweet Ginger." Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror and realized she had misplaced her earrings sometime in the last hour. She proceeded to search the room.
"Why don't you take an extra-long lunch break?" he said, sitting up on the bed. "You've been working so hard lately. God knows you deserve it."
"Fuck, Draco. I have a deadline coming up; I haven't slept a full night since Vish became my boss, and I can't find my earrings. Just be happy you got your lunchtime lay." Hermione dropped to the floor and lifted the bed-skirt, finding earring number one.
"Hermione, you are not just lunchtime sex," Draco retorted. "I'm just telling you to relax. We don't have to fool around. We can go to lunch. We can take a walk. Whatever you want. Just be with me."
"Just be with you? Just be with you?! Draco! Do you know what would happen if people saw us together? Do you know what a scandal that would be? What would people think?" she said, looking straight into his eyes for the first time in days.
"Why does public image matter to you so much?" he exclaimed as he jumped off the bed. He pulled on his black trousers in one swift move. "Everyone knows that we're good people! The rest shouldn't matter."
Her eyes seared into his. "Your friends wouldn't approve."
"Neither would yours," he replied, wrapping an arm around her waist in order to draw her closer to him. She nudged out of the way and picked up her purse from the nightstand he stood next to, her back facing him. She stumbled ever so slightly when setting her earrings back into the holes they belonged in, and then tried to find something in her purse. A few items fell out. Draco bent to pick them up, but she pushed her hand against his chest. She collected her items and threw them in her bag, avoiding eye-contact. When she stood up, Draco reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. Hermione's shoes clunked as she marched towards the door. "Hermione…"
"Yes?" she said, her voice sounding a bit muffled and slightly higher than normal.
"It wouldn't kill you to be nice," he said, his voice cold. He immediately regretted it.
Hermione hesitated at the doorway, as if she might have something more to say. She seemed to decide against it as she shook her head, opened the door, and left. A sigh escaped Draco's lips. He despised the way he threw himself at her. He hated how he knew she wouldn't love him back after everything that had happened to her; how Ron died in a tragic accident several years ago; how her heart never fully recovered and probably never will. It disgusted him that even after Ron had died, he would still haunt Draco in ways he didn't think possible. Ron had been the love of Hermione's life; for that, Hermione would never see Draco as anything more than a fuck.
Draco studied his reflection in the mirror. He saw a man with eyes slowly turning pink as he fought the tears encroaching upon his eyes. He knew he should run from this nightmare before she completely destroyed the person he used to be. Already, he was just a shimmer of his former self. After all their time together, he stopped seeing her as the best fuck he'd ever had, but as a girl with possibilities; someone who could have a brighter future than working at the ministry in a normal nine to five job. They used to be symbiotic creatures, using each other for sexual pleasure. Their situation ceased to be symbiotic as she transformed into a parasite, seizing all the fragments of Draco's former character.
He laid his head against the wall with its chipping, pastel pink paint, shutting his eyes to let a few tears meander down his cheeks. He would stay with her. As long as he could be with her and serve some kind of purpose in her life, he would stay.
Draco Malfoy was an idiot.
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