Author's Notes:
So I'm back!! Anyway, thanks to those people who reviewed my work so far. Really, you make writing even more fun! So, this is something new, since it's not the usual Harry-Draco pairing. Anyway, I hope you'll like it all the same. ^.^
This chapter's dedicated to Loreen, for being the persistent person that she is.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and I don't own anything....
Uncertainties
Chapter 1 – Hiding
To love is to learn how to hide the pain.
Hermione sat on her bed in the girls' dormitory just after the exams, fiddling with what seemed like a tiny hourglass that hung around her neck with a gold chain. She closed her eyes and opened them up again, looking out the window. She smiled. The sky looked gloomy, grey clouds lining the atmosphere, pale blue and crimson streaking across the horizon. It was as if the sky was mourning with her.
Strange, she thought. I never felt this way before.
She lay back on her bed, recounting all the incidents from the inner recesses of her mind. Everything was so vivid, so surreal, that she couldn't believe that they all had come and gone. Right now, she was even grateful that she still came through it all in one piece.
Draco…
She always felt that unfamiliar pang course through her whenever she thought of Draco – that painful sting that continues to sear straight right into her heart. It was strange, really, to even feel something deeper, besides hatred and anger that she was used to feeling whenever Draco was around. It was like being pulled by two unknown forces, each one with great power that becomes too forceful to resist.
She buried her face into her hands, feeling desperate and confused all over again. She never felt this way before, and now, it was wrecking her apart, tearing right into her soul. She never wanted this, this feeling – she knew it would only make matters worse than it is.
Hermione knew too much about love. Perhaps it was because she was used to reading love stories while she was growing up. Or maybe because she had paid too much attention to those romantic Muggle movies, thinking that someday, the story would end up being her own.
But now it was different. She realized that love was not just a fairy tale, where boy meets girl, boy and girl swear undying love for each other, and then live happily ever after. It wasn't just like that. Love isn't just a feeling; rather, it is a choice that you have to make and you have to hold on to, no matter what. Love is a risk that you have to take, a risk that challenges you, even your life, for the object of it. Love is so powerful, that when it hits you, you don't know yourself anymore. It is so impenetrable that it would take eternity for it to fade out.
All these she had learned while loving that one boy. She had learned to love him with all the love her heart could hold. Sometimes she'd ask herself if he were really worth it, and when she'd look into his eyes, pure and silver in the dark, she'd just sigh and smile contentedly, imprinting the vision of his eyes deep in her mind, then she'd close her eyes, and still she'd see his eyes vividly, coloured with purity and full intensity.
Sometimes, she realized, it's better to leave the question unanswered. You'll just have to wait and see.
* * * * *
Draco sat on the couch near the fire in the Slytherin common room, absentmindedly flipping through his copy of the Daily Prophet, the one sent by his father. He didn't know what else to do.
The common room was quiet and empty, except for him, he realized. It was a good place for him to think for a while, since it was the only thing that keeps him from losing his mind.
But what the heck, who was he trying to fool? He knew that thinking would only put him into madness – especially when his thoughts always wander to that very same person, that girl with the caramel-colored hair and hazel brown eyes.
He laughed in spite of himself. She was rather hard to forget, since she was the first person – a girl at that – to slap him hard on the face. It was the only time he had seen her angry, her eyes flashing dangerously at him. He couldn't blame her, though. It was his fault. Just serves him right for being an insufferable, obstinate git.
This is strange, he reflected thoughtfully. I never admit I'm wrong.
He looked at the fire, dancing and crackling in the hearth, warming him from the cold atmosphere of the common room. But he knew that the fire was not the only reason why he felt that certain kind of warmth inside him that no one can ever replace – except for that girl…
But then again, I really don't know what's normal anymore.
It was ironic, now that he thought of it. At home, he was taught to stay away from Muggle-borns. Muggle-borns have bad blood, as his father had put it, and pure bloods are better off. At first he didn't know what to make of it, since it didn't make any sense, but being the obedient boy that he is to his father, that was exactly what he did.
And now here he was, thinking of that girl, thinking of the way her smile lights up her whole face, of the way her eyes emulate her soul, of the way she brings herself with such confidence and strength, truthful and real and so exclusively her.
He did not know how it all started. It was as if he was caught in a dream, and he didn't know where it all began. It was too late when he realized he was feeling this, this love, for her. And when he realized this, he didn't know how to make it stop. It was like a boulder rolling down a steep hill; the motion goes on and on, and you can't stop it. He admits, albeit grudgingly, that underneath all those snide remarks, retorts and smirks he had thrown her way, he loved her. Come to think of it, hate was another form of love, right?
Draco spent an unwarranted amount of time watching her from a distance, studying her features, trying to preserve every detail of her smile, her face, her whole identity until the time he will see her again. Sometimes, it hurts him to look at her just like that, knowing that she would never look back at him and feel the same way about him, but then he'd remember her eyes, so sweet and so beautiful, that he'd just keep on gazing at her the same way.
He loved her eyes most of all. Perhaps they were one of the reasons why he fell in love with her in the first place. There was nothing like them. Nothing can compare to the way her eyes mirror her soul, so painfully truthful and beautiful at the same time. Her eyes are clearly different from others – so unique that they perfectly fit her. He'd remember the way he'd looked at her, her auburn eyes shining with innocence and purity, and he'd been completely transfixed, as if he could not let go of that vision, and he'd be just like that until she turns and goes away.
He laid on his back, closing his eyes, feeling weary and desperate. He'd just have to face that bitter reality – he really couldn't have her.
* * * * *
"H-hermione." Hermione turned around and saw Neville approaching her. He had a frightened look on his face. "You've got t-to g-get outside, quick," Neville said, stammering.
"Why? What's wrong?" Hermione asked, her voice full of concern.
Neville dragged her out of the common room. Hermione followed, although reluctantly. She had a feeling that this was not good.
They ran until they reached the Hogwarts grounds. What she saw made her heart jump.
Ron and Draco were having a fight, both of their wands lay forgotten on the ground.
Hermione looked around and saw Harry running over to them, flushed and covered with sweat. "What happened?" he asked. "I came from Quidditch practice, and I was looking for you in the common room, and somebody said you went out this way."
Hermione could only stare. Harry turned, and saw Ron and Malfoy. "Bloody hell!"
"My god," Hermione whispered, looking frantically at Neville and Harry.
"I don't know how it happened. I just saw them," Neville explained, his eyes bulging with fear. "I didn't know how to stop them, so I went and got you."
Draco lashed blindly at Ron, finally punching him on his stomach. Draco smirked, a palpable victory on his face, but that instantly changed to a grimace when Ron's fist hit hard on Draco's left eye and left him reeling with pain. Ron was about to kick Draco's shin when he felt two pairs of arms pulling him back.
"Stop it, Ron." Harry used the last amount of his strength to restrain Ron from getting back at Malfoy. Ron was awfully stubborn; he kept retaliating, but with Hermione's help, they were both able to hold Ron back.
Draco was left on the ground, wincing with pain. He didn't know how long they were fighting, but he knew that Weasley's blows had damaged random parts of his body. He was about to inspect the damage when he felt the weight of a gaze on him. He looked up to see Hermione staring at him.
Hermione watched Draco, and was taken aback when he looked up at her. She held his gaze for a while, auburn meeting silver. Then, ignoring the loud thumping of her heart, she said slowly, "Malfoy, just… go away. Get lost." With a last incriminating look, she turned and looked away.
Draco stayed rooted for a moment, stung by Hermione's words, like white hot pain coursing through the deepness of his soul. Finally he stood up, flinching. And this time he knew it wasn't just only because of the pain from Weasley's blows.
* * * * *
Draco came out from the shower the next morning, ignoring the consistent rumbling in his stomach. Slowly he got into his clothes, and walked slowly to his dormitory, and started arranging the books he needed for his classes today. He had decided to skip breakfast, and he was feeling increasingly hungry.
Desperately he walked over to his drawer and rummaged through his top drawer, where he found the stash of goodies his mother had sent for him. He ate the chocolate cupcake that his mother had especially baked for him, then poured himself water from the jug beside his bed, feeling rather thirsty after eating the cupcake which left a dry feeling in his throat. He drank the water in one gulp, then proceeded to his four-poster.
He sat there, absentmindedly rubbed his left eye, which he regretted when he did, since it was still painful from yesterday. He swore inwardly, got up and walked over to Goyle's bedside table and snatched the mirror, with which he used to inspect his bruise. It was still an unattractive shade of purple, and as he touched it, was still tender.
He didn't go to the hospital wing yesterday; it was a long way away from the Hogwarts grounds, and it was hard for him to limp all the way there, and so he settled instead to the comfort of his dormitory. He was so exhausted that it didn't take him long to fall asleep on his four-poster.
Of course, he could still go to the infirmary, and have Madam Pomfrey fix his bruise once and for all, but he didn't.
He flopped on his four-poster, feeling wretched. He wasn't such a self-sacrificing person, so why was he choosing to feel the pain from his bruises, instead of going to the hospital wing?
Because your torturing yourself, that's why, said a voice inside him. He turned on his side, and stared at the ceiling. Because you'd rather torture yourself with pain than feel guilty, knowing that it's all your fault.
And you're a coward, he scolded himself silently, a feeling of foreboding inside him. As much as he hated to admit it, in a way he was scared.
He was scared of the truth; the truth being that Hermione wasn't his, and will never be. She had made it clear for him yesterday, when she told him to go away. He could still remember the way Hermione looked at him, the coldness slicing right through him. Of course, Hermione's words jarred him immensely, like a swift knife through a tentative hope.
It was the very same reason why he never told Hermione what he was feeling for her. He didn't want to know how she would react if he did, and he wasn't too keen on taking chances. He didn't want to risk losing his pride just for rejection, didn't he?
Rejection was a hard, painful, bitter pill to swallow.
But now was not the right time to dwell on his feelings. There were more important things to think about than that. Like getting to your classes without fainting, he thought.
Sighing, he grabbed a cauldron cake, stashed it into his bag for emergency, and went out the dormitory.
* * * * *
Hermione came in rushing into the Great Hall, her school bag on her shoulder, looking messy and disgruntled, her hair in a wild tangle around her face. She had slept late last night, owing it to the need of finishing her Muggle Studies term paper, which was due the next day. She promptly sat next to Harry, who greeted her cheerfully. "Morning, Herm."
"Mmmm," she mumbled, spooning oatmeal from her bowl into her mouth.
"Hey Hermione," Ron greeted from across the table, stabbing his fork on his bacon and putting it into his mouth. "You okay?"
Hermione didn't answer; she started pouring herself pumpkin juice.
"Bad morning?" Lavender Brown pitched in, a few chairs away, eyeing her critically.
Hermione proceeded to her bag looking for her brush, and hastily ran it through her hair, taming her unruly curls. "I haven't slept all night, I have dark circles under my eyes, still got a lot to study for, and I'm only halfway finished with my star chart," she answered with a slightly hysterical note in her voice. She grumbled inwardly, then added, "so don't mess with me."
"My, my, a bit cranky, aren't we?" Lavender giggled. "Geez, Hermione, loosen up!"
Hermione drew a deep breath and ignored Lavender's comment. She had a lot on her mind going on, with the exams just a few weeks away. She couldn't bear to just loosen up and take it easy. No one was taking more subjects than she was. They had no right to tell her to loosen up! They just couldn't understand.
"Hey, Herm, don't get too worked up on this," Harry whispered, and as Hermione looked up, saw the concern in his eyes. Harry smiled at her. "I know you're in some kind of rough time right now, but you'll get past that, don't worry."
Ron leaned in, and whispered, "Yeah, and one more thing." He gave her a serious look, and kept his voice low. "Don't worry about that Lavender for now. I heard she's taking Arithmancy under Professor Vector, and I overheard Parvati telling Dean that Lavender's got a huge crush over Vector, which was the only reason why she's taking his class in the first place," Ron whispered, his eyes twinkling. "In fact, she's got one of pictures under her pillow every time she sleeps."
"Ron!" Hermione giggled, nudging him under the table. "Quit that!"
"See? So every time Lavender irritates the hell out of you, you tell yourself, 'Okay, say whatever you want, but I know you've got one of Vector's pictures tucked under your pillow.'" Ron gave her a conspiratorial wink and squeezed her hand. "Just don't tell her that I know, ok?"
Hermione laughed, "Oh sure." She brushed her bangs away from her eyes. "Thanks, you guys."
Harry looked at Ron, who popped a Bertie Botts's Every Flavored Bean into his mouth, then grinned. "No problem," they said in unison.
Hermione sighed, and looked desperately at the blurry haze of text of her Potions book she had propped in front of her as she tried to study, but only found herself sneaking a furtive glance over the Slytherin table, where the seat usually occupied by a certain silvery blonde-haired boy was vacated. She wondered vaguely where he was; He must have skipped breakfast, Hermione thought, a dull ache in her heart.
It was hard; it was always hard with Draco. Hermione saw him yesterday, from after his horrid fight with Ron, and she'd been there. As much as she didn't want him to go, she had told him off. Go away... get lost, she heard her own voice, and had been slightly surprised at the bitter tone she had used then, and she'd seen him, his slate-grey eyes clouding with a familiar emotion she couldn't quite distinguish, and then it vanished as swiftly as it appeared. It could have easily been dismissed as a trick of the light, and tried convincing herself that it was what she thought it was; just an illusion, created by the incongruous play of light. But what she saw flicker in Draco's eyes was just too real to be false, and this just made everything more confusing than it really was.
What was he trying to do? Hermione thought pensively. She felt light, that slight ray of hope slicing through the sheer veneer of uncertainties, tentative hope rising to the core. But it can't be. He hates me.
Hermione was so lost in Draco-thought that she didn't feel Harry's nudging from her right side. "Hey, Herm, let's go."
"What? Oh yeah." Hermione glanced up and saw everybody dashing away from the Great Hall and into their classes. She stood up, hastily snapped her Potions book shut and shoved it inside her bag, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she glanced at the Slytherin table (which was now empty), and started towards Harry and Ron, who were waiting for her. "Let's go."
~~tbc...
Well, I'm not quite sure if Professor Vector is the 'cute and available' type. But I guess that'll just do for now!
