Her Last Sentence

The air was cool but I was sweating feverishly. The lights were always ever so bright when all I wanted to do was shroud this entirely damned event into never-ending darkness. It was the cruelest torture yet, to see her spinning gracefully on the floor, just like I expected she would. Except with a different man, Viktor Krum, not me.

Her teeth were no longer like an irritating rabbit, But like a normal human's for once. I expected that was really why that waddling baboon actually asked her out to the dance anyway. Her brown hair lined with lighter streaks of chocolate whipped around her face as that guy twirled her around.

I was standing at the side; Parkinson had probably gone off with Zabini anyway. I could not tear my eyes away from her posture, the way she held herself with confidence, the way she always did. The punch she had given me was the most intimate I have ever felt. And was what set this off.

My father detested me for being such a failure and my mother never bothered nor cared to touch me. I ate my meals alone at a long table full of empty spaces. The house elves were warned to leave me well alone. I had no companions and my father did not believe in indulging in anyone but himself. I had no toys.

I was stuck in my favorite place in that dreary mansion year after year. All my time was devoted to climbing the black intricately carved staircases to the floor just below the roof. It was the only place which décor Lucius never bothered to change. Instead of grey stone walls and floor, I had a beige marble floor and white walls, from which most I carved my name.

I always sat on the ledge of the window when it rained. I reveled in the coolness, the comfort, the solitude. It surrounded me offered me shelter, and even when I was young, I abhorred the sun.

My imaginary friends were my only company. They evolved from small animals to boys the same age as me from whom I can divulge my frustrations to. But those were the days of endless rain and loneliness. The worst came when I came of age to enter Hogwarts.

The trouble began when a certain bushy-haired buck-toothed girl entered my carriage rather insolently. Looking down on her and disgusted by her looks, when I discovered she was a mudblood; I could not help but feel revolted by her. As what I was taught to do.

But now, I watched as she held her head high by a long slender neck as she laughed with pleasure. I felt bitter, strangely bitter. When she punched me, that very year, I was appalled, disgusted even. But still the prints she left on my heart were permanent. It was the very first time someone had dared to hit me. Even my father preferred to use the Cruciatus Curse never once laying his hands on me. I can never forget the flash of anger that appeared in her eyes, her biting of her lip, and her hair in a clump around her face.

The punch she left on my chest still tingled with mixed feelings. I knew I should hate her, but I did not. How could I so? She was domineering, proud, confident and intelligent. Everything that no one who surrounded me had.

She was alas, the only woman who had the courage to cross me, to hit me, to ridicule me, to chastise me. Now I watched as the woman of my dreams was in the arms of another man. I shrunk further into the corner; I continued to glare at the back of her lean figure.

Suddenly as Krum spun her around, her brown eyes caught my grey ones, startled at the ferocity in my eyes. Her eyes seemed to avoid my gaze for half a second before they recollected themselves and glared back at me, albeit with less anger and resentment.

As the song slowed to a stop, Hermione curtsied to Krum and headed back to where Potter and Weasley were sitting. Potter was talking to Weaslette and Weasley to Brown. I watched as Granger sit down sadly, bored at the fact.

I watched as Weasley stand up with a bowl. He seemed to trip over air. As he fell the bowl filled with piping hot soup seemed to go in slow motion before it landed on her gown. Her brown eyes went wide. I watched in horror as she dropped tears of pain.

The buffoons! Did they not think of bring her to Madame Promfrey or even know a quick healing spell? Before I knew it, I was sprinting towards her huddled figure. All eyes were on her. I picked her up as gently as I could in this fit of anger.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, struggling out of my strong grasp, but in vain.

"I need extra credit if I am ever going to be Head Boy," I said through gritted teeth, bored at my boring excuse.

I walked steadily out of the stunningly bright room to reveal the blanket of black the gods have cast over the sky, only leaving a few stars to comfort and remind us that light will return again. Hermione had a faint flush upon her cheeks, her arm was red. Upon stepping out of the Hall, Hermione struggled and demanded to be let down. I did not even turn into the third corridor before I was assaulted so violently I had nothing to do but let her down.

She arranged her dress calmly stating quietly that she can make her own way to see Madame Promfrey and asked that I return to the ball.

"Hermione, please stay," I said quietly, now more afraid of being left alone than ever. Her eyes seemed to soften at my request that showed that I somehow had a vulnerability. Her eyes seemed to be torn.

"I… I can't, Draco," she answered. I had never said her first name, and she never said mine. It was nice to hear my name with her voice. It offered me comfort yet again.

"Please, Hermione, I'm scared," I said, looking down.

Before I knew it, she started a volcano, "I bloody can't! You're having me darn confused! One time you're looking at me with hurt in your sad grey eyes leaving me to wonder what on earth I have done wrong! Another, you're looking at me as if I am the bane of all evil!" she shouted, banging her fists against my chest. "I damn hate you, Malfoy. Hate you!"

All the anger she showered onto me diminished my sadness and alit anger again, like she had done countless times before. And so I blurted out, "Because I bloody love you, Granger!" my hands was holding her head to look into my eyes, and so I could look at hers.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered. That seemed to snap me out of my reverie, because I let go and turned away. She touched my arm stiffly. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, "Take none of that to heart." But little did I know how my heart would leap into ecstasy as she said the next sentence that would change my life from what I knew it to be.

"But I didn't say I did not like it,"