Right. I am a die-hard Dramione shipper.
~ClarissaAisling
He sees her. He finally sees her more than just a filthy mudblood.
It was the first time he actually saw through her, and viewed her as just another human being. She was no longer mudblood Granger, bossy know-it-all. She was Hermione Granger, someone – he grudgingly admitted – as rather pretty, and someone, who you could have an intelligent conversation with, and not be bored.
Her excitement was, unnervingly contagious. He could see that she put her heart and soul into her work, and could tell that she loved the smell of parchment and books. She could not have been happier, as she had loving friends and family, and the ever-present mist of love that surrounded her.
It could have not been more different for him. Every time he went home for the holidays, a cloak of menacing aura would fall on his shoulders, as he would never forget the day Narcissa dragged her son aside to whisper, with tears and lacerations down her face, that the Dark Lord had taken to use Malfoy Manor as a Headquarter for the Death Eaters.
He had the burden of his family upon his shoulders. Missions were given to him to prove his worth, and to make-up for Lucius' failures. Every night, he cried himself to sleep, and he had taken to putting up silence spells on the curtains, behind which he slept, a fitful dream.
He envied her. She lived under the paradise of happiness and joy, and yet, he lived under the shadows of pain and torment.
One day, he realized.
She had a beautiful smile, one that brought out all the radiance in her. So wrapped up in his father's teachings, he never once realized how pretty, she was. He had always believed that she was below him, inferior, and of lesser blood.
In just one day, he had experienced the Sight.
He found his line of vision being drawn to her, his gaze following around her, wherever she was. He found himself jealous of the Gryffindors, of the Ravenclaws, hell, even of the Hufflepuffs. She would smile at them, wave at them as they passed. The most he ever received was a glare from her, and he would automatically return one, before he walked away, showing that arrogant stride in his step.
And then he knew. And in that one moment, lightning had struck his heart. One day he had felt indifferent to her, and the next, something had light up, deep within him. The candle had been lit, and it was burning, the wax was melting. It was dripping down, and sooner or later, it would become a wisp of smoke.
He would never again be able to stand the look of contempt on her face when she looked at him. That passion in his heart would be weeping, and he would splinter, just a little. Her scowl would be the axe, fracturing the wood that was his heart. He had become vulnerable, and any mention of her was enough to make his smirk drop, ever so slightly, so others would not see, but it was painful, a deep, wrenching pain, worse than the cruciatus.
And yet he knew, that she would never share that vibrant smile of hers with him, and he would never be able to sit next to her, under the night sky, and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. He wondered how her lips would feel on his, and how it would feel if she ran her hands through his platinum gold hair.
And, he felt a sharp stab at his heart, a poisoned dagger. He knew, that she would never love him back. They were too fundamentally different for them to ever come together, and although they say that polar opposites attract, he knew it would never come true. He was on the dark side, she on the light.
But how he loved her! It was in his every cell. Never, had he felt the true power of love, but now he understood. He now knew why his father would not hesitate to sacrifice himself for his mother. The power of love binds, and forces the loyalist of all loyal to betray their beloved Master.
And as he thought it through, he resolved to forget about her. To wipe away the trace of everything that he had loved, once, about her, every minor detail. The way her hair flew in the wind, or how her cheeks pinked after spending too much time out in the cold. Or how she loved to push her bottom lip out when she was nervous, or the tinkling bell of her laugh. Her almond brown eyes, standing out against her red-and-gold Gryffindor scarf. She was a beauty, a living mannequin doll that danced to love and light.
It was everything that made her human.
It was everything that made him love her.
It was everything that made her who she was.
And after the resolve had been set, ice crept up and engulfed his heart, and the raging fire burning on the candle of his heart smothered, and became a wisp of smoke, drifting through the winter air.
"Hermione Granger. May you be smiled upon."
And the ghost of a boy stood, in the winter snow, his feelings etched in the bloody snow. He bowed, head down, and if you had been there, you would have heard him cry his soul out, for the girl he would never have, for that one girl he would always love.
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