Disclaimer: I shall never be able to hold the rights to Harry Potter, so I will bask in the glory of fanfiction. (For the moment.)
Summary: One-Shot Hermione notices the weird changes in everyone. There's something perculiar in all of this. She feels as if her memories have been rinsed away. Draco can taste the everlasting bitterness in his mouth.
Rating: PG-13
Title: Poison
A/N: I would like to give a very big thank you for Lilah who BETA'd my sordid story before I cast it upon a pedestal. And for all the readers to enjoy this. R&R
Poison
Staring uneasily at her wrist for the longest period of time, she noticed the veins that run through them. She smiled faintly as she took the broken shard of glass and pressed the sharp edge against her skin. Her mind reeled, screaming, 'Do it!'
But her body wouldn't allow it.
The glass dropped from her trembling fingers onto the stone cold floor. She wouldn't allow herself to cry, at least, not when she was in such a public place.
The second floor Girl's Bathroom was empty for the moment. Moaning Myrtle has mysteriously disappeared that night. She guessed the wailing girl to be floating around the Prefect's Bathroom attempting to catch a glimpse at Harry or any of the unsuspecting boys.
The mirror looked back at her with vacant eyes. A sickly pale face touched by shaking hands. She was clearly ill, yet no one had bothered to ask after her, not even Harry or Ron. They had even ignored her the other day when she arrived in the Common Room.
Everyday the three would walk down to the Great Hall together, but that Saturday morning, the abnormality was high.
The Gryffindor table would be filled with noise and prattle, no matter how dull the day would turn out to be. The whole table was silent, with sudden outbursts of tears from either Neville or Ginny. Harry and Ron sat stiffly with no appetite at all. Lavender and Parvati weren't even gossiping.
As for the Slytherins, they got on as normal. However one particular Slytherin looked deathly pale with dark rings under his eyes, that contrasted against his pale skin. It seemed as if he had not slept for a fortnight.
She watched as he threw his goblet at the wall and stalked out of the Great Hall.
Her vision blurred as she was suddenly jerked into the back of her own mind. It was as if all time had stopped.
"Malfoy? Are you alright?" A worried look passed over her face as she took a step towards the bleeding boy.
"I don't need any help from a Mudblood like you," he snarled as he tried to get up. Embedded in his arms were shards of glass.
"You're hurt Malfoy," she tried reasoning. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me help you." She took another step forward, brandishing her wand.
"I told you!" he growled. "I don't need your worthless help!" She backed away looking fearfully at the boy in front of her.
"Who did this?" she whispered. He turned his head towards her face, a smirk evident on his face.
"No one that concerns you," he drawled, wincing as he pulled a shard out.
"Was it?" She pondered. "Lucius Malfoy?" She could see him as he flinched for a moment, then resuming to pulling out another shard of glass.
When her eyes reverted back to focus, she was staring at his retreating form.
Strangely, she didn't remember a thing she had just witnessed, nor could she recollect the memory with the exception of a broken goblet.
She was in quick pursuit of him and saw as he pulled wide-open the creaking doors and step onto the crisp snow on the Grounds. She was smart enough to remain behind so she wouldn't be seen.
As she rounded a corner of the Castle Grounds, she stopped by the Gryffindor Tower.
"Draco," she let his name linger on her tongue. She stared down at the view below. It was dark and cold.
A step forward was all she needed. And as she plunged into the bleak white below, the solemn tears that ran down her face were frozen cold.
Her blood, in which stained the virgin white was slowly seeping all around her.
She looked almost peaceful.
He was lying on the snow, tears streaking his face. His hands were red, stung by the intense cold of the ice. Covering his face, he mumbled something incoherent.
There was a pink tinge to the snow that gave her the impression that blood had been shed. He was now breathing heavily, his hands curling the snow into his fists. His head snapped up and faced the sky.
"Merlin, why?" he whispered. "Why did it have to be her?"
His voice got louder to the point where he was shouting furiously at the vast space of clouds. "She didn't deserve it! She was good; she was all that was kind. There is no justice to take her!" He started to punch and kick the mound of snow with such ferocity. "Fuck you!"
He tripped over twice as he ran across the snow, heading back towards Hogwarts, screaming and shouting obscenities. She couldn't help but feel pity for the poor boy, and with swiftness she followed. He pushed past people, ignoring the glares and questioning stares, only concentrating on the place he wanted to get to.
The Fat Lady cried indignantly as he started to pound his fist on her portrait.
There was scurrying inside the Common Room when the portrait swung open to reveal Harry and Ron. Their faces carried expressions of utter sorrow.
"I'm never going to quite accept this—relationship between Hermione and Malfoy," Harry muttered to Ron.
"This is utterly goobledegooks! What in the world was Hermione thinking when she even let that ferret near her?" Ron ranted, pacing the Gryffindor Common Room.
"Not quite sure mate," Harry replied. "Think she might be under the Love Potion?"
"That could be it!" Ron settled down. "Now why didn't I think of that?" Ron laughed as Harry rolled his eyes.
"Let's go confront them!"
"Maybe Ron," Harry said. "They really are happy. I've never seen Hermione this—happy."
She was just about to explain to them of his condition, when he pushed past them without an invitation to be let in. Deep in his pocket he found his wand and uttered a spell before making his way up the girl's stairwell. The Gryffindors protested at his advance into their Common Room.
She observed him as he clawed at her bedspread, clasping onto her scarf, his body shivering from the chill he was feeling. She opened her mouth to ask him why in the world was he in the Gryffindor Common Room, and more importantly, on a Mudblood's bed.
She could hear faint moans from outside of his door.
A defiant look swept across her features as she pushed the door open, wishing with all her might that it wouldn't come to this, that he wouldn't do that. A taste of bitter taste regret washed over her as her eyes befell the sight in front of her.
Ron and Harry burst into the room with a flourish, with a mixture of anger and anxiety apparent on both of their faces.
"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing Malfoy?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. "It's your entire fault! It's all because of you she did this!" She saw him flinch.
"Who did what?" she asked them. "Is it Parvati? What did she do?"
He stood upright on the floor, glaring at the two. His balance seemed to waver. "I know, it's all my fault," he muttered. "It's always been my fault hasn't it? I promised her I wouldn't cry, Potter. I did." He took in a shallow breath of air. "I promised her I would never leave to be with her if she wasn't here." He looked blankly at Ron. "I lied! I lied!"
"You promise me Draco?" she asked him.
"Why would I ever cry?" he replied.
"I wouldn't know," she said.
"And perish that thought of me leaving this world! I am too great an influence on Weasley and Potter," he drawled, a smile on his face. "Plus, I'm rather fond of you."
He then leaned in and kissed her.
His breathing was coming in short uneven gasps. He tightened his grip on her scarf, as if it were a precious jewel. His phantom smile sent chills up all three of their spines, and as he slumped to the floor, he tasted the bitter victory in his mouth. A piercing scream filled the room as she moved forward to see him.
To her own horror as she glanced down at herself, she found herself fading.
And she now understood why.
"Draco's coming," she whispered before she vanished.
She knew that all this time she had been nothing but the faint trickle of a memory; a ghost of the departed.
Harry spotted the empty bottle smashed against the bedpost and knew immediately what Draco had done.
"Ron," he rasped. His throat was dry. "He's gone to be with Hermione."