Not a Fairytale
4
-somewhere who might actually treat me well-
She takes a walk in the grounds one day, rugged up in protection from the cold. Her hair is loose, a brightly-coloured beanie jammed on top of her head. The cold has turned her lips an unnaturally shade of red, and her cheeks have turned pink, almost like she has been pinching them.
The snow makes the terror of what has happened at Hogwarts lately wash away. It's purifies it, cleanses it, and that makes her feel happy. In time, just like Hogwarts, the snow will make her bad memories fade away, become something of the past. Sure, she'll always remember the time she had to fight for her life, fight for what she wanted in life, but she'll be able to look back on the day with happiness, because well, they won.
They triumphed, not Voldemort.
Unfortunately, her thoughts are broken by the sounds of someone muttering to themself. She glanced around to look for the intruder, by the heavily-snowed trees block everything and anything from her sight.
She pulls back a branch to glance behind it into the clearing, eyes searching.
There. A coat pulled tight around his shivering form, Draco Malfoy is sitting down on the ground, mumbling underneath his breath. Hermione approaches him with caution, walking softly.
He looks up as soon as she sits down next to him, drawing her knees to her chest in an attempt to keep warm. "What do you want?" he asks, snarling softly. Snow is stuck in his hair, making the already-pale strands seem almost transparent. She shrugs, shivering, her teeth chattering.
Draco pulls something from his pocket and throws in it her lap. She unfolds the clump of woollen fabric, and slips the mittens on. "Thanks," she murmurs. She is silent for a few seconds, before her curiosity gets the better of her. "What are you doing out here in the cold?" she asks, looking sideways at him.
He shrugs.
"Just wanted to get away from it all, you know?" he tells her, letting snow fall through his fingers. "Everyday someone says something bad about me, everyday I get yelled at and put down because of what my father has done. I'm sick of it."
Hermione scoffed. "Put down?" she says, shaking her head. "Far from it. You're adored, Malfoy, absolutely loved."
"Only by the Slytherins," he mumbles softly. "And then, only because their mothers think that, despite all my family's failure, I would be a good husband for their daughters to marry. Rich, you know, and all that. If it wasn't for that, no one would talk to me."
"Oh." She gets it now. Even though his name has been dragged through the mud, Draco Malfoy is still an eligible bachelor to the numerous pureblooded mothers, only because he has money.
"Sorry?" she offers a second later, looking at him.
He snorts softly. "Don't be," he tells her. "There's nothing you can do. This is my fault, for joining the fucking Dark Lord in the first place." Draco pulls his coat sleeve up his arm, baring his skin. She shudders away from the skull. Despite his death, Voldemort's mark still causes eerie feelings to her. Draco looks at her. "I have to content with seeing this fucking thing everyday, every single day, and all it does is remind me of what I've done!" He grasps a rock in his hand and pegs it at the trees, shaking his head. "I hate it, I despise it."
"I'm sorry," she says, placing a hand on his arm. He flinches away. "Don't touch me," he barks, scowling at her. Hermione shrugs, and draws her arm away. "Just go."
And despite it all, despite everything, Draco Malfoy is still the same. He still thinks of her as a Mudblood, and she knows that that is never going to change.
And Charming will address his lady as "My Love", or some other such epithet. "Hey, mudblood!" is not acceptable.
Her heart sinks as she glances back at Malfoy, his head downcast, arm still bared, the Dark Mark tainting his pale flesh.
Not the one.
Nearly 1/2 complete! Review, yeah? :)