Fall Short of Certainty
Ch.3 Sometimes the Line Walks You
"Tell me again, Ginny, tell me exactly what he said."
"Dammit Ron, we've went over this at least twelve times in the past hour, let it rest," moaned Ginny from her spot on the overstuffed couch, her words slightly muffled as she situated herself deeper in the crook of Harry's arm. The three of them were sitting in the comfortable and homey disarray of the Burrow, the light from the fireplace illuminating the otherwise dark room.
"Are you sure you didn't forget anything? There must have been something else that he said," Ron persisted as he shuffled through the pieces of parchment scattered around him on the floor. He had been collecting any bit of evidence he could on Malfoy, scrounging for something, anything that would somehow lead him to prove that he was Hermione's killer. Though he did realize what evidence he had was scant, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Malfoy was to be blamed – he felt it in his bones. He didn't care if no one else believed him, he wanted to see that pure-blooded bastard taken down, beaten. With every fiber of his being he wanted Malfoy stripped of all of his arrogant power and broken before him.
"Listen Ron, maybe you should take it easy for awhile," Harry said, lifting his head tiredly up from his shoulder as he surveyed his best friend. He had visibly gotten skinnier over the two weeks since Hermione's death. Harry supposed that this was due to the fact that his usually voracious appetite had subsided. Despite his mother's attempts at soothing his grief in the only way she knew how – by trying to stuff food down his throat – he still ate very little. Every night was the same – his plate would sit at his unoccupied spot at the table getting cold until Mrs Weasley would half-heartedly Vanish it, sighing worriedly. His skin had taken on a sick Snape-like sallowness and his eyes were sunken due to lack of sleep. Even his usually bright and lively hair had become limp and lackluster.
"Yeah, lay off for a bit," Ginny chimed in agreement, as she stretched out her long slender legs onto the couch, letting her head drop from Harry's shoulder to his lap. Harry stared down at the girl beneath him, a slow lazy smile playing on his face. He tore his gaze from Ginny to regard the other redhead in the room. Ron observed the couple despondently. Harry took note of Ron's agonized look and gave himself a good solid mental beating for being so daft. He couldn't be like this with Ginny, at least not while Ron was around, it was perfectly awful of him to flaunt his relationship. But Ron didn't seemed to notice as Harry slowly pushed Ginny away from him. It wasn't long before that Hermione and himself had been in much the same position his sister and best mate were in. Curled up together like two inter-locking pieces to a jigsaw puzzle.
Merlin, he missed her. He missed watching her read, he missed the way her nose would crinkle in distaste when he talked about Quidditch, he missed the way she looked underneath him, her mess of curls splayed out all around her. He missed her kisses and the way she smelled and that fierce look in her eyes she got when he upset her, the way her gorgeous amber-colored orbs would spark with a rage no mortal man could conquer. She was all he could bloody think about and it was driving him very close to the brink of insanity.
He sighed and shook his head, exhausted.
"Ginny, just one more time. Just go over it one more time," he asked his sister, all the previous exasperation gone from his voice, replaced with a more pleading, almost desperate tone.
"Please, Gin?"
His sister looked at him, wishing there was something that Malfoy had said to her, something that he had done that would have given them the slightest bit of proof that he was the culprit, just so she wouldn't have to see that look on Ron's face again for as long as she lived. He wasn't her brother anymore, he was merely more than a ghost of his former jovial self.
"All right, but just this one last time," she agreed in defeat and crinkled her nose in mock-disgust, "then you have to go take a bath."
"As long as you make sure you tell me everything," Ron said, absent-mindedly reaching for a blank piece of parchment. Ginny sighed. She would tell him as much as she could, but she was sure there were things about his dead fiancée he would be better off not knowing.
Draco scowled as he watched Hermione and her filthy blood traitor boyfriend slip and slide their way clumsily down the treacherous hillside towards the Black Lake. Every now and then he could see her trip over the end of her robes or slip in the freshly fallen clean white snow, and each and every time the stupid sodding Weasel was right there to pick her up, like the bloody chivalrous Gryffindor he was.
How dare he fucking touch her, how dare he lay one filthy finger on one of Draco's belongings. Yes, that's what Hermione was to him, a belonging. He owned her, each and every little delicious mudblood bit of her. She was one of his damn possessions, and Draco, true to his Malfoy name, would rather denounce his precious pure-blooded family tree than share something that was his.
He could discern her light tinkling laugh above the gusting wind. It filled his ears, stampeding its way into his brain and invaded his senses like a parasite. Maybe that was the reason his feet started moving, almost of their own volition, after the couple. He stared down at his expensive black leather boots as he wove his way down the slippery and rock-strewn trail, almost disbelieving of his own actions.
What the hell was he doing? Going after Granger of all people? And what for? To snatch her way from her ridiculous boyfriend and fuck her brains out? That was all she was good for, right?
Merlin, if he was really that horny he could just go find Pansy – Salazar only knew how willing she'd be to have a go with him. Even if it was just to please her parents, even if he knew she'd rather be with his best mate Zabini, it was still sex. And it wasn't as if she didn't know what she was doing either. No, Pansy could definitely make him writhe in pleasurable ecstasy but Granger... that Mudblood was an entirely different story. While she wasn't nearly as talented, she was venomously addictive. She wouldn't go away, like a sore on the inside of your mouth that would heal if you could only stop tonguing it.
Draco reasoned it was the fact that he was in love with the feeling he got after he had mercilessly fucked the Gryffindor out of her. He felt evil, like he had corrupted something, even though he was highly aware of the vomit-inducing thought that Weasley had taken care of her 'innocence' before he had even gotten to her.
Nevertheless, Draco still considered her to be somewhat akin to a precious valuable, like his mother's china, placed high up on a shelf out of his reach, so as not to be broken by his childishness. She was like a new set of robes, spotless and well-fitting, the kind you wouldn't want to wear just so they would stay as they were, new and unspoiled. The only difference was, he wasn't careful with her. He ruined her, he broke her, he took her from the lofty safety of her shelf and smashed her to pieces, cherishing every second of it.
The couple had disappeared behind a large tree close to the edge of the lake, but Draco continued walking. His feet kept up their traitorous actions, moving, one in front of the other, at a rapidly growing pace. It was ridiculous. Completely and undeniably ridiculous.
Deep down in his gut, he could not stand the thought of the Weasley bastard with her. His head swam with images of that redheaded git running his hands over her curves, leaning her up against that very tree, unfastening her robes, nibbling on her ear. Draco couldn't help but wonder if the Weasel-bee knew her body like he did. If he knew the exact spot on her neck that would send her into a frenzy, throwing her head back and moaning like there was no tomorrow. If he knew how it felt to grab handfuls of that luscious exorbitant mess of hair piled on top her her head and feel his fingers snare in all of tangles. He wondered if he had ever noticed her freckles, those barely-there constellations on her clavicles.
"Fuck!" he whispered violently as a tight ball of anger began solidifying itself in his chest. He was furious, with Weasley, with Granger, and with himself for even giving a shit.
He finally reached the tree and gave it a good solid kick before making his way around it to the couple's little hiding spot. When he did, he was greeted by a large mass of black fabric. In the dark, he couldn't even tell where Ron ended and Hermione began.
"Well, if it isn't our Head Girl. Taking the night off are we Granger?" he sneered, in his best guise of nonchalance. Upon the sound of his voice, the two broke apart like someone had just poured scalding hot water on them. Hermione looked at him, momentarily petrified. She stared up at Draco in disbelief, her jaw hanging slightly agape, brown eyes wide. He couldn't be quite sure in the dark, but he thought he saw a slight blush creeping up her face. His only response was a haughty smirk gracing his pale features.
"What in the bloody hell are you doing here Malfoy?" Ron bellowed as he hastily scrambled to his feet to stand in front of Malfoy, blocking his view of Hermione. Draco only crossed his arms and regarded the flushed redhead before him with a superior gaze.
"You're out past curfew, Weasel," he said simply, his gaze similar to one he would give something stuck to the underside of his boot. Pushing past Ron, Draco looked down at Hermione who had slammed her head back against the trunk of the tree and looking up at him, smiling sadistically.
"No really Malfoy, what are you doing here? Not getting enough from the Slytherin girls so you decided to turn into a voyeur? That's just sad." The smirk that spread across her face rivaled his.
"I think you know good and well that I get more than enough," he said threateningly taking a step towards her. The next time he spoke, his voice had lowered to a barely audibly murmur, but what it lacked in volume, it made up for in its intensity "And not just from Slytherin girls."
His next move to advance on the Head Girl was halted by a firm hand on his shoulder. He spun on the spot to find himself face-to-face with Ron. The boy had most definitely grown, he was a good two inches taller than Draco, and though he was rather lanky, there was no doubt in Draco's mind that he was strong. Not that he was scared of him really, he knew better than that.
"Don't you dare fucking touch her," the fiery-haired Gryffindor growled to him. The irony of the statement was not lost on Draco. Wasn't he just thinking the very same thing about Weasley?
"First of all Weasley, don't ever think that you can get off ordering me around," Draco retorted, leaning in towards him menacingly. "Second of all, if I wanted to touch your filthy girlfriend, I wouldn't have to ask for your permission." He paused when he heard a snort of disgust from Hermione behind him.
"And lastly, like I said, you're out past curfew. Ten points from Gryffindor, now head back to your common room," he finished, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his tone of voice almost listless.
Ron's fists clenched by his sides and he ground his teeth together. Malfoy was annoying, but Malfoy on a power trip was infuriating. He could feel his face growing hot as his eyes narrowed onto the blond-haired arrogant Head Boy before him. Hermione must have noticed his apparent rage and took it upon herself to come between the two testosterone-driven men.
"He's right Ron, we need to be heading back up to the castle, you can walk me to my – "
"No, no Granger. We have rounds to make," Draco interrupted Hermione's sensible attempt to intervene in whatever disagreement might occur. The glare she shot at him almost made him cringe. It said, clearly and unmistakably, 'what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' She knew good and well they didn't make rounds by the Black Lake after curfew, but Ron apparently didn't.
He looked defeated (he had learned long before that there was little he could do to stand between Hermione and her duties as Head Girl) and it nearly broke her heatr. All she had wanted to do was to spend time with her boyfriend...
No, that was a lie, she knew that was a lie.
Her guilt was beginning to relentlessly gnaw at her, tearing at her nerves until she could barely think straight. She had suggested a midnight trip down to the Black Lake to Ron to make herself feel better, but that simple fact did little more than make her feel worse. She searched Ron's gaze, trying to find any shred of the previous happiness they held.
"Ron, it's just Heads business, I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast," she said reassuringly as she reached out a hand and let it rest on the back of his neck, feeling the tips of his hair graze her knuckles. He didn't reply, just gave her a sad half-grin, shifted his eyes downward and turned to head back to the castle. Hermione watched his retreating form, that familiar gnawing in her gut growing more and more intense with every step he took. She exhaled a long defeated sigh and fisted both of her hands in her own hair out of sheer frustration.
Why were things getting so bloody complicated?
A slight arrogant chuckle from behind her reminded her of Malfoy's presence. She spun angrily on her heel and turned to face him.
"WHAT are you doing following me around!?" she screeched as she took a step towards him. Her fingers were twitching as she fought back the urge to hex him into oblivion.
"What were you doing creeping around past curfew with Saint Potter's sidekick?" he answered, a slight teasing tone to his voice. He matched her movements and took a step in her direction, leaving them inches a part. Merlin's pants, he'd dug himself another hole again. Now, he had Granger to himself, but she was seething and would just as soon Crucio him then lay a single hand on him.
"Saint Potter's sidekick? In case you haven't noticed, you self-absorbed selfish piece of Slytherin shit, he's my boyfriend." The words sounded artificial even to her.
"Your boyfriend? Does your boyfriend know about your secret fetish for Death Eaters?" Malfoy scoffed, feeling the blood rush to his face as his anger and frustration mounted.
"I do not have any kind of fetish for…" Hermione couldn't even finish the sentence as she stared into the stormy grey eyes before her. Her breath quickened as his words sunk into her.
Death Eater.
Had he just admitted to her that he was a Death Eater? Surely he was just blowing things out of proportion, just to prove his point. As quickly as her confusion struck her it subsided and her fury returned tenfold.
"I'M TIRED OF YOUR GAMES!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, her fists clenched by her side, her entire frame shaking with rage. Feeling the beginning of tears of anger and frustration building in the corners of her eyes, she gritted her teeth, fighting back any sort of emotion welling up inside of her.
"My games?!" Malfoy shot a sardonic look up to the star-filled sky, a small laughing emanating from him.
"Granger, I'm not the one sleeping with the enemy, then pretending to be the innocent Gryffindor Princess in love with the endearingly dim-witted Weasel. I'm not the one leading this sick masochistic double-life, pretending that you don't enjoy every second you spend underneath me." He was in her face now, taking a step forward with every accusing statement he made, backing her towards the tree.
Merlin knew he should have stopped there, maybe lean forward and hiss a few vile things into her ear and take her right there against the very tree she had just been with her boyfriend not ten minutes earlier. But something about her faltering façade of bravery and indifference just edged him on.
He could break her, snap her like a twig with his words.
"Admit that you love it," he whispered. "You love the danger, you love the freedom, you love defying everything they've ever thought of you. You've got a fixation on the dark, Granger, you just haven't acknowledged it yet."
He stared hard at her, taking in the beautifully forlorn expression on her face, tiny rivulets of her silent tears making their way down her flushed cheeks. Her chest was heaving underneath her thick cloaks and her breath, visible from the cold, was coming out in small raspy gasps for air. This was it, this was that exhilarating moment when she was smashed to pieces, every single bit of her Gryffindor haughtiness stripped away by him, leaving the intricately beautiful shattered Hermione Granger before him. He smirked, but it didn't come out as malicious as he would have liked.
"We're not so different, you and I."
The words were barely out of his mouth before her hands were on his shoulders pushing him backwards with such surprising force he fell into the snow. He looked up at her in mild shock as she glared down at him.
"Don't you ever say that! We're NOTHING alike! DO YOU HEAR ME? Nothing! We're…nothing…" Her words trailed off as she slowly took a step backwards, melting into the tree behind her as her gaze stayed steadily locked with Draco's. Her eyes were frantically searching his for something, but not even she knew what it was. Feeling the solid tree trunk behind her, she clung desperately to it. How did he do this to her, how did he always make her feel like this? The bark snagged on her cloak as she slid down the side of the trunk and collapsed on the ground.
They stayed like that for awhile, both of them little heaps in the snow, neither caring if the cold was beginning to send every part of their bodies into a tingly numbness. They welcomed it.
Draco was the first to break the silence.
"He's not good enough for you, you know? he said, shifting his cold grey eyes up to her. She looked unaffected by his words as she stared at the ground beside her. Suddenly shifting her eyes upward he saw that her gaze was glassy as she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
"You're not a Death Eater are you?" she finally said, the words whispered so softly, barely audible over the wind gently rustling around them. Draco felt the familiar twitch in his chest when he looked into her eyes and found them filled, not with anger, but with concern.
For him.
She was worried about him
"I don't know." He replied, and for the first time in his life, he really didn't.
AN: Hey guys! This will probably be my last installment in this fic for a couple of weeks or so due to going off to school and what not. And on top of that I've got a damn plot bunny harassing me day and night for a one-shot. So that should be out before Chapter 4! As always, be a lovely reader and drop a review.
As always thanks to my wonderful beta Heathen Respite, repairer of ridiculous grammar mistakes, spelling mishaps, canon errors, Brit slang, and all the muggle nonsense that tries to infiltrate my fic! (Like God.)