Chapter Nine: Absolution and Blurred Lines
Part 1: What more is there to lose if you've lost it all?
Hermione stared.
Not at anything in particular, she sat on the lounge chair in her patio and stared at the lake and up at grey November sky. It was supposedly cold, but Hermione couldn't feel the chill. She felt nothing, nothing at all.
The wind blew her messy hair in her face and she calmly brushed it behind her ears. Her eyes caught the sight of migrating birds, an her mind carried her away. She began to wonder just what her life would be like if she were a bird, but then she snapped out of it. There were pleasant memories in her life, memories she wouldn't trade for the world; memories that she clung to desperately as she stared.
She ruffled unruly brown hair, softly raking her fingers through it. His hair always felt as soft as it looked and even though he stirred a bit, she couldn't help but touch it one last time before rising off his little bed.
Before she turned to exit the room, her lips curved heavenward, smiling at the sleeping toddler on the bed.
It had been a long day for them both, but it was well worth all the pain they'd endured for so long. The war was finally over and they were victorious. She couldn't believe it. They'd won.
And now she could breathe.
Hermione closed her eyes and listened.
She sat with her eyes shut and her ears open, listening to the world around her. She could hear the wind howling, birds squawking, and branches crackling. Hermione could hear the sounds the parting water as birds skimmed the surface on their quest for food. She even heard the sound of her own heartbeat.
But more than anything she heard the hate in Ron's voice the night of their fight...the night that she left.
"Don't you see what you're doing to me?" Ron's voice cracked.
"I'm sorry," her shoulders shook as she sobbed brokenly, "I hope that one day you forgive me. I hope that one day you'll understand that my intention wasn't to hurt you...never to hurt you."
And she used the rest of the strength in her body to Apparate from the room.
Destination, determination, and deliberation.
Sometimes, Hermione wished she were deaf. Then, she wouldn't hear the rumours that surrounded her name or the things that people whispered when they thought she wasn't listening.
If she were deaf, she wouldn't hear the agony in his voice.
"But, I-I love you, Hermione," he sounded panicked, anguished tears filling his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"What do you mean? After everything we've been through, you can't just say that, Hermione."
"I can-and I just did. I'm so sorry I hurt you."
And Hermione longed.
She sat in her chair with her eyes opened and ears firmly shut. She longed for comfort; for someone to put her arms around her and say, "Everything is going to be okay, Hermione," and really mean it. No matter how many times she said it in her head, she didn't believe her own words. Hermione longed for peace, for a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold. She didn't care where it came from or what the stipulations were; she would pay for company at this point.
Hermione longed for something better. For the day when everything would finally even out and breathing wouldn't hurt so much.
Sunset was already underway when she arrived with a bouquet of flowers and one heavy and broken heart.
The private service was held earlier that day and she couldn't bring herself to cry in front of the three others who stood at her side, dressed in all black.
She held her tears as she stood over the casket and peered down; he didn't look dead, just sleeping. She kept control over her voice as she gave the eulogy to the small audience; when the nanny asked to speak, Hermione kindly refused. No one knew him like she did. No one.
Hermione sat in silence during the ride to the cemetery, staring out the window and fighting the urge not to hex the Muggle driver who tried to cheer her up. Her life was over, her pride and joy for the last four years was dead, and he wanted to tell fucking jokes. It was all she could do not to break.
She stood there as the priest spoke the famous lines, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...." She kissed the mahogany casket gently after resting her rose on top of the casket, muttering, "I miss you already, Matthew."
And, she held it together as she walked away.
But, she was back. Less than seven hours later, she was back and sitting at his headstone. Her fingers traced the markings on the headstone. Matthew Granger. The dirt was still loose and if she closed her eyes hard enough, she could still hear him, could still feel him, but hearing and feeling didn't ease the heartache that she felt.
Nothing could.
More than anything, she wanted them all back: her parents and her son. She wanted everything to be back to normal, and she wanted to know that she wasn't alone. She wanted to know that death wasn't the end, and that there was something more out there. She wanted to know if they all knew just how sorry she was, and she wanted to know if their souls were at peace. She wanted to know if she had a reason to live past that hour, that minute, or that second. She wanted to know if her heart would ever ache as bad as it did at that moment.
But the moment of fanciful thinking and wanting had come and gone, leaving darkness in its wake.
The only sounds that could be heard in the cemetery as the sun sank below the horizon were the sobs of a hopeless woman who had lost her way and her everything.
And the memory made Hermione ache.
She ached so badly that her head spun. She ached because she knew the truth. She ached because she'd lost so much in her short life. She'd lost her parents, her friends, her identity, her home, and her son. It was all too much of a burden to carry alone.
She felt as if she were destined to be hated by everyone for the lies that she'd told. She felt as if she were destined to be pitied. She felt as if she were destined to always feel alone and hollow. And every harsh action and each condescending look was a cut right through her, another wound to hide behind her silence. Every memory, every pang of guilt, every moment of every day just ravaged her spirit. It was hard. It was getting increasingly harder to hide that kind of pain from everyone now that she was back in London.
"Are you all right?" Pansy asked once they sat down at her table.
Hermione looked down miserably, still horribly embarrassed, "About as well as I can expect to be."
"Don't let Potter get to you, Hermione. He doesn't know...none of them do."
"And it's nobody's fault except my own."
She started to scream - silently.
Her eyes filled with tears as her head spun. She screamed inside for someone to hear her, but no one could. Hermione had been screaming so loud for so long that she didn't think she could do it anymore. She wanted to be heard, needed to know that someone was listening, and that someone cared. Yes, she was asking for help, screaming for it, but she was screaming silently because she knew better than to do it aloud.
"If you stay like this, Hermione, you'll lose your mind."
She stared at the blank wall, not blinking, just staring, and clutching the picture frame to her chest as if it was the most important possession she owned. And it was. "Lose my mind? Do you think I care about my mind?"
Her voice was pleading. "Her-"
"Pansy, tell me," she looked at the teary-eyed witch, "What more is there to lose if you've lost it all?"
Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she started crying.
She sobbed because she knew no one would hear her, because the pain she felt was so intense that sometimes it made her want to drop dead. The grief she felt, no words could express it. So many tears she'd wasted; so many soft and loud sobs that nobody knew about. It was her imperfect catharsis, her release, and the only thing that brought her to her knees. Hermione needed to cry. It was the only proof she had that she was still real; the only way she knew she was still Hermione.
"You've been a walking zombie for days, my therapist-"
"I don't care about your therapist," she snapped bitterly.
"Hermione," she sighed.
"Pansy," Hermione mocked, but there was a hollow edge in her voice.
"You can't live life like this. You can't live life holding on to everything. Not once have you cried, Hermione. Not once. I cry about the people I've lost all the time, it makes-"
Hermione tuned her out.
At night, Hermione prayed.
She wasn't quite sure how, but she opened her mouth and prayed for someone to finally give her their hand and pull her out of the hell she lived in.
It was the only thing that she prayed for when her eyes were closed tight and tears spilled from them.
Hermione wanted someone to teach her how to feel again. She wanted redemption and forgiveness so she could forgive herself and release some of the guilt she hung on to for so long. She wanted to sleep decently at night. She wanted compassion and understanding, she wanted to smile at her past and not weep from it, she wanted to be honest with everyone including herself, and she wanted to feel all the things and all the emotions she'd forgotten along the way.
Yes, then she would be fine.
Then, she could look back on her past and not be haunted.
She could have the peace she longed for.
Just the thought of having that kind of peace filled her up and made her feel more hopeful than she had felt in weeks.
"Now, I wonder just where that cute, little Matthew boy has run off to?" Hermione asked her 'empty' room rather loudly as she placed her hands on her hips. She knew he loved it when she put on the dramatics and she found she loved it, too. She'd told him after their breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes - a Saturday morning delicacy - that they needed to get dressed to go to the doctor for his treatment. As always, he was a bit reluctant.
Hermione had turned her back once and when she turned around, he was gone, and she knew just where he was.
Playing, she figured, was Matthew's way of getting his anxiety out before their trip to the doctor. It was better than the tantrums that he'd had last year.
There was a little squeak from under the covers in her unmade bed.
Innocently, she asked the room, "Is he in the closet?" She peeked into the closet. "No, he's not. I wonder where he is," she said in a sing-song voice.
Another squeak.
Smiling, she crept across the room towards the bed, "Is he under the bed?" Hermione dropped to her knees and peeked under the bed, "No, he's not there either. Oh, where is he?" she sighed dramatically.
Hermione tried not to laugh at the three-year-old's muffled giggle as he wiggled around under the cover. He was horrible at anything that involved hiding. He was a constant bundle of energy, so much so that he could hardly remain still and quiet for very long. Well, except for the first three days following his treatments, but afterwards he was right back to normal.
She shook her head, still trying with all her might not to chuckle at his attempt at remaining still.
"Is he in the drawer?" she didn't have to even reach for it because the little boy in question popped out the covers; sparkling eyes, superhero pyjamas, messy hair, sticky fingers, and all.
"Here, mummy, here!" and he jumped into her open arms.
Laughing, Hermione hugged him close, burying her fingers in his hair as he held onto her so tight. She was familiar with his vice grip. He always hated to see her go in the mornings and would bounce off the walls when she came back in the evenings, smothering her with hugs and sticky kisses that she adored. He was her heart, her soul, her pride, her joy, and the reason she lived each day.
Matthew Caleb Granger was her everything.
With a jolt, she pulled herself out the chair, feeling better than she had in months and looked at her watch.
12:45 PM.
Hermione ran inside to get dressed.
She was not going to sit around on a day like this.
It was time for a change of scenery.
ooo
Part 2: Descriptions of a Stalker
Draco Malfoy just wanted to point out that stalking wasn't a trait typical of a Malfoy, and he was not stalking.
Stalking was such a negative way to put something that had happened so innocently.
When he thought of stalkers - not that he thought of them often - images of a sinister, lonesome, deranged, and not to mention, shady character popped in his mind. He was none of those things-except sometimes he really had a shot at being sinister. However, right then, he wasn't. Not even close.
Draco didn't have a good perception of stalkers; the only ones he'd ever seen were in the Muggle movies he'd been forced by Blaise to watch. Stalkers crept around, followed a target, and jumped into the nearest set of bushes only moments before being caught. Stalkers were always dressed in black and clothed in stealth, wore lecherous grins when they spotted their target looking around with the feeling that they were being watch, wrote love letters to their targets and sealed them with a kiss, and often searched their trash for weird things like old underwear and empty bottles of perfume that helped the stalker get to know their victim better.
Okay, so maybe his idea of stalkers was skewed thanks to a fair share of shoddy movies, but there was a point.
What he was doing didn't fit into the stalking category.
Following? Maybe - if anyone wanted to be technical.
Watching? Perhaps - but only out of intrigue.
But, Draco was not stalking, not even close. He was merely a people-watcher-and she was his subject.
That didn't sound much better.
Actually, it was due to chance that he had seen Hermione Granger in Flourish & Blotts; coincidence and accidents that brought them to the same place at the same time.
Beside, he was there first, so he couldn't be stalking her. She was stalking him! Right? Okay, maybe not.
Draco had gone to Diagon Alley for a light lunch with Blaise, only to be stood up because of some emergency meeting at work. Since they were supposedly going to dinner later with Granger and Pansy, he only had dessert, in peace, and casually strolled into Flourish & Blotts to purchase a book for Pansy. As soon as he stepped into the bookstore, it started raining.
Ten minutes later, she walked in out of the rain, looking just as gaunt as before; only now she was wet. Quite a sad sight, actually. Then, she opened the box that she held, performed a drying charm on her clothes with her new wand, and suddenly, she didn't look so horrible anymore.
He watched her for a moment as she took in the bookstore with a book of her own tucked under her arm.
Draco could've sworn that he'd seen her sigh in relief, like she'd run a marathon and just crossed the finish line.
When she glanced in his direction, purely by accident, of course, Draco raised the book he was looking at over his face so Hermione wouldn't see that his eyes were on her. When he'd lowered his book, she had disappeared. Of course, Draco didn't have a reason as to why he wanted to find her, nor did he know what he was going to say in the event that he was caught, but he launched a mini-quest to find her.
It was only after wandering up three aisles, bumping into four witches with curly brown hair, and finally getting directions from a clerk, Draco had found her. He'd walked past the aisle that she stood in, but saw her bushy hair and backtracked. She was standing at the other end of the Historical Magic aisle, scanning the rows of books. Draco watched as she reached for a book that was too high. The book that she'd come in with had slipped from her arm, fell on the ground, and popped open. A little picture fell out, and before Granger could reach for it, someone else did.
Mrs. Weasley.
Draco didn't know what the hell he was thinking when he immediately walked down the next aisle, which was the Magical Culinary section; all he knew was that he had to hear their conversation. So, he pretended to look for a book as he listened:
"Oh dear, you dropped some - Hermione?"
Granger sounded faint. "Mrs. Weasley?"
The other woman sounded positively elated, "Oh my goodness! It is you! Percy told me you were back in town, and I couldn't believe it! You need to come by the Burrow sometime, you look positively thin, child - I'm going to fatten you right on up. I sent you a letter a few months back when I found out you were back, but you know Errol, he couldn't find you. He's really getting too old to deliver letters. Arthur and I were just discussing that we probably need to retire him, but he's been in our family for years...I just thought that maybe we'll just keep him for a pet. He's had a long life you know. I really do love him, but nevertheless, I figured that if you wanted to contact me, then you could. I figured you needed some time to settle back into London. As you see, Diagon Alley is back to its original splendour...."
Draco was already weary with the rambling woman.
Granger sounded confused. "But - but I sent you a letter yesterday, and you-"
It was Mrs. Weasley's turn to sound confused, "A letter?"
"Yes," she took a breath. "A letter."
"No, I didn't get a letter from you. Ginny gave me all the letters the owls dropped off. I didn't see your letter. Oh, but what does it matter? I'm seeing you now."
All was quiet for a moment as Draco wondered about the letter and what it had entailed. He knew that if Granger had really sent Mrs. Weasley a letter, the She-Weasel was the reason it never reached her mother. Oh, he was all kinds of intrigued at that realization.
But of course, the chatty matriarch ended the silence.
"Oh! I forgot to give you back your picture." There was a pause. "Is this-?"
Granger sounded breathless. "Yes, can I have it back?"
Mrs. Weasley sounded as if she were in awe. "Of course, dear. He's just too handsome. What's his name?"
She spoke with great difficulty, almost as if answering her question was equivalent to driving a stake through her heart. "Matthew."
Draco wondered who the hell Matthew was and why Granger said his name as if it caused her so much pain.
Probably an old boyfriend, he mused with a roll of his eyes.
"You know, 'Matthew' is English, the Muggles say it means-"
"Gift from God, I know."
"Well, where is the ador-"
"Molly," the infamously cheerful voice of Mr. Weasley interrupted, "There you are. I was wondering just where you'd gotten - Hermione! Splendid! I was wondering when we'd get the chance to see you now that you're back in London! You should come by the Burrow sometime! Molly will make your favourite, chicken and dumplings, won't you, Molly?"
"Of course! We'd love to have you over. I can make sure that it's just the three of us," she pause, "Oh, how I've missed you so." There was a little shuffle and Draco swore the woman hugged Granger, but couldn't see it for himself.
Granger sounded so uncomfortable, "I'll - I'll see if I can. It's terribly busy work schedule, you know."
He knew that she was lying, but the Weasley couple didn't.
"Just send me a message whenever you get the chance, okay? I don't want another five years to go by without seeing you...." her voice lowered and filled with emotions, "I know that you aren't on terms with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, but I've decided that I'm not part of the war between you four. I'm neutral." she assured. "I've always thought of you as one of my own, Hermione. And if you want to talk to me about Matthew, or anything else, you can. I'll always be here for you. Just remember that, Hermione, okay?"
There was a small gasp, but when Granger spoke, he knew she was close to tears. "I w-will, thank you so much."
He knew Mrs. Weasley was hugging her, again, when he heard her comforting voice, "Oh, there, there, now, don't cry - there's nothing to be sad over. This is a reunion."
"I'm not sad," was Granger's muffled response. "I'm so relieved that you don't h-hate me."
"I could never hate you, Hermione, never. I think I'm beginning to understand why you left, and I just want you to know that it's not your fault. It's just not. You did what you had to do for yourself and your own. I only wished that you would've let us been a part of it, but I don't hate you-not for a minute...not for even a second. Never."
Silent moments fell over them where Draco listened to Hermione's broken sobs with an odd feeling in his chest.
"Molly," it was the concerned voice of her husband.
"I'll meet you outside in a few, dear."
Draco briefly saw Mr. Weasley walk by his aisle, but his head was cluttered with thoughts and his chest, well, it felt funny. Like he'd eaten too many jalapeño peppers. Matthew, whoever the bloke was, had destroyed Granger; that much he knew. But he was still confused. Granger didn't seem like the type to get broken up over a man. She was rational, always had been. It was reason before emotion. What had made her change? Something told him to walk away, but he knew the truth. He was in too deep to stop himself.
The investigation, which had started under the premise of curiosity, had taken a life of its own. In that moment, he'd realised that this was more than curiosity and more than a distraction from his own problems. It had morphed into him actually caring.About what? He wasn't sure.
He didn't know a lot of things anymore.
Draco rubbed his temples.
Granger's problems really had a way of putting his own problems with his father into perspective. He'd internalized a lot when it came to his father, but there was no way in hell he'd be able to internalize as much as she had. It just wasn't possible. Granger was as much of a ticking time bomb as she was an enigma and a puzzle that he was putting together at great and personal difficulty.
And what would happen once he finally put the pieces together?
Draco hadn't thought that far ahead. It seemed eons away.
He pulled himself out of his inner soliloquy, and was met with silence. That was odd.
Draco removed a rather large book from the shelf he'd been staring at, hoping he'd see through to the other side. And he did. No one was there. Well, that was rather-
"Malfoy?"
Busted.
Draco had tried to remain suave and graceful, but he'd nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound of Granger's voice. Ungracefully, the book slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a resounding boom. Quickly, he snatched it off the ground, and shoved it in the spot from which he'd taken it. Now, it was time to get out of this situation. It had only taken him ten seconds to think of a hundred and twelve lies that he could tell her. That was enough.
Finally, his eyes slid in her direction. "Granger," he clipped, and allowed his eyes to pierce into the witch. Her eyes were narrowed, but red from shed tears. Other than that, Draco couldn't tell that anything was wrong. Expertly, he hid the nervousness in his voice. "I'm not surprised to see you here. You're still a creature of habit."
"It's true," her voice was defensive and much stronger than he ever expected from someone who'd just cried her heart out minutes before. "I am a creature of habit, which explains why I'm here. You, on the other hand, well-I confess that I'm a bit surprised for a lot of reasons. I didn't know that Malfoys were interested in honing their culinary skills, but then again, I didn't know that they stalked, either. Must be a new thing that you're implicating in the Malfoy doctrine, yes?"
He refused to let his face betray him. "I wasn't stalking."
"Right," she tucked the book into her beaded purse as she rolled her eyes. He noticed there was a picture in her hand, and concluded that it must've been the picture that she'd dropped. "So, following me around Flourish & Blotts and listening to my conversation aren't two clues that I'm being stalked. Forgive me for my grievance." Granger spat caustically.
"You're forgiven." Draco replied arrogantly, hiding the fact that he was annoyed with her snappish behaviour.
"How much did you hear?"
"Not much," he replied flippantly.
Granger's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
A blond brow rose just a bit, "I guess you'd know all about that, huh?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."
She must've really thought that he was some idiot savant like those Weasleys. He knew damn well when he was being lied to. Well, he'd show her. All plans for an exchange and a quick exit were gone, and it was replaced with the urge to banter her into telling him the truth about her tears, about the Weasleys, and about Matthew. She wanted to play rough. Two could play at that game.
"Your eyes are red, Granger, have you been crying?" he questioned with a half-sneer on his face.
Her eyes narrowed until they looked like two slits. "No, I haven't."
"Liar," he spat distastefully, "I heard you."
Quickly, her features changed. Slightly wide eyes, silly cast, shaky wand hand, shifty eyes, tense body, and the book that was firmly stuck under her strong arm...Granger was nervous in his presence-and not good at hiding it.
Draco tried not to smile at his small triumph, but inside he was doing a victory dance.
Granger tried to slip past him on the right, but he was faster, and blocked her way. With a huff, she tried on the left, but he blocked her, again. She didn't think to turn around, but he was ready for the moment that she did. He found it funny how the tables had turned on her. She'd caught him, and now, she couldn't get away. Apparently, the irony of the situation dawned on her. Draco watched as a wide array of emotions washed over her face: irritation, helplessness, and anger were the three he saw before she barricaded herself back up.
Almost defiantly, she raised her eyes to his. They were still so empty, but her voice was harsh, "What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Just to talk."
"Last I checked, we didn't have anything to discuss."
Granger tried to slide past him again, but he was ready for her. "We have plenty to discuss-like why you were crying on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder."
"That's none of your business."
"Well, I'm making it my business."
Like a child ready to throw a tantrum, she stomped her foot, "What do you want from me?"
"I told you. Conversation. I can see why you're so apprehensive to discuss your tears, so let's start by discussing what was in that book that makes you cling to it so desperately. Better yet, let's talk about that picture in your hand."
Her eyes widened then narrowed defensively. "Nothing."
He was angered by her lying and her presumption that he was too wrapped up in himself not to see right through her. "Well-"
She glared up at him boldly, "Your mother always said that you were too nosy for your own good."
Draco looked dead in her eyes. His next words weren't spoken in malicious tones, but rather indifferent ones, "Well, at least I have a mother."
It seemed that precious time had stood still as they both reeled from his words.
He could safely say that he'd known that he'd made a grave mistake with his heartless words the moment they had come out. Whatever progress he'd unconsciously made with Granger was gone.
For the first time, he felt horrible for something that he'd said, even if he hadn't meant it in complete malice. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but he found that he couldn't.
What little colour left in Granger's face had drained. The visual confirmation that Draco struck gold and hit a sore spot with his words was shown the instant he saw tears build behind her eyes. Sorrowful tears coursed down her cheeks, built under her chin, and dropped onto her navy shirt.
Draco had won. He won a game she didn't even know she was playing, but at what cost?
She'd gone from dreadfully pale and silent to openly crying. Draco paled at the sight of the sobbing woman in front of him. He wanted to take his words back, and the sob that escaped from the back of her throat had made it worse.
Without further thought, Draco grabbed her arm and Apparated her to an alley outside the Leaky Cauldron before she could protest.
ooo
Part 3: Famous last words
To say that Malfoy had hit a sore spot would've been the understatement of the century.
Hermione had tried. She really had tried her best to hide her disappointment, guilt, and sadness behind a blank face, but she couldn't. The barrage of emotions and realization had collided with her at full force.
He knew.
He knew about her parents, but how?
Only a handful knew the truth about their deaths; not even the new and improved 'Golden Trio' had known, and Hermione wanted it that way. She didn't need anyone's pity, and she didn't need to see her parent's faces splashed across the front page of The Daily Prophet. She didn't need anyone diving into her life, trying to figure out what she did to her parents and why they were in Australia. No, she'd done what was best for her own sanity and her parent's memory and kept it a secret, kept her loss bottled inside her heart.
During the days following her parents' death, she and Pansy had Obliviated quite a few Australians and had them buried them in plots number 17834 and 17835, under the names Wilkins. She then purged them from her Ministry file the moment she returned to London. After all, she had no parents. Now, all her hard work didn't even matter, Malfoy knew the truth, and he was going to shout it from the rooftops. He was going to use it to hurt her worse than she already was, if that was possible. And why? Because that was the type of person he was.
But Hermione had always prided herself with being reasonable with her emotions.
No matter how many times her feelings had been hurt, and no matter how many times she'd been humiliated, insulted, scrutinized, or even talked about, she always managed to keep control over them because deep down, no matter what, she was still a reasonable woman. Not just any stupid thing made her cry.
But there was just something about his words, the coldness and detachment in them that really got to that sore spot. Something that made her spiral down from the high that she was on from her talk with Mrs. Weasley to an all-time low; something that moved her to cry tears she swore she would never cry in front of him. Now, Hermione wasn't stupid; she knew Malfoy's words weren't spoken in malice, but in apathy.
Hermione would rather have his cruelty over his lack of interest any day.
Malfoy's apathy crushed every ounce of her faith in humanity, but she didn't understand why.
After all, he wasn't a very good example of a human being.
Still, it trounced her good mood and was yet another example of why she kept everyone at a distance. Yet another reason she constructed those fortified walls Pansy criticized her for. And yet another demonstration that no one really gave a damn about anything other than themselves and the destruction of others.
That truth had broken her heart, and before she'd lost it completely she had felt that familiar pull of Apparition. The unexpected side-along had made her stumble and drop to her hands and knees on the cold, wet ground.
And right there, wherever the hell she was, Hermione lost it.
She wasn't one to show her tears to anyone, but she didn't care. She was hurting and dammit, she was going to cry, because that's what real people did when they'd been wounded.
She didn't give a shit if Malfoy was present for her downfall or if he watched her cry with a smug look on his face because he thought he'd finally broken her. Well, he'd thought wrong. She was broken long before he got there. So she let herself cry for her parents, for her own corruption, for her dead son, and for all the things she hid; her warm tears rained on the already wet and cold pavement. But she didn't let herself cry forever. No. She was stronger than that, stronger than drowning her heart in tears, stronger than letting Malfoy beat her down verbally.
It took a few minutes, but Hermione collected herself, though just barely. She moved to a sitting position on the cold and wet ground, drawing her knees to her chest, and resting her head on them for support. The picture was folded in her grip, she wanted to open it and remind herself of happier times, but she couldn't. The only support she was going to get right then was from herself-and that hurt more than she ever expected.
More than ever before, she'd just about had it with this bullshit they call life. They could have hers back. It fucking sucked, and she was through fighting for it.
Hermione was sick and tired of living a life where everything hurt. She was sick and tired of being sad all the time; it was draining and she felt like she didn't have anything left inside of her. She was sick and tired of the pain, not the ones that were brought on by so-called friends and Malfoy, but the pain she'd been experiencing for so long now that it had become part of the fabric of who she was as a person. She was sick and tired of feeling guilty; sick and tired of living a life where everyone beat her into the ground in their own special way.
First Harry's abandonment, then Ginny's behaviour, and now Malfoy's cruelty - should she be looking around corners for Ron? Did they all make a pact to see which one could destroy her first? She didn't know, but it felt like it.
She just couldn't take it anymore.
All that hope she felt when she got dressed that morning was gone; all the happiness she felt while she was in Mrs. Weasley's arms had vanished. It was all replaced with the harrowing temptation to just stop; to just give up....
Hermione was so deep in her own pain that she'd almost forgotten that he was there until he spoke in a voice that did little to hide his unease, "Granger, look, I-"
"Don't," she interrupted darkly, not looking up at him. "Don't you say another word to me, Malfoy. Don't say another goddamn word, not about me, my parents-not about anything."
Of course, he didn't listen. "Look-"
She glared up at him and let every ounce of misery she felt show in her tear-streaked brown eyes, "Congratulations, Malfoy! Twenty points to Slytherin for making the Mudblood cry. Twenty more for putting me in my place! Good job!"
He looked slightly taken aback from her words, but then he barricaded his expression behind a cold wall of indifference, "I-"
Refusing to let him speak another harsh word, Hermione cut him off again. The anger and hate rose in her chest as tears continued to spill from her eyes. She screamed, "Why are you still here? You've won! You've gotten your prize and go tell all your little friends at The Daily Prophet about how the Mudblood lost her parents. Tell them that she is the reason they're dead!"
His next words were very sombre and low; the tone made his voice almost sound like rolling thunder. "Listen to me, and don't speak. If I was going to tell anyone, Granger-which I'm not-I would've done it already. I've known about your parents for enough time to do what I was going to do."
She should've been elated, she should've asked him how, and she should've cursed him, but all she could do was stare at the ground. All she could feel was smouldering anger and pain. "And why keep this bit of information to yourself? It's unlike you to keep, Malfoy. You're supposed to be all about anything that makes the Gryffindor miserable." She stood to her feet, ready to storm off or maybe Apparate back home.
"Maybe at sixteen, yes, but not now. I see you're already sad and pathetic enough without my help."
Hermione felt like she'd been slapped. "Sad enough? Pathetic enough? First of all, I'm not pathetic, you are! You're a cold, heartless monster, who knows nothing of my sadness-or anyone's sadness for the matter! You've probably never felt that emotion in your entire life!"
Malfoy's face burned. "I know enough!"
She snorted. "Hardly."
"As I've expressed already, you don't know shit about me, Granger."
Hermione retorted angrily, "I know that you've lived this privileged life where your mother luckily kept sheltered to the horrors of the world. She really did you a favour. I know that if sixth year hadn't happened you would've continued on your blissful-" her words were cut off when he backed her into a wall forcefully.
Neither of them saw the picture fall from her hand and into his jacket pocket
She was too angered to feel the fear or pain from his actions. It was probably a good thing.
"I'm warning you, Granger," he spoke lowly, face inches from hers, "Quit while you're ahead."
Defiantly, she stared into his eyes. "You can push me all you want, I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anyone."
"You're a fool then."
"Oh, and why's that?" she rolled her eyes.
"One day, you won't be able to hide behind the walls you've built up around yourself," he told her rather frankly. "One day, your lies will be out and on display for the world to see."
Hermione's face didn't change, but her heart fell to her ankles. She was frightened by his proximity and the frankness in his voice. He was right, and she didn't like that one bit. There would be a day when she wouldn't hide anymore, and she'd had a feeling that day was approaching fast.
"Why do you care about my walls?" she asked in a bitter tone, curiously staring into his eyes.
"I'm not so sure anymore," was his simple yet complicated answer.
She stared at him for a long time, emotions blanketed by confusion, "What the hell does that mean?"
Malfoy looked like he wanted to kick a small animal in frustration, "I don't know."
"So you don't want to know my secrets so you can mock me?" Hermione thought her voice sounded oddly strangled, but she blamed it simply on nerves-and because she was currently trying to mould herself into the wall to get out of contact with him.
He looked thoughtful for a half a second before stepping away. His voice came in a rough drawl, "I'm appalled at you, Granger. I never thought you were capable of being wrong so many times in one sentence."
"Wrong?"
"Yes, wrong. I know you don't know what that word means. I know that it's because you've rarely been wrong before, but Granger, you're wrong. You see, I don't care about bringing you down a notch or two, that's not my goal. After all, it looks like life has done a good job of that."
Malfoy's words hurt and she couldn't even hide it. Hermione staggered, "Just go away, Malfoy. I don't need-"
"No, you need to cut the bullshit, Granger," he cut her off with a pointed statement.
She lifted her gaze to meet his, shocked and confused, "What-"
"Stop with the lies."
All Hermione could do was stare at him, "I don't know where you got the idea-" her voice was quiet and almost calculated as it delivered each word slowly.
"You're lying. You're lying to me, to your old friends, to the woman who thinks of you as her own child, to Pansy-"
"Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know anything! I have been nothing but honest with Pansy!"
For some odd reason, his voice didn't rise with hers, "But what about everyone else, Granger? Why is it that no one knows about your parents? Why is it that your ex-best friends don't know? Why is it that the Weasleys don't know, when it's obvious that they care? Why the hell is it that no one knows anything about you? Not just about your parents, but what the hell you've been doing for the last five years and-"
"Because I don't want them to!" she exploded, "Because it's none of their business! Because-"
Malfoy flared. "Because you feel guilty. Because you feel guilty about your parents and about all that other shit you keep inside, that's the only reason you're lying to everyone about them. That's the reason you're so depressed. That's the reason you drink, to forget about your own guilt. And that's why I say you're pathetic."
"Shut up!" her voice cracked horribly.
"No, I'm not going to shut up. You're not the only person who has suffered in life, Granger. You're not the only one who has to deal with shit they can't control. You need to get the hell over it and move on. You need to own up to whatever the fuck makes you feel so damn guilty, because I'm sick of it! I'm sick of Pansy babying you, I'm sick of her treating you like a bloody porcelain doll, I'm sick of your defensive attitude, I'm sick of you treating me as if I'm some fucking monster, and I'm sick of you thinking you can lie to me and get away with it."
Her voice was cold. "I'm not-"
"Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say," Draco warned. "Like it or not, you're a liar. You can flaunt it and accept it, but don't kid yourself for one moment into thinking that you can fool me, because you don't."
Every emotion that she'd hid, all the pain that she'd felt, all the torment, experiences, shit, everything had just culminated in something that Hermione could only describe as a-well she didn't quite know how to describe it.
She couldn't see, she couldn't speak, she couldn't even hear-everything had gone white, but only for a moment.
But colours came back and she could see Malfoy staring at her blankly. She still couldn't think. Her mind was literally turned to mush; her nerves were shot and all she felt was this incredible upheaval of emotion. And she wondered if she really was as transparent as he'd made her think she was-or maybe he read her a little better than she had ever expected. And both of those options frightened her more than anything. The tears fell and the words were out of her mouth before she could push them back down, "You're right, you're right," she sobbed into her hands.
She wasn't looking when he said, "I know," but it sounded awfully smug.
And it just reminded Hermione who she was talking to. She closed herself off again, but the tears still came. "Just go away," her voice was shaky. "You've said all you needed to say."
He didn't move, in fact, it felt like he'd gotten closer. "You're just upset that I'm rattling your chains."
No. He was wrong. The truth hurt more than his presence ever could.
Once she glanced up, she realised he was closer to her. "Go away, Malfoy."
"No, I think I want to stay right here."
Her knees knocked together, she was having difficulty standing straight on her own. She needed to be alone so she could pull herself together, so she could think of something witty to make him angry so he'd back off her, and so she could get away while she could.
"Is there anything you want to say, Granger?"
"What else is there to say? You've made a wonderful observation, Malfoy. I'm a liar. That's nothing new to me, it's my life. I live in my lies everyday. My parents are dead and it's my fault. It just seems like everything I touch turns to dirt. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"I-"
She couldn't help it, the words just kept rolling off her tongue, "I'm twenty-five Malfoy and I feel like nothing, nothing will take away the pain I'm in. I know there are people who care, but I can't care for them because there's nothing left in me to allow myself to care about them. Malfoy, I'm twenty-five and I feel like I'm eighty. I'm twenty-five and I feel like I've been stretched beyond my means. There isn't anything left. I'm twenty-five, and I'm broken...."
His voice had taken that uncomfortable tone, the same tone that he'd had when he'd sat with her on the roof and when he walked her back to her room hours later after they sat in silence, "Granger-"
"What else do you want me to say? Do you want me to apologise to you? It won't happen. You don't deserve it. Do you want me to tell you everything? That's not going to happen, either."
"That's not what I want, Granger-"
"Then tell me what you do want. Do you want to hex me? Would you like me to conjure a brick so you can beat me down physically as you have done mentally? How about a bat or a knife? You can call Harry, Ginny, and Ron to take part in the festivities of beating me down, I can wait. I have nothing but time. I'm sure they'll appreciate the invite; they've been itching to do it for years. Maybe you four can bond over all the reasons you hate me over tea and pastries after you're done," she spoke blandly, but tears rolled down her flushed cheeks.
"That's not what I-"
"What do you want from me?"
"The truth."
Hermione stared at him, shaking. "Why do you care?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Fuck if I know."
"Go away, just leave me alone. I can't deal with this or you today."
"I think Pansy's right. You've been left alone far too long."
She no longer knew why she was crying; only that she was and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears. It seemed to be a mix of reasons. She cried from the truth, from the fact that he knew the truth, and because his words were spoken in a tone Hermione wasn't familiar with; it almost sounded non-threatening and it shocked her.
"Stop crying," he said rather softly, but there was this edge in his voice she didn't understand.
Of course, that had only made the tears fall faster. "What's wrong, Malfoy? My tears too real for you?"
He said nothing, just looked at her with a frown marring his features, until, "Just stop."
"Just go away," her voice was desperate, "Please. I'm so sick of fighting you and the world," she cried.
There was a long pause before he uttered, "Then don't."
Before she could process his words, Malfoy walked away. And no, he didn't look back.
But if he had, he would've seen Hermione staring after him with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.