Chapter Ten

You See, I Knew

Everything you are,

Sweet orchids and books.

I hate you.

Everything that I am,

Musk and brooms.

Only few know how I truly love you,

How much I hate myself..

I can't change my duty.

You can't change yours.

We all know fire and ice can't co-exist.

The night and day don't mix.

I can't be with you.

That kills.

Kill me.

The day I die for you,

Forgive me.

My last breath,

My last second,

Will be to honor you.

On her bed late at night after a fitful fight with the book, Hermione wept as she read Malfoy's pages, blotting them. They were crinkled and nearly useless as she held them in her quivering hands. Her nose stung and burned, her lungs ached with excess use. She felt like she was dying slowly, lack of water and too many powerful emotions that were suffocating her. Could anyone survive such intensity?

She never knew Malfoy wrote. One of the many things she didn't seem to know. What else had he hid from her?

Roughly, she turned to read the journal entry he wrote on the next page:

"I'm a Mudblood, Malfoy, you hate them," she said simply and she started walking away.

I couldn't speak. She was right. I did hate them, but not enough for I can't hate her. That was where she was wrong. I could never hate Hermione even if I tried - and I have tried. Even at that moment I took a perverse pride in her being wrong.

She was almost out of the aisle of bookshelves we were in. It was the place, I cornered her, you see. She was beautiful, on her tip-toes attempting to reach a thick book. I took it off the shelves for her. Her blush was beautiful, it masked her whole face.

I stood and watched her leave me. That image of her leaving me, it would forever haunt me. I knew that. In my minds eyes I could see myself as an old man, my last vision being of her. Walking away from me. I had to stop her.

"Granger," I called softly, and breathed again when she faced me. The curious, gorgeous look she wore almost made me lose my thought, but I held on.

"Um," was all I the brilliance I was able to say.

"Malfoy, come out with it." My name was a curse in her mouth, but I liked it. She ironically used it with more care than anyone else did.

I came up to her and she didn't flinch or protest in any way, not even when I lightly touched her cinnamon hair. That encouraged me. The glitch in my ability form words was fixed and I told her what I always wanted to.

"Forgive me," I said, "for everything I've done wrong. Despise my family, my linage, my destiny, and despise me if you will. I don't blame you. I don't like me either." I twirled her bushy hair around my pale finger. I loved how it looked, her hair against my skin. "But if you'll hate me, hate me for loving you. That has to be the most horrible thing I've done. It has nothing to do with your blood, Hermione. You're too good for me, but I can't stop feeling this way. I have to try. When you have nothing, you'll do anything."

Unexpectedly she touched my lips, the tips of her fingers feeling over them. It was as if she was trying to feel the sincerity of my words, because she couldn't believe it. I find her quite easy to read. For the first time in the four years I've known her, she had her guard down. If I thought she was lovely before, it was nothing compared to then.

The way she speaks, the way she moves, everything draws me. I wanted her but now, I need her. She keeps my heart beating, she keeps the hope alive that one day we'll all find peace. She made me strive for it. There's nothing in the world that I want more than to leave everything that I am to be who I am with her. Bloody hell, let me tell you, that man is a lot better.

"Show me your arm."

I knew what she wanted. I doubled checked our surroundings to make certain we were alone. Then, I pulled up my left sleeve. There in plain sight was my Dark Mark, the skull and snake, the sign of a Death Eater. I covered it quickly when she went to touch.

"Is this a trick," she asked.

"If it were I'd have had you by now. I can perform leglimency. You would've known."

She sighed, and I could see her coming out with countless reasons to doubt me.

"Hermione..." The name was sweet, and all I wanted was to say that to the world. "I do... You know I do. I know you do too." Then I kissed her. Within that kiss I felt her dissolve.

You see, I knew it. She loves me too.

She had thought - or more truthfully - convinced herself to believe that it was all a lie. It was easier to hate Malfoy that way. If he lied about everything, especially his feelings for her, then she could loathe him in peace. The way she was supposed to.

She'd done a lot of things wrong. She was known to follow the rules when all she did was break them. Over and over she thought about her mistakes. It was Malfoy's fault, she decided. He was always the center of her problems, and even while he laid six feet under he was making her feel guilty for how she lived her life. If anyone should have been alive, feeling guilty, it should have been him.

Malfoy should have never died.

Throwing the papers into the rubbage bin she stood and went to her bathroom. She silently thanked Nott and cursed him at the same time. What business was it of his? Why couldn't he let her go on with her life? Why was he bringing up such terrible recollections of her past? It was an accident that they met again. Just an accident and he wouldn't leave her alone.

She peered at herself in the mirror over the sink. She was terrible in appearance. Her eyes were bloodshot, shadows underneath. She was pallid and tired. She looked ages older than what she was. Finally, everything got to her, finally her outside showed what was on the inside. There was nothing she could hide then.

"Great," she muttered, "bring me to my death too."

It was ironic. The journal entry, compared to the memory she had of her second day of Hogwarts...

In the library Malfoy bent over a parchment, his quill scratching across the surface. He bit his lower lip, his hair in his stormy gray eyes. Hermione smiled, and sat opposite of him, letting her books fall with more force than necessary so her presence would be known.

Malfoy glimpsed up and back down quickly. She noted that his cheeks were faintly pink.

Disappointment gripped her, but under that was an irritation that he could be so rude. "Draco Malfoy, is it?"

He nodded.

"My name is Hermione Granger."

"Who cares," he said in a clipped tone.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Yet here you are. You're an annoying little Mudblood aren't you?"

She was confused. "Mudblood?"

He laughed coldly but there was a discomposure etched into his features. "Go away, you aren't fit to be at my table."

She didn't understand the odd word he called her, but it was obvious it wasn't good. She picked up her books and with her eyes filled with tears, she walked away. She could've sworn she felt him looking after her, but she didn't look back to find out.

A/N: I am aware that not many people write that way in their journals. However, I have met some that did put it in that story-like form so please, don't pass it off.

This is a chapter purely dedicated to Hermione's wreckage, memories, a quiet time alone she had with herself.