Long chapter because I spent all of yesterday playing in the snow instead of updating(:
xxx
Draco Malfoy lay on his back, the darkness of his room enveloping him like a cocoon. It was cold and drafty, and yet he wore nothing but his school uniform, torn and dirty from the events of the day.
He knew that Voldemort himself was laying in his parent's bedroom, sleeping, if the Dark Lord even slept. Draco sat up ever so slowly, his battered body protesting with every movement. He knew that everyone had expected him to fail, but that had not lessened his punishment. He was supposed to have died.
It could have been worse, he supposed. Much worse. That was not to say that it hadn't been awful. There were bruises across his right cheekbone, down his pale arms and all over his body, but his mind had held. Voldemort hadn't found out about her. He never would.
The thought of Hermione made his stomach turn uncomfortably. He'd kissed her back on the Astronomy Tower. He'd allowed himself to be taken in by her mudblood charms and promises of redemption.
And yet he'd protected her, shielded his mind to keep her safe from the Dark Lord's wrath. He told himself that he was doing it for himself, because if anyone knew he'd been fraternizing with the enemy it would mean unsavory consequences for him and his family. He didn't know what to think anymore.
Draco sat up slowly, clenching his teeth in pain. He'd forgotten how much the cruciatus curse hurt, how the pain would hit at first like a wall, bowling you over and making you scream until your voice was gone. How then it would intensify, and you would forget how to scream, you'd forget everything but the incredible agony of it all.
Draco's mind flashed to his sitting room, where he was taken to meet the Dark Lord not three hours earlier. He'd been punished by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Called a coward, nothing better than a mudblood.
He'd taken it all, not because he was too afraid to fight back, but because there wasn't anything left for him to do, no route of escape. It hadn't all been abuse of course, Draco was the one that had gotten them into the school and allowed them to kill Dumbledore. The Dark Lord had even deigned to touch him on the shoulder, telling him he wasn't 'a complete disgrace to his bloodline.' Somehow that was no better than being cursed.
Draco was jerked from his memory by a soft knock at his door. He wondered who had come to humiliate him this time, who wanted to rub his continued inadequacy in his face? His father perhaps, believing that smacking him across the face in front of all his little Death Eater Buddies just wasn't enough? His mother, come to not look him in the eye some more?
Whoever it was knocked again, this time a little louder than before. "Draco?"
The voice was soft and feminine, though Draco didn't recognize it. It didn't sound like a house elf, though he couldn't think of any female in the house who would knock nicely and didn't call him Draco, except for maybe his mother, though it didn't sound like her voice. He pushed all thoughts of her from his head, trying to erase the memory of the her face falling as he got his mark, the sadness that shone in her eyes every time his father left on urgent Death Eater business.
"Mr. Malfoy are you there, I have-"
"What do you want?" He asked, albeit rather more sharply than was probably required.
The doorknob turned and the door opened, a short, dark haired witch stepping through, a tea cup levitating above her head. She walked slowly over to where he lay, her eyes canvassing his battered frame.
"Not so pretty anymore, am I?" He said bitterly, casting his eyes at the ceiling.
"Your mother thought you'd like some tea." She said, ignoring his comment, letting the cup float down onto his bedside table.
"Don't be stupid. She hates me."
The girl shook her head. "She doesn't. She'd afraid for you."
If Draco wasn't sore all over, he would have gotten up and thrown something. "Please leave."
"She told me to make sure you were okay. I don't really think-"
He squeezed his eyes shut, replying with as much venom as he could muster. "Do I look okay to you?"
"No."
He sat up, ignoring his discomfort. "Well I am, alright? First Hermione, and then you have to come snooping around! I don't even know you!"
She tilted her head to the side. "Granger?"
Draco suddenly realized what he'd done, and abruptly clammed up. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."
The girl nodded slowly. "I'm Astoria Greengrass."
He nodded curtly. He remembered her from his school years, the slightly prettier, less annoying version of her sister Daphne. "Anything else?"
Astoria seemed to hesitate, before leaning in and kissing him on the top of the head. She rocked back on her heels, clasping her hands behind her back. "Your mum told me to give you that too."
She turned on her heel, closing the door with a small snap. Draco leaned back against the wall with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, Hell."
He picked up the mug, a particular piece of the previous conversation, the point moments ago when he'd let Hermione's name slip. After keeping his secret from the Dark Lord he couldn't even keep it from a stupid girl.
"Granger?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter."
He sighed, focusing his gaze on the corner where two walls met the ceiling. It did matter. It mattered terribly.
In all of his privileged life he'd never had anyone who'd actually fought for him, who'd listened to him and let him be weak. His mother had been there of course, but he couldn't tell her everything. In the end she was what his father wanted her to be, a quiet, demure pureblood wife.
He could never tell Hermione what she'd meant to him. It was too difficult, with his parents and the war, it was better that he forget they'd ever meant anything to each other. He wasn't going to allow her to capture his attention anymore, and the next time he got the urge to kiss her he wasn't going to. Because he didn't really want to. Because he never really loved her.
Hermione spent the next few days holed up in the library, her nose buried in whatever book she could get her hands on. Lessons had been canceled, though Hermione would have been glad for the distraction. Harry hadn't told anyone about what had happened between her and Draco and they hadn't discussed it, thought it hung between the two of the like a weight.
The date for Dumbledore's funeral hadn't been set yet, and Hermione was dreading it. It was just another reminder of that awful night. She could still remember how his lips felt on hers, how his hands held her waist and the way his hair fell in front of his eyes. It was terrible.
This morning, she'd decided to move her reading outside, and was occupying a bench by the lake, the sun a welcome change from the dimly lit library. She was nearly finished with an interesting novel about a gypsy girl and a prince, when a large gray owl perched on her shoulder. It bent down and nibbled slightly on her ear, sticking out it's leg.
Hermione transported the owl to the side of the bench, taking the note from it's proffered limb. Leaning back against the bench, she unrolled the parchment, wondering who had sent the letter. She didn't recognize the handwriting, but a after reading the first few line the sender became abundantly clear.
Dear Granger,
I hope you understand that when I kissed you a few nights ago it was merely a act of careless irrationality. In my distress it is possible that I was not in full command of my actions. I am sure that you feel the same way as I, and that the Felix Felicius addled our senses, and that it would be in both of our best interests to forget this little incident and move on with our lives.
Please don't worry about me, and don't reply to this letter. It will only add needless complications to an already complicated matter.
Take care,
Malfoy.
Hermione stared at the parchment for a long time, trying to figure out if she wanted to smile or start crying. She pressed her lips together, forcing her brain to think rationally. He was a pureblood, and she was nothing more than a muggle-born. Mudblood. She thought bitterly.
Their entire relationship was comprised of careless acts of irrationality. It hadn't meant anything.
She stood up, ripping the paper straight down the middle, then again and again until his letter was nothing more than shreds of confetti sprinkled around her feet.
She picked up her book and walked smilingly back to the castle, pushing any feelings she might have had for Draco Malfoy away.
It was just a careless act of irrationality.
xxx
Oh no! Not again! Alright, question for all of you: Do you want A. it to end here, all denial-y and heartbroken, B. for them to both move on and end up being kinda friends (DracoxAstoria HermionexRon) or C. HAPPY CHEESY DRAMIONE ENDING!
Review so I know you're still with me!