A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter! It was quite a trip to write, as you all will soon figure out for yourselves. You might not like this, a lot of you probably won't. But it's necessary, I swear to you!
Everything in italics is from the "night before" at Draco's extravagant party.
A special thank you to all my reviewers: HermionenDraco368, Venetiangrl92, Vaneesa85, xxfreexx, thegoddessgirl, megs100, constellationgazer, reader204, Twinzlover, IaTeYoUrMuFfInx, linalove, Kimm Possible, Glitterboden, HarryPGinnyW4eva, jane2325, Talis Ruadair, Khoes, Eva1983, JadePowell, nikki98, Ms. Louis Cordice Zabini, buttercup, and Strawberry Peaches.
Enjoy!
Song Selection for this chapter: Somebody that I used to Know by Gotye
Chapter Eleven: Somebody that I used to Know
The night was calm, calmer than expected at this time of year, but Hermione couldn't find it within herself to be thankful. Of course, good weather meant that her impossibly high heeled shoes wouldn't get ruined, nor would the dress that she had purchased especially for this occasion. It was also true that good weather meant that she wouldn't need to lug around an umbrella or a heavy coat, which made even the most graceful people look unseemly. But she didn't have it in herself to pay attention to the weather.
Even though she knew most girls would.
She took a deep breath and pretended that that sweet breath of fresh air would cleanse her soul. It didn't, of course, but it was nice to pretend all the same. Sometimes, fanciful thinking was all that got people through the day. Hermione knew that was what was running her life too – idiotic thinking. She knew she ought to just turn back and abandon this whole adventure she'd embarked on, but she just couldn't make herself move.
So, she just stood there, quite like an idiot as people walked passed her, not even sparing her a glance. Why spare her a glance where there was an entire night of revelry and joy waiting just beyond those gates and up the long, winding path? Hermione shivered. The world shivered with her.
Her surroundings were pleasant enough. Huge, obscenely huge, iron wrought gates stood before her, magically enchanted no doubt with a thousand years of spell work. She'd have expected no less from the Malfoys, who only really needed an opportunity to express how mighty and pureblooded they were. Maybe if she set a foot on the other side of those large, daunting gates, the skies would open up and strike her with lightning. What else could a mudblood expect at the Malfoy Manor?
Because that's what she was, after all, wasn't it? A stupid filthy fucking mudblood.
Hermione sighed and made to move forward, attempting to accept her fate. But something stopped her. It wasn't a physical presence; at least, she didn't think it was. It was more so her memories. She had been here before, of course. It had been many long years ago, so long she couldn't even remember the exact date and hour as she used to be able to. But she remembered nonetheless.
It wasn't easy to forget something like that. And all because of her blood. That's what it came down to, wasn't it? The entire mansion and the grounds that accompanied it before her represented all that she was not. Classy, elegant, magnificent, and pureblooded. She clearly didn't belong here, as Malfoy had reminded her constantly when they'd been back at school.
Did ingesting a little bit of veela blood really change all that?
Did veela blood make up for the fact that she'd been tortured on these very grounds? That she'd screamed and they'd all just watched the psychotic witch cast curse after curse? Was it all just supposed to be okay? She didn't know. All she knew was that she remembered the days when Malfoy had taunted her, had ridiculed her, had degraded her very being just because she'd had the misfortune of not being just like him.
But then, no one was exactly like him.
He was, she reasoned, more than that bratty little boy that had made her life a miserable hell on good days. He wasn't Malfoy anymore, no longer the child that had been too afraid to act on her behalf when she'd needed him – anyone. No, he wasn't even a pureblood. He was just Draco – the man that had sat there for hours and listened to her ramble like no one else.
He was the man who liked grilled cheese sandwiches and muggle scotch. He was the foolhardy, emotional, irrational, most dedicated fellow she'd ever known, hidden beneath layers and layers of defence mechanisms that must've taken years to build. But that was what he was: Special. He wasn't a pureblood supremacist and he certainly didn't hate her.
At least, she hoped that was all true. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. He'd told her that he needed her and he'd spent a lot of time and money buying her gifts to persuade her to come here. Like that had mattered. Hell, she'd made up her mind when he'd expressed that he'd needed her there. If she could make him a changed man for the better, she'd have done it in a heartbeat.
And no, it wasn't because he was charming when he wanted to be, or the fact that she was considering jumping his bones. It was that he was vulnerable. She couldn't help but want to protect him, not after all he'd done for her. Not after all he'd shared about himself.
So, she tentatively took one step beyond the giant gates, waiting to be shocked. When nothing happened, she quickly made her way up the winding path towards the open doors of the Malfoy Manor with the rest of the excited guests. She felt foolish for being here, yet she'd made up her mind. She wasn't going back. She was going to see this through to the end. And when this was all over and done with, she'd give Malfoy the kiss of his life.
Somewhere above her, the Gods must have been laughing.
/
Hermione woke up with a groan, clutching her head and cursing whoever it was that was making all that noise. Goodness, people were rude these days. Couldn't they see she was sleeping? At the very least they could keep it the hell down! She attempted to open her eyes, but that clearly wasn't about to happen any time soon. They were crusted shut in the most disgusting of fashions.
She wanted to get up off whatever surface she was on – was it the floor or was it her bed? She couldn't tell and it didn't matter, anyway – but couldn't even manage that, she was so sore. And all the while, that incessant drumming continued, bothering her to no end. Her throat was parched and she realized she was quite nauseated.
No, she was hungry. Her stomach had just growled a second ago if she'd heard correctly. Yeah, growled, it was rather unmistakeable, even over all that banging and distressful noise. But then, why was her stomach churning if it was growling as well? Was she sick? Was she diseased? Holy hell, she was dying wasn't she, her stomach was eating itself from the inside out and she was going to spit up bile!
Or...
Or, she was hung over.
Forcing herself to get up and blindly find her way to some water proved to be a good idea. She couldn't think if she couldn't see, so first things first she'd have to solve that problem. And then perhaps she'd puke. Oh yes, she'd throw up to her heart's content after her eyes could be pried open. In fact, she had no other intentions that day besides puking, eating, and puking again!
"Fucking hell, you're disgusting, Hermione," she muttered to herself. Then stopped because muttering to oneself was clearly a sign of derangement. And she wasn't deranged, was she? Who the fuck cared anyway? She was who she was and no one was complaining. Besides her. And who cared what she thought, anyway?
Shaking her head to clear her mind of her strange ramblings, then regretting it because the motion caused bile to rise in her throat, Hermione attempted to find her way to the bathroom. It was an arduous journey, one she'd made countless times but for some reason couldn't retrace just at that moment. In fact, she bumped into several walls on her way there and swore to blast them away just as soon as she could see.
When she finally found the sink and nearly burned herself with scalding hot water, she blessedly washed the disgusting gunk out of her eyes and groaned in satisfaction. How had this happened? How had she ended up like this? It was obvious she was at home, but how had she gotten home in the first place? Had someone robbed her, because seriously, she'd flip her lid if that had happened –
Hermione screamed.
In the midst of her internal jumbled dialogue, Hermione had made the mistake of looking up into her mirror. And by gods did she not like what she saw there. Her hair was in clumps, matted in some areas, greasy in others, sticking up frantically in the back as if she'd been fighting a werewolf. Makeup was smeared all over her face. Lipstick, mascara, liner galore! Her skin was gray in pallor; she could even see the veins around her eyes. There was dried spittle, tears, and god knows what...
And it didn't help that there was an incessant banging originating somewhere inside her apartment. How could she think with all that noise? How the hell was she supposed to remember what had happened last night – which, as she just recalled, had been Malfoy's grand party – when her head was aching and that idiotic drumming refused to cease?
At first, Hermione thought she must be crazy. After all, where could that drumming even come from? It certainly wasn't from her, because she didn't even own drums, and the only person that lived on this entire floor was the old lady down the hall, who barely came outside let alone beat on drums! Eventually, the noise became so unbearable that she just had to go investigate.
Imagine her surprise when she found six different owls were tapping their beaks against her living room window like no tomorrow. Rushing towards the window and instantaneously regretting the motion, for it literally rocked her world, she opened it and let the poor blasted owls into her flat. They all glared at her in turn for making them wait what seemed to be hours, then stuck their respective legs out.
She sheepishly untied the mail that clearly belonged to her, wondering if she even had owl treats to offer them. Perhaps in the upper cupboard... But it didn't matter, because once the owls had been relieved of their burdens, they flew out her open window without a second glance at her. Clearly, they were fed up with stupid humans who consumed alcohol. Hell, for all she knew, this was some kind of common occurrence that owls had to go through daily.
What would it be like living like an owl, she wondered? A poor life it must be, she decided closely thereafter.
Throwing the mail onto the couch, which she had no doubt slept on because it was rather rumpled and smelled of alcohol, she hobbled to the loo to take care of her horrific hygiene. Washing her face turned out to be a horrid experience, because her skin was rather sensitive and raw. From what, she could only guess. The water from the shower nearly scalded her, causing her to cry out, but then loosened her sore muscles.
Again the question plagued her: What had happened last night?
She pondered it as she stood under the steaming shower spray, letting the water pound against her back. She sighed. She did remember going into the Manor and being greeted by lots and lots of people – for the place had been packed. Had she even seen Draco? Perhaps. Perhaps not. For some reason, her mind produced an image of Ron – why, she couldn't imagine.
But then, other images began to provide themselves for her. She remembered drinking out of nervousness, for she had been insanely nervous. She remembered dancing with lots and lots of people. Ginny had been there, but without Padma for some reason. So had... Ron? Perhaps. She remembered frolicking in the garden. She remembered Draco.
She remembered kissing Draco.
Kissing Draco! By gods! Had she actually done that? Had she honestly made out with a Malfoy? A grin spread out over her face and butterflies erupted in her stomach. Of course, she could've just been dreaming. But then again, she had been drunk, if the smell of her couch was anything to go by. Hell, she still was a little drunk if the wooziness was a sign. She didn't quite feel herself, but then what girl would feel herself after remembering that she'd kissed a Malfoy?
But then another question plagued her, and it was an important question to answer. Had she slept with him? She had no recollection of it and she didn't think he was here, but it could've happened. He was still on his veela blood, after all, and she'd been drunk. What would that mean for them?
It was only then that Hermione realized the water had gone freezing cold and shrieked. She was never going to drink again, and by Gods someone ought to kill her if she ever even thought about it! Jumping out of the shower and grabbing the nearest towel, she slowly tried to walk to her bedroom to get dressed. Who knew how long that would take in this condition? Thank god it was a Saturday.
Only, another tapping on her window got her attention before she could go to her room.
Scowling, she held her towel tighter around her, and stomped grumpily into her living room to get the window. She thought she might have even recognized Ginny and Padma's owl in the congregation outside her window. In the space of the hour she'd been in the shower, eight more owls had gathered outside her window, demanding to be let in. What had she done last night, really? It must have been something insanely scandalous if she was this popular this morning.
Gathering her mail, she sat down in a chair, forgoing getting dressed. This seemed far more important. Sifting through the letters, she found Ginny's handwriting, and opened that first.
Went a bit wild last night and scared us all, didn't you, you fox? Didn't know you had it in you, really, I have to say I'm proud. Of course, it's all my work, so I take full credit.
How are you taking the news?
G.
Hermione had no idea what the redhead was on about. What news? She could hardly remember how she'd gotten home last night let alone what she'd done at the party. She just hoped it wasn't too scandalous. Maybe she had slept with Malfoy and had done it in front of everyone like a skank. Gods, what would her friends think? What would her colleagues think? No one would ever take her seriously ever again!
She found Padma's handwriting in a rather unusually large envelope, which peaked her curiosity – or whatever of it the alcohol had left behind. Padma never deigned to send letters, let alone long letters. She was quite a brusque, upfront person, quite the opposite of Ginny.
Hermione,
I really hope you're doing well, especially after what I have to tell you. I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do about this. Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, London Times, and just about every gossip column is going to be publishing it, so I wanted you to see it first from me.
I'm sorry I couldn't contain the fiasco, but this will be better for you. You're prepared. Hold your head high and you can deny the allegations. Whatever you do, DO NOT RESPOND TO ANY OWLS!
Padma
Hermione was on the verge of panic. Whatever had happened, whatever it was that she'd done was so big that all of Wizarding Britain was going to be talking about it. Her heart began to pound and she almost threw up, but she had more important matters to attend to. Like opening the package of papers that had accompanied Padma's letter. But hell, she didn't want to. No, she just wanted to go to sleep. She just wanted to...
She pulled the envelope apart, ripping half of it in her haste, only to find what was clearly this evening's Prophet. Or what was going to be this evening's prophet. Padma had sent her the unpublished copy! Hermione knew what this meant. Whatever it was, it was serious, because Padma would never jeopardize her job like this unless it was really, really, really important.
Flipping the pages with shaking fingers, Hermione stopped dead on page 6, the society column: MALFOY SEEN WITH CARMEN MARTINEZ AFTER EXTRAVAGANZA.
The page was plastered with pictures of him with this girl. A very breathtakingly gorgeous girl she'd always seen in the society columns. As far as she knew, Carmen was the daughter of some rich man who sat on the Wizengamot, and Ginny was always complaining about how she got far too much undue attention. Apparently, according to Ginny, Carmen was a "bint with a long list of boyfriends".
And now she was with Draco apparently.
There were pictures of them heading into restaurants, her coming to meet him at work, him outside Carmen's apartment, them walking down the street kissing, holding hands, and doing things couples were seen doing. It made her want to gag. It made her rather angry, too, if she really thought about it, but she was too shaken to really acknowledge that emotion.
The article wasn't of much use. It just talked about: Malfoy's new love interest... blah blah blah... dating the infamous Carmen Martinez... blah blah blah... Nonsense and such. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't angry and feeling betrayed, because she was. Of course she was! Hell, if she could see straight, she'd have gone and found Malfoy to slap him. What she didn't understand was why Padma would think this was of the utmost importance.
That was until she realized there was more in the envelope. A lot more than she was bargaining for. Three times more, to be exact. Padma had somehow managed to get the unpublished copies of the week's Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, and The London Times – which circulated throughout the UK. She was on the cover of all three of them, paired with pictures of Malfoy and Carmen.
Granger vs. Martinez: Frumpy vs. Glamorous?
Malfoy leaves Granger for Socialite.
Granger Spurned: Malfoy's new love interest.
Out of all of them, Witch Weekly was the harshest, claiming that she could hardly hold a man to her, let alone someone like Draco Malfoy – who was apparently esteemed. Since when, she didn't know. Why? Why would they write something like that? With every word she read, her despair grew. They criticized her, from her oversized hair, to her oversized clothes. Like such things mattered that much.
The rest of the mail was similar, all from news reporters asking for confirmations for the stories she had just read, concerned people offering her condolences, and friends asking her what the hell had happened. She didn't know what to do. She didn't really want to do anything. So, she followed Padma's advice and ripped up every single letter into tiny little squares before setting them on fire one by one with her wand.
The worst part of this entire ordeal had to be the fact that in every single picture that he was with Carmen, she was sure he'd come to see her just hours later. He had been wooing her while seeing this woman, leaving her presents, and telling her things he obviously had no right to tell. She loathed him for it. She wanted him to burn in hell. Maybe, she wanted to burn with him.
Then, Hermione cried. And then, Hermione wanted to die. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair in the least. How could this have happened to her? How could Malfoy do something like this to her?
Not that it helped that Carmen Martinez was a fucking bombshell. Hermione could hardly compete with someone like that. Hermione could hardly compete with anyone, let alone a socialite! She wanted to tear her hair out for being so stupid, for actually thinking that...
Thinking that she actually knew him.
/
There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she absolutely should not drink another glass of firewhisky, but she did it anyway. Why? Well, she wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps it was because she was in the Malfoy Manor, somewhere where she hadn't thought she'd ever set foot in again. Perhaps it was because butterflies were floating in her stomach and she just hoped that alcohol would calm her nerves. Perhaps it was because Draco looked rather charming, even if he was talking to another woman and not to her.
But he was the host, after all, and this was his party. He had to... play host, she supposed. Whatever it was that good host people did, he had to do. So, she didn't mind. In fact, she could wait patiently all night. The only problem with that was, the alcohol was freely flowing around and she couldn't stop herself from taking sip after sip.
It was only until she became insanely lightheaded that she thought it was probably a good idea to stop. But even then, as the world began to tilt on an angle and spin around her, she kept a firm grip on her glass just in case she should need a little bit more liquid courage.
She wasn't quite sure what was going on anymore. There were people everywhere in all sorts of colours and styles. Hell, she was rather sure she'd seen a woman earlier with huge tufts of orange feathers glued to her dress. Why would a woman want to glue orange feathers onto her clothes? In fact, a lot of the women here were dressed just odd. Not even nicely odd. Just odd.
In comparison, Hermione felt almost beautiful, thanks to Ginny's masterful manipulations that had taken pretty much six hours. Six hours! But now that she was here, she thought perhaps it was worth it. If Draco would just stare at her for more than a glance and appreciate it, perhaps Hermione would write it off as "worth it".
But then, she couldn't quite see Draco amongst the throngs of people jostling her to and fro. He had disappeared. Perhaps he had gone to mingle with different people, or perhaps he had gone upstairs with the woman. Hermione shuddered. She didn't even know why she shuddered because she wasn't cold at all. In fact, she was quite warm!
Just as she was about to shrug her silk wrap off her shoulders, someone pushed it right back on. Their fingers linger on the back of her neck and she swore they might have stroked her as well! Turning around she found none other than her ex-boyfriend staring at her with unmistakeable longing. Not that she could tell. Everything was mistakable to her. She was drunk, after all.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her speech a little bit slurred. She had the afterthought to poke him in the chest. "Ow! Why are you so hard over here!" Then, she began to nurse her poor little injured finger, completely forgetting that Ronald Weasley was even standing before her.
"I came to find you," Ron muttered, nearly in her ear. That made her jump, for she had not expected him to be that close, nor whisper anything in her ear. Why would he have done that? She had half a mind to smack him for being so odd. But at least he didn't have orange feathers sticking off his clothes. She supposed she could tolerate him until Draco came to find her. "I came to take you home, Hermione."
"Bah! I shan't be going home," she declared, though her voice was so airy that her declaration held no force. "Now be gone! I'm looking for prince charming."
"Who?" Ron asked, clearly confused.
"Prince Charming, silly," she said with a grin, not quite staring Ron straight in the eye. He was quite tall, after all, and she couldn't really lift her head up to make eye contact. Why, she might have floated away if she'd even attempted. "He has a horse, and a sword, and jewels, and-"
"You're drunk, Hermione," Ron observed. The bastard seemed amused! Why anyone would be amused at her predicament was just incomprehensible. "Come on, love, let me take you home."
But she ignored Ron, for she'd found her Prince Charming.
Draco had been staring at her from across the room, an inscrutable expression on his face. She didn't understand why he wasn't smiling. Was he not pleased that she'd dolled herself up for him? He had yet to say hi to her and was occasionally muttered something to the girl next to him. It was the same girl from earlier, Hermione noted. Perhaps she worked for Draco. Perhaps she was his secretary.
Ignoring Ron and escaping from the hands that he'd attempted to place on her shoulders, she made her way across the crowd of people towards Draco. He just stood there and watched. The decent thing to do would have been to come and meet her halfway, at the very least. He should have swept her off her feet. But she supposed that this was the twenty first century, and that she could probably be his prince Charming. Or Princess charming?
There was no time to contemplate the conundrum, for she was before him and he was now before her. She didn't know what to say. In fact, she couldn't think at all. He smelled like cologne and something rather warm and spicy. She adored it. In fact, she wanted to breathe it in. But she knew he was probably all against sniffing and all things similar, so she just stared at him and smiled.
So instead, she said the only thing she could have said. "Hello!"
The smile on his face was dazzling. "Hello," he greeted back.
She didn't need to say anything anymore. He took her by the hand and led her back into the scores of people around them. And then, they danced. She wasn't sure how long they did, but it was long enough to make her head spin. Somehow, she didn't fall over, but it was probably because of his hands steadying her. No one seemed to take any notice of them, even though they were so very important. He was Prince Charming after all, and she was his Princess.
/
Someone was knocking on her door, calling her name.
It was only then that she realized that she was sitting in front of an open window, in a towel with wet hair, crying her eyes out. A look in the mirror told her she still looked like a fright – all pale and dead looking. Who cared, anyhow? She might as well accept the fact that she was an ugly duckling. There was no way anyone would like her after seeing her compared with someone as beautiful as Carmen Martinez.
That someone knocking on her door was Draco Malfoy.
Several things happened at once. Her headache intensified to a thunderous level, her mouth dried up, and she began to shake. The bastard honestly had dared to confront her after what he'd done to her? Wasn't public humiliation enough? What more could he honestly expect from her, now that he'd achieved what he'd probably been here for all along? Her destruction.
"What do you want?" she hissed after he'd called her name for the millionth time. "What the hell could you possibly want?" He stopped knocking on her door and the silence was blissful, even if it only lasted for a second.
"I want to come inside," he said quietly.
"You want to come inside!" Hermione shrieked, nearly hysterical. Well, alright. She was fully hysterical. "Why don't you go inside your precious Carmen's flat, hm? She seems more than willing to have you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Granger-"
"Don't call me ridiculous, don't you dare call me anything!" she yelled now. Who the hell did he think he was, coming here all high and mighty? Well he could shove it right back where it came from, because she was done with him, she realized. She had known it when she'd read the papers that were probably now circulating all throughout Britain, but now she was certain of it. Draco Malfoy had no place in her life. "Get out of here, Malfoy."
"I'm not going anywhere! Now, open this door!"
"No! Don't you fucking tell me what to do-"
"You owe me this much, you ungrateful witch! You owe it to me after you left me outside your flat thrashing that night and after disappearing with Weasel-"
But she didn't let him finish. She didn't even hear anything else after thrashing. "Leave you? Leave you? I didn't leave you, you fucking prick! I stayed with you, even after you hit me in the head, you slimy fucking pig!" He didn't say anything and she was glad for it, because she was out of breath and probably couldn't shout over him. "You were the one that told me to leave. You shouted so loud that I had to, you hear? You made me go."
Draco was shocked to say the least and she was glad for it. He deserved it after shocking her. He deserved everything after what he'd done to her. Hermione Granger was a lot of unsavoury things, but she had prided herself on not being a fool. What Draco had done to her was irreparable. What Draco had done was to break her identity.
"That can't be," he said, nearly after a minute. "It can't. I was alone-"
"You were alone because you wanted to be," she said, quietly. He didn't stop her from speaking and she didn't have the energy to raise her voice any longer. It all worked out in the end. "Hell, what choice did I have after you nearly broke my fucking wrist?" And he had. She had ignored it, but he had.
He didn't say anything more after that and she didn't want to hear anything anymore anyway. He didn't deserve any explanations from her as far as she was concerned. She hadn't done anything but behave reasonably with him and he'd...he'd twisted a knife behind her back.
"I'm sorry," he said so quietly, she barely heard it.
"Leave," she responded simply.
It wasn't that he'd gone around with other women. She wasn't stupid. He was a man and men did such things. It was that he'd lied, lied and told her that she was going to be the only one – or at least, made it seem that way. If he had been honest... well, if he had been honest, she didn't know what she would've done, but it would've been better than this. Better than being made a fool in front of her entire world. It was the betrayal that stung. Hell, she should've even seen it coming. Someone should've warned her of how stupidly she'd been behaving.
"Hermione..." he called to her weakly.
"Leave," she hissed. She wanted him to fell like how he'd made her feel that night when he'd told her to leave. He deserved it. He deserved this.
"Look, just let me explain, I-"
"Leave!" she shouted when he wouldn't listen to her. "I don't want to see your face here ever again, and I swear if I do, I will apply for a restraining order!"
She knew the moment the words fell out of her mouth that she'd regret it. After all, she was human, and her heart wouldn't just harden itself in the span of a few hours. She had honestly liked him and couldn't help but liking him now. But it was for the best. The person she had liked – wanted – he wasn't real. He was just some man in a dream that she used to know.
Malfoy didn't object. Hell, he didn't even try to apologize again like he really should've done if he had a decent bone in his body. This only further proved to Hermione how twisted he must really be. He was the kind of person that only chewed people up and spit them out. Nothing more, nothing less. She should've seen it coming. She had seen it coming in the starting, when she'd doubted him, before he'd trapped her with all his charms.
When he really was on the other side.
But now Malfoy was nowhere. He wasn't in her head, in her heart, wasn't even on the other side of her door. Yeah, his picture was next to hers in every important news publication in Wizarding Britain, but what did that matter when it was all against her because he'd betrayed her? Hermione was ashamed for caring. Hermione hated herself for even crying.
And cry she did. She sobbed and sobbed, emptied her soul into the carpet until even her hair was dry and the towel covering her was no longer damp. She wept for all of her friends she had spurned because of Malfoy, she cried for her ruined reputation, and the life she was now going to have to live. She even cried a little bit for Malfoy. Or a whole lot.
When Padma and Ginny knocked softly on her door, she let them in and let them take care of her. Then, she cried a whole lot more.
Eventually, she slept.
But even then, the sun had to rise, and she had to resume crying once more.
/
Draco sighed. It was far too hot in here and he was just about to break into a sweat. Blaise was nowhere to be found, Carmen refused to go home even though she knew Granger was around, and fuck would people not leave him alone. He got it. He was popular and all that shit, but fuck! People really ought to mind their own business or something.
And all the important people were drunk, so of course no networking was to be done tonight. Blaise wouldn't be happy with that development. No, of course he wouldn't. Blaise wasn't happy with any development. Blaise could just go kiss his –
What was the Weasel doing here?
At first, Draco thought that he must've been seeing things, a trick of the light perhaps. But when he squinted and stared, he saw Weasel talking to Granger. His Granger. Who had let the filth in, anyhow? There was absolutely no way his name was on the guest list, unless... Damn the she-Weasel! Ah, if he saw her, he'd knock some bloody sense into her!
But there was no time for that, because Weasel was touching his Granger. The Weasel had the audacity to touch his Granger! Draco felt his heart pound when Hermione turned around and seemed just as surprised as he felt. She poked the Weasel in the chest and then clutched her finger like a wounded child. For some reason, that made Draco laugh. Until Weasel touched his Granger again.
Then he was ready to march over there and punch the fucker's filthy freckled face.
But it was unnecessary, because Granger had spotted him. And before long, she was making her way towards him, quite slowly and unsteadily, but towards him nonetheless. He couldn't move because he realized what had just happened. She'd left Weasel for him. For him! That gave him a shot, didn't it? That said something about what she preferred, didn't it? Didn't it?
There wasn't any time to contemplate that conundrum though, because she was standing right before him and staring at him expectantly. Well, damn if he knew what she wanted – besides alcohol, because she looked bloody drunk. Smelled like it too. Had she spilled it all over herself or was that all just her breath? She was swaying in front of him and he wondered whether he ought to reach out and steady her lest she fall over.
Then randomly, as if just realizing he was there, she grinned and nearly shouted, "Hello!"
He couldn't help but grin at her enthusiasm. "Hello."
He realized that Carmen was behind him, staring daggers into his back, but he didn't care. She could go back to where she'd come from. He took Granger by the wrist and dragged her forward into the crowd of dancing bodies. Then, he steadied her with his hands on her hips, because she really was falling over.
She leaned into him and they moved slowly, even though it was a fast paced song. Draco didn't care though, because this was the best moment of his life. This was the moment that he'd been waiting for forever. The girl he'd wanted since... well... he couldn't remember since when, but she was all pressed up against him, even if she was drunk. That hardly mattered now, when he could feel her against him.
He thought he might faint if they moved any faster. But they didn't have to. They could just stay like that all night. She was muttering nonsensical things about spicy smells and things that looked like pools of ice – whatever the fuck that meant, but he didn't need to pay attention. Not now that he could actually touch her.
And touch her he did.
Everything he did was all light and barely noticeable, but every inch of her clothed skin that his hands made contact with made his blood boil. Hell, he was rather sure that she could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest, she was pressed that close. And still, she wasn't close enough. All he wanted to do pull her closer into his arms and hold her like that all night. He just wanted...
She lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his, rendering him speechless. Every thought in his mind halted to a standstill and he thought he must have lost himself. Then, slowly, every nerve in his body began to pulse, thrum to the beat of his heart, and explode. He must've seen white lights so bright that he could see stars behind his lids every time he blinked.
And then, it was over sooner than it had begun, for Hermione Granger was thoroughly wasted and her attention just simply could not be held.
"Oh my God, Draco!" she nearly shrieked in his ear, but he was too shell shocked to even cringe. "Oh my God!"
"What?" he asked, weakly, but she didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him. "What happened?"
"There's chocolate over there!" she exclaimed.
And she was off in search of the mysterious chocolate before he could even stop her. He must have stood there forever, contemplating what had happened. He didn't understand, but didn't need to. With his fingers pressed to his lips, he turned and made his way out of the room for some air, not noticing while he left that Carmen Martinez was glaring at his back all the way.
By the time Carmen approached a reporter from Witch Weekly, Draco was long gone. He couldn't have stopped her from doing the inevitable, even if he'd tried.
/
Draco was lightheaded, so much so that his vision was swimming before him. It was probably because he could barely breathe. The simple action of inhaling and exhaling was too difficult to engage in. How could he will his lungs to work when his heart would not beat? No, his heart could not beat, because he'd left it behind somewhere. Where?
Where was he going?
It took him a minute to realize he was still in Granger's stairwell, paused on the landing. The realization left him winded. He ought not to be here, even though his body told him to go back to Granger's doorstep. He had to go tell her what was going on. He had to go clarify or something. Hell, he could fix it. He was sure he could fix it if he could just make himself move.
But that was the problem. He could neither make his body go back to where he belonged, nor forward where Hermione wanted him to go and never come back. She had threatened him. A restrainingorder. Who did she think she was, threatening him? A Restraining order! It wasn't as if he'd done anything to hurt her, really. He hadn't done any of those things, none at all. Someone was just...conspiring against him.
And now, the very thing he'd feared from the start had come to pass. He was going to have to spend the rest of his days in agony. Agony! For his body was never ever going to want anyone else but Granger. And Granger didn't want him. Granger didn't ever want to see him again. She wanted him to leave so she could be with the fucking Weasel. Yeah, she'd made her choice perfectly clear, especially the night before. She'd always wanted the Weasel.
The thought gave him the energy to take one step forward, and eventually another until he'd finally exited the building. There was no way he'd ever learn how to breathe again because he knew that this was his last time exiting this particular building. The realization made his heart twinge. Would he ever be able to think normally again now that his reason for thinking had abandoned him? He was never going to be normal. Never, ever again.
Someone grasped his arm as he walked aimlessly down the street. At first, he didn't even realize someone was steering him into an alleyway. He probably wouldn't have noticed at all, except side along Apparation wasn't exactly something one could ignore, even if they were in a stupor. The sensation left him retching and angry.
Until he noticed it was Carmen that had come to find him.
For a moment, he was thankful. At least there was this. At the very least the fates had left him this much, someone who would come and find him, even if that someone was a halfwit. He could say a lot about Carmen. Yeah, she was great in bed and she seemed to care about him. But she was dull. She wasn't special. In full, she was nothing like Hermione Granger.
And what did anything matter if you weren't like Hermione Granger? It was a death sentence in his book. Sure, he'd slept with her that one time, and she'd refused to leave him alone since then... But that didn't mean anything. Everyone knew that. He was Draco fucking Malfoy, after all. But perhaps she hadn't gotten the memo. Perhaps she really was dim witted.
She approached him, caressing his shoulders. "It's alright, Drake," she whispered, using that annoying pet name she just wouldn't give up on, despite the fact that he'd yelled at her for it several times. "It'll be alright."
"No, it won't," he muttered, correcting her. But she just ignored him like she was in the habit of doing. He didn't know whether she did it on purpose or whether she was just deaf half of the time, but it was rather annoying. "It'll never be alright."
She caressed his back, his shoulders, and his neck, like such actions would make up for what had transpired. He wasn't sure why she was here with him anyway. Perhaps she wanted to comfort him. And why would he deny her that? He was tired and sore. Desperately in need of comfort by anyone's standards. If it should come from a source other than the one he desired, so what? He would have to be accepting of it from now on. He was never going to have what he wanted, so he ought to just adjust and move on.
That was what she'd wanted, after all, when she'd shoved him away so cruelly.
Rejection Number 3477.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, he barely noticed Carmen undoing his shirt and pushing it off of his shoulders, caressing the skin as she went. She had been so deft and skilled at being silent that he was still staring out the window when she was already half naked. It was only when she began to stroke him through his trousers that he started and pushed her away.
"What are you doing?" he asked, just a little too harshly in her opinion. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm just trying to make you feel better, Drake," she said in that no-nonsense attitude of hers. He rolled his eyes and snatched his shirt off the floor, only to have her tug it out of his hands. She pushed him down into a chair. "Why don't you just relax? This will feel good-"
"No," he cut her off, dismissing her with a wave. It only took a second to gather his things again. His mind had never felt so clouded in his life, but he knew what was going on. It wasn't going to happen. Not now. Not for a very long time. "I have to go..."
"Go? You're going to leave when we finally get to be together?" She huffed, quite like a child would. "After everything I had to go through to get us here?"
That gave him pause. "You talked to the reporters."
She didn't deny it. She didn't even have the decency to lie to him like anyone else with half a brain would. No, she just stood there, stared at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Of course she'd talked to the reporters. Who else would have? No one else was interested in stalking him and no one in their right minds would ever publish anything like that about a war hero without being bribed first. And Carmen had the money. Carmen had the motive. Carmen wasn't denying it.
"Why? Have you gone absolutely fucking insane?" he hissed, advancing upon her. She didn't seem afraid of him and that just pissed him off all the more. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her roughly. "What the fuck have you done?"
"I've solved your bloody problem!" she retorted, pushing him away. "And if you're going to be so fucking ungrateful about it, then fine! You'll thank me tomorrow."
And with that, she stalked out of the room as if she were some kind of princess. He had half a mind to chase after her and beat some sense into her with a stick. But she was probably so twisted, she'd enjoy something like that.
She'd have thought she'd won.
/
Every bone in Draco's body shook like mad. He had so much energy, it was ridiculous. People approached him to greet him and he didn't even get annoyed because he was that happy. People danced around him, offered him flutes of champagne, kissed his cheeks and groped inappropriately, but he couldn't even find it in himself to be angry.
All because Granger had given him a barely there kiss whilst inebriated.
Regardless, it was enough to keep Draco going for hours. It was better than food, knowing that Granger must somehow want him, even if it was because she was drunk and that she'd probably regret it in the morning. He wasn't even annoyed that she was like everyone else anymore. He was just happy that she was here and that she was here because of him.
It really was alright and would be fantastic, if only he could find her. He'd seen glimpses of her making a mess of herself in her inebriated state. She'd attempted to swim in the pool of chocolate, had attempted to hog the entire bar to herself, had even attempted to dance with a very old man who used a cane to support his weight. That last endeavor had really not gone well.
Before he could approach her, she'd always disappear like a breath of air. He didn't know how she managed it, but he supposed the place was too crowded to give it too much thought. She couldn't be avoiding him on purpose, could she? After all, she had kissed him.
It was a little after one in the morning when he spotted her on the stairs with Weasel.
He'd seen the she-Weasel leaving earlier and hadn't had the heart to yell at her for letting the Weasel come with her. But now he regretted it. Hell, he ought to have gone to the witch and told her to get her godforsaken brother out of his Manor! She of all people ought to know why the bastard ought not to be here, especially on a night such as this. On a night where his ex-girlfriend had kissed Draco Malfoy.
Hermione didn't see him and the Weasel didn't even glance in his direction. Weasel was holding his Granger up, as if she were too drunk to stand on her own. That was his job, the Weasley should've known that. But Weasley held her anyway, way too close for comfort. Hermione would've swatted his hands away if she'd not been so drunk.
As it was, she let him lead her outside, all the while as he touched and caressed her skin. Draco thought he might even puke at the sight. Fucking hell, he wasn't going to stand around while his Granger was molested! But before he could run after them, someone grasped his shoulder roughly. Whirling around to yell at the intruder, Draco found Blaise muttering incomprehensibly next to him.
"What!" he urged. "What do you want?"
"We have a problem," Blaise was whispering. Why was he whispering? "You need to come and help me with this..."
"Not now! I'm rather busy," Draco responded, waving Blaise away. As Draco moved to rush after Hermione and the Weasel, Blaise looked shell shocked. Hell, he even looked stricken. Draco was far too gone to notice such insignificant details.
Draco ran out the front doors of the Manor that had been left wide open for the convenience of his guests. He ran around the grounds to catch a glimpse of his Granger, wherever it was that Weasley had taken her away too, but he wasn't lucky. They had already gone, apparently. Weasley had kidnapped her and she'd left.
She'd kissed him and then she'd left with her ex-boyfriend.
/
Draco was dizzy. He didn't know what to do now. Hermione actually thought that everything those fucking papers had published were real. The evening papers had their pictures plastered over them and owls pestered him wherever he went, attempting to get him to respond to their masters' requests to provide confirmations for their bullshit stories.
She honestly thought he'd been cavorting with a halfwit. Like he'd actually spend more than a night with someone like Carmen Martinez out of his own free will. She was too lanky, too breakable, and with a head far too demented to even stand. It wouldn't take too long for anyone to figure out all those pictures had been doctored. Who would believe that he'd ever gone anywhere with Carmen Martinez?
Oh, right. Everyone or anyone that read newspapers.
Fuck.
So Draco did what he'd always done in times of trouble and distress. He apparated to Malfoy Industries in search of Blaise, the one person who would probably know what to do. And failing that, the PR fellow. He seemed rather knowledgeable on stuff relating to the media. If Blaise was useless, Draco could just pay someone to deal with the problem.
That gave him a little bit of courage as he walked through the offices. This all could be solved. If there was anything that could be done to salvage the situation, they could do it. After all, there was nothing more invincible than them. No one could get past them, right?
He found Blaise in his office, just like he knew he would.
"Blaise," he greeted. He only got a grunt in return, but that was normal. Blaise was always against people interrupting his workday, especially if those people were named Draco Malfoy. "I need your help. This slag named Carmen has ruined my life!"
"Has she now."
"Yes! Indeed, she has," he continued, oblivious to everything around him. He didn't notice the disarray of papers that Blaise was packing into boxes, nor that everything in the office had been taken down from their walls. Instead, he just rambled, which was the only thing he'd properly inherited from spending time with Hermione. "She's gone and made everyone think Hermione's all... frumpy. It's a fiasco. You have to help me."
But Blaise ignored him. Blaise barely even looked up to acknowledge him. Draco stared at him expectantly, but nothing came. All Blaise did was pack.
"What in the world are you doing, mate?" Draco finally snapped.
"Packing," he replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which, in retrospect, it probably was. "Like I said I would. And now the time has come."
"Well, what the hell is going on, then?" Blaise continued to pack as if he hadn't just thrown Draco in for a loop. Of course he'd just do that. Of course he'd just create a scene and then not offer any more explanations until Draco practically begged for it. Draco wasn't in the mood for such nonsense. Not now after so much had happened. "Come on, then, spit it out!"
"Well, we didn't get enough investors last night. So, as promised, I'm leaving." Blaise's voice was so even and measured, one would have thought that he'd rehearsed the short speech. Draco wondered if Blaise even cared that he was about to have a heart attack. For the second time that day, all the breath left his body. "Of course, you wouldn't remember me telling you that, would you? No, you were too busy stalking Granger."
"I don't..."
"No, that's the problem. You don't. You don't do anything beyond what suits you. But that's your problem now, not mine." He began to levitate the boxes. "If you need help with negotiations when you finally sell the company, I'll be more than happy to help-"
"I've already told you," Draco cut him off, impatiently. "We are not selling this place! What's wrong with you? Have you lost your fucking mind?"
"Have I lost my mind!" Blaise finally yelled, dropping his calm facade. His voice was so loud, it hurt Draco's ears. Somewhere within him, he realized he'd finally cracked his friend and the damage was probably irreparable. "Yes, I've fucking lost my mind! I've worked here for eleven fucking years, and don't you bloody forget it!"
"So then why are you leaving?" Draco accused. "Why are you running instead of fixing the problem?"
"It's not my problem anymore, Draco Malfoy," Blaise hissed, glaring daggers at him that he almost cringed. Almost. "I'm done picking up after your mistakes, alright? I'm done now and I'm going to be leaving as soon as I'm done packing my things, so you sure as hell can deal with your mess yourself. You did this. Now you can reap the consequences."
At first, Draco could barely move, his body withering from inside and out. Blaise was probably right. Blaise usually was right about most things and Draco couldn't see why he'd be wrong about something like this. This was all his fault. Hermione was gone. Carmen had ruined his life. His company was falling, and now Blaise was leaving him too.
In essence, everything he'd ever cared about had been snatched away from him in the span of a few short hours. Instead of apologizing, instead of salvaging the situation like anyone with sense would have, Draco crumbled. He retaliated where he should've begged for forgiveness. He lashed out when he should've been offering compensation.
"Well, fine then!" he shouted to Blaise. "Leave! See if I fucking care. I don't need you, anyway!"
Blaise paused, if only for a second. The look in his eyes was odd, as if they had softened for a second. Draco thought he'd almost imagined it. But what he could not imagine was the look of extreme pity that his friend of many years gave him. It was so intense that Draco actually did cringe, hoping he could somehow take back those words.
But he couldn't because it was done.
"Congratulations, Draco," Blaise said softly. "Congratulations."
And then Blaise was gone.
A/N: Do let me know what you thought! Did you hate it or did you love it? Are you annoyed with it all yet? Only five more chapters left to go! Here's a spoiler for the next chapter:
I wish it mattered,
H.G.
UNSIGNED REVIEWS:
Kimm Possible: I shall leave this for you here, since your private messaging is disabled. If you're still reading this, I suppose you already know the answer to your question. ;)
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