Ugly

Two Halves

Draco watched delicate fingers grip the slick ivory of the quill dipping it lightly into a waiting well of ink. Now they hovered, quill at the ready, over a roll of yellowing parchment.

Her fingers were exquisite.

Delicate. Soft. His eyes traced the slender lines, delving into the shadowed creases created by the flickering candlelight. The open window supplied the nights cool breeze, which swept through, shaking the stillness of the room and caressing the skin he dared not touch.

She shivered, her shoulders closing in...closing her off from the world.

With a few carefully planned steps he could see the smooth loops of her writing as her wrist deftly moved across the parchment. The ink glistened brightly before fading, dulling, drying—permanently set.

He knew he had an ungodly fascination with her hands. He knew this was wrong. But the feelings, the aching, the soft tug at the very core of his being kept him coming back. Only being able to watch...and hope.

She let the quill drop and it clattered softly to the tabletop. Loose curls grazed her words as she read over her work. Draco felt something inside of him clinch, tears wanted—insisted—to form at the corners of his eyes.

All of this.

The damn never ending weight of his feelings, too many to name...from watching.

Fingers curled around the quill and she continued her writing, apparently satisfied with her first analysis.

He'd offered so many things, so many ways. She'd refused him.

As quietly as he could manage, he moved behind her. It was a slow process of step…wait…step…listen, a sneaky process.

He wasn't allowed in this room.

Not when she was gone. And Merlin forbid when she was here. Or so he had been warned all those years ago.

But months of loneliness, of waiting, of hoping, of wishing…

He was no longer cold—to her. He was no longer heartless—to her. He was no longer afraid of the trials of life—with her. But Merlin! He couldn't take this much longer. He just couldn't.

He couldn't.

His heart thudded in his chest as she halted. His breath hitched when she sighed, that sound alone enough to make him ache more than ever to gather her close.

To hold on tight. He'd convince her that everything could be all right. He would make her believe that there would always be a tomorrow.

But she, as he'd been told so many times, was a practical person. Her response would always be skeptical...cynical.

Such a fucking pessimist! The anger rose in him unbidden. They had been on this roller coaster—a torrent of sharp felt emotions, barbed words and high priced promises—for so long. Too long.

Neither of them had the courage to jump off, but she had the courage to unscrew the bolts that held them to the track and he knew that someday soon—they'd go flying.

He shook these thoughts from his mind—it was fucking stupid to ponder what you had no control over. Control…lacking control…undo-control! Why had he come here? He asked himself, loathing the feelings coursing through his body, his soul. Curiosity, want, need…he listed a few of the things he so desperately wanted.

Curiosity because she was hiding again. Something she shouldn't try with him. They were different now, didn't she realize that you couldn't hide from someone you had revealed your heart to?

He wondered now, if she would ever give him her heart—something he dearly wanted.

What would she say if she caught him here? Would she call him a nosy bigot—as she'd come to favor when angry with him. He'd taken offense to this. Most, if not all, of his bigotry remarks and views had faded with time, with acceptance, with growth.

He wasn't the same asshole that he once was, but that was the picture of him she took with her. Never forgetting or forgiving what he used to be.

If he continued with his thinking he was sure to give himself an aneurysm or worse...break his loosely tied resolve. There was little keeping him from grabbing her, keeping her, brainwashing her into submission. His well-known smirk flittered into place as he contemplated the last. That would be considerably easy. Almost as easy as it had been to gain access to this forbidden fortress of a room. His eyes sparked with boyish mischief. After all, he'd expected his head to be promptly severed the second he peeked the afore-mentioned appendage into the room. He wasn't allowed anywhere near here when she was working. The rows and piles of neatly rolled parchment lay in an organized heap. What they were she had never told him. It was private, apparently. And in time, she'd said. He would know.

He'd respected that, her and this place...until now. He was so alone now. He couldn't stand it.

He hadn't seen her for days. He had to check on her, right? It was the only logical thing to do. Malfoy's did not like the stench of decaying bodies…Draco winced as an image of Hermione, lifeless—a product of his wretched imagination—seared his eyes open.

Her face so pale, so very pale. Her mouth open, but not for breath. Her neck, her beautiful neck twisted and grotesque, and a single, seemingly elegant trail of blood that had slipped down the curves and hallows of her face.

He swallowed, a swallow that almost became a gag as his nerves ran rapid. "No." he whispered in agony.

Too late, he realized he'd spoken aloud. He froze as Hermione whirled around, her eyes wide in shock.

"How?" She glanced from him, to the door, to him again. "Draco?"

He tensed, knowing he'd disobeyed her, violated her trust. Angry words were the next logical step.

His eyes closed, bracing his heart for the coming lashing...but it didn't come. Instead, he felt her warm fingers grasp him, folding into the delicate cloth of his invisibility cloak and pulling it away. He didn't open his eyes, not wanting to see her anger, not again. Instead, he felt her arms wrap around him and the pressure of her forehead against his chest. His heart clenched with hope rather than sorrow as he placed his lips to her head, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Draco." Hermione's voice was muffled against him, but he heard her. He heard her. "I am so sorry."

Draco sat at his table, scowling. The atmosphere of the restaurant was perfect. The colors, the lighting, but that damn racket had to stop!

He heard laughter, rambunctious chatter. And it was damn fucking annoying! How was anyone supposed to enjoy his dinner with that noise?

The business meeting had ended well. He'd gotten his way—Draco smirked at the empty seat across from him, mentally filling in the outline of the man who had sat. And by man Draco was referring to sheer size. In all actuality, Mr. Dunforth displayed little of the qualities Draco himself considered befitting for a gentleman. Draco shivered, he really needed to stop his little thinking tirades. He needed to get a fucking life.

The laughter came again, this time followed by a very familiar voice. "Man, I thought mum was going to bust me so bad. We should do that again."

Was it his imagination, or was that none other than a certain redheaded idiot? Draco discerned that the racket was coming from behind the half wall that divided the restaurant into sections.

"And that time we tried to turn old Errol into a cake, 'cause we were hungry?"

Ugh! Draco didn't find any of this appealing. For Merlin's sake he was trying to eat his damn dinner! He didn't need to be hearing this!

"What you guys would do for food. It's pathetic."

Draco blinked. Again, was that not the voice of yet another redheaded freak?

"I do believe oh miss-better-than-us, that you were the one who suggested it in the first place!"

Rubbing his temples, Draco tried to tune them out. He was getting a headache.

"You'd be right."

Fuck! Draco was positive that the voice was none other than the youngest Weasley. What the hell were they doing here? And why the hell couldn't they keep it the bloody hell down? Why all the laughter? Why all the…loudness? Draco wanted to cover his ears as yet another uproar could be heard. He groaned. "Just my luck."

"What about the time Harry and you and Penn got up and danced the Macarena?"

Was the whole bloody Gryffindor house having a reunion in his—his mind you—restaurant?

"You guys were so bad, I thought we'd get kicked out of the club! Do you remember that, Hermione? Merlin, they were awful."

Draco's fork clattered to his plate. Hermione? Granger was here?

"No. I don't remember. Excuse me."

Draco stood abruptly, forgetting his uneaten dinner. He hurried—at an acceptable pace—after a certain brown haired woman. She stopped a good deal away from her table, leaning against a wall.

It didn't take him long to notice the slight shaking of her shoulders.

"Doesn't look like this is a place to cry." Draco murmured softly.

Hermione whirled around, her eyes bright, her face full of crushed—crushed what, he wasn't sure. "Why is it always you?"

That was a good question. Some things just seemed to happen. He brushed his hair from his face, a gesture of habit. "Because, I've always been here."

Her eyes closed briefly, smiling—before it fell away into one of pain as the table she had left erupted once more.

Draco could almost feel the neglect she surely felt—the hurt. It wasn't right, no one should have to feel that way. Her breaths were coming in staggering gasps now. He couldn't take. Slowly, cautiously, he held out his hand, begging her to take it.

And amazingly, she did. His own eyes shone with surprise before he smiled down at her.

He led her to his table, where he quickly paid for the meal.

He watched Hermione shake her head at his wastefulness, but he only laughed.

It wasn't long before he'd led her outside, never once releasing her hand.

"Where are we going?"

Draco gripped her hand tightly, his eyes scanning the street and buildings ahead of them. "I'm not sure." He glanced at Hermione. She wasn't wearing much considering the fall chill that hinted of winter. "Are you cold?" She nodded and Draco finally released her hand, his own growing cold as he removed his jacket. "Here."

He wanted her to be warm. He wanted her to be safe.

"Thanks."

Watching her as they walked, Draco realized how much he'd missed seeing her. It had been—well, it had been a while since they'd met, by accident or appointment.

The trees were annoying, blowing, rustling. He'd prefer it to be quiet. Still. But at least the stars were out—clear. Everything was so much brighter near winter. So much brighter.

Draco glanced at the woman by his side. "Why did you go out with them tonight?" He stopped walking, not giving her a chance to run away. They stood at the edge of a pond, moonlight reflecting into their faces. His gaze held hers intently.

She closed her eyes, "I want…"

Her voice trailed off and Draco took a step closer, taking her arm. "What do you want?" He hated the urgency that filled his voice. But he couldn't help it. She made him like this. She made him want to lunge into some form of action, to do something—anything—anything to…Draco swallowed. Anything to make her happy.

Hermione finally met his gaze, and Draco found her eyes to be full of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that this wish would never come true.

"I want to belong." she told him softly. "I want my friends to understand me, and love me, and be with me. I want to be able to share stories, and laugh, and…be happy."

Draco took her hand, lacing their fingers. Yet, his posture stiffened as he looked down at her bowed head. "Anything else?"

Her smile did nothing to hide the haunted look that had overcome her features. Her eyes glinting. Draco almost laughed, "I, like most everyone, wants someone at my side."

"You know…"

She laughed. "No, I usually don't know."

Draco looked away, smiling. The simple task seemed to be more effort than it was truly worth. "You know," he said again. "I want that too."

"You want that, too." Hermione's voiced echoed softly in the silence.

Draco brushed back a loose strand of silky hair, placing it behind her ear. Her hair was so soft. It took strength to drop that hand back to his side. He sighed, hoping that somehow, the right words, any words, would come to describe these alien wants.

"I want someone who understands me." True enough, what he needed was someone who understood that he was not perfect. Physically…he smirked, he had to say he was perfect. But his personality was less than desirable. "Understand that I can be an asshole, that I am most of the time." She was grinning. He loved her smile, the way it brightened the world around her. "I want someone who…" Oh Merlin, could he possibly say this without sounding like a total sap? "Someone who loves me, faults and all." Because Merlin knows I've got enough of those.

He couldn't bear to look at her. He watched the ripples cross the lake—some disturbance out of his sight causing the waves of dark water that lightly licking the shore.

He heard her start, stop and then finally. "You'll find someone."

He couldn't help it. The smirk was just a part of his nature. "Funny, I thought I had."

The surprise on her face was enough to banish his bad mood for the remainder of the month. Draco laughed, hoping that, for once, she didn't take it the wrong way.

"Me?" she asked, the skepticism not hidden.

Draco nodded, a twinkle in his gray eyes. "No. Your evil twin."

He watched her grin, a child's grin. Ah, so she is the smartest witch of the age!

"Oh, her. Well yeah, she's pretty cool."

The both laughed, laughed into the night. He turned to her, eyes shining bright, laughter still ringing through the air he took her hand. It was so warm, fitting perfectly within his own. "Come home with me."

But she was shaking her head. "No."

"Can I go home with you?"

He loved the look of shock on her face. Obviously, his reputation preceded him. He almost couldn't stand straight, as he knew exactly where her brilliant brain was taking this.

"Malfoy?"

He grinned—cockily, yes, but he really couldn't help it. "Yeah?" He tried to keep the laughter from his voice, to leave it with that silky sexiness that he knew it held.

"Have you been sexually deprived lately?"

No. But the thing was, he didn't enjoy those quick flings. Nor was he proud of them. Every time, as the numbers piled up one after another, he seemed to lose a part of himself. Perhaps it was his soul. If I even have one. Or perhaps he wasn't losing a part of himself, but was losing hope. Hope that someone wouldn't be a fling. A hope that someone would be beside him every morning when he woke. And with each passing failure, he was losing hope that it was even possible. That he was worthy, worthwhile, or even wanted for more than his body. Or that he believed himself to be worth more than his body. Was he? Am I?

Draco shook his head, trying hard to get those damn thoughts to leave. "Not at all Granger."

She scowled at him. Merlin! What only a look from her could do. "Okay, because you sound a little desperate."

Suddenly, he wasn't laughing—but he wasn't offended. He didn't want her to think that. He didn't see her that way. "I wasn't joking. And I didn't mean to imply that all I wanted was sex."

"Way to be blunt."

"You started it."

She sighed and he felt himself tense, ready to fight. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Draco grinned, tension running out of him just as fast as it had come. "There you go." He said proudly. "I win." He jabbed a finger at himself playfully.

She just shook her head, rolling her eyes she took his hand again and started walking. "Whatever."

"So…your place or mine?"

"I don't understand you."

He nodded, still grinning widely "That's okay. Not many people do." He loved her look of skepticism. "Okay, no one does. But hey, that's part of my charm." I'm mysterious.

"What charm?"

"Ouch that hurt." Draco wrapped his arm around her waist. Would she let him, let his hand stay there? He waited, but she didn't seem to mind. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt her comply, coming closer. He smiled softly, whispering as they walked, he needed to explain something…something that had nothing to do with his charm. But he needed to say it. And he needed to say it now. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I was in a bad mood, then I saw you at the restaurant and now…"

"And now you're wishing you hadn't come up to me."

He was choosing to ignore that. He'd heard the tone in her voice. She knew. "Somehow, you make me feel better. Happy." His voice was so soft, he didn't know if he could possibly talk louder. "You are beautiful, Hermione."

She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked, her hand clutched tightly in his. "Faults and all?"

"Faults and all."

And now, her head was again pressed against his chest. So much had happened. He was still alive. And so was she. Somewhat together. Somewhat happy.

He felt her tears as they breached cloth to reach his skin. He held her tighter and she…

She wrapped her arms around him, bringing them closer. Heat twined its way through his body, a winding stream of hope as he tried to let go of the worries he'd kept so tightly inside him. He was shivering and he couldn't stop.

But he knew he needn't explain.

She knew. They both knew. They were lost without the other.