The Plan

Disclaimer: Please refer to the last 20 chapters.

Chapter 21

Draco walked back to the Heads' dormitories more eager than… ever. Ever since that night, he had begun to look forward to the end of the day because he would be with her. He had been thinking hard for the last several weeks about telling her how he felt. How he had begun to love her… how his world has seemingly ended when he came to that realization and had to watch her choose Weasley. Helped her choose Weasley even. He had lost her once before, and he decided, wrong timing or not, he was going to tell her. Especially now that he had had a taste of what it was like to be with her.

He took a deep breath before opening the portrait to the Heads' common room, both wishing she was already there and wishing she wasn't yet so he could compose himself.

She was there. And she was with Weasley. Her arms around his neck, her lips on his cheek.

How often had he thought that things seemed too good to be true?

"Malfoy?"

Damn, he had hoped to slip away without being noticed.

"Draco?"

"Sorry to interrupt," he managed to croak out, before he pivoted on his heel and left the way he came. He could hear her calling him, but stopped himself from looking back. He was afraid that the moment he stopped, Hermione Granger would finally succeed in something even his father had failed to do and break him.

Draco could see his breath coming out from his mouth in short, rapid bursts as he tried to catch his breath. It was spring, but it was still cold in the evenings, and the rain pounding hard against his skin was not helping his body return to normal. Quidditch practice was brutal since they were so close to the finals, and he had been pushing himself hard during every session. It was easier to slip into nothingness when he was exhausted and not have heart-wrenching dreams of brunettes and redheads that induced him to wake up in a terrible mood.

He wiped away the hair from his eyes and looked up to feel the rain over his face. He should have known that things were starting to be too good to be true. He was an idiot to think that things would fall into place for them. He was a Slytherin. She was a Gryffindor. Maybe being in different houses didn't factor into the world beyond Hogwarts, but they were Sorted differently for a reason. Their fates met, but would never intertwine.

The rest of the Slytherins were walking to the locker rooms and he thought that it was about time that he did too. When he was nearing the gateway of the pitch, he saw a lone figure a little ways away. The person started to approach him, and for a wild moment, he thought that it was her.

"Hey, Malfoy."

"Potter?" He squinted at him to see more clearly, "Spying on practice are we?"

Harry gave him a small smirk, "Don't really need to, Malfoy."

Draco was about to give a retort on how Slytherin had a really good chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year when Potter held up a hand to stop him and said, "I didn't come here to talk about Quidditch."

"To what do I owe the pleasure then?"

"Did something happen between you and Hermione?"

"How is that any business of yours, Potter?" Draco replied, and pivoted on his heel, ready to walk away.

"I make it my business when my best friend shows herself to me every day and looks like she cried a well of tears the night before, Malfoy."

Grey eyes met emerald ones.

"What?"

"Have you been fighting?"

"I've done nothing to Granger, Potter, if that's what you're implying. And for the record, she's a grown woman, so stop treating her like a child that needs to be sheltered from the horrors of the world. Doting on her is not helping her. She can take care of herself."

Harry did not reply, so Draco started to walk away. His anger had begun to simmer again, and he knew that if he didn't walk away now, he was inches away from taking out his anger on Potter with the end of his wand. He wasn't sure he could win that either.

"Why are you so apathetic?" he heard Potter yell at him. But he didn't look back; control was slowly slipping from him and he knew it. It was so hard to remain composed when she was concerned. It rattled him to his very core; how much she affected him. So even though he was dying to ask what was going on with her, what she had said or what she felt, and if she seemed okay, he continued to walk away.

Why was he apathetic? He needed to be.