Guys. Last chapter was the best chapter I have EVER written. How the F-ing F did I only get TWO REVIEWS?! Like I'm lowkey actually confused/pissed/astonished. Like I thought it was AMAZING and then I got the least amount of reviews for any chapter I've ever written, ever. Seriously guys, come on, I know you're reading so PLEASE review.
Also, completely off topic, but who else is OBSESSED with John Krasinski's "A Quiet Place"? I've literally seen it 4 times in the past two weeks and I CANNOT GET ENOUGH! It's amazing, 11/10 recommend it! You guys wouldn't know but I'm a complete wimp as far as horror movies go, too, so it's not that scary. But it's AMAZING OML GO SEE IT GO SEE IT NOW PLS IT'S THE BEST!
OK enjoy! AND GODAMMIT REVIEW JFDNWEUFNUWFUW
"He was still running, always running. From the truth, from his common sense, from his heart. He ran. And ran. And ran still."
~Draco, thinking
It had been a while since Hermione had sat in the Great Hall. Alone. With nothing but her thoughts and a dry croissant to keep her company, and a steaming cup of coffee clasped between her hands. Black, bitter.
The combination of worry and fear that mixed within her stomach seemed to rise slowly throughout her body. There was dread deep inside her, distress in her chest. She had a feeling that something terrible, something awful, was about to happen. And there'd be nothing for her to do about it.
She sighed and little ripples moved across the top of her coffee. Hermione's hands were still cold despite the heat between them. It made no sense. Nothing made sense.
It had been a month since the conversation between Malfoy and her at the lake in the middle of the night. Ever since then, he'd been growing more distant. It wasn't noticeable at first, but now, weeks after the incident, it was evident that there was a change. Before the lake and the talk at the astronomy tower—basically before the dance—Malfoy had been palpably cheerier, more pleasant. He'd laughed, smiled, joked, teased, charmed. He'd had this irresistible (Hermione didn't give the word much thought) way about him, a sort of sparkle in his eyes that had been almost hypnotizing. Needless to say, it had puzzled Hermione more and more as the days went on.
But now, things were different. He never smiled. He never laughed. He hardly even smirked anymore. It had been a subtle change at first, one that she'd hardly picked up on, but now it was obvious to everyone. Even Harry had his suspicions about it.
Malfoy's eyes were dull. Pained. Averse to something, to several somethings. They rarely looked into Hermione's eyes and when they did, they looked on with fear, with sadness, with…Hermione was too smart to say "longing" but it was something that definitely looked like it.
She picked up her croissant and took a bite. No. Hermione Granger was much too smart to assume that, though undoubtedly it hurt her to deny it. She didn't exactly know what she wanted.
The fact of the matter was that she was worried. Scared. She didn't know what to do, and though she kept reaching out to him, he kept pushing her away. It had gotten to the point where some days in Potions, he wouldn't say a word. Oh, she'd try to get him to speak, but he never would. Not out of anger or shunning, but out of obvious fright and panicked thoughts.
Hermione had never wished more that she knew Legilimency.
He had grown paler, too. And he'd lost weight. Not a huge amount, but Hermione had noticed. His shirts were just a little looser on his form—a form that she remembered was quite nice—and he didn't even seem to care. His dead grey eyes showed nothing but his own confusion and distraught thoughts.
She needed Malfoy to tell her what was wrong. It was killing her not to know, and it looked to be killing him that he had no one to talk to about it.
And…there was no use denying it anymore. She was worried for him for more than one reason. Yes, they were friends and it hurt her to see him like this, but also….
It was crazy that Hermione Granger of anyone could ever grow to actually like Draco Malfoy at all, the boy who had essentially been the leading cause of her pain for five years. It was crazier still to entertain the idea that she fancied him.
It was craziest that she actually did fancy him.
When she'd finally admitted it, it had been equally liberating and terrifying. Liberating because she'd finally addressed it with herself and maybe...well, maybe it wasn't so bad to think. But it was terrifying because if he ever found out, she'd be a laughing stock. Things would probably go back to how they were the year before and Hermione would be crushed. She didn't think she could face Ronald's rejection and Malfoy's.
No, she wouldn't tell him. Crazy.
But she'd almost brought it up, that night at the lake. Filch had saved what would've been her incredibly sorry ass.
She'd forget everything she thought she felt. Crazy.
. . . ….. . . .
At the same time, Draco Malfoy sat in the Great Hall. His back was to the Gryffindor table. Hell, he didn't even know if Granger was there. He wouldn't check.
Every day that he worked to stay away from her, he felt himself slipping more and more. He forced himself to eat, but everything tasted bland and gray, like slop on his tongue.
His hands shook sometimes from fear. He was still running, always running. From the truth, from his common sense, from his heart. He ran. And ran. And ran still.
Draco had to stay away from her. He had to. There was no other choice.
The fact was that there was no one else. He cared for no one else. His mother, yes, but the chances of her dying were nonexistent. The deal had been that someone he would grow to care about would die, and he had always loved his mother.
Draco's eyes squeezed shut as a ragged breath ripped from his chest and he stood. He was done with the Great Hall.
Running still.
He exited the room, walking where his feet would take him. He didn't care. Nothing mattered.
Except her, at the moment. Ever since that night at the lake a month ago, he couldn't stop thinking about Granger. More than ever, she'd confused him. She'd wanted to ask him something but had been cut off. And it was killing him to figure out what it had been, but he couldn't exactly ask her, especially not now, not when he was staying away from her to protect her.
What did he think about her? And why? And how could he change it?
One—he cared for her. More than he should. But not like that, never like that. No, no, no, he would never admit it. Admit? No, wrong word. He would never considerate it an option. "Admit" implies that he did in fact like her like that but simply was denying it, and Draco Malfoy did not care for her in more than a friendly way. Never. He'd always run from the possibility.
Two—he cared for her because she was amazing, and kind, and funny, and more of a spitfire than he'd ever assumed before. There was more to her than just frizzy hair, beaver teeth, and a brain bigger than her head. And she cared for him, despite all the things he'd done. That was…incredible.
No. Preposterous.
Three—how could he change how he felt? He…well, Draco could do exactly what he was doing. Staying away from her. He had to keep her safe. He had to keep her safe. He still denied that it was her, but if it was…he couldn't take that chance.
Draco had been pushing her away. He hated it and it ripped him apart that he was staying away from his one friend, but it was necessary. He didn't know what he'd do if something ever happened….
No! he screamed at himself as he turned down a corridor on the second floor. No, stop stop stop STOP. It..it c-can't…can't be her.
He was standing before the door of a rather deserted girls' bathroom before he even truly realized where he was. It had been so long since he was here. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Draco looked around him, seeing that there was no one in the corridor. His hand rested on the handle.
But he couldn't do it. This time around, he couldn't talk to the ghost. He'd had no one to confide in during his first sixth year, which was why he'd talked to her. But now that he knew what it was like to actually talk to someone who cared, who would do almost anything for him, Draco knew that Moaning Myrtle would never suffice.
So he walked away. Up to the Room of Requirement.
You'd think that pacing in front of that damned cabinet time and time again would grow old. And it had. But Draco continued to do so nonetheless.
He couldn't bring himself to work on it. Draco still didn't know if he'd even bring the Death Eaters into the castle. That could bring about her death.
Running from so many things.
Fear grew in his stomach until he found that he was on the ground, kneeling with his palms digging into his eyes. Tears. One from each eye, streaked down his face. More rose in his throat and a sob choked from his mouth.
He was there for only two more minutes before he heard her enter. He stood shakily, his back towards the door. Draco didn't want her to see him like this. He faced the cabinet instead, readying himself to face her.
Granger's gentle fingers rested on his left shoulder lightly, announcing her presence. Her other hand reached around him slowly, tentatively brushing his jaw and enticed him to look at her. He did so reluctantly, body turning so that his chest finally faced the Gryffindor's small form.
Draco could feel her eyes on his white face but refused to look into them. He kept his pointed at his feet instead, refusing to see the pain in her brown depths.
He wouldn't let her speak first. "How did you know?" His voice was quieter than he would've liked. "That I'd be here. How did you know?"
She pulled his eyes up to meet hers and gave a small smile. "I had a feeling."
That smile. Those eyes. The care written on her face, and the fear. That was all it took.
His body moved before Draco could will it to do anything else. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him and burying his face in her neck and bushy hair alike. She was pressed against him, as close as she could be, and it was warm, calming.
Distantly, Draco was embarrassed at his rashness but couldn't care less. It just felt so good, standing in the Room of Requirement with his arms around her as the tears continued to fall. As if he'd been waiting years for this.
It took a moment for Granger to register what was even happening, but she quickly reciprocated the action, small arms circling his waist and reaching up his back. Her hands expertly traced circles against his shirt, rubbing into his skin comfortingly.
They didn't say anything as he shook, sobbing quietly, and she simply was there, holding and helping and being a warm presence. She felt so good, so right.
He couldn't deny it anymore. He cared for her. And there were consequences, horrible consequences, that came along with it.
She deserved to be warned. If it was her, she deserved to be warned.
But—Draco sighed under his breath in a moment of contentedness, for he was here and she was here and things were simple and nice and good. But not now. He would not ruin this. Not now.
He'd tell her everything. Everything. She needed to know.
In that moment, however, things were simple. She was a girl and he was a boy and they were standing, being, and he loved the feeling of her hands on his back, tracing the same circles over and over again.
Soon. Very soon.
1930. Short but appropriate.
Next few chapters are HUGE for Dramione! This chapter should have hinted at that ;)
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