"Last night I tried to imagine myself without you," Hermione begins, fiddling with her fingers. She doesn't know where the words are coming from, and she's still debating whether what she's saying is even true or not. Maybe she's just saying it to get a reaction from him. "The thing is, I could and I felt so much better."
Nothing but the sound of the winds slamming against her bedroom window follows her statement. The silence is almost suffocating, the tension so thick she can almost feel it weighing upon her shoulders, making her back ache in that phantom feeling way. She cannot even hear Draco breathing. It's kind of frightening and shocking. Did she actually manage to shut him up for once?
She tries not to catch a glimpse of him but fails, looking up and analysing his emotion with her must-be confused eyes.
Quite frankly, Draco looks bored when she finally gathers the audacity to look at him, his eyes half-hooded and his lips opening up to a yawn. Hermione feels her shoulders slump. It doesn't seem like he even heard her words. It doesn't seem like he even cares.
"Did you hear me?" Hermione asks, her temper getting the best of her.
Draco raises a curious brow at her tone. "Yes."
She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. "And?"
He shrugs nonchalantly, as if they're talking about the bloody weather instead of the end of the wor—of their relationship. "You're breaking up with me."
Hermione did not expect the chill that would settle over her when he actually says it out loud. The words are uncomfortable to her ears, like she just wants to forget he even said them. It's surprising how surprised she still is by the hurt that passes over her body at the mere thought of their separation because this isn't even the first time they've ever broken up or gone through a 'cool off.'
"And you're just going to act like that?" Hermione snaps.
"Act like what?" Draco shrugs once again. "It's not like it's a real breakup."
She begins to see red. "So you're not going to take me seriously? At all?"
He scoffs, taking his gaze away from her and looking out her window instead. "When have we ever been serious about this?"
At first, anger dominates her mind, but as her brain starts to actually process his words, Hermione grows tired. And bloody depressed.
She hates to admit it, but he's right. Not really knowing about him and how he feels, but ever since the beginning of their sham of a romantic relationship, Hermione has always thought they are incompatible—so incompatible that they won't last. She's always thought of her relationship with Draco as an experiment that will one day suddenly go wrong. And she's always told herself that she is prepared for it—the ultimate end to it all.
"I'm serious this time though," Hermione softly says, swallowing the lump that forms in her throat.
And she means it. She recognizes her relationship with Draco for what it is—an on and off joke that they will never get tired of—and she wants the cycle to end. Hermione doesn't want to waste any more of her time fighting and making up with a man she's most probably never going to end up with in the end anyway. She wants to explore new and better options, and she wants that for him too, because it seems very unlikely at the moment that they're it for each other.
But thinking those kinds of thoughts is almost enough to make her cry, a sob-filled whimper escaping her throat.
"Hermione," he gently calls, already reaching out a hand in an attempt to soothe her.
She doesn't want him touching her anymore, afraid of what it would do to her senses, so she leans back, avoiding his helping hand. When she looks at Draco's face for a reaction, she sees a hint of hurt.
"Draco," she begins but can't force herself to continue, tears gathering in her eyes.
She might not like the idea, and she might not know where she even got the idea from, but Hermione knows their relationship has to end now. Tired of the endless arguments and constant makeup sex, Hermione decides she wants her relationships stable and functional and healthy in all ways possible. Draco deserves better than her; and in turn, she deserves better than him.
"Say it," he whispers, his face unreadable and his heart slowly drifting away until she can no longer reach him.
Hermione bites her lower lip to contain the sobs, intently looking into his eyes for some sort of truth. When she finds it, it says he understands and that he wants the same thing. He's ready to give up on this relationship—on her.
She can't believe how that single thought is enough to take her breath away in the worst possible way. Her chest aches, and she can't breathe. Why is this so difficult?
"We're through," she declares in an uncertain tone, unable to look him straight in the eye. The words, even though they're coming from her own lips, hurt like a thousand casts of the Cruciatus Curse on her skin—okay, maybe not that much, but the thought of losing him forever still hurts.
"Alright," he replies nonchalantly, like his heart hadn't just been ripped apart from his chest.
She hates it when he gets like this, like he suddenly doesn't give a fuck about the world. It's a terrible facade that has never even once fooled her, so she has to ask—why does he even bother? Why can't he fucking admit that he's a normal human being who feels normal human emotions?
This is good, she thinks. She's already starting to focus on his more annoying traits. It will be a refreshing step once she begins moving on without him.
But then, Draco sits up, removing the black covers she bought whilst thinking of him off of his body. Their gazes meet for a quick nanosecond before they both glance away. She hears him stand up, pausing for a moment to say something about how he'll pick up his belongings some other time. Then, he leaves, slamming her bedroom door with a quick utterance of a certain curse word.
And suddenly, she's alone in the flat where she spent so many hours being, fighting, and loving with Draco.
It doesn't take long before she begins to cry.
"Can I come in?" Draco says in a neutral tone with a neutral expression. Hell, even his clothes are neutral in colour.
Hermione stares blankly at him, not really knowing what her next move should be. After 'The Big Bang'—the term she's been using to refer to their breakup—she spent her entire weekend hugging Crookshanks to her chest and crying on every surface of furniture she owns that reminds her of Draco. In fact, she was just sobbing in her bathtub right before a knock came into the door of her flat.
She hopes he doesn't notice the redness and the puffiness of her eyes or the dried stream of tears on her cheeks or even the disgruntled half-Kneazle in her arms who's been trying to escape her hold since yesterday. She doesn't want him to see how affected she is by their breakup; she just wants to be like him—all cool and neutral about it.
"I'm just going to get my stuff," he adds, and she can tell by the slight alteration in his tone that he's getting annoyed from watching her just stand there and stare at him.
Hermione blinks and realizes that he's been holding an empty moving box this whole time.
Oh.
So he isn't here to discuss important matters like maintaining an amicable relationship or not letting their private affairs affect the business or getting back—
"Sure," she says in a definitely too cheery tone, slightly wincing as she opens the door wider.
She watches Draco's back as he walks deeper into her flat, letting Crookshanks leap out of her arms. Despite herself, Hermione sticks a tongue out to her treacherous cat when he follows Draco with smug steps.
"Traitor," she mutters under her breath as Crookshanks looks back at her with a smirk—or the closest thing to a smirk a cat can do—before rushing to follow them both into her bedroom, closing the front door behind her.
When she reaches her bedroom—the same bedroom where she and Draco would do the most sinful things to each other up until a few days ago—she finds him with his back turned, an already partially-filled box on the floor beside him, and Crookshanks sitting blissfully on her bed. Peering into the box inconspicuously, Hermione frowns when she sees their framed moving picture amongst his belongings, mostly consisting of jumpers and shirts.
"And exactly who decided you get to have our first anniversary photo?" Hermione cannot help but ask, shutting her mouth closed as soon as the words are out in the air.
The way he stiffens as soon as he hears her voice hurts a bit, but she pays no mind to that. Instead, she watches intently for his reaction and finds herself disappointed when he doesn't give her anything important.
"I'd thought you wanted it out of your flat," he says flatly. "I was simply volunteering to put it in a rubbish bin where it belongs."
Ouch. The sting she feels when Draco delivers his blow is enough to render her speechless for a few seconds. So that's how he wants to play the game. He wants to be the kind of ex who acts nonchalant but lives and dies for petty deeds to get a reaction from her. Well, Hermione can certainly play that part better than him—and she will, thank you very much.
Wait, she changes her mind. She doesn't want to be anything like him. She'll just settle for being the kind of ex who is mature enough and cool enough to maintain a civil conversation with—
"Hey, that's mine!" Hermione protests in a self-aware kind of outrageous way, pointing at the little heart-shaped box which contains the set of gold jewellery he gave to her as a gift for her 27th birthday. Stepping forward and reaching out with her right arm, she tries to snatch it from his hands—but like the immature, petty, and absolutely gorgeous bastard he is, Draco holds it higher than his head, a spot he knows she can't reach.
"I bought this with my own money and decided to let you borrow it for the entirety of our… alliance," he replies. The bloody git can't even find it in himself to say the word relationship, for Merlin's sake! How the hell does he expect her to take him seriously? "Now that our liaison has run its course, I feel obligated to take it back."
"Bullshit," she hisses, completely forgetting that she just spent an entire weekend crying over this stupid, stupid man. "You told me when you gave those to me that they symbolize your eternal love for me or some shit. Don't tell me now that you just let me borrow it!"
He glances back at her, an eyebrow raised and slightly-flushed cheeks, and she can hear her heart shattering at the sight of his beautiful face. She'll definitely miss that pale face; she'll miss holding his cheeks between her palms, kissing every inch of his skin, and getting lost in those annoyingly-complex grey eyes. "Why do you want it so bad? It can't be for sentimental reasons—you rarely even wear it and when you do, I had to beg and force you to!"
She splutters and finds herself racking her own brain for an excuse, an excuse that will shut him up and make him give in. "Well if you wanted to know so badly, I happen to be planning to sell those off, along with every piece of jewellery you gifted me, at a nearby Muggle pawn shop since I clearly do not have to wear them anymore!"
She's lying, of course. She just cannot handle losing him and everything that reminds her of him in one quick blow. If she's going to lose him, she wants to do it gradually, piece by piece, so that she'll still have something to miss even at the end of it all. Not that she'll ever admit that aloud.
"Fine." Draco glares at her and without warning, throws the heart-shaped box in her direction, causing her to stumble just to catch it in time. He turns to his moving box and sweeps it from the floor with ease. She watches as he walks in her direction, obviously heading for the door, but he catches her off-guard when he says something before he walks out. "You can have all the gifts you've never even appreciated."
Hermione stands still for a couple of seconds before realizing Draco just had the final word. She quickly rushes to catch up to him then. "Excuse me?"
They end up arguing in the hallway that separates their two flats, completely unaware of their neighbours who have taken to opening their doors just slightly enough to hear the exchange of distasteful words from the couple.
Hermione expected Draco to skip work on the first Monday after their split, like the coward he is, but she finds herself surprised when she opens the door to their office and sees him already there on his desk, busy over paperwork. Although, she's pretty sure that he's just looking over the files for show—Draco always leaves the boring stuff, like signing papers and proofreading certain documents, to her.
"Good morning," she greets stiffly as she makes her way to her desk. She doesn't know why, but it hurts when she notices that the vase of flowers that she put on his table a week ago to brighten up his desk is now gone, replaced by a Quidditch knick-knack. What a git.
"Morning," he shoots back, not even bothering to glance at her. She refuses to let him affect her though. She wants him to see just how great she's doing without him—even though that isn't the case at all, and she's actually been feeling really down ever since their breakup.
Is it really supposed to feel like this? She was the one who broke up with him, after all, so why does she feel like she's the only one who's suffering? More importantly, why does she miss him so badly even if she was the one who let him go in the first place?
She shakes her head and takes out unread folders from a stack on her desk.
Hermione tries to focus on her work but gets distracted by Draco's annoyed grunts. Curious, she looks in his direction and finds him scratching his head in irritation as he carelessly tosses out the paper that's been in his hands. She holds back the urge to laugh.
"Look, if that bothers you so much, I can just take over for you," Hermione offers, carefully sculpting her expression into a neutral one. "You can edit this report I made last night about our last mission—it just needs a little revision."
He pauses, clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth. "Thanks, but I'm doing fine, Granger. Not everybody needs or even wants your help."
Powered by the hurt she feels when he calls her by her surname, she decides to bite back. "Well, since you've been getting help from me for the past three years, I thought you can't do anything on your own anymore. Last time I checked, you can't even go out in Diagon Alley without holding my hand because you're scared of other people's reaction towards you."
"Oh fuck you, Granger," he sneers, matching her glare with one of his own.
His eyes are so very heated, dark grey and so full of darker emotions. They remind her of an inappropriate time when she and Draco were about one year into their relationship and realizing that they both really love role-playing. Draco loves the sillier ones, like nurse and patient or professor and student kind of role-play, but Hermione is more into the darker ones—so dark she can't even mention it even in her own head. He used to look at her like that whenever she'd play victim, and he, a criminal.
She remembers being so turned on, not because of his offensive words, but because of how he is so willing to try to understand her—her thoughts, beliefs, and desires. Now, she's sort of scared that no one else will be like that with her. What if the next guy isn't as patient and understanding and bloody sexy as Draco?
Before she can further contemplate the question, her thoughts are interrupted by a graceful knock on the door. And enter goes Astoria Greengrass, the company's public relations officer and Draco's faithful admirer since Hogwarts era.
"Good morning, you two," Astoria greets prettily with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty everything.
Hermione rolls her eyes when Astoria's smile widens a little too much as her gaze moves to Draco. Every day, she has to deal with Astoria's barely-hidden attraction for her boy—ex-boyfriend and every day before their breakup, Hermione was reassured by the fact that the one that Draco truly loved was her. Now though, she's not so sure.
"Mr Malfoy, can you meet me in my office in thirty minutes?" Astoria requests. "I'm afraid we have important things to discuss."
Astoria always asks this of Draco. He's always declined too. Hermione suspects that the important things she always mentions have something to do with the affection Astoria holds for Draco.
Shutting her eyes, she begs Draco not to comply.
Don't say yes. Don't say yes. Don't say yes.
"Sure," Draco replies, and Hermione's heart breaks just a little more.
When Hermione sees Draco in front of the lift doors in the lobby of their flat building, she begins to question God's existence. Inwardly, she groans as she makes her way next to him. It's bad enough they live across each other—do they really have to get into the lift at the same time, too? Apparently so, Hermione thinks as she glares at the other broken lift on the other side of the room.
The lift doors open, revealing the oldest person living on the same floor as them. Hermione smiles automatically when she sees the man.
"Good evening, Mr Jones," she greets. "How are you today?"
The old man looks at both of them, a cheeky grin forming on his mouth. "Quite alright, Ms Granger. Date night for you two tonight?"
Hermione's shoulders slump, her cheeks reddening. "Um… we're not… it's an awkward situation right now, but we're not really—"
Draco cuts her off, impatience present in the way he speaks, "Something like that."
Mr Jones's grin widens, and she stops herself in time right before she cringes. "Well, don't let an old man slow you down. Have a good night!"
Hermione nods absent-mindedly as a form of farewell before getting inside the lift, Draco shuffling after her. The lift doors close automatically as soon as both of them are inside, and the torture begins.
The music in the lift is terrible, and if she isn't in a particularly unique situation at the moment, Hermione would've preferred silence, but right now, she'll settle for the shitty music over more awkward moments with her ex-boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend.
To be honest, Hermione still isn't used to that term, and she's still horribly hurt by thinking of Draco as that—her ex-boyfriend, her former affiliate, a person who used to be ridiculously in love with her. She wonders if he feels the same, if deep down, he still wants her.
Probably not, but the thought is nice enough to make her feel a tad bit better.
"How was your day?" Draco suddenly blurts out, and Hermione has to give him a once-over to ensure it's truly him.
"Fine," she answers but wanting to say she misses him instead. "Yours?"
He exhaled a long breath. "Exhausting. The boss summoned me earlier for—"
"Not to be rude or anything," she cuts off, staring blankly straight ahead and hoping her real feelings don't show, "but I don't really care, Draco. I asked simply because it was polite of me to return the question."
She hears him sigh. "Right."
When the lift doors finally open on their floor, both of them utter a quick, "Finally."
She rushes her way to the very end of the hallway where the entrance to her flat is located, taking her keys out on the way. She stops in front of her locked flat to unlock the doorknob, hearing Draco do the same behind her.
Before she goes inside, however, Draco calls out her name. She knows she's supposed to ignore him and move on, but she halts instead, turning back around to face him, waiting for his words—hoping he'll want to take her back.
"I don't know if you remember, but it's my mother's birthday party on Friday," he tells her, hesitating slightly. "She doesn't know about… our complication yet, and if you don't want to attend anymore, it's alright—I can tell her myself, but…"
Hermione finds herself disappointed. "I'll go. I owe it to her, after all."
She could have refused, but Narcissa Malfoy is one of the few people in the world that she still feels like she needs to impress even though normally, Hermione doesn't care much for other people's opinion of her. Draco's mum sometimes—always—makes her feel insecure in her own skin, and she doesn't want to look like a coward in the woman's eyes. So, she'll show up, if only because Narcissa Malfoy would think her a coward otherwise.
Draco slowly nods, opening his mouth to say something else, but she closes the door before he can speak.
She releases a breath of relief when she hears him walk away.
"Hermione, wait!" Draco calls out, his voice filled with desperation as he chases after her through the spacey halls of Malfoy Manor.
She keeps on running away from him though, her heels in one hand. There are also messy tears pouring down her cheeks, and she can feel her hair slowly escaping the confines of the delicate bun she spent a lot of time perfecting earlier.
Why did she come to Narcissa sodding Malfoy's stupid birthday party again?
Merlin, she's never felt like such a dolt until now.
Hermione makes an abrupt turn to one of the rooms on the left side of the hallway, closing and locking the door as soon as she gets inside. At first, she wipes her tears away and catches her breath for a moment. Then, she slides down the door all dramatically until she ends up hugging her knees on the floor, dropping her heels on the way and sobbing like the sad and angry idiot she is.
Draco's fists bang on the door and when he speaks, he does so in a gentle reassuring tone, "Hermione, love, please open the door."
She cannot, for the life of her, focus on his voice or on his words, her mind plagued with insecure thoughts and deadly jealousy.
Before arriving to this inane event, Hermione took an excruciating amount of time to get ready. She wanted to catch Draco's eye, to make him miss her. She wore her best dress, heels, and makeup charms; she made sure she had the best hair day, and at the beginning of the evening, she had the best time, dancing with pure-blood scions and wealthy men who find her reputation most alluring. Then, Draco showed up with Astoria Greengrass on his arm.
And then, Narcissa bloody Malfoy decided it was the best time to announce to the whole pure-blood world that she's delighted at the fact that her precious son is no longer dilly-dallying with a Mudblood. It would've hurt a little less if no one reacted, but they all laughed—as though the words weren't meant to humiliate and hurt. Narcissa continued on with saying how Astoria would be the perfect spouse.
She wouldn't be so humiliated if it stops there, but Draco just had to slow dance with the Greengrass girl and everybody just had to swoon at the fucking sight of them!
That was when she decided to run off.
And now, she's crying uncontrollably on one of Malfoy Manor's many rooms, Draco still pleading for her to let him in.
She doesn't even know what she expected—did she really think Narcissa Malfoy was going to greet with her with a warm smile and a pleasant kiss? Did she really think Draco would come back running to her as soon as he saw her?
God, she feels like a teenage girl all over again.
Burying her face further into her knees and trying to suppress her sobs, Hermione doesn't hear the door being unlocked and opened behind her. She doesn't notice Draco's presence in the room until his arms wrap around her frame, making her cry harder.
She accepts his embrace, unfolding her own arms from her knees and wrapping them around his neck. He stills smells and feels the same, comforting and familiar around her. She misses kissing him. She wants to kiss him.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs into her hair, his lips pressing into her scalp. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
He says it again and again until the words sound foreign to her ears. She cuts his mantra off with a short yet desperate kiss to his lips, tears still streaming down her face. He kisses her back, his own tears meshing with hers. Hermione is certain they make a beautiful, melancholic sight.
When she remembers that they really aren't supposed to kiss each other anymore, she pulls away from him, eyes wide and mouth open before realizing how close his face is to her and how attractive he still is after everything. She certainly never told him before, but Draco's grey eyes are her favourite physical characteristic of his. It's a rare occasion for those eyes to show genuine emotion and be vulnerable and right now, they tell a painful story.
"I missed you so much," she whispers, afraid of breaking the soft moment, letting her hand caress his face.
Draco's eyes soften at her words, and he leans into her touch, his own hands grabbing her face. "I missed you too, and I'm sick of it. I want you in my life, Hermione."
A smile spreads on her face, and she cannot help but kiss him again. Draco manoeuvres their position, ensuring that she's sitting on his lap comfortably. Hermione feels like she's on top of the world until—
Breaking away from his lips, she remembers, "What about Astoria?"
"I'm sorry," he says again, taking her hands in his. "Escorting her tonight and dancing with her are parts of a stupid plan I concocted to forget you. I never should've even thought of that stupid plan, and I'm sorry—I should've just sought you out and talk to you. I'm an idiot, but believe me when I say I love you. I love you, and I think—"
She cuts him off with another kiss. "I love you too."
"We never should've broken up," he states, looking at her like she's the most precious thing in his life. Because of that, she kisses him again. She thinks she'll never have enough of kissing him now that he's back into her life.
They'll definitely have a long serious talk later or maybe even tomorrow, but tonight they're going to reignite the fire that's never been extinguished in the first place. Tonight, they're just going to love.