Chapter 4
"But this is the most powerful thing that can be done: surrender. And love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment. I give myself to you. Take me. Do anything you like with me … So, that's quite mad because you see, it's letting things get out of control. All sensible people keep things in control."
xXx
Draco avoids her as if she's a walking Unforgivable. Pavarti and Lavander exchange glances like she's an adulterous traitor (albeit for the wrong reasons). She worries that Harry and Ron might see it, might connect the dots as if a red 'A' plasters her forehead, but they notice nothing.
She's thankful for the many distractions filling her life.
Hermione takes her apparition test two weeks later. That same night, Harry drinks Felix Felicis and retrieves Slughorn's memory. Ron and Lavender break up, as do Ginny and Dean.
Horcruxes and Voldemort are all she thinks of in the days following.
What she doesn't think about is being spread open on a library's tabletop. Except for every single second they have class together … and every time she passes the library. Or looks at a book. Sits at a table.
When does this end? A one-night stand, that's all it was. People have those all the time.
It's her who inevitably caves.
She slips a note into Draco's schoolbag, making eye contact before running off.
Later that night, she almost leaves the Astronomy Tower, certain he isn't coming, when she finally hears footsteps climbing the staircase.
"Hi," says Hermione when his figure approaches.
"What do you want?"
He's angry. Maybe at himself for even showing up.
"To talk."
"There's nothing to say."
"You've been missing class."
"I've been busy," he says through gritted teeth.
"In the room of requirement," she fills in the blank, and his expression falters. "I know that's where you've been – "
"You know nothing."
"Then tell me," she pleads.
"Why should I?"
"Because you can trust me … I-I haven't told anyone what happened."
"That's what this is, isn't it?" he asks, almost as if it hurts. "Your sick, Muggle-methods of getting information … 'Spill inside me, then spill your secrets.' Bet you're disappointed it didn't work."
It hurts, potentially worse than anything he's ever said. Because of it, she lashes out, feigning indifference.
"What? And you wanted more?"
"Hardly. You were an easy fuck, Granger. Good practice for you – cheap brothels will be about the only places a Mudblood can work soon –"
"SHUT UP!"
She's seething, seeing red.
'I fucking love it.'
"You liked it," she says, remembering his words. "You loved it –"
"Of course I liked it," he snarls. "I'm sixteen; your cunt was wet and willing – like the good whore that you are – "
"I know what you're doing."
"Right, my mistake. You know everything, Granger."
"Using words to hurt people, to push them away because you're scared … because it's all you've ever known. But there's one problem – "
He stares, his eyes never averting.
"What you say never matches what you do, Draco."
"Then watch what I do," he scowls. "And tell me the same thing months from now."
She doesn't know what it means. Or why everything with him holds a double meaning. Become a Death Eater, hate every second. Call her a Mudblood, gaze at her across the Astronomy Tower like she's Aphrodite reborn.
Cognitive dissonance is like his lover; compartmentalization is his best friend.
The mind searches for freedom like a drowning body searches for surface. He'll take any breath of fresh air – smoke-filled, foggy, humid, or freezing – so long as it inhales new life.
"Congratulations, by the way." Draco interrupts her train of thought. "I assume you're planning a nice summer wedding at the pig farm Weasely lives on – best to do it rather quickly. 'Till death do us part' might take on a new meaning soon."
She falters, mouth open.
He's not just angry … He's jealous.
"Ron and I aren't together," she says. "Lavender and Parvati are just spreading rumours."
"Hm," he muses, thinking the information over. "Well, well – told you so."
"Excuse me?"
"They broke up, and he still doesn't want you."
"That's not true!"
But is it?
Draco smirks, enjoying the nerve he's hit.
"Understandably so." He paces across the Astronomy tower, gesturing as if deep in thought. "Brown is a much better match, after all: pureblood, pretty – "
"Then go fuck her."
"Testy, testy … But no. I don't want Weasely's sloppy seconds – just like he wouldn't want mine. Think of what he'd say if he knew."
Her face flames.
"He would never believe you. You – you …"
She's at a loss for words, stammering and furious.
"I, what? Go on, Granger … let me have it. Just like back in third year. It'll make you feel better. What am I?"
A complete hypocrite.
The words come, everything she's been holding back for six years, bursting like a balloon under pressure.
"A prejudiced prick."
One started, there's no stopping her.
"A spoiled brat that's licked one too many silver spoons and sustained heavy-metal positioning from it. You're everything that's wrong with the wizarding world ... Your arrogance is unmatched. Your quidditch skills are mediocre. Your intelligence? Vastly overinflated.
Your only redeeming quality hangs between your legs – waiting to be used minimally in some loveless, arranged marriage – solely to produce heirs. You're miserable and sad, and guess what? Everyone's glad … You deserve every brutal reality this world gives you."
He smirks.
"That's an interesting way to say, 'I want your cock inside me again –"
"I hate you."
She doesn't know if it's true or false. Love or hate. The lines are so blurred, they're non-existent.
"Don't ever speak to me again," she emphasizes needlessly.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he says.
"I could think of a few things."
She turns to leave, intending never to look back. She wants to believe it. Admitting the ache behind her chest, the desire to turn around, reduces her to weakness.
I hate you will always be easier.
xXx
It's two days later when Harry enters the common room with Ron, red marks streaking his shirt. He passes a group of gawking girls while she and Ginny jump up, running over.
"Harry!" Ginny covers her mouth, horrified. "Is that blood?"
"My god! What happened? Are you alright? Sit down," says Hermione, assessing his condition.
Both witches are wide-eyed, and Ginny's frantically searching for the source of bleeding.
"Relax – yes," says Harry. "I'm fine … It's not mine; it's Malfoy's."
"IT'S WHAT?"
"Shh! Christ, Hermione – keep your voice down. Let's go over here."
Harry motions for them to sit in a secluded corner. Hermione's on the verge of hysteria during his explanation, forcing herself calm. Ginny doesn't stop shaking until Harry squeezes her hand when Ron isn't looking.
"Is he … I mean – Snape was able to stop the bleeding?" asks Hermione, hoping the tremble in her voice isn't noticeable.
"Yeah. He's in the hospital wing."
I told you so, I told you so, I told you so.
Worry turns to fury. That blasted Potion's book has been nothing but trouble and she doesn't hesitate to tell him so.
Hermione stews on a horrible idea all night before committing to full-blown insanity.
A whispered silencing charm is her introduction, sneaking behind the only shut curtain inside the hospital wing at midnight.
"Oh, good. Come to finish me off?" asks Draco, somehow still perfecting sarcasm despite his voice's weakness.
"Of course not," says Hermione, sitting in the rickety chair beside Draco's bed. "How, er – … how are you doing?"
Stupid question.
"Just swell. I almost haemorrhaged myself into hypovolemic shock and died. Otherwise – I'm splendid."
"Big words there," she teases as if anything could lighten the mood. "Studying to be a Healer?"
"No. I've just … read up on certain subjects."
"Pity – you'd make a great one." She thinks about that night in the Astronomy Tower. "It's not too late, you know."
For a lot of things.
But maybe it is.
As if reading her thoughts, he frowns.
"You can leave now, Granger – I'm not telling you shit. Although I must admit, your methods are much more enjoyable than Potter's –"
"He told me those things you said to Myrtle … what happened."
"I bet he did. Did you tell Potter how your plan didn't work, either?"
"I didn't sleep with you because I wanted to trick you … No ulterior motives. Nothing other than –"
Hormones. Stupidity. Curiosity. Want.
She could scream blame until blue in the face, but when the truth comes, it's soft at first … the first movements of snow before an avalanche.
"I know you feel it, too …" She whispers her own admission. "Or maybe you don't. And that's fine. But … I think there's more good inside you than you're ready to admit. And when you're ready … if that day ever comes – maybe things can be different …. We can be," she pauses, sighs, "friends."
She isn't blind to reality. She knows whatever lies between them is hollow and empty – fun in the moment, but arsenic on the tongue.
"I don't make friends with Mudbloods." He clings to the word like its protection. "Especially when their friends throw murderous hexes at me."
She remembers something her mum used to say. 'Everyone's a hero in their own story.'
"Look," she breathes softly. "I know you think what you're doing is right –"
"I don't."
It's quite possibly the most conviction he's used, regarding anything.
She looks down, allows a pause.
"Why'd you do it?" she asks quietly, changing the subject. "That night in the library … if you're so petrified by its implication."
"Because you're an easy lay. And because I wanted to, in a moment of temporary insanity."
His eyes flutter down, landing on her lips for the briefest moment, then back up.
"You want to again," says Hermione.
Accusation meets guilt, undeniable through a look of something, hot and heavy, that flashes between them.
He clings harder, grasping at straws.
"I'm not a blood-traitor."
"There are worse things to be … dead being one of them."
"You can't help me, Granger. You don't get it – "
"Try me," she says as if another word should be there. Touch me, taste me, take me. Control courses through her; she clings to it. She doesn't know how to be this person.
"Just … Stay away from me," he tells her. "It'll be the smartest thing you've ever done."
"Draco, I –"
"FUCK OFF!"
She can't remember a time he's spoken so forcefully. So angry.
"You're embarrassing yourself," he gains the slightest composure, "willing to spread open for anyone, just to gain trust and information."
It hurts, but not in the way he intends.
She tries a different approach.
"I know it's different … isn't it? Even Ron's weird about it, and his family is far from the picture of pureblood values. I get it … it's supposed to be courtship and betrothals. Purity until marriage –"
"You really think I believe in any of that shit?"
"No. But see, therein lies the problem. You don't … And, I think once you start questioning one thing – it starts this ripple effect … Before long, you're questioning everything. Those values, what they mean, why evidence points elsewhere … Until those beliefs are hanging by a thread. How long will that thread last, Draco?"
It won't.
She understands certain truths. It'll never be the same for him as it was for Sirius. His family is different; a home filled with love and good fortune – his childhood bathed in privilege. It might be admirable, what he's doing, were it not so cataclysmic.
"You're loyal," she says. "To a fault when it comes to your family … Eventually, though, you need to make a choice – "
"I have no choices left."
It's the real reason why he takes that Potion, why he kisses her like that. The ache for control comes in many forms.
"You have more than you think."
He's silent, wincing as if kindness stings more than what's beneath those Dittany-covered bandages.
"My door is still open." She stands, tugs at her jumper nervously. "If you want it to be."
"I don't … stay away from me – I'm serious, it's – " He pauses as if choking on what's next. "It's not safe … for you. For either of us."
She nods.
"I'll leave you alone."
It's a painful promise, one she doesn't trust.
They exchange mutual goodnights sounding of sadness and shared exhaustion. With one last look, she disappears.
xXx
Two weeks pass.
Draco stops her as they're both walking out of Transfiguration, whispering in her ear when no one is looking.
"Check your bag."
"Why?" she asks.
"Just do it."
Frustrated but curious, she tries digging in the mess of books. She finds nothing, running to her dorm and emptying the contents of her schoolbag onto her bed. She searches the mess as if a secret artifact hides inside.
Nothing. Only schoolbooks and parchment.
She's suddenly worried – what prank is he trying to pull? Did he leave some skink pellets from Zonkos? A hexed necklace? Something she'll accidentally touch that's laced with an Obliviate charm? Or worse?
Nothing.
She calms, tries to trust his good. Maybe he saw someone slip something into her bag? Maybe something fell out?
She replaces her books and walks downstairs to find Harry and Ron.
"Game of wizard's chess?" asks Ron when she appears. There's redness to his cheeks after their eyes meet.
Lavender's fuming from afar.
"Oh," Hermione smiles, nodding. "Sure."
xXx
Draco doesn't turn up in the library when she looks. He's the first one to rush out of class if he even shows up.
She corners him in the Dungeons the following week, pulling him into an empty corridor.
"Where have you been?" Hermione demands, worried. "You've missed class for the past week."
"Busy."
She shoots rapid-fire questions. Do you want to study together? No. Talk? Absolutely not.
"I'm making my choice … the one you keep insisting I have," he tells her. "Stand by yours."
She doesn't understand, wondering why he always speaks in riddles.
"What are you talking about?"
"Keep your promise. Leave me the fuck alone."
The volatility makes her vow just that.
It's over – the end.
"Fine … Goodbye, Draco."