The Dark Side of the Moon
Authors Note: All characters are based on those created by JK Rowling. I own nothing.
The morning light seemed to illuminate the picture of Draco and Hermione that stood on his desk. How had it all began , he wondered, how had a muggle born and a Malfoy had become one of the most famous couples in Hogwarts history. He forced his mind back, oblivious of the pain. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She was walking towards him, her arms hugging the stack of dusty books. He too was wondering along the lines of books, aimlessly and unaware of her approach. Bam! They had walked into each other. The floor lay streamed with books, and in an effort to hide their red faces, they reached down to pick them up. A jolt of electricity seemed to spark between their hands, Draco looked up into a pair of chocolate brown eyes- he felt he could drown forever in those eyes. He heard a voice that sounded like his, asking her to come to the Yule ball with him.
Hermione looked at him, and did the last thing that he had ever expected- she had laughed. Her tinkling laugh had filled the dark dusty library. Several people had looked up from their textbooks, and Madame Pinch had sent her favourite pupil a sharp glance for daring to break the library rules. He had stood up so fast, the blood rushing to his heading his head and giving everything a rosy glow He had sauntered from the library giving Hermione a parting shot:
"I just did it for a dare, didn't want you to go alone-Mudblood!" It had taken every last piece of concentration not to let his mask slip, to let her see how hurt he had been by her reaction. Every cell in his body had been all too aware of her presence and the effect she was having on his state of mind, and heart.
Walking into the Great Hall, Draco was painfully aware of the amused glances from the Gryffindor table. Harry and Ron seemed almost double up with laughter, and Hermione was smirking with glee. Draco flopped into the chair next to Crabbe and Goyle, their grunting annoying him even more than usual. "Merlin's Beard! Are you two descended from trolls or something?" He stormed off as soon as possible, the delicious meal tasting as dry and as bland as cardboard and sawdust. His father would kill him if he ever knew that he had asked a muggle born to the ball. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. His father. The one reason Draco refused to let the mask slip: the minute the mask slipped, he could be hurt. He had been 7 years old when he realised that the only way to avoid being hurt by his fathers lack of love, was to simply feel no emotion whatsoever. It had been simple: whenever his father was determined to make Draco had let his mind retreat back to the wall he had built round his heart and soul. His father couldn't touch him there. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Draco retreated to that place often now. The pain at Hermione's senseless death seeming to carve into his very soul. Everyone had expected Potter and Draco to be drawn closer together by the deaths, but Potter had snubbed him at the funeral- Draco had been too icy cold and hurt at her death, to care. He had actually been civil to Potter, but Potter had told him to leave him alone- that Hermione had never loved him, that she had only cared about him and Ron. The memories still needled at his very being, he got up and left the room to face the day, still emotionless and safe behind his defences.
Authors Note: All characters are based on those created by JK Rowling. I own nothing.
The morning light seemed to illuminate the picture of Draco and Hermione that stood on his desk. How had it all began , he wondered, how had a muggle born and a Malfoy had become one of the most famous couples in Hogwarts history. He forced his mind back, oblivious of the pain. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She was walking towards him, her arms hugging the stack of dusty books. He too was wondering along the lines of books, aimlessly and unaware of her approach. Bam! They had walked into each other. The floor lay streamed with books, and in an effort to hide their red faces, they reached down to pick them up. A jolt of electricity seemed to spark between their hands, Draco looked up into a pair of chocolate brown eyes- he felt he could drown forever in those eyes. He heard a voice that sounded like his, asking her to come to the Yule ball with him.
Hermione looked at him, and did the last thing that he had ever expected- she had laughed. Her tinkling laugh had filled the dark dusty library. Several people had looked up from their textbooks, and Madame Pinch had sent her favourite pupil a sharp glance for daring to break the library rules. He had stood up so fast, the blood rushing to his heading his head and giving everything a rosy glow He had sauntered from the library giving Hermione a parting shot:
"I just did it for a dare, didn't want you to go alone-Mudblood!" It had taken every last piece of concentration not to let his mask slip, to let her see how hurt he had been by her reaction. Every cell in his body had been all too aware of her presence and the effect she was having on his state of mind, and heart.
Walking into the Great Hall, Draco was painfully aware of the amused glances from the Gryffindor table. Harry and Ron seemed almost double up with laughter, and Hermione was smirking with glee. Draco flopped into the chair next to Crabbe and Goyle, their grunting annoying him even more than usual. "Merlin's Beard! Are you two descended from trolls or something?" He stormed off as soon as possible, the delicious meal tasting as dry and as bland as cardboard and sawdust. His father would kill him if he ever knew that he had asked a muggle born to the ball. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. His father. The one reason Draco refused to let the mask slip: the minute the mask slipped, he could be hurt. He had been 7 years old when he realised that the only way to avoid being hurt by his fathers lack of love, was to simply feel no emotion whatsoever. It had been simple: whenever his father was determined to make Draco had let his mind retreat back to the wall he had built round his heart and soul. His father couldn't touch him there. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Draco retreated to that place often now. The pain at Hermione's senseless death seeming to carve into his very soul. Everyone had expected Potter and Draco to be drawn closer together by the deaths, but Potter had snubbed him at the funeral- Draco had been too icy cold and hurt at her death, to care. He had actually been civil to Potter, but Potter had told him to leave him alone- that Hermione had never loved him, that she had only cared about him and Ron. The memories still needled at his very being, he got up and left the room to face the day, still emotionless and safe behind his defences.
