DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: This is a pointless fic. In fact, I don't know why I wrote it in the first place. Maybe because I have nothing to do and a chapter I worked so hard for over a month got 3 freakin' reviews. I'll continue whining later.
The Tower
The Astronomy Tower. The place of forbidden love, of suppressed passion finally released, of stolen kisses and stolen moments; for lovers that never were and for romance that never should be.
But not tonight.
Hermione stood in a corner of the room, away from the feeble moonlight that passed through the thick glass windows. Anytime soon and it would all be over.
The faint clicking of the doorknob signaled his arrival. Hermione felt her world begin to crumble.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
His footsteps came nearer.
"What did you want to tell me?" said Draco, revealing himself through a bright moonbeam. His silver blonde hair glowed serenely and his enigmatic silver-gray eyes spoke volumes to her through his gaze.
She exhaled. "I'm going, Draco,"
"Going? To where?"
"I'm… I'm getting married."
The silence surrounded them and soon became deafening. Hermione's heart beat a thousand times faster.
"To whom?" Draco said finally.
"Ron."
"I see,"
"I'm sorry, Draco,"
Draco gave a small laugh. "What are you sorry about?"
Hermione looked away. "I'm sorry because I shouldn't be doing this to you,"
"To me or to yourself?"
"Both,"
"Then don't do it," he said.
"But I can't,"
Draco shook his head. "Nothing is impossible if you want it to happen,"
"You can say that because you're not in the same situation,"
"Then I wish I were,"
Hermione wanted to cry. She wanted to tell him that she'd rather not marry anyone but him, that she wasn't happy at all, that she loved him.
But like many things she wanted to say and do, these also cannot be said or done.
She looked at him again, searching for some sign of misery or pain, a sign that he cared. But his face was calm and emotionless. Just like it always was.
"When are you going to get married?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" she replied scornfully.
"I don't know. You tell me,"
His answer made her burst.
"Do you even care, Draco? Can't you feel even just a tiny prick of pain for me? I love you don't you know that? Well I do and I won't stop even though you're too cynical to appreciate me!"
Draco simply stared at her with his cold silver-gray eyes.
"Fine. Be like that. Don't say anything."
"All right then, what do you want me to say?" he said finally. "Do you want me to confess my undying passion and cry my heart out just because you're going to get married? Sorry, but I won't and you can't make me,"
His words were knives that struck her heart. So he really didn't care and he really didn't love her. She should've known.
"I can't do anything if you want to marry Weasley," he continued, "it's your decision,"
"It's not," she argued. "It's their decision---"
"---But you have to follow, is that it?"
"Yes,"
"Then you don't love me as much as you say you do. You live to follow rules and loving me is breaking those rules,"
"I can't take risks!"
"But you can take lies?"
Hermione did not answer because he was right. How could a cold-blooded person be right?
The light from the windows grew brighter, its hues changing subtly from pale gray to white to light yellow. The sun would soon be up.
Hermione took a deep breath. "That's all I wanted to tell you," she whispered. "And even if you don't love me, I still wish you happiness,"
She watched him leave, taking deliberate steps away from her. The sound of his footsteps echoed the beating of her heart. Every second, she felt a part of her was dying, peeling away from her and disappearing into oblivion.
And before she heard the thud of the closing door that would separate them forever, his voice was etched in her memory as he said the last words she would ever hear from him.
"Just so you know, I did love you."
A/N: Told you it was pointless. I'm not even going to ask you if you like it or whatever. From now on, I'm going to write not to get reviews. I'm going to write for the sake of writing. I'm just tired of expecting appreciation, you know. But I really want to thank the precious few that took time to read my work. Call me melodramatic or whatever, I don't care. I just wanted to pour out my frustration. If you can't deal with it then don't read.
