2 – Miss You Love
Silverchair
It is, indeed, a pleasant surprise to watch as Draco Malfoy chokes my name. Many have heard it spoken with fear in whisperings between the Deadless Ones, but hearing it spoken with such surprise and nostalgia forms a gratifying shiver that trickles up my spine. He is as beautiful and ethereal as I remember, but his eyes are dull and dead. I had long ago reasoned that only Malfoy's could achieve such a cold and remote attitude, but his eyes were too distant to be Malfoy. There was no fire that lit in them. There was no more passion in those cold grey eyes. The thought frightened me.
"Why are you in front of my house, Draco?" I ask again.
"I was not aware that this shack belonged to you." He managed to compose himself and his mannerism returns to the same Malfoy arrogance. Even if he hated his father, he could never change his heritage.
"Don't be arrogant now. Not all people can be as rich and powerful as you." I smile and raise my hand to trace his face. It is so familiar, yet different. I feel the compassion I once had towards the lonely ones return. It was lost in the whirlwind of vengeance and death that captured my life and sealed my fate in the last days of the war. Relinquishing it again felt wonderful.
"Hermione Granger," he speaks my name again and closes his eyes. All previous judgements and preconcieved notions washes away. His face softens under my fingertips. I smile again and realize that I have found the man I have been searching for all my life.
---
"We all have false hopes of love," George tells me. He raises a glass in mock salute and drowns the entire glass of vodka and orange juice in one large gulp. He has a fascination for oranges. I take a sip of my own alcohol and it burns down my throat.
"Perhaps, George, but I do believe." I set aside my glass and rest my head on my knees. Such fetal positions are common with me these days. My white negligee floats down to rest on my hips. George and I both hardly take notice that my white cotton panties are visible for the world to see. If the world wished to see them, so be it, but right now the world consisted of only George and I. And George had a fetish with boxer briefs, not panties.
"I know, love, but do be careful. Men like Draco Malfoy expect all women to want the same as all men – a quick shag." He wrinkles his nose distastefully. "I suppose only women of those gentlemen's clubs want that, though."
"Now, now, George, now is not the time to discuss the more perverse, shall I say, habits of the inferior sex." I smile and he smiles back. I love this man to death.
"Here, here, Hermione. If only I were born a woman." We share a laugh and I remember how good it is to talk to someone again. My crusade in Australia was quite boring without my comical roommate and friend. One would find hunting vampires in the dry desserts of the south simply wearisome without any sort of comedic relief.
"I'm sure Ron wishes you were born a woman as well." I muse. Ron had been positively horrified when George broke the news to his family. In fact, he was the only Weasley aside from Percy that didn't take his brother's preference easily. A shame, really.
"Well, Ron can bugger off." George shot hotly. "At least I'm not the only pining after a woman that will never love me." I feel a stab of guilt that is quickly replaced by the image of Draco in all his powerful glory. I finger the hem of my nightgown, completely sober.
"He reminds me of a fallen angel." I state.
"I'm sure Lucifer has a special place for him, sweetheart." George replies and finishes my alcohol for me. I know he knows who I am talking about and that's what's great about us. We understand each other.
---
The rain splatters loudly against the broken roof. My hair is in a disarray and I'm sweating like a pig. I feel ugly and frumpy, but this house has gone to the shambles since my parents abandoned it. I push back strands of hair in my face and sigh. So much work and so little time. I hear George clamber up the stairs.
"Honestly, Hermy, it couldn't have been that long since your parents left. This place is filthy," he complains. He enters the room and all I could do was laugh. His fiery red hair was filled with cobwebs and dirt smudged on his nose. He looks like Ron did in our first year. I was such a pompous bitch back then, now that I think back.
"Well Mother and Father had no time to clean. Usually, it was up to me to keep the house at least presentable, but then I went to Hogwarts," I explain. It's a poor excuse, I know, but I only tell it like it is. Mother is a horrible maid and Father's no better.
We work side by side, slowly cleaning out the many rooms of my inheritance. My overalls catch a sharp edge and a loud riiiip resounds through the room. I look down and back up guiltily. George just shakes his head in silent laughter and we return to working.
Many people expected me to stay friends with Ron and Ginny after the War. It was hardly evident in our school days that George and I were so compatible together. He was a jokester and I was the epitome of teacher's pet. I guess we balance each other. Besides, after the War, Ron and Ginny both retracted into a temperamental funk and I, frankly, tired quickly of the moody attitudes the younger Weasley's adopted.
I reacquainted myself with George during the War. The joke shop was a big hit and I was in a need of a good laugh after months of torturous training and hunting. George and I had immediately hit it off and Fred followed soon after. It was refreshing to not have to act in front of those two. They hardly cared if I had secret desires to see the Other Side or if I didn't know the answer to a question. I was real with them, and it was an excellent change.
In my thoughts and nostalgia, I hardly notice the dark figure standing directly in front of the house. I gasp and race down the stairs, taking George by surprise. He yelps and runs after me. I swing open the door and bound to him. I can't explain it, but I need to see him. I need to feel him and feel that he is real. And I want to smell him, taste him, but mostly see him.
"Draco," I breathe and come into a halt in front of him. He looks at me and his eyes travel down my body. I self-consciously touch my dirty hair and look down at the large rip in my pants. I blush.
"Oy, woman. Where's the fire?" George stops mid-sentence. "Er, I'll be upstairs. Watching." I hear him turn, but I don't pay him and heed. I fidget and wonder if it was such a good idea to run to Draco. Suddenly, I'm not too sure. Did I expect him to open his arms and hug me? Did I expect so much from him?
"Hello Hermione," he greets. His voice is fatigued. We pause for a long time and stare at each other. He is celestial and unreal. I hardly remember to breathe and I wonder if this is the same boy from Hogwarts that worked so hard to make his father proud and to give us hell. I open my mouth, but close it. I have nothing to say.
"You're so damn beautiful, Hermione," he suddenly spills.
"Me?" I'm flattered and my heart beats a thousand beats per second. I suddenly feel like I'm back at Hogwarts and 14. It's the same feeling as when Viktor asked me to the Yule Ball and when Dean Thomas confessed he fancied me in seventh year. Except, to hear those words flow out of Draco Malfoy's mouth is sinful. It sounds too good to be healthy.
"I'm just plain," I reason. This time, he's the one that traces my check. He shakes his head.
"No. Beautiful." His mouth pushes down on mine. He is vicious and rough and gentle and sweet. As I wrap my arms around him I loose feeling in my knees. I slowly slid down the length of his body and he comes with me without breaking contact. It's too good to be healthy. I lay on the concrete and I hope to God that George doesn't barrel out of the house and sock him in the face because I'm afraid I'm going to cry if he leaves for a second. I'll cry and never stop.
He moves over me and, oh, his body feels so good against mine. I open my legs a little and I loose all coherent thoughts.