Breaking Storm
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just the plot.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to review, and continued to read this story.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter Seven: The Visits
Hermione frequently came to the Secret Library, sometimes with Draco, and sometimes not. Sometimes he would already be there, waiting for her; and as she would walk over to the shelves, nothing could dominate over the silly smile she had on her face. The books were ancient, but brilliant and fascinating. Much more fascinating than the ones at the library. She picked out three fairly thick books; a faded green one with gold lettering that had been chipped off from age and use on the side, a pink one that had been a radiant red once before, and a maroon one that had strange inscriptions on the cover.
She sat with him at the table, noticing he usually just had one book; it was in his hands. But of course, the book changed almost every visit, and she smiled every time she thought about how she had found another person who read as much as her. She looked at him for a moment, watching him as his eyes traveled with speed and grace, moving down line by line. A couple strands of his silvery blonde hair had fallen over his eyes, and she had to fight the urge to reach over and slick it back. His platinum blonde hair had a light, almost heaven-like golden hue. It looked so smooth and silky, and she tried to imagine how it felt to run her hands through his hair. She thought, it must be like the smoothest, downy and soft silk that could only be weaved by God's angels, or God himself. Her eyes traveled down from his hair to his face. She felt a breath cease in her throat as her heart skipped a beat. There was no doubt he was handsome; there was no denying it. He had been handsome before, too, but now his features were mature and grown, his face slim and his skin smooth, milky and pale. He had grown into a young man, she knew. When there was no hesitation in saying that everyone had changed over the years, she thought he had to be one of the few who had changed in a disbelievingly vast amount. She observed him, her eyes roaming his serious expression, and she wondered what he was reading, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She watched as he raised his hand and flipped the page, and his eyes were drawn to the top of the page. Her eyes wandered down to his hands, and she felt as if a hot, tingling breeze swept through her. She wondered how his hands would feel against her skin, if they ever came into contact with her. She felt something erupt inside her, trying to imagine how it would feel, how she would feel, with his hands and fingers roaming on her skin, holding her close. She knew, if he ever did touch her that way, he would be branding her. Marring her invisibly, and every time she would scrub her skin while she bathed or looked in the mirror, she would remember. Him, his hands. And she knew that when everything would rush back, the memory, the faint remembrance of the feelings and emotions he sent to course through her veins, she would feel something unexplainable. Perhaps guilt, or longing. Or the fact that all she wanted was just to feel his hands again, holding her close and never letting go.
But she raised her gaze from his hands, and they settled on his face again. She felt slight guilt rip through her; she wasn't supposed to be feeling this way, or thinking of him this way. She wasn't supposed to be wondering, trying to imagine the feeling that would spread through her when he would touch or hold her. It was despicable. It was shameful.
She brought her gaze back to her book, forcing for her mind and thoughts to settle so she could read. But they refused, and she was left swimming in the cool, spinning sea her thoughts had become. She knew she shouldn't be here with him. She hadn't even told Harry and Ron, though they made no law or rule that she was not allowed to be around him. Or like being around him. They had never said anything of that matter; so then, why was it that she felt as if she was breaking something set and drawn out very clearly? Why was it that she felt as if she was betraying them somehow? She sighed, and closed her eyes as she felt a sharp hint of accusing thoughts and shouts beginning to form in her mind.
How long was it until they were to question where she went all this time, all these days? How long was it going to be until they look over at the Slytherin table and notice that Malfoy wasn't there either? How long was it going to be until they were to put two and two together?
How long was it going to be until they find out?
She knew what they would say. Ron would accuse her of lying, of going behind their back. He would yell and shout at her, while Harry would just look at her disapprovingly and sadly as if she had deceived them. She could handle Ron's shouts and false accusations, but Harry's sad, green gaze was something that broke her heart. It would make guilt swell up inside her, her throat burning, until she was just holding back her tears barely. What was she going to say to them? She couldn't tell them about the library; Malfoy had told her not to. Her head was beginning to ache, her conscience shouting at her, for not doing what was right, but being here because she wanted to. She hadn't even considered her friends' feelings until now. What was she going to do?
Draco's gaze traveled from the word-filled page to the girl sitting in front of him. His dark gray eyes settled on her, and watched her intently. Her long, brown waves cascaded down her shoulders, her face set to an expression that he knew all too well. He could tell she was thinking deeply of something, and although her eyes were set on her book, her thoughts were about anything but the piece of literature she held in her hands. Her eyebrows were furrowed with confusion and her deep brown eyes were dark. It was something of a serious matter, he knew. But he didn't know exactly what it was.
He observed her, his eyes filled with something too unreadable and unknown even to him. Part of him wanted to know what was troubling her, but the other part was already shouting and yelling at him for being like this to her. Like they were friends. Like they both had come to some understanding, although Draco didn't know what. But it was peaceful, and their time spent here was quiet, and most of the time they never even uttered a word. Of course, he remembered, she would always smile at him as she would enter and leave, somehow as a 'hello' or 'goodbye.'
Late at night, his mind was still filled with thoughts of her. But now, they were much more intense and stronger than before. He would come back to his room, still thinking of her, and falling asleep dreaming of her smile and hypnotizing brown eyes. And waking up, he found himself looking forward to seeing and meeting her at their Secret Library. He didn't know what it was, but he felt something building, constructing, as if stacking every time he thought or dreamt of her. And when he saw her, when her breathtaking smile was directed at him, he could feel it get stronger and fill him like nothing he had ever felt before. But every time he caught himself trying to dig deeper within himself to figure out exactly what it was, he shook the thought away, as if expecting it to fade and disappear into thin air. He figured it was silly and it would vanish in time, but every time he tried to reassure himself that it was just that, something made him just want to close his eyes and think it over again. Something wasn't right, and he knew that. But he refused to search any deeper, to look for the truth. The truth was painful; he knew from experience, and sometimes just going along with a lie was just better. Living the lie. Sure, when the truth would finally surface or break through the barrier, the impact would be ground shattering and would leave him weak and limp, but it was better than finding out when you truly weren't ready. He would be left dumbfounded, shocked and confused out of his wits. At his absolute weakest. He left it alone at that. At least, he tried his hardest to.
He was still watching her, her expression unmoving as if time had frozen stiff. Somehow he found it quite adorable, but puzzling. What could she possibly be thinking about?
"Granger?" he finally said. Hermione was pulled out of her quicksand of thoughts, as she raised her gaze to Draco. He had a slight smile on his face, and she could feel warmth spread through her cheeks as she realized that he had probably been watching her. "Are you alright?" he asked, and she looked down, flustered.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. He nodded, his face regaining its unreadable, serious look. She sighed, as she glanced up again and caught his gaze before he turned back to his book. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, before returning to her book also. The words finally began to make sense to her, but her thoughts began to swarm again, preventing her from focusing or concentrating on what she had in front of her. Her thoughts were filled with him again, but mostly on what was happening between them.
What was happening between them?
When she would let her gaze travel up to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, their eyes would meet. And she felt that weird, fluttery feeling inside her that she felt every time she saw him, but it felt like she was going to float up into the air. Sometimes he would slightly smile at her, or just look at her. And it wasn't staring; it was anything but staring. Staring was much like a trance, yes, but staring was much more vacant and empty than what he was doing. His eyes were dark, filled with some strange mist that she could not read through. But when she did try to search through them, something would suck her out of the trance and suddenly the hall was too noisy and too busy. She remembered she would always feel flustered, after looking at him like so, even though she knew that no one else saw. She would just poke at her food, avoiding looking up for the fear of getting lost in his eyes again. Maybe it was fear of getting caught. Or maybe it was because she knew all too well she had never felt this way before, and never looked at a boy that way before. Maybe it was guilt, or nervousness because she never did know what he could see in her eyes, or what she gave away when he looked into her eyes. In a sense, she didn't want to let him know any of what she had been feeling for him, or what she felt when he was around her, or just looked at her so intensely. She didn't even know if she had any real feelings for him, although she knew something deep within her coursed so strongly through her veins every time she thought or watched him. She was confused, and just wanted to shake away the thought of her falling in love. With him. Draco Malfoy. It wasn't right. It wasn't the right time, with her studies and classes that meant more than ever, since they were nearing their graduating year. It wasn't the right person; both him and her. She had never been in love before, but she knew it was filled with heartbreak, tears and pain. She did want to fall in love. But she just didn't know when, or with whom. She was just so confused and frustrated; she was not supposed to be feeling any of this. Any of it at all.
She couldn't deny that it had something to do with who Draco was, or his reputation. She wouldn't have minded, and she shouldn't mind. But when she thought about the possibility, it made her nervous, scared and guilty. They were just too different; that's what anyone would say. And she could see why they would say that; he was in Slytherin, she was in Gryffindor. There wasn't an even odder or strange match. But she knew that she shouldn't go by that, or even care about what others would say. But it was holding her back. Everything was, somehow, someway. It just crossed everything that people had believed and assumed. It wasn't Draco. No, it wasn't him. He was a great guy, and no matter what anyone said, he changed. And, he was... He was...
He was perfect.
He was absolutely perfect. There wasn't a single flaw she found in him. Even his faults and mistakes were another trace of perfection to her. The way he smiled, the way he spoke, even the way his deep silver eyes searched her much more deeply than anybody else could, was perfect. The way he laughed, the way his hair fell across his eyes sometimes, the way his eyes twinkled when he found amusement or joy in something... It was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. But maybe that was another reason that held her back. Maybe that was one of the voices that made guilt and fear swell up inside of her.
No one was perfect. It was just too good to be true. He was too good to be true. Being perfect was above everything nature set out, above human capabilities. No one could be perfect.
But he was. Draco Malfoy was. He was in her eyes. And somehow, as she realized that, staring at the blurred lines of her page, she felt something rise, but at the same time subside in her. Like a piece of the puzzle had finally been fitted in, but she felt too overwhelmed, as if she had just stepped back and realized what she was in for.
But what was she in for? What was so overpowering, vast and strong that she was already scared just thinking about it? What could be so intense? What could break everything that she had, but make her gain the one thing that she would ever need, or want?
What was going to happen to her, if it wasn't already?
Just then, something flashed through her, like a bolt of lightning across the dark, stormy sky. Her thoughts had moved from the thought, but considered it and started swarming again, humming, buzzing, screaming. They were moving twice as fast, shrieking twice as loud. Her head suddenly began to feel heavy and loaded, the book she held in front of her so blurred and blotched that she could not even recognize the words anymore. Her hands felt cold, her mind painfully bursting and exploding with so many assumptions and possibilities. Suddenly, before she could even think about it, she put down her book and covered her face with her hands, letting out a long, ragged sigh. She felt some sort of release, but it only helped slightly. She felt like she was going to explode; everything that seemed to be bottled up was on the verge of breaking out. Visions of him flashed through her head, visions of her, Harry and Ron, visions of people looking at her so scornfully in the corridors. She couldn't take it. She just couldn't.
Draco immediately looked up from his book, and watched her. He didn't know what she was doing, but her face was in her hands, and she seemed to be trembling. He felt worry erupt in him, watching her faintly shaking figure, silent but breathing harder than normal. He put down his book, his face etched with concern.
"Granger?" he asked, his voice full of worry. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"
Hermione froze, holding her breath as she remembered that he had been there. She cursed, mentally. She tried to compose herself, trying to even her breathing pattern back to normal. But as she uncovered her face from her hands, and looked into his eyes, her nagging thoughts still screamed and demanded. She smiled at him, weakly.
"I'm fine," she said quietly.
"You're a terrible liar," he remarked. Her smile vanished, as she looked down. He didn't even need to look at her to figure that out. She let out another sigh, as she covered her face with her hands again.
"I don't know what's happening," she said, "I don't know what's happening to me. My thoughts are screaming, and filling up until I feel like I'm going to explode... This has never happened before, not even before an exam." She lowered her hands. "I don't know what to do." Draco looked at her, trying to search her eyes but she was trying her best to make it difficult, he knew.
"What are you thinking about?" he said, "Surely it must be something that confuses you or triggers a strong emotion." Hermione avoided his gaze; afraid he might see right through her. She stayed silent, refusing to answer, until he spoke again.
"I can't help you if you're not willing to be honest."
"Someone," she finally said. Draco raised an eyebrow, curious to know who that someone was. Deep inside, he hoped he was the one that seemed to be occupying much of her thoughts, considering how much of his mind she had taken, but he shook the thought away.
"Someone?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, her voice quiet.
"Like who? Potter?" At that remark, she looked up and met his eyes.
"Never mind. Just forget it. I'm fine. I really am," she said, opening her book again.
"No, Granger," he said, "I thought you wanted me to help you."
"I never asked you to help a mudblood like me," she suddenly said.
Draco stared at her in silence, taken back by her words. She realized her mistake, and shut her eyes, taking a breath. Her words came back to her, and she understood the negativity of her words, not only to her, but to him also. She knew what he got from it, from the look in his eyes in face; she had hinted about the vast gap between mudbloods and purebloods... And how talking to one, being friendly to one was shameful and disgraceful. It was offensive to her, and it was completely out of line. Especially when all he tried to do was help her; reminding him of blood and past wasn't something she had planned on doing, and all she wished she could do now was take it back.
Draco stared at her, in disbelief and shocked. In his ears, he could still hear her words echoing and chiming faintly. Was that what she thought this was all about? That he, that this, somehow all tied into her blood? Is that what she thought he only cared about?
"I'm sorry," she said to him, her eyes pleading and guilty. "I didn't mean to say that. That was rude and stupid; it was inappropriate. I'm sorry." Draco just stared at her, looking at her and trying to search her deep brown eyes again. He could not see through her apologetic barrier. There was silence, as he did not reply. She only looked at him, waiting for something, anything. But as moments passed, she did not receive it. She tried to read what he was feeling, but his eyes were cloudy like the sky before a heavy storm.
"Is that what you really think?" he finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "That blood, it has something to do with all of this?"
"No," she said, "I didn't mean it. It just slipped out. I'm sorry."
"Granger, just answer me and stop apologizing."
"No," she said softly. "That's not what I think."
There was silence, as they looked at each other, as if trying to understand, but knew deep down inside that they already understood all too well.
"Blood," he said quietly, breaking the silence, "That's really not it. That's really not it at all."
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just the plot.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to review, and continued to read this story.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter Seven: The Visits
Hermione frequently came to the Secret Library, sometimes with Draco, and sometimes not. Sometimes he would already be there, waiting for her; and as she would walk over to the shelves, nothing could dominate over the silly smile she had on her face. The books were ancient, but brilliant and fascinating. Much more fascinating than the ones at the library. She picked out three fairly thick books; a faded green one with gold lettering that had been chipped off from age and use on the side, a pink one that had been a radiant red once before, and a maroon one that had strange inscriptions on the cover.
She sat with him at the table, noticing he usually just had one book; it was in his hands. But of course, the book changed almost every visit, and she smiled every time she thought about how she had found another person who read as much as her. She looked at him for a moment, watching him as his eyes traveled with speed and grace, moving down line by line. A couple strands of his silvery blonde hair had fallen over his eyes, and she had to fight the urge to reach over and slick it back. His platinum blonde hair had a light, almost heaven-like golden hue. It looked so smooth and silky, and she tried to imagine how it felt to run her hands through his hair. She thought, it must be like the smoothest, downy and soft silk that could only be weaved by God's angels, or God himself. Her eyes traveled down from his hair to his face. She felt a breath cease in her throat as her heart skipped a beat. There was no doubt he was handsome; there was no denying it. He had been handsome before, too, but now his features were mature and grown, his face slim and his skin smooth, milky and pale. He had grown into a young man, she knew. When there was no hesitation in saying that everyone had changed over the years, she thought he had to be one of the few who had changed in a disbelievingly vast amount. She observed him, her eyes roaming his serious expression, and she wondered what he was reading, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She watched as he raised his hand and flipped the page, and his eyes were drawn to the top of the page. Her eyes wandered down to his hands, and she felt as if a hot, tingling breeze swept through her. She wondered how his hands would feel against her skin, if they ever came into contact with her. She felt something erupt inside her, trying to imagine how it would feel, how she would feel, with his hands and fingers roaming on her skin, holding her close. She knew, if he ever did touch her that way, he would be branding her. Marring her invisibly, and every time she would scrub her skin while she bathed or looked in the mirror, she would remember. Him, his hands. And she knew that when everything would rush back, the memory, the faint remembrance of the feelings and emotions he sent to course through her veins, she would feel something unexplainable. Perhaps guilt, or longing. Or the fact that all she wanted was just to feel his hands again, holding her close and never letting go.
But she raised her gaze from his hands, and they settled on his face again. She felt slight guilt rip through her; she wasn't supposed to be feeling this way, or thinking of him this way. She wasn't supposed to be wondering, trying to imagine the feeling that would spread through her when he would touch or hold her. It was despicable. It was shameful.
She brought her gaze back to her book, forcing for her mind and thoughts to settle so she could read. But they refused, and she was left swimming in the cool, spinning sea her thoughts had become. She knew she shouldn't be here with him. She hadn't even told Harry and Ron, though they made no law or rule that she was not allowed to be around him. Or like being around him. They had never said anything of that matter; so then, why was it that she felt as if she was breaking something set and drawn out very clearly? Why was it that she felt as if she was betraying them somehow? She sighed, and closed her eyes as she felt a sharp hint of accusing thoughts and shouts beginning to form in her mind.
How long was it until they were to question where she went all this time, all these days? How long was it going to be until they look over at the Slytherin table and notice that Malfoy wasn't there either? How long was it going to be until they were to put two and two together?
How long was it going to be until they find out?
She knew what they would say. Ron would accuse her of lying, of going behind their back. He would yell and shout at her, while Harry would just look at her disapprovingly and sadly as if she had deceived them. She could handle Ron's shouts and false accusations, but Harry's sad, green gaze was something that broke her heart. It would make guilt swell up inside her, her throat burning, until she was just holding back her tears barely. What was she going to say to them? She couldn't tell them about the library; Malfoy had told her not to. Her head was beginning to ache, her conscience shouting at her, for not doing what was right, but being here because she wanted to. She hadn't even considered her friends' feelings until now. What was she going to do?
Draco's gaze traveled from the word-filled page to the girl sitting in front of him. His dark gray eyes settled on her, and watched her intently. Her long, brown waves cascaded down her shoulders, her face set to an expression that he knew all too well. He could tell she was thinking deeply of something, and although her eyes were set on her book, her thoughts were about anything but the piece of literature she held in her hands. Her eyebrows were furrowed with confusion and her deep brown eyes were dark. It was something of a serious matter, he knew. But he didn't know exactly what it was.
He observed her, his eyes filled with something too unreadable and unknown even to him. Part of him wanted to know what was troubling her, but the other part was already shouting and yelling at him for being like this to her. Like they were friends. Like they both had come to some understanding, although Draco didn't know what. But it was peaceful, and their time spent here was quiet, and most of the time they never even uttered a word. Of course, he remembered, she would always smile at him as she would enter and leave, somehow as a 'hello' or 'goodbye.'
Late at night, his mind was still filled with thoughts of her. But now, they were much more intense and stronger than before. He would come back to his room, still thinking of her, and falling asleep dreaming of her smile and hypnotizing brown eyes. And waking up, he found himself looking forward to seeing and meeting her at their Secret Library. He didn't know what it was, but he felt something building, constructing, as if stacking every time he thought or dreamt of her. And when he saw her, when her breathtaking smile was directed at him, he could feel it get stronger and fill him like nothing he had ever felt before. But every time he caught himself trying to dig deeper within himself to figure out exactly what it was, he shook the thought away, as if expecting it to fade and disappear into thin air. He figured it was silly and it would vanish in time, but every time he tried to reassure himself that it was just that, something made him just want to close his eyes and think it over again. Something wasn't right, and he knew that. But he refused to search any deeper, to look for the truth. The truth was painful; he knew from experience, and sometimes just going along with a lie was just better. Living the lie. Sure, when the truth would finally surface or break through the barrier, the impact would be ground shattering and would leave him weak and limp, but it was better than finding out when you truly weren't ready. He would be left dumbfounded, shocked and confused out of his wits. At his absolute weakest. He left it alone at that. At least, he tried his hardest to.
He was still watching her, her expression unmoving as if time had frozen stiff. Somehow he found it quite adorable, but puzzling. What could she possibly be thinking about?
"Granger?" he finally said. Hermione was pulled out of her quicksand of thoughts, as she raised her gaze to Draco. He had a slight smile on his face, and she could feel warmth spread through her cheeks as she realized that he had probably been watching her. "Are you alright?" he asked, and she looked down, flustered.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. He nodded, his face regaining its unreadable, serious look. She sighed, as she glanced up again and caught his gaze before he turned back to his book. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, before returning to her book also. The words finally began to make sense to her, but her thoughts began to swarm again, preventing her from focusing or concentrating on what she had in front of her. Her thoughts were filled with him again, but mostly on what was happening between them.
What was happening between them?
When she would let her gaze travel up to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, their eyes would meet. And she felt that weird, fluttery feeling inside her that she felt every time she saw him, but it felt like she was going to float up into the air. Sometimes he would slightly smile at her, or just look at her. And it wasn't staring; it was anything but staring. Staring was much like a trance, yes, but staring was much more vacant and empty than what he was doing. His eyes were dark, filled with some strange mist that she could not read through. But when she did try to search through them, something would suck her out of the trance and suddenly the hall was too noisy and too busy. She remembered she would always feel flustered, after looking at him like so, even though she knew that no one else saw. She would just poke at her food, avoiding looking up for the fear of getting lost in his eyes again. Maybe it was fear of getting caught. Or maybe it was because she knew all too well she had never felt this way before, and never looked at a boy that way before. Maybe it was guilt, or nervousness because she never did know what he could see in her eyes, or what she gave away when he looked into her eyes. In a sense, she didn't want to let him know any of what she had been feeling for him, or what she felt when he was around her, or just looked at her so intensely. She didn't even know if she had any real feelings for him, although she knew something deep within her coursed so strongly through her veins every time she thought or watched him. She was confused, and just wanted to shake away the thought of her falling in love. With him. Draco Malfoy. It wasn't right. It wasn't the right time, with her studies and classes that meant more than ever, since they were nearing their graduating year. It wasn't the right person; both him and her. She had never been in love before, but she knew it was filled with heartbreak, tears and pain. She did want to fall in love. But she just didn't know when, or with whom. She was just so confused and frustrated; she was not supposed to be feeling any of this. Any of it at all.
She couldn't deny that it had something to do with who Draco was, or his reputation. She wouldn't have minded, and she shouldn't mind. But when she thought about the possibility, it made her nervous, scared and guilty. They were just too different; that's what anyone would say. And she could see why they would say that; he was in Slytherin, she was in Gryffindor. There wasn't an even odder or strange match. But she knew that she shouldn't go by that, or even care about what others would say. But it was holding her back. Everything was, somehow, someway. It just crossed everything that people had believed and assumed. It wasn't Draco. No, it wasn't him. He was a great guy, and no matter what anyone said, he changed. And, he was... He was...
He was perfect.
He was absolutely perfect. There wasn't a single flaw she found in him. Even his faults and mistakes were another trace of perfection to her. The way he smiled, the way he spoke, even the way his deep silver eyes searched her much more deeply than anybody else could, was perfect. The way he laughed, the way his hair fell across his eyes sometimes, the way his eyes twinkled when he found amusement or joy in something... It was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. But maybe that was another reason that held her back. Maybe that was one of the voices that made guilt and fear swell up inside of her.
No one was perfect. It was just too good to be true. He was too good to be true. Being perfect was above everything nature set out, above human capabilities. No one could be perfect.
But he was. Draco Malfoy was. He was in her eyes. And somehow, as she realized that, staring at the blurred lines of her page, she felt something rise, but at the same time subside in her. Like a piece of the puzzle had finally been fitted in, but she felt too overwhelmed, as if she had just stepped back and realized what she was in for.
But what was she in for? What was so overpowering, vast and strong that she was already scared just thinking about it? What could be so intense? What could break everything that she had, but make her gain the one thing that she would ever need, or want?
What was going to happen to her, if it wasn't already?
Just then, something flashed through her, like a bolt of lightning across the dark, stormy sky. Her thoughts had moved from the thought, but considered it and started swarming again, humming, buzzing, screaming. They were moving twice as fast, shrieking twice as loud. Her head suddenly began to feel heavy and loaded, the book she held in front of her so blurred and blotched that she could not even recognize the words anymore. Her hands felt cold, her mind painfully bursting and exploding with so many assumptions and possibilities. Suddenly, before she could even think about it, she put down her book and covered her face with her hands, letting out a long, ragged sigh. She felt some sort of release, but it only helped slightly. She felt like she was going to explode; everything that seemed to be bottled up was on the verge of breaking out. Visions of him flashed through her head, visions of her, Harry and Ron, visions of people looking at her so scornfully in the corridors. She couldn't take it. She just couldn't.
Draco immediately looked up from his book, and watched her. He didn't know what she was doing, but her face was in her hands, and she seemed to be trembling. He felt worry erupt in him, watching her faintly shaking figure, silent but breathing harder than normal. He put down his book, his face etched with concern.
"Granger?" he asked, his voice full of worry. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"
Hermione froze, holding her breath as she remembered that he had been there. She cursed, mentally. She tried to compose herself, trying to even her breathing pattern back to normal. But as she uncovered her face from her hands, and looked into his eyes, her nagging thoughts still screamed and demanded. She smiled at him, weakly.
"I'm fine," she said quietly.
"You're a terrible liar," he remarked. Her smile vanished, as she looked down. He didn't even need to look at her to figure that out. She let out another sigh, as she covered her face with her hands again.
"I don't know what's happening," she said, "I don't know what's happening to me. My thoughts are screaming, and filling up until I feel like I'm going to explode... This has never happened before, not even before an exam." She lowered her hands. "I don't know what to do." Draco looked at her, trying to search her eyes but she was trying her best to make it difficult, he knew.
"What are you thinking about?" he said, "Surely it must be something that confuses you or triggers a strong emotion." Hermione avoided his gaze; afraid he might see right through her. She stayed silent, refusing to answer, until he spoke again.
"I can't help you if you're not willing to be honest."
"Someone," she finally said. Draco raised an eyebrow, curious to know who that someone was. Deep inside, he hoped he was the one that seemed to be occupying much of her thoughts, considering how much of his mind she had taken, but he shook the thought away.
"Someone?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, her voice quiet.
"Like who? Potter?" At that remark, she looked up and met his eyes.
"Never mind. Just forget it. I'm fine. I really am," she said, opening her book again.
"No, Granger," he said, "I thought you wanted me to help you."
"I never asked you to help a mudblood like me," she suddenly said.
Draco stared at her in silence, taken back by her words. She realized her mistake, and shut her eyes, taking a breath. Her words came back to her, and she understood the negativity of her words, not only to her, but to him also. She knew what he got from it, from the look in his eyes in face; she had hinted about the vast gap between mudbloods and purebloods... And how talking to one, being friendly to one was shameful and disgraceful. It was offensive to her, and it was completely out of line. Especially when all he tried to do was help her; reminding him of blood and past wasn't something she had planned on doing, and all she wished she could do now was take it back.
Draco stared at her, in disbelief and shocked. In his ears, he could still hear her words echoing and chiming faintly. Was that what she thought this was all about? That he, that this, somehow all tied into her blood? Is that what she thought he only cared about?
"I'm sorry," she said to him, her eyes pleading and guilty. "I didn't mean to say that. That was rude and stupid; it was inappropriate. I'm sorry." Draco just stared at her, looking at her and trying to search her deep brown eyes again. He could not see through her apologetic barrier. There was silence, as he did not reply. She only looked at him, waiting for something, anything. But as moments passed, she did not receive it. She tried to read what he was feeling, but his eyes were cloudy like the sky before a heavy storm.
"Is that what you really think?" he finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "That blood, it has something to do with all of this?"
"No," she said, "I didn't mean it. It just slipped out. I'm sorry."
"Granger, just answer me and stop apologizing."
"No," she said softly. "That's not what I think."
There was silence, as they looked at each other, as if trying to understand, but knew deep down inside that they already understood all too well.
"Blood," he said quietly, breaking the silence, "That's really not it. That's really not it at all."