Breaking Storm
Disclaimer: don't own the characters except the woman in black, and the plot.
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I've gotten some reviews telling me to let them kiss already....
But, that's not going to happen. Yet. I have my own reasons, and so that when it finally comes, you guys will probably be on the edge of your seats, and it'll be much more sweeter that I wait to write 'the kiss.' But they will kiss, I will tell you that right now. I have some clue to when I'll finally be able to let them lock lips, but nothing is sure as of yet.
The last chapter was rather heart wrenching, and sad. But you have to understand that Draco has never felt this way before, that he has never felt needed by anyone, and Hermione gave away the hint that she needed him... Very much. He's not used to feeling this way about a girl, Hermione especially, and he's confused. He doesn't know what Hermione wants from him, or what she feels for him. Even his own feelings for her aren't clear to him; as you have noticed, he hasn't admitted that he's in love with her yet. But I don't think Hermione has yet, either. Has she? I don't think so. But I think you should all know that they're both very much in love with each other..
Love hurts. I'm sure we'll all experience or prove that to be right along the way. Draco and Hermione will be sure to know.. Sooner or later.
Thanks to all the reviewers, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please do not forget to review.
-tearsofher
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Draco leaned against the bookshelf as the room became terribly cold again, deafening silence filling the room. His back was pressed firmly against it, as he began to slide down, until he was sitting on the floor. He sighed shakily, as he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Her voice still rang in his ears, her pained, hurt eyes and tear-streaked face still engraved in his memory. Her dark brown eyes....
Betrayal. Hurt. Pain. Regret, that she ever followed him here when he told her he needed to show her something. This, this place. He knew it would be perfect for her. He knew that she would love it, as he did himself.
Inside, strange, toxic and tart fluids were being mixed inside his stomach, his lungs closing up as he tried to take in deep breaths. His cold hands were trembling, his knees and limbs feeling weaker than ever before. His heart was pounding painfully hard in his chest, as if going to detonate any minute now and leave him in shreds and pieces. His veins inside his flesh seemed to be throbbing, the blood running through them seeming icy and sharp. His skin felt tight, as if he was too overgrown to be wearing it. His thoughts were swirling and shouting, clawing at his heart, voices trying to make him comprehend just what he had done, just what he had lost.
But he did know. He knew exactly what he had lost, what he had driven away. And he knew perfectly well that he hadn't intended her to walk away hurt, or intended to say those words. He was frustrated. But even that could not be blamed for his reckless and stinging words. It was his fault. Not hers; none of it was hers. If he hadn't been avoiding her because he was terrified, none of this wouldn't have happened. She wouldn't have been hurt by that bloody book, or him. She wouldn't have left crying, and he wouldn't be feeling more broken and ripped apart than he had ever been in his life. He felt as if the hands that had torn him, splintered his bones and poisoned his blood and lungs, were the most ruthless and cruel. But he knew. He knew.
It was him. His own hands. His own ruthless, merciless and wicked hands.
He had done it.
Hermione ran through the corridors, tears still falling from her eyes. Her vision was blurred, her face and hands sticky and wet. Her sneakers pounded against the shiny floor, the sound of her stifled sobs echoing. She tried to hold it in, just until she was inside their dormitory, but it felt as if her lungs were going to burst any minute now. She continued running, raising her hands to wipe her tears away hastily once in a while. Her mind was on getting as far away from the library, from him, as she could. And on being alone, and letting it all out. That was all she wanted right now. To release the tight bind on her heart and chained lungs. She had a strong feeling that she wasn't going to be able to hold it in for very long.
She ascended up the stairs, running, until she ran up her way to the Fat Lady. She quickly said the password, and bolted inside as the portrait door opened. She ran up to the girls' dormitories, grateful that there was no one there yet.
As soon as the door shut behind her, she had to force her knees upright to keep from falling to the floor to cry. She walked over to her bed, and sat, letting it all out. The pain, his words, those visions, his dark gaze. Her heart was already broken, she knew, but every time she heard his voice ringing in her ears again, or his face and silver eyes in her mind, she could feel it breaking all over again. She had never felt this before. A broken heart. She had never thought, in her life, that Draco Malfoy could even break her heart. But he did. Because she let him in, she let him wrap his cold hands around her heart and strangle it, suffocate it and break it. She thought he had changed enough to see beneath what everyone looked at in her. She thought that he had changed enough to care about her, to want to be her friend. To even have a chance at feeling for her what she already felt for him so strongly.
She knew it. She had known it, days ago. She just refused to believe it. Because it almost made her sick to admit it, made her sick to actually tell herself that it was true. But it was.
She was in love with Draco Malfoy.
And that day, when she knew, laying down at night in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking of him...she couldn't breathe. She didn't want to believe it; it wasn't possible. Well, it hadn't been. It hadn't been possible until she made it possible, until she let herself fall for him.
It was her downfall. She knew it. That day she realized it, she felt a deep sadness and guilt inside her, even anger and frustration. Something seemed to have swelled up in her throat, that made it hard for her to speak, but the fact that it was so true was overwhelming. She was in love with Draco Malfoy. She was in love with the boy who only cared about blood and wealth, who would never see her for what she truly was. For who she truly was. It hurt her, further more than she would've liked. It wasn't normal. Her and him. She was in Gryffindor, and he was in Slytherin. It just wasn't right.
She sobbed harder, tears dripping from her hands, slipping through her fingers. She felt weak, limp and useless, dumb. The cold air surrounded her, compressing against her skin, her heart pounding with no mercy. She knew it was foolish; she was being foolish. An idiot. She told herself to stop, that he wasn't worth any of this, but it made no difference. Her heart did not listen, and her heart's voice was the loudest right at this moment, screaming and shouting at her. She could not quite hear what it was saying, but she knew, nevertheless. She didn't need to hear it.
Her heart told her that he hadn't meant it, which infuriated her even more. He had meant it. She knew it, heard it, saw it in his eyes. If he hadn't meant it, he would've apologized or taken it back. He would've gone after her. He wouldn't have let her walk away. But he did. He'd meant it, all those things he had said; he'd let her walk away.
It was all a game. He had never intended to be nice to her because he wanted to be, he had never intended on treating her like an actual human being because he wanted to. It was just a game, and she was just the fool. She had let him play with her, her feelings, her heart. And now, what was even worse was that she could not take it back. He had taken her heart, and now she was missing without it. She wanted it back, needed it back, but she knew she couldn't take it back. It was in his hands. He just didn't know it. He just didn't know what he had done to her.
She blamed herself. For not listening, for not paying attention to her conscience. It ate her up, in the end. It was far too much to bear.
She was still a mudblood, was what he said. Well, he hadn't completely said it, but he didn't need to. She knew; she had finished his sentence for him. She didn't think that word had or would ever hurt her more in her life. It was typical, but she hadn't seen it coming. She was blinded, blinded by her thoughts convincing her that he was different, blinded by his silver, dark eyes that seemed honest at times she was around him.
And maybe he had been honest. Maybe he had started to see something in her. But it wasn't enough. It was all gone now. It just wasn't enough.
Just then, she heard voices coming up the stairs and footsteps coming closer to the door. She quickly wiped her eyes and slid down under the covers, making sure to hide her face. She heard the footsteps become louder, and finally she heard the door open. She heard them enter the room, the noises muffled from inside the cover. She heard them talking and laughing, but quiet down once they passed her. She could tell they were wondering about her, since she had never slept this early, but they didn't utter a word about it, or her.
Her heart was thundering in her chest, her throat dry and her face still hot and sticky from her tears. She was almost positive that with how silent the room was, with the exception of their footsteps on the carpeted floor, that they could hear her pounding heartbeats. But they said not a word. They just carried on with their business, whispering as they passed her bed and headed to the bathroom. Hermione sighed quietly, as she turned the other way, to the direction of Lavender's bed, which was right beside hers. Her bed was empty, neat and still made. She could see Lavender's books neatly piled on her table, pictures of waving family members, smiling. Hermione felt her eyelids become heavy, as she started to yawn. She swiped her fingers across her cheeks and underneath her eyes, making sure there were no sign or trace of the moisture from her tears. The last thing she needed was endless pestering and questions from her dorm mates, with no sign of letting up and minding their own business. Hermione usually kept everything to herself, or shared with Harry or Ron, but this was a matter that should not be spoken of to anyone. It just wasn't necessary. She didn't need to talk about it. Thinking about it was enough to drive her over the edge to tears, how would talking about it affect her? No one would understand. They didn't feel what she felt, they hadn't seen the change, seen that flicker of something unexplainable but warm in his eyes when he looked at her. They just couldn't understand.
Hermione slowly closed her eyes, and feeling her tense and stiff body relax against the sheets. The sheets were cold; for she had taken off the warming spells that were supposed to keep them warm and heated all day. She decided the cold wasn't so bad. When she was as painfully numb as this, it didn't really matter. She felt herself slowly slipping away, the tiredness lulling her into a deep slumber.
But the coldness of the sheets stayed wrapped around her. It reminded her of a once cold, harsh, silver gaze that somehow softened and sparkled, as if the sun or something had reached deep inside him and melted all the frost and ice away.
But she noticed that as she started floating into dreamland, the cold seemed to turn bitter and icy, stinging her skin and making her bones tremble. She suddenly felt roaring in her ears, but as she was jolted awake, she wasn't where she thought she was anymore. She wasn't in the dormitory. She didn't know where she was, but she could feel the bone shattering chill, and harsh wind, and the bellowing in her ears that made her grind her teeth. She recognized it. She had felt this before; it was all so familiar.
Then she remembered, and she felt her heart stop. She held herself and shut her eyes tightly, telling herself to wake up, that this wasn't real. But as she opened her eyes once again, she was still here. She felt fear and panic rise in her, rapidly and immensely. She wanted to wake up, needed to wake up. She couldn't be here. She couldn't be here again. She wrapped her arms around tightly, holding herself as if trying to shield from the freezing air. Then, she started hearing whispers, the whispers that were already all too recognizable. She felt as if her lungs had frozen up completely into a block of solid ice. Her heart was hammering in her chest, looking around frantically, looking for a way out. But there was none. She was surrounded by gray stonewalls. They were plain, but worn from age. She looked down, and she was barefoot, the firm ground underneath the soles of her feet icy and hard. Just then she felt a breeze, and she looked up. Her breath ceased in her throat, frightened.
She had come again. It was her. Hermione stared at her, wide-eyed. She felt her fingers pressing down hard into her flesh.
"I recognize you," she said to her, her voice translucent but terrifying and haunting. Dark droplets of blood still slid down her cheeks, running down her chin from her mouth. She was pale, so pale she was the color of fresh snow. A small snake still slithered and hissed from her neck, its ruby eyes glimmering. Hermione did not answer, afraid to speak.
"I recognize the pain...the tears...the breaking of the core and heart. I understand. I know what it is that he did to you."
Hermione backed away, still scared stiff. The woman just watched her, until Hermione felt herself back into a wall once again. She felt the wall chill through her shirt, and beyond her skin. She was trembling now.
"There's no use running, child," she said. "Cowards are murdered, slayed and destroyed. You've seen too much to run away. You know how it is to feel pain."
"Please," Hermione said, her voice hoarse. "Please let me go." The woman approached her, walking slowly, almost as if she was gliding. She was only inches from her, and Hermione felt her heart begin to fill with something intoxicating and cold, almost strangling it of life. The woman raised her hand, and Hermione pressed to go back, but the wall did not budge. She touched her cheek, her fingers icy. Hermione was frozen, afraid to move.
"What do you want from me?" she whimpered. The woman smiled.
"Revenge," she whispered, and before Hermione could open her mouth to reply, a bitter, stinging, crackling and piercing commotion shot through her. Through her veins, through her fingers, through her skin. It coursed through her harshly, roughly, and she was stunned and numb from the sensation. But once it died down, another started and it was much more painful. She cried out, sliding down to her knees, holding herself so tightly that she could feel her fingers penetrating through her skin, into her flesh. Her vision became hazy and blurred, and the dark figure before her suddenly faded. As she kneeled over, crying out from raw and intense pain, she felt some warm liquid dripping down her arms. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks, a splitting and slicing dagger ripping through her, from inside out. She tried to raise her head, and open her eyes, as she could hear whispers once again and screaming besides her own, but just as she gathered up enough strength....
She felt a numbness fill and spread through her, energy and life drained from her small body. She felt weak, limp...dead.
Everything went black.