Part Two: Chapter Two
February 2007
Hermione silently shut the oak door to her office behind her. She closed her eyes as a strange sense of relief watched over her. She had made it through the main offices of the Daily Prophet under the scrutinizing and sympathy filled eyes of her co-workers. Hermione kept her eyes and head low; she knew she couldn't let them see she was weak; especially Ihim. /I
As much as she wanted to deny it, Harry's death had left her mind bruised and battered. She was mentally and physically damaged, almost as if she had just returned from a war. The first two weeks without Harry seemed to be an endless stream of hurt and sadness. Everything she saw would remind her of him. Everything she heard would make her think of him. His things were scattered all around her tiny apartment; she still had not gathered enough courage to remove a bright blue sweater of his off the coach. Her orange tabby Sweetness, Crookshanks had died eight years before Harry's death, had made a home out of the sweater. The cat would silently curl into a tiny orange fluffy ball amidst the soft blue fibers of Harry's sweater. Hermione liked to imagine that this was Sweetness' own way of coping.
Hermione rubbed her eyes hesitantly as she sat down at her dark mahogany desk. She hit the table trying to jar her mind out of emotional mode and into intellectual mode. This was her first day back in nearly a month. Hermione's soft brown eyes quickly scanned the small stacks of parchment upon her desk. Most of them were small notes and memos of condolences from her co-workers. Hermione fished through them, pausing only to glance over every other one, before throwing the tiny scraps of parchment into her bin.
She bit her lip as her eyes returned to her desk. Hermione was reaching for her quill to write a short note to the inept witch who worked under her when it caught her eye. Hermione could feel a lump slightly rising in her throat as she wrapped her hand around the stem of a sole white rose. A smile slowly rose to her lips as a genuinely warm feeling began to fill her heart. Something deep within her told her who had sent her the rose, but her more logical side had quickly dismissed it.
Hermione lazily scrawled a small note in her neat handwriting before slowly rising to her feet. She hated to walk back out into the main floor of the office; she was a spectacle to them. She knew that her eyes would meet with every single one of them. They would all breath simultaneous dramatic sighs; She was so close to Harry Potter, fancied him I heard. Hermione pushed open the door to her office and quickly sauntered her way over to Irma Mudfrey's small cubicle.
Irma Mudfrey was a timid witch who was just a few years younger than her. Irma was one of those people who always wanted to impress. She exerted her best effort into everything, and she hated the thought of ever disappointed anyone. She had a slightly small wispy frame. A frame so light; if a fierce wind came, she had a very likely chance of being blown away. She always wore bright pink robes, and wrote slightly drab stories about new job appointments at the Ministry of Magic and new births in the wizarding community. Hermione, who had once had this job seven years before, now was in charge of editing every single story that went into the Daily Prophet. At first, Hermione distasted working at the Daily Prophet. She remembered its bland with-the-grain articles during her time at Hogwarts, and she loathed it. However, as the years passed and she received countless promotions, she grew to love it. She began to realize that the Daily Prophet was an important part of her life, and all she could do as embrace it.
The only problem with the Daily Prophet was that it had managed to cause a rift between Harry and her. Hermione had one superior over her at the Daily Prophet and Hermione knew that Harry loathed him with a passion. However, her will to succeed overrode Harry's qualms about her boss. She remembered wishing for that promotion, just one more would write him out of the picture, and Harry could finally be happy for her about her job. However, the promotion never came and Harry's patience soon grew weary. While he was alive, Hermione often did deny that she no longer distasted the man Harry had grew to dislike so much. Time she supposed had cured her contempt for him.
"How've you been Irma?" Hermione asked politely, placing the piece of parchment on the desk before the redheaded witch. Irma shuddered slightly in surprise before flashing her a smile that resembled more of a wince.
"I'm fine," Irma's voice trailed off, her big blue eyes avoiding Hermione's brown eyes. "You?" Irma finished.
"I'm doing better," Hermione whispered; she knew it was a lie, but Irma didn't really care about how she was feeling. Hermione brushed a lose strand of her curly brown hair behind her ear looking up around the bustling Daily Prophet office. The headquarters of Wizarding Britain's biggest newspaper was located in the heart of Diagon Alley. The office was always alive with the bustle of reporters, bumbling magical photographers pining to get their latest pictures into the Daily Prophet, panicked editors, and enchanters who stayed even later than Hermione did each night preparing to start the next day's Prophet. Hermione used to love it, but as she looked around her, she realized something. She realized that she no longer fit it, she felt slightly apart from everyone. Alone and alienated, she wanted nothing more than to run into her office, pack her things, and quit. Irma cleared her throat loudly jarring her ginger haired superior out of her disheartening thoughts.
"Did you hear me Miss Granger?" she asked.
"Pardon," Hermione mumbled clearing her throat. She leaned over cautiously on Irma's desk, suddenly remembering what she came to say to Irma. After a short explanation of all the tasks she had to finish, Hermione quickly left Irma to work. Hermione made her daily rounds, each witch or wizard asked the same question. "How you feeling?" "How are you holding up?" "Doing better?" "It must be so hard, I remember how I felt when my mother died."
By the time Hermione had reached her final reporter to talk to, she was already slightly on edge. Hermione finally reached her destination; an office located on the fourth floor of the Daily Prophet headquarters.
"Hermione," a bright voice called from within. Hermione slowly pushed open the door and walked in the office. Behind the desk sat a rather beautiful black haired woman of around twenty-seven. She quickly rose out of her high backed leather office chair and enveloped Hermione in a friendly embrace.
"Parvati," Hermione said rather mechanically, slightly taken aback by the display of affection. The woman gave her another hearty squeeze before returning to her chair. She gestured with a neatly manicured hand to a chair in front of her desk. Hermione hesitantly obliged. She could feel her face flush in embarrassment.
"So," Parvati's voice trailed off. Hermione cleared her throat, her eyes drifting over the many pictures on her desk. In a bright green metallic frame was a picture of Parvati and her twin sister Padma, the women were laughing; their black hair was swaying in the wind like long black sheets behind them. In a dark mahogany heart shaped frame a picture of Parvati and an attractive light haired man; however, the couple in this picture were not laughing. Parvati's likeness was frowning and the light haired man was walking looming silent circles around her. Parvati's soft hand quickly slammed the picture face side first onto her desk jarring Hermione out of her daze.
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized quickly. Parvati flashed her a strange smile, a mysterious gleam in her eye.
"He's gone mad since you've been gone," Parvati said speaking in a hushed tone. Hermione could feel an odd feeling of relief washing over her when she realized Parvati would not ask of Harry's death or her feelings. She knew she could always count of Parvati not to care.
"Really?" Hermione asked pretending to sound interested. She changed positions in her chair as Parvati sat back in hers.
"Yes, and of course being the stubborn git he is, he wouldn't let me call you back to work. Said something about it being 'wrong'," Parvati muttered. Hermione bit her lip; usually Parvati worshiped their boss because they had been dating on and off years. By the look of the picture and the tone in her voice, Hermione assumed that the couple had once again turned off.
"Yes, about that word work," Hermione paused to lift up a few rolls of parchments she had collected before continuing, "I was wondering if you have your story on the vampire in Azkaban ready yet."
Her words didn't seem to register with Parvati for she continued to ramble, "I swear he's been driving himself nutters with the stress and all, then we had a dreadful row two weeks ago. Honestly, I don't know what he wants."
"Parvati," Hermione snapped, the dark haired woman looked up abruptly. "Yes, I understand that you have all the time in the world to sit here and moan incessantly about your dysfunctional relationship, but I do not. Now do you have your story?"
Parvati stared at Hermione with wide skeptical eyes before they fell to her desk. She quickly rummaged through her things, before pulling out a quite thick roll of parchment. She handed over to Hermione, a smug grin on her face.
"Just for your information, we've broken up." She stared at Hermione her smile finally vanishing. Hermione tried her best not to snort in the raven-haired woman's face.
"For good?" Hermione inquired. The girl gave a triumph nod as if breaking up with her boyfriend for the umpteenth time was a grand deed.
"He doesn't appreciate me much, and he's not the only one around here who doesn't," Parvati said in a slightly instigating tone. Hermione looked down at Parvati's story, Hermione wasn't the first to admit that Parvati did indeed have talent. However, she always was lacking in the brains department.
"I appreciate you Parvati," Hermione lied. Parvati flashed Hermione a hard scowl before speaking.
"Well even if you do, you can't deny that he only dated me so he could have someone to hang under his arm at his bloody charity balls. He disgusts me, he truly does," Parvati muttered shaking her head. Hermione could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks; she wanted desperately to leave. The beautiful dark haired woman behind the desk with her presence alone was keeping her there, keeping Hermione almost glued to her seat. Hermione cleared her throat as her eyes returned to the striking white rose that was still in her office.
"Parvati, did you give me a flower?"
" A flower?" Parvati asked in a slight quizzical tone.
"Yes, a white rose."
Parvati stared back at Hermione with wide eyes before slamming her fist against her desk; an intense look flashed in her eyes. "He's keen on you, I knew it."
"What?" Hermione replied sharply; in order for person to fancy someone, it would require liking them first. Parvati eyes sparked maliciously as Hermione stared back at her blankly.
"That bastard, you were all he could talk about for weeks," Parvati growled. Hermione clenched the armrests of her chair with her free hand.
"Well I should get going," Hermione mumbled quickly before rising to her feet. Parvati looked up at her with condescending eyes.
"If he asks, we never had this conversation," she barked. Hermione ignored the comment and rushed for the door. She was barely out of the furious raven-haired reporters' office when she collided into someone sending her small collection of parchment all over the white marble floor. Hermione quickly fell to the floor and collected her parchment in frustration; she had neither the time nor the patience for this.
"Mind you watch where you are going next time?" Hermione snapped sarcastically as she rose to her feet, however she had not ran into a lowly intern at the Prophet, she had just collided with the editor. Hermione could feel a burning sensation was over her entire body as he looked down at her, his body only inches from hers.
"Welcome back," he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. Hermione's eyes fell to the floor, afraid to look at him.
"Thanks, Draco," she replied politely. Although after eight years of working under him, she still could not force to call himself Mr. Malfoy, even his given name was a stretch for her.
"Granger," he said quite smugly. Hermione's eyes finally rose from the floor, but when her eyes locked with hers, she almost regretted doing so. She closed her honey brown eyes before breathing a small sigh. She couldn't pretend to be happy in his face when she was not. He was different from the others. So different sometimes, it scared her.
As much as she hated to admit, Draco Malfoy was a handsome man. Despite the complete git he had been at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had made a turn for the better. After his father was sent away to Azkaban, he seemed to become a different person over night. Hermione did not hear one word from him, negative or positive except for the night of their graduation.
It had been storming fiercely the night before. The Hogwarts grounds were still wet with dew, and covered with a large array of wooden chairs from the Great Hall. Hermione could still remember the feeling of the soft velvet of their bright red and gold graduation robes. Hermione would graduate as the brightest in her class. Harry had been so happy, Ron quite the same. Her life was almost perfect, but in the back of her mind was this vague feeling. A feeling as if something wasn't right in her life. As if in all the completeness of her life, there was a small void.
It was exactly after the ceremony when he approached her. His Slytherin friends, Crabbe and Goyle nowhere to be found. Hermione could remember the slight regretful look as he looked down at her that warm summer day.
The dialogue was strained, that's what would best describe the small 'conversation'. Technically, it couldn't even be classified as a conversation, for he mostly spoke, and she mostly listened. "All right, Hermione?" he said, his greeting spilling out of his mouth like water out of a hose.
Hermione was stunned. Why would Draco Malfoy even give her the time of day, yet alone greet her after two years of not saying a word to her. She remembered distinctly him lowering his eyes from her, and shifting uncomfortably in his spot.
"I just wanted you to know, before we left Hogwarts that I…" his voice trailed on. Hermione leaned in closer, anxious of what the blonde would say next. "I wanted you to know that all of those things I said to you, and your bloody friends, I didn't mean them well—I did mean them, but I didn't. Well I did at the time but…" his startling gray eyes locked with hers, "That's not the point if I meant it or not. It's just that I wanted to apologize if anything I ever said to you lot was hurtful. Well if anything I said to you was hurtful, sorry."
With that, he was finished. Hermione stared back at him in mixture of complete awe and shock, did Draco Malfoy just apologize to her. Before she even could reply; he was gone.
Two years passed before Hermione saw Draco Malfoy again. She had just entered the small bumbling Daily Prophet office when she first saw him. Her life lay in a state of ruin; her friendships even worse. She had spent a brief time employed alongside her best friend Ron Weasley under his father in the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. The two of them shared a stiff relationship, which became unbelievably stressed when Ron disappeared in the height of the War.
Hermione was the first to admit that life after Hogwarts was far from happy or safe. She worried about Harry the most, for it was him who Lord Voldemort wanted gone. The brave and stoic Gryffindor would disappear for days on end. At the time, he had been training to be an Auror.
Hermione had taught herself not to ignore the sickening feeling of worry down in the pit of her stomach. She had learned not to worry; she had learned to just ignore it. However, when Ron went missing one breezy Spring day at the height of Voldemort's power, she was scared to death.
They were gone for three weeks. Twenty-one days of pure agony. Those days were days of wondering of their whereabouts, wondering if they were even alive. That's when Hermione began to loathe the element of time. With each second that past, the angrier she got at it. The angrier Hermione became, the more frustrated she became.
She had always been a strong person. Strength was thrown out the window while her two best friends were gone. For the first time in years, she felt alone. Facing the prospect of Harry and Ron leaving her alone forever, Hermione did what she did best; she worked.
In those three weeks alone, Hermione accomplished more goals and more work than most witches ever accomplish in their entire lives.
Of course, the dark period of her life did not remain forever. They both returned forever broken, worn, and changed. "Voldemort is dead." It was all Harry Potter could utter before pulling her into a warm embrace.
With that, Hermione quit her job at the Ministry. She could no longer trust herself because she couldn't guarantee herself anymore that she could resist letting work take over ever facet of her life. Hermione had walked into the Daily Prophet office that day dying for a chance and a change, and she got one. She got one when she met the new Malfoy.
Hermione opened her eyes; she was back on the fourth floor of her 'second' home. It was now her only home, for her home was with Harry. Hermione fought back the sudden urge to cry, wondering when and why her emotions started taking control over her logic.
Draco continued to stare down at her with an uneasy weary look in his bright silver and gray eyes. Hermione had to convince him that she was all right. Draco Malfoy had been causing her discomfort for years, with his smug smile, his hearty laugh, and his slow deep voice. He caused her discomfort by his mere presence; he always seemed to fill up a room. His name even caused her distress. Hermione feigned a smile, praying that Draco could disappear and leave her to her work. Work kept her mind off Harry. Hermione stood smiling painfully up at Draco before letting out a feigned nervous laugh. She knew her wit was the only way to end her misery.
"Stop the presses, London's power couple has had a row and broken up. Am I the only one who's not surprised?" Hermione asked her voice singed with sarcasam. Even though Hermione wasn't usually sarcastic, the sheer dread she felt talking to Malfoy was enough emotion to provoke her into it. Sarcasam was a method she could use with him to carry on a conversation and not get lost in the depths of his eyes. Hermione ran a nervous hand through her hair. She noticed that the sunlight pouring through the window was accentuated every slight detail of Draco's face, giving him a warm radiating glow. Hermione felt her mind stumble a bit, why would she ever want to carry on a conversation with Draco Malfoy?
"Where have you been, Granger? That news was published in the Prophet last week. I have the issue in my office if you care to look." Draco's slightly pink lips turned upward into a grin. His smile quickly faded as he stepped closer to her. Hermione could feel the heat from the sun bearing down at her neck, even though she was shivering. Why was she even trembling, could it be her nerves working against her?
Hermione could feel all her motor functions lock as she looked back into the deep steel blue pools of his eyes. She remembered the void she had felt during graduation and the agonizing three weeks of Ron and Harry's disappearance. For a time, at the height her Harry and her's relationship, she felt that the void had been filled. Now it was empty again. A deep gaping void resided in her heart, and it hurt as much as if someone had been stabbing and slashing at her soul. Hermione continued to look up at Draco in almost a trance like state; his eyes seemed to have the power to fill the once again empty cavity within her soul.
"The Prophet isn't the Prophet without Hermione Granger here to help me run it," the blonde haired man said solemnly. Draco Malfoy often spoke in a low rushed tone. His voice possessed a strange sort of enticing quality while still inviting enough to keep the listening interesting. "How have you been doing, Hermione?"
Hermione stared back at him in shock. She reached out for the wall as to not fall over in shock. His breakup with Parvati must have affected his mindset to even inquire Hermione how she felt. Draco usually spoke to her only when necessary, or when no one else was around. In front of others, he treated her decently, but with a slightly cold reserve that he had always processed at Hogwarts. Even when they were engaged in a genuine conversation, Draco Malfoy rarely ever let the conversation turn personal, yet alone caring. Not only was Draco being crucially kind to her, he even had addressed her by her given name. Over the years at the Prophet, Hermione had almost forgotten that he knew her first name. Hermione looked around the corridor uneasily to see if she had not entered the twilight zone.
"I'm fine," Hermione replied laughing nervously. Draco's sullen expression did not change.
The much taller man reached out for her shoulder, giving it a solemn squeeze before whispering, "No, really Granger. How are you?"
Hermione stared at him; she could feel her heart slightly harden as resentment washed over her. There was no way Draco Malfoy could care about her on a personal level. He was Draco Malfoy, and one thing was always definite with him. Everything that ever concerned him always had something to do with himself in one way or the other. He only seemed to be asking her how she was out of sympathy, pity, and his own self-concern. He only wanted to make sure she had accepted Harry's death so she would be able to work, to help him run the Prophet. Hermione winced at her own sheer foolishness for believing for one second that Malfoy cared. She shook her head, clutching her large collection of parchment to her chest.
"I don't need your pity, Draco Malfoy," Hermione snapped. Draco stared down at her in mild surprise, a strange expression overcoming his visage. "You didn't care about Harry when he was alive, so why even pretend to be concerned now. I'm fine, and maybe you should think twice before beginning to meddle in the personal lives of your employees," Hermione continued, her eyes beginning to well with tears as her voice grew louder.
"But— " Draco began before Hermione abruptly cut him off.
"No," Hermione barked, "Harry's dead and sometimes I wish I died right alone with him. I don't want to hear your snotty little remarks about how I'm an asset to this paper, because I already know I am. You don't have to pretend to be concerned just because you care about your bloody paper. Because you know what?" Hermione paused to poke her index finger into Draco's smooth black velvet robes.
"I don't have anything to live for anymore except this paper. At the end of the day, you will get your story. So you can take your bloody white roses and 'heartfelt' remarks about my 'condition', and bugger off!"
Draco flashed her a slightly hurt expression before running a hand through his short blonde hair. "I'm just trying to help, Granger."
"Well you're not helping, you're just making me feel worse," Hermione snapped. Draco stared at her momentarily before moistening his lips.
"Well fine then, if you want me to, I'll leave you alone from now on," Draco said gravely, his face was now expressionless.
"That sounds great with me," Hermione replied tartly. Draco gave her a slow nod as he stepped back from her and towards the door of Parvati's office. Hermione quickly turned around and began to walk towards the lift when Draco cleared his throat from behind her.
"I understand how your mind makes you want to think you're angry with me, but you aren't really," Draco said solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just don't l make the mistake I did and let that anger take over you. In the end you'll just end up alone and hating the entire world."
Hermione stared back at him, suddenly feeling a tinge of guilt for speaking so roughly with Draco. She looked at Draco a final time before turning around and continuing to saunter towards the lift. Draco was both right and wrong. She did feel an overwhelming mix of sorrow and anger. She hated so many things that could have led to her losing Harry. She hated Draco for drudging up all her frustrations and enlightening her. Most of all, she was beginning to loathe herself. If she had only just did what Harry had wished, and quit the job at the Prophet. Harry would not have gotten into the car upset. He would have never forgotten his wand in fury. Harry would still be with her, and she wouldn't be alone.
March 2007Hermione guiltily bit into another pastry while sauntering over how she had ended up where she was. She stared ahead into the ember flames licking up the sides of the sleek and elegant marble of the fireplace. One minute she was working late at the Daily Prophet, the next she was sitting on a comfortable red velvet couch staring into the most exquisite fireplace she had ever seen.
The fireplace was made out of dark black marble, and the edges were sheathed in gold foil. The mantle of the fireplace was taller than Hermione, and above it hung an immaculate family portrait. Hermione stared up at it resentfully before taking a sip of her tea. Lucius Malfoy stared back down at her haughtily before exiting the portrait.
Hermione turned uncomfortably in her seat; she could not look at the painting any longer. She cleared her throat as her eyes fell toward the gleaming mahogany flooring. She had never even paused before to realize that people could live in such opulence. Hermione eyes were about to rest on a life-sized marble sculpture of an Olympian when he entered. He glided towards her, his lips lifted into a smile.
"I brought us more tea," he smiled brightly. Hermione looked up at him as placed the tray containing a delicate white and green teapot down onto the coffee table. Hermione sat down her cup beside it and looked back at Draco with weary eyes.
"You didn't have to do that," she mumbled. Hermione had made the mistake of accepting Draco's invitation to return to his Manor. Half of Hermione wanted to thank him for sensing her sheer loneliness while the other side loathed him for ever thinking she deserved his pity.
"It was nothing really," Draco said quietly as he reached for Hermione's empty teacup. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still be back at that office." Draco poured the hot steaming liquid into Hermione's cup. "Care for some sugar? Milk?"
Hermione looked back at Draco with uneasy eyes. Draco had been treating her remarkably kind for a month now, and she still couldn't figure out how to handle it. Should she embrace his friendship? Should she reject it? Deep within her, the chestnut haired witch almost felt comfortable receiving Draco's kindness. He was the only person who seemed to be right after Harry's death. She could no longer look to any of her old friends for they all looked at her with eyes full of a deep remorseful sadness. Ginny could remain with Hermione for a few minutes before bursting into tears. Ron would apparate into her small cottage, his face bleak and weary. He'd sit on the couch, his eyes dreaming of better times, dreaming of Harry. Ron just wasn't himself anymore. Even with all her old mates around her, she still felt so empty, isolated, and alone.
At first, Hermione thought things were going to change between her and Ron. She wished for their relationship to be complete again, for them to hold something in common. They needed to hold something between each other besides their grief for Harry. However, as each day passed, the further away she began to feel from Ron. She wanted things to be like they were before. She wished with every bone in her body that things would change back. However, her dreams had withered away and died right along with Harry.
"Granger?" Draco asked suddenly jarring Hermione out of her thoughts.
"Oh," Hermione replied letting out a nervous laugh. "I'm fine," she finished, her voice low. Draco's eyes lingered on her shortly before he swiftly looked up at the portrait above the fireplace. Hermione stared up at it too before bring her cup to her lips. Lucius Malfoy had returned to the portrait. The tall blonde haired man stood behind a seated teenaged Draco Malfoy and beside a tall blonde haired woman.
"Does it bother you looking at it?" Hermione asked suddenly. She groaned when she realized the words had left her mouth. She looked quickly at Draco before quickly looking down into the fuzzy green fleece of her sweater, her face flushing ten shades darker.
"I've gotten used to the fact that that man no longer exists," Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My mother has not," Draco mumbled twiddling a plain silver band around his finger as he talked. Hermione sat down her cup and sat back into the great velvet couch.
"You can visit him, can't you?" Hermione inquired turning towards Draco. His nervous smile quickly faded as he continued to twist the band around his finger.
"Prison is no place to see the man you admire," Draco's voice trailed off as his eyes wandered towards the portrait. "Azkaban has reduced him to nothing. Without his power he's nothing. He's just a shadow of my father, but he's not my father. Never will he be it again."
Hermione and Draco fell silent for a few minutes before Draco cleared his throat loudly. He wiped as his reddened face quickly before hastily taking a sip of tea. Hermione bit her lip shamefully she had gone too far. She wasn't ready to be this mentally intimate with someone. She longed desperately to get up and run away from him, but she remained in her seat fixated on the blonde haired man before her. Something about his manner was so enticing and so intriguing; she wanted to learn more.
Growing up, she assumed she knew everything. Perhaps she did. She even assumed she knew the real Draco Malfoy the coldhearted slimy git. A malice filled boy with every intent to trample on anyone in his way. Never before did Hermione realize that he processed a heart underneath his stone cold surface. Sitting here beside Draco Malfoy in his home, saying things too personal and too close for comfort, it really put things back in perspective for her. The man before her was slowly transforming into just that, a real man. Not just a cold outer shell, but something deeper. He was a real person.
"I'm sorry for telling you off the way I did back at the office," she said earnestly. Draco's eyes remained locked on the portrait as he leaned forward until his elbows were on his knees. His breaths came slow and steady as he placed his head in his hands.
"Granger," Draco lifted his head up from his hands abruptly. She leaned forward as she stared at Draco; a strange force was pulling her closer to him. "Do you want to know the real reason why I'm doing this?"
Hermione could feel herself wince as he said the word this. Her suspicions had been correct; a strange occurrence had indeed been going on. He was up to something. Draco let out a nervous laugh before running his hand through his light blonde locks.
"I—I—" Draco stammered. His eyes glazed over as he continued to stammer. His face was now a deep shade of purple. "I went to Potter's funeral."
Draco quickly turned towards her grabbing her hand forcefully. Hermione avoided his wide-eyed stared as a strange warmness enveloped her body at his touch. She had been secretly observing Draco from afar, but now that he was within reach, it felt all too surreal. Draco Malfoy at Harry's funeral. It denied all laws of life. Draco and Harry went together like oil and water went together. Harry's downfall was his triumph. Harry's death was Draco's cause of celebration. The two of them just didn't mix.
"Why?" Hermione asked almost instinctively, not realized the words had left her mouth until they were already spoken
"That's what I've been asking myself for two months now. Why did I go?" Draco asked his grip tightening around Hermione's hands. She could feel her hands beginning to perspirate and her heart beat quicken. What was happening to her?
"I've been envious of Harry for years now. That's all it ever was," Draco muttered more to himself than to Hermione, his grip growing even tighter. Hermione shut her eyes praying that Draco would let go, that the knot in her stomach would unclench, and the feeling of warmth radiating around every inch of her body would disappear. "I bloody hated him for everything he was fortunate to have and take for granted. Respect, people around who appreciated him, admired him really. Then, on top of all of that, Potter had you, Hermione."
Hermione almost felt as if Draco had ripped her heart out of her chest. She could feel her lungs clench and beads of sweat rolling down her face in torrents. The heat from the fire and Draco seemed to be enveloping her. There was no way Draco could be saying what she thought he was saying.
"But…" Hermione stammered, "Parvati. You have Parvati, she's gorgeous, she's mad for you," Hermione continued, all legible thought had clearly left her mind for the rest of the words that left her mouth were a cluttered jumbled mess. Draco released one of her hands and placed it her on now fire red cheek. Hermione closed her eyes, why had she suddenly forgotten how to breathe?
This couldn't be right, this man wasn't Harry, she loved Harry. She loved Harry so much it hurt, and she missed him so much the pain was unbearable. Draco slowly ran his fingers across the contours of her worn and weary face.
"Parvati and I aren't real, and you know it. I've said more to you in these past few hours then I'd ever say to Parvati in a lifetime," Draco replied in a hushed tone, his fingers now tracing her contours of her supple lips. Hermione opened her eyes to find herself looking into the deep cold steel pools. They almost seemed to possess the power to envelop her and rob her of all comprehensible thought.
"I can't do this Draco," Hermione whimpered as a sole tear rolled down her cheek. Hermione closed her eyes as she felt the family pang of guilt hit her. Her selfishness had sent Harry to his early grave; she couldn't go on in life with the burden of ever being this close to Draco. However, he seemed to hold her in a weird sort of a daze. Her mind seemed to respond negatively to his advances, but her body was frozen. Another tear slipped out of one of her eyes, but Draco swiftly stopped it with a soft kiss. Hermione could feel a strange feeling shoot out from the depths of her heart to all her outer extremities when she felt his skin brush against hers.
Draco paused shortly before pressing his lips against hers. His lips lingered as if to get a reaction out of her leaving Hermione completely frozen. She could feel her body clench up, and his grip around her face tighten.
Hermione didn't comprehend what she was doing, but she was doing it. Her lips had responded, while her heart had shriveled up. The dull aching feeling in her heart had been buried with the desire to be close with someone, anyone, again. Draco pulled away from her as his hands drifted to her waist. His lips gently brushing against her lips, her cheeks, her neck. She could feel herself fall back onto the velvet couch as the kisses grew more intense. Then it hit her. Everything around her appeared to slow down and finally pause. Draco looked up at her, her eyes meeting his for what felt like an eternity.
For a split second, she could almost swear those steel eyes turn emerald. Hermione closed her eyes, and opened them. She could feel the sense of warmth evade her body as Draco pulled his dark robes over his head. Hermione sat up suddenly, leaving her face to face with Draco. Hermione quickly rose to her feet, knocking over her porcelain teacup in the process.
Draco's normally pale face flushed a deep shade of red. He didn't have to ask what was the matter, for anyone could notice it. Hermione wiped furiously at the wetness dripping off her cheeks in bulging beads. She was unsure if was tears or pure hurt or pure horror. Hermione grabbed her winter coat that was hanging neatly by the doorway of her foyer. She turned back to face Draco, she could feel her face flushed a bright red. She tried her best to swallow the now rising lump in her throat.
"I'm sorry but this is just too much," she mumbled. Draco continued to stare at her, eyes wide. Hermione wished she could read his mind, for his face was completely expressionless. "I should go," Hermione said again, hoping to get an emotion out of him, any emotion. She could almost feel a tiny pang of regret in her chest, had she passed up the only opportunity to see Draco from within?
"Hermione, you should stay," he replied. However, his statement seemed more like a command than a request. The pale man quickly lowered his eyes. Something deep within Hermione told her to put her coat on and leave. However, she remained there. Her heavy black trench coat was still clenched in her right hand.
She had reached a crossroad. Each road led to an equally dreary future. She loved Harry. However, she couldn't muster enough of his love to prepare her for living the rest of her years in complete isolation. She was going to have to move on someday. Despite all of her constant wishing, she will never wake up in Harry's arms again. He was gone from her. As much as she wanted to hate the thought of something so permanent, dark, and looming, She was obligated to accept it. Death was apart of life. You live, you die. Death doesn't skip over people just because they don't want it to happen. She needed to have her heart accept this. Draco seemed to want to help her move on, while her other people in her life's mere presence made her burst into tears.
Hermione made a fateful decision that night, one that she would equal synonymously with a strange mixture of regret and acceptance; she stayed.