Decisions, Decisions
By
Aeriel Ravenna
Rating: PG for self-mutilation themes
Summary: OneShot songfic to Decisions, Decisions by A Starting Line—lyrics inside. Draco lets Hermione go—her last view of him is a crumpled, gruesome picture. Better than it sounds.
A / N : Hey, guys! This just attacked by surprise. I love the song, and I don't know, this just popped out at me. I know, I know, I should be working on my story, but I couldn't help it! Hope you enjoy.
"Decisions, Decisions"
I cant wait for this to end
And leave tonight behind us
I'm unsettled letting go of you
And sleeping the night in silence
This letdown falls along with me
Onto my bed while rolling over
So break my heart or break my fall
Don't kiss him or cover all
The memories you had of me
The last time I saw you
You were standing by his side
The last time you saw me
Was through your closed eyes as I'm waiting by the phone
He loves you
Who loves you more?
To let you go
He loves you?
Who loves you more?
To let you go?
I can't wait until my heart mends
So I can finally go outside
And I tell myself, "well Ken
It's better to have lost love
Than to paint a smile and pretend"
The last time I saw you
You were standing by his side
The last time you saw me
Was through your closed eyes as I'm waiting by the phone
He loves you?
Who loves you more?
To let you go?
He loves you?
Who loves you more?
To let you go ?
The last time I saw you
You were standing by his side
The last time you saw me
Was in a crumpled photograph that missed the bin
He loves you?
Who loves you more?
To let you go?
He loves you?
Who loves you more?
To let you go?
"Look, Draco...I'm really sorry..." Hermione trailed off. She was looking down, her brown locks in her face to hide her eyes.
Draco made a jerking ,motion with his hand to show his acknowledgement.
"You...you really want this?" he whispered, not daring to speak louder. He felt his eyes begin to water.
"Yes, Draco, I mean, I really, really like you—maybe even love you—but Harry, Harry loves me...and I'm safe with him Draco, his dad is dead, not trying to kill me," she said, trying to put a bit of forced humor in her words. Draco smiled slightly in spite of himself.
"Go, then." He said, and his voice cracked. The wetness in his eyes that had previously threatened to trickle down his cheeks overflowed, and he was grateful that she simply left, so as not to see him like this.
He looked up just in time to see her leave the library one last time, her hand in Harry's. She was laughing, and she was the one to go up on tip-toes to steal a kiss from Harry, then give him a look that was both laughing, and not.
Draco choked.
It had been three days. Three long, cold days since Hermione—Hermione, Hermione, his heart sang—had left him. No, that was the wrong way to put it. Hermione hadn't left him.
She had simply acknowledged the fact that they could no longer be together.
He could understand it. Harry—he provided safety, love, care. He—well, they weren't even on the same side of the war. Hidden kisses were fine, but the relationship would never be open and free until the war was over, for better or worse.
He could understand it, but he didn't understand it. His Hermione—bright, smart, caring—did she not see the wrong parts of her plan? Didn't she see—
He loves you? Who loves you more, to let you go?
Three Years Later
The war was over, done, and Draco had been sent to Azkaban for a cause he never believed in. Two years into his 10 year term, the ministry officers had come.
"We've been asked to escort you to a very special event. The Ministress of Magic herself declared that you be allowed to go," they had gruffly told him, and refused to tell him any more. They had taken him out of the prison where he had spent so long—so long—and after going through a tunnel, turning three locks, and five passwords later they touched a Portkey that would take them—wherever it was that they were going.
It was a function hall, large and drafty. The officers took him to a cold, grey bathroom and gave him a comb and a clean shirt, tie and pants to put over his best—filthy—robe.
After he had shakily dressed, he had wet the comb and pulled it through his bedraggled silver-blond locks. He pulled it back best as he could, remembering sadly the days in school when he had slicked it back.
'Your hair is so sexy like that, Draco,' Hermione had whispered. He felt a smile tugging his lips.
'My hair is sexy any way,' he had replied cockily. Shaking her head while grinning, she had pulled him down for a kiss.
"You done in there?" he heard the officers call.
He didn't bother to reply, but pulled the door open. The function hall was filling now, and people gasped as they saw him.
The people were mostly Gryffindors.
The ministry officers pulled Draco aside. "Listen, son," the older one said. "We're going to tell you why you're here. We didn't before because we didn't want to upset you," he said seriously.
Draco felt like screaming. The younger one took over.
"You are here, as an honored guest, to witness the marriage between Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."
Draco felt his heart sink into his stomach, then lower, until he was sure it was somewhere in the cold marble floor. His limbs stiffened and he couldn't speak. The officers pushed and tugged him over to his seat.
It was front row.
Draco sat in a daze, until the processional music begun. He saw—but didn't see—Harry Potter at the alter, Ron beside him, Dumbledore, too, doubtless presiding over the ceremony.
And then Hermione came down the aisle, and he saw no more, but her.
Her hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, and the few tendrils that fell out were tightly curled. He didn't like it—Hermione was gorgeous, but she was godlike in her element, thick hair wildly cascading free in loose, large curls that had no rhyme or reason.
Her dress was flowy, loose, the fabric brushing against her slender frame audibly. Her veil was tinted a pale blue—something blue—and she wore—oh god, this was too hard—a locket.
A locket that Draco had given her the day they shared their first kiss.
Something old.
He didn't hear the ceremony. He didn't hear Potter say 'I do,' but he saw Hermione glance at him, then away, then back—as if she was surprised. She smiled, slightly, and Draco felt sure—sure—it must have been at him.
He choked back a sob, and in long strides, left the function hall through the side aisle, officers close behind him. No one seemed to notice.
The officers were silent on the ride back. Doubtless they did not know what to say to the elegant man who was sobbing like a child, eyes red, pale skin flushed pink, hair disarrayed.
2 Weeks Later
"Oh, honey, the honeymoon was so fabulous, but I can't tell you how glad I am to be home!" Hermione exclaimed to her new husband. He smiled fondly at her.
"I know, 'Mione, I know," he said. "We've a whole lot of mail to catch up on,"
"Mm," she agreed as she opened the oldest Daily Prophet they had missed to read. Suddenly, she gasped, and dropped the paper.
"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "I've done something horrible,"
Tears were filling her eyes, and Harry scrambled to dash them away.
"What, love? It can't be that bad, can it?" he said softly.
"Draco—I invited Draco to our wedding," she said, openly sobbing now. Harry frowned.
"So? You were just trying to be nice—he knew you still liked him as a person," he said. Hermione pointed to the paper.
The front headline, bold and clear, read: 'EX-DEATHEATER COMMITS SUICIDE IN AZKABAN LAST NIGHT—GRUESOME SELF-MUTILATION ON BODY!'
Underneath was a gruesome picture, which, unknown to Harry and Hermione, had stirred quite a bit of controversy. It was a picture of Draco Malfoy. His wounds had been magically blurred out, but the caption boldly recreated his words—'I LOVE YOU MORE.'
Harry crumpled the paper and threw it into the trashcan.
It missed.