Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P
This the Beta'd version and I would just like to thank Takita for all her help!! I posted just before an un-beta'd version which I'm hoping you didn't read and are now waiting for this one, which has had the mistakes covered up- hehe. Thanks for reviewing, Cai.
Chapter 12
As we stand in the shadows of the dusty old shelves, each one filled with a new and marvellous face, I cannot help but wonder how one's hair can be so soft. So soft that it almost feels like there's nothing beneath my fingers.
Almost, but not quite.
And then, I seek to answer the question of how someone's shoulder's can shake so much that it feels like they're going to fall apart at the seams, where tears wash down their cheeks. He shudders again and I can feel the edge of the bookshelf digging into the corner of my back, but I don't try to push him away, only hold him just that little bit tighter.
She's dead. My mother's dead and I never said a word. His voice echoes in my mind, drawing me deeper into the pit of despair, which I'm so desperately trying to hold him out of, but all I can think about is the warm wash of tears that fall on my neck and down the collar of my shirt.
"Oh god," I hear him whisper, as his shoulders shudder again and my ears perk up at his words, "I so hoped he would die and leave me alone, but he's always there. Always prowling at the corners of my mind till I'm paranoid with fear that he'll watch me fall." His hands move up my back, crossing over until each grips its opposite shoulder, and I feel myself pressed intimately against him. "I- I thought he would never go against that one, single bond. Whip his child, stab his child, but- but kill his wife?" he hisses in my ear, and I cannot help but tremble at his words, my eyes widening behind the porcelain mask, which barely separates me from this boy of dark shadows. "What is wrong with me, Hermione? What is so wrong with me that I must cry to a mudblood in the shadows of a some dusty little hole?" As my shoulders tense at the hateful words, I have to wonder whether he even realises what he's saying, or if he would say such things when he didn't seem so sad and like he was going to fall apart. "Why can't I stop crying for a woman who never once showed me an ounce of affection or told me even once that she loved me, like a mother should? Why do I feel so betrayed that she has left me alone in a house with the man who I thought to aspire to? With the man who I thought I would become?" He gasps out loud and chokes on his words, quiet, shattering sobs crackling in my ears, "He killed her, Hermione." I tense at his words. "With every breath in my body, I know he killed her," he tells me, his voice resonating through my body until it reaches my toes, and at the end of its journey a shudder ripples through me and tears leak from my eyes.
How can there be such a man? How can such a man be allowed to have children? How can such a man still be alive? bodiless voices whisper in my ears and my eyes flutter, as tears rush like streams down my cheeks. I want to hold him tighter, so much harder than I ever thought I would want to; all because he cries honestly, like a man who's lost his ability to breathe. I want to understand how I can feel so akin to him and hate him with such a fury. How can such a feeling be so real?
I stagger to breathe, feeling his hold grow even greater, if that is possible, and I try desperately to understand how we reached this moment in time. What did I do to feel so comfortable in my enemy's arms? But at the word enemy I pause and feel the body shuddering against me, the hold of his arms, and the tickle of his breath against my cheek, and realise with drastic clarity, that there is so much more to this.
Why me? "Why me?" I do not realise that I have spoken the words in time with my thoughts until I feel his grip lessen and his form draw away, leaving behind a feeling of lost comfort, the feeling that once, in a distant past, I was held exactly like this. Or was it just a dream?
He takes a step backwards and I barely notice the trails of salt that cake his cheeks, his hair drawn so far over his face that I cannot see those eyes. "Why what, Granger?" he whispers, his words barely alive, but more like the crackle of leaves beneath my feet. "Why did he kill my mother? Why did he stab his son? Why do I feel such despair when he killed a woman that meant nothing to any of us? Is that what you're asking? Is that what you're asking me, when I can't seem to stop fucking crying?" He grabs hold of my shoulders, shaking me and I slowly raise my eyes to meet his and feel tears dribbling down my cheeks.
"No, Draco, I wondered why it was me who you cried to?" I whisper and his eyes widen suddenly, leaving his silvery, blue pools open for me to see everything. "Why do you tell me all this? When... when you're a... when you're going to be just like him." I whisper the last words, adding to the tension in the air and watch the grief in his face unfold, bringing to life a picture of misery.
He takes his hands away from me and pushes up his shirtsleeve, leaving his left forearm bare. "I am not marked, Mudblood!" He hisses at me and shoves the skin of his pale, milky arm in my face. "See this skin, Granger?" he lashes out and grabs hold of my chin, drawing it closer. "I am not like him! When he drew the knife from my side and recoiled the whip with my blood and bone covering it, I decided I would never be like him! When I went swimming with Blaise Zabini and found myself faced with a ten year old's back, which was littered with deep, white scars, drawn by his father's hand, I decided, even if he would never know, that I would never walk his path. Don't you understand? I look just like him, I say what he tells me to say and I pass the peas like he tells me to, but I am not like him!" His voice breaks at those last words and I wonder if he will start crying again, and realise that I wish he would. Seeing such an open Draco would be the turning point in my life and I don't think I would doubt him again. "Your little red-haired friend said that I would never fit with you, that I only wish for the impossible when I wake and hope to find myself not like him, but the truth is, I've gotten my wish. Every word of passion that I breathed in your ear brought me further away from him, and..." his voice trails off and one thumb traces the curved bones of my chin. "...And I would bring you with me. I wouldn't leave you to face it all on your own. No matter what people say, I can show gratitude, and for you I'd show every inch that I have to offer." I clench my eyes shut, knowing that he speaks of something so wonderful, knowing that he can see the demons in my mind and feel them with the hands that gently enclose my face and draw me over to him. "I would tell you everything, be anything you want me to be," his lips brush gently against mine, then pause just above them, "because I've seen the girl behind the mask and I can't get her face out of my head." He kisses me with a vicious fire, which is so utterly gentle, in contradiction to everything that I associated with him, that I want to sob and choke in distress. How could something that sounds so good be true?
"She was wrong; your friend, Ginevra," he whispers, his lips resting just above mine. "I am the only one that sees the real you, the only one who knows how sad it is to find yourself torn between walking two different paths..." He trails off and I pull away and look at him, staring at him through holes in a pretty mask.
He blinks for a moment, unsure of what to do and then he leans forward and ever so slowly presses his lips against mine. And I must gasp in astonishment, because I would never find myself so willing again. Never did I think that he could possess such emotions or pool them into one single gesture. But when he pulls away I cannot stop the groan, which escapes my lips, and I blush, albeit behind the mask. "I saw the girl behind the mask and I liked what I saw," he whispers as he kisses me again and one hand curls around a tuft of my hair behind my ear and his other tugs the mask from my face. The hand holding the ornament pauses at my cheek, his fingers rubbing gently over my cheekbones, and then it strays to my shoulder and a clatter tells the tale of it dropping to the floor.
Our eyes meet for a moment, and I can feel the allurement of the dragon, his mercury eyes calling to the heat in my cheeks and suddenly I am returning the kiss.
A kiss behind books, just like this one, began a peculiar moment in our lives, but it all seems so different now that I have seen some of who the real Draco Malfoy is. There is something so noticeable in him that I can't ignore, because in him I see something that I was so sure would never be mine again. A confidence, even if it is in something different, which makes him so absolutely sure.
I run my hands over his shoulders and up into his hair, which I tug tightly and use to pull him closer, and as I do so, our lips meld together. Tongues and teeth meshing together in an elegant blend of fury, passion and pain, begin this wild dance, and I find that I can name what I tasted originally, but couldn't make sense of. Coffee and sugar are spread throughout his mouth like he is coated in it, and as our kiss turns more passionate and his hands brush against the inside of my shirt, I find myself craving both things like a drug.
The kiss slowly dies and I gently open my eyes, my lids fluttering a little and find myself blushing hotly under his deep stare. His eyes are red-rimmed and slightly crazed, but beneath it all I can see a passion that threatens to bowl me over with intensity.
"Hermione? Hermione, you here?" The sound of footsteps echo, and as I turn, a person appears at the edge of the bookshelf. Realising that I am no longer masked behind the face of an innocent, I struggle within myself between pushing away Draco's hands and leaving them where they are, finally resolving to look over my shoulder.
My cheeks are red, I can tell without a mirror present, and I watch with wide eyes as my friend turns and lays eyes on the two of us. The situation is not obvious; we could have been doing anything, but he knows. He knows without even moving his eyes to look at the blond haired boy beside me that there is so much more to this all. His green eyes widen and in something par to slow motion he swallows and runs a shuddering hand through his mass of unruly, black locks.
The look on his face is devastating and I feel the air rush out of me in a whoosh and tears pool in my eyes. "I... I..." I whisper and he raises a hand, shakes his head and finally his eyes meet mine. The hand that rests on the curve of my hip tenses and I can feel the fingers of this god-like boy dig into my side, showing just how nervous he truly is.
"You told me... you told me to meet you," Harry murmurs and I nod hastily, trying to speak but the words won't come to me and I want to cry in frustration. "I only came... Oh God, Hermione..."
He trails off and slumps against the shelf beside him and rubs the palms of his hands over his face. His mouth thins and finally I feel the words form, "No, Harry, I didn't..."
"Not now, Hermione, not now..." he interrupts me and finally the dams break and my tears fall over themselves to get free. Both of Draco's hands grow tighter on my shoulders and I can't feel part of my arm. "Not now..." Harry whispers, his voice cracking and suddenly, with a swirl of his cloak, he turns and leaves.
His form blurs as more tears pool in my eyes and I swallow, stumble and feel, with an assailing breath, myself grow faint. Harry... Harry just walked away from me. I retrieve my hands from their standstill in mid air and crash back into the bookshelf, covering my face and biting back an incoherent sob. The hands that touched me have disappeared and I can't contain the tears, which burst forth at that moment, trickling over my fingers like the grief which assails me. I cannot contain the sobs, and I think I will drown in the feeling which is bubbling up in stomach, but find it stopped as smooth hands pull my own away. "Hermione? Granger?" I look up, and suddenly the blood rushes from my head and only his hold on me stands me upright.
"Oh God..." I whisper and finally look up at him, seeing a look of shock in those deep, shadowy eyes. "Harry just... he left me..." I whimper and he shakes me till I can see his face, pale and pasty with shock.
"I... It wasn't meant to happen..." The unsureness in his voice brings me back down to earth and I struggle against his arms, biting carelessly down on my lip until blood dribbles down from there. "You don't have to go after him," he hisses at me and I whip my head up to meet his and without a moment's thought, slap his cheek. His hold on me drops away and he clasps a hand to his cheek, not even trying to contain the blow to his spirit that was delivered.
"NO, DRACO... I do have to go after him... I d- Oh my fucking God, he saw me... he saw you." My voice trails off to an anti-climax and my lips begin to shake and my chin to wobble as everything begins to assault me. "Harry... Harry hates you with a loathing, Draco. He hates you more than Ron hates you because your father lured me away that night... Oh God... he'll...I don't know what he's going to do." I shudder, trying to slow the chorus of words which drip off my lips, "I didn't mean to... I didn't think I'd get so caught up in this all... that this and everybody would mean so much to me, but they do. God, they do." I whisper and look to the floor, my eyes landing on the white, porcelain mask which is lying there, beside wet splotches where my tears have caressed the wooden boards. I crouch, pick it up and then turn away from him and walk to the counter. "I... I'd like to purchase this." I tell the storeman and our hands exchange money and the parcel is wrapped.
Turning away from the small bald man with a flattering temperament, I walk back up to my companion and hold it out to him, waiting for him to take it. He doesn't move and I hastily wipe at the tears dribbling down my cheeks and shake it at him. Still he doesn't and I shout, "Goddamnit, Draco Malfoy, take the bloody package!" He slowly holds it, his neatly manicured fingers wrapping around it and blinks uncomprehendingly at me.
"My father did what?" he whispers at me, and I shake my head trying to contain the fear, which is growing in the pit of my stomach.
"He'll kill you..." I whisper and suddenly I am running and the stretch of Hogsmeade lies before me with the form of Harry Potter, and behind me in the shadows of a little, unknown store stands Draco Malfoy. Both men, I realise, are so utterly important to me and, although right now I must make amends with the boy who saw what was and wished he hadn't, I so hope, with a devastating blow of vulnerability, that when I turn back around and step into the shadows, that the other will take my hand and lead me through it all.
Author's Note: Hi, hi! This was another pretty quick update- about 1 month, I think, and I'm hoping that you enjoyed this. I have discovered, whilst writing this chapter that I much prefer writing Draco's POV instead of Hermione's, or at least that the ideas flow much more easily for his profile. Perhaps it's because I write depressing stuff or emotional stuff a lot better, but whatever it is, I had a bit of trouble writing lots from her point of view... as you might notice with the length of this chapter.
Thanks to all of you who reviewed!
Cai