hapter Eighteen: Lightness in the Dark


Giant thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! Really hope you like the chapter! Again, took me forever stupid writer's block. Well, Enjoy!

"Was blind but now I see"

How does it feel, to be different from me?
Are we the same?
How does it feel, to be different from me?
Are we the same?
How does it feel?

He paced.

Then he stopped. Then he paced again; around and around in continuous circles at the end of his bed, all the while carrying the Sword of Mercy. Silver stained darkened crimson glinted glaringly into the eyes of the possessor, piercing him each time he passed by the ray of moonlight that trickled in through his doors. And still, he couldn't put it down. A few more rounds of pacing, and he finally stopped. He positioned himself unconsciously directly before the intricately designed doors and held the unsheathed sword up into the weak stream of light. The blood had long dried upon the length of metal, but he couldn't bring himself to wash it off. It posed as a blaring, unspeaking reminder of what he had come to realize.

Words.

They were words.

Words, name, titles and nothing more.

From the inside out, everyone was the same. No more, no less. Each and every wizard and witch was born with a brain, a heart, magic. The only difference between himself and Hermione was what differentiated every other wizard from a witch, man from woman, girl from boy. They were the same. They both had arms, legs, and a head. Everything. So what right did he have in ridiculing her the way he did?

Her blood wasn't the colour of mud.

Funny how it had taken bloodshed to convince him so.

There was no difference between Mudbloods and Purebloods. It was purely in the mind. Propagandas he'd been force fed and came to believe in. Mudbloods had done no wrong. They were no worse than the Purebloods. In some ways, they were greater. After all, they had gotten their magic from well, nowhere. The magic came to them whereas the Purebloods had their magic inherited from their parents. They were no weaker. Hermione had certainly proved that to him. She had bested him in virtually every subject and she was a Muggleborn.

What distinguish each wizard and witch was their personality and their choices. Not their blood.

He'd simply been prejudice against Hermione. There was no other word. He'd discriminated against her because of her blood. It was like muggles and how they discriminated against one another because of their ethnicities or their religions or even morals. It was ridiculous! All of it! Why the bloody hell would anyone want to judge you because of your heritage, where you were born, what you looked like. No one was perfect. Every apple had its blemish, and every mortal and wizard had an imperfection. Even Draco Malfoy. So who was he to judge another?

Gods he felt like a complete idiot now. He was supposed to be smart.

Sighing deeply, he swept the bits of parchment that scattered across his desk to the side and carefully set the sword down. Shaking his head slightly, he turned around and lay down atop his satin covered bed.

He could have smacked himself for it. Obviously no one's blood was really the colour of mud (well, unless they had some sort of unheard of disease). He'd always known that. So what made him believe that Hermione's might have been? She'd long established herself to be just as if not greater than him.

Draco rolled over to his side and his pale cheek met the cold, silk of the pillow. He stared blindly across the room into what might have been oblivion, but inside his mind, he recalled a fonder memory of his back at Hogwarts where he'd almost made Hermione cry with a few well chosen words. It used to bring him comfort and satisfaction in knowing that he'd near broken her. But now, it only brought him feelings of disgust and stupidity. Only an idiot would ridicule one that was no different than himself.

Draco Malfoy was an idiot.

Sure, he could convince himself that he'd seen the light and change. He could go on and become a muggle lover like Dumbledore. But old habits would never die. Especially if they'd been driven into him since birth.

He wasn't sure if he could ever change.

And it scared him.

As his eyes began to regain focus, they fell upon the unfinished painting that stood next to his bed. The painting of the nameless beauty.

Now to say that the Slytherin boy was an artist of any sort would have been a lie. He definitely wasn't a Leonard Da Vinci or Vincent Van Goh despite the fact that he was Draco Malfoy and was good in practically everything he did, but painting was something he had never mastered to perfection. And it irked him. But only the slightest bit. He was accustomed to being the best in everything; save for Granger's interference of course.

Curiously, he pulled himself up off the bed, and ambled towards the painting. Upon inspection, he noticed that much of her still needed to be coloured. Her skin, her eyes, her hair, her lips. It was odd. Usually, when one painted, they would start from the top. But instead, the painting had begun from the bottom. Parts of her had been faintly outlined, but only her dress had been fully completed it was painted a dark, bottle green. At least from what he could see. The painting was only of a girl from a bit past the breast line and upwards. Ever so slowly, he picked up the wooden paint brush and swirled his brush inside the jar of red. His free hand found a clean paint palette and be began to blend together various colours until he was satisfied. The result was a soft, pale, creamy, peach-pink. Carefully, he brought the paint covered brush up to the painting; but found he couldn't mark it. He was….afraid. Well, no, he wasn't exactly afraid, but more nervous. What if he ruined the painting?

Quit being an idiot

Now that's something I can't do…

He simply shook his blond head and gingerly painted a stroke across the part just along the part the dress had failed to cover.

There, now that wasn't too hard was it?

Satisfied, he began to paint. Letting his heart lead for once rather than his mind.

.:.

Deep in thought, she rolled the handmade soap within her hands until a thick mass of foam covered them. She dipped her head back carefully until it was completely submerged within the waters and then whipped it out, sending a spray of water showering over her. The droplets fell upon her arm and dripped down into her wound, both effectively cleaning it and making it burn and sear with pain.

She still hadn't figured out what exactly possessed her to do what she had done that morning. But once she had done it, it felt so right. It felt good when she saw the look of astonishment on Malfoy's face and it felt even better when later on he showed her a look of understanding and especially his words of contrition. She sincerely hoped she'd proven her point to him. She didn't fancy slicing herself open for him again.

The auburn haired maiden cringed as the citrus waters seeped into the slit she'd made earlier. The crystal water commingled with the dried blood she'd failed to wash off and slowly turned the lingering droplets that lay upon her lower arm a light tinge of crimson. The blended liquid slid down her wrist and into the mass of water that she lay in and disappeared within the depths of the water that overpowered the tiny drip of red.

She flinched involuntarily as she began to rub her washcloth along her arm in a pathetic attempt to clean her body without hurting herself at the same time.

"Well you're never going to be clean at the rate you're going, Princess" came a familiar voice.

Hermione jerked her head up to the intruder.

"It's Hermione! My name is Hermione!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms gingerly, still trying to keep from irritating her wound anymore.

Hestia chuckled and set down the pile of towels that she'd brought in.

"Right, right, do tell me what you're trying to do now."

The princess pursed her lips and began to soap her hair. "Bathing, what else."

"Not doing a very good job now are we?" she said wryly as she seated herself upon her usual stool. "Here, let me" she offered and began to lather the soap gently into Hermione's dripping hair.

Hermione half frowned. She was being treated like an infant. Although it did feel nice to have someone wash her hair for her. She hadn't had someone do that for her since she'd been 6. Her mother had always washed her hair for her when she was younger. She had long forgotten the feeling of having someone do it for it.

"I'm not a child, you know. I can wash my own hair" she muttered, although made no movement to stop the handmaiden.

"Of course you're not. I enjoy doing this. I'm making you let me wash your hair" said Hestia lightly, humoring the princess.

The brunette ignored the girl's remark and sat idly wither back pressed against the cold marble the warm waters had not yet consumed. The contrasting sensation felt oddly soothing. The latter half of her body was submerged in near-hot water while her bare shoulders were chilled against the marble.

"What's that for?" she asked suddenly gesturing towards the delicate, painted doll that sat atop her stack of towels.

"The doll?" said Hestia looking towards where Hermione had pointed. "That's for lady Erida. A gift from the marchioness of York. She visited briefly today, you know."

Hermione did not reply. Instead, she stared unblinkingly at the doll with disapproval. She'd never liked dolls. Especially Barbies. Growing with a muggle family she'd been forced to go to school until she'd been accepted at Hogwarts. All the muggle girls constantly fawned over the dozens of Barbie dolls with skimpy clothing, D cups and 2 inch waists. But Hermione herself had never taken a liking to them. She found them too childish and unbelievable. Yet somehow, they seemed to be the muggle basis, a model for the 'perfect' girl.

Honestly, who in the world could possibly look like that without being an anorexic? It wasn't healthy to look that way and the clothing the dolls sported were absolutely scandalous! Skimpy little tops that left so little to the imagination and mini skirts that hiked so far up they might as well have been wearing nothing. Then there was the makeup. Every single doll had makeup. If there was one thing Hermione hated more than Barbie dolls and Malfoy, it was makeup.They made you look a different way; they hid your true image. Who you really were.

She'd always somehow pitied those who'd worn makeup. Especially those who wore it such an extent you could barely tell who they really were. Then suddenly, her own visage replaced the doll's. The sight was uncanny but it seemed to show her what she had somewhat become. A doll. Without a mind or a voice. She despised how the women here were treated. She despite how women everywhere were treated. It was stupid. Even in her own time women were belittled, albeit far less, it was still apparent. Would things ever change?

"Hermione?"

Hestia's gentle voice broke her train of thought and she snapped her head upwards.

"What?"

"You haven't said a word in the last two minutes" said the Pansy look-alike with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Oh. Sorry, I was thinking" she said quietly, wiping the trail of soap that had slipped down the side of her face.

"Don't think too much, it tends to make you worry more about things you shouldn't have to worry about" said Hestia wisely.

Hermione nodded silently as the maid began to scoop up water with an urn and rinse her hair.

They gradually finished but without speaking another word, enjoying the companionable silence.

"Get a good long rest tonight. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow." The maid smiled as Hermione wrapped the robe around herself.

She sighed in resignation but nodded. "The ball" she muttered. And with that, she turned and left, making her way to her room.

.:.

"It's very lovely. Who is it?"

Draco looked up from his painting into his mother's weary eyes, then to her hands which she held behind her back. He'd been painting day and night non-stop ever since he'd begun and yet somehow he'd only managed to paint just past her shoulder blades. He was a perfectionist with his work, even when his heart led him.

"I don't know" he replied softly as he set down his brush and wiped his brow.

The Contessa chuckled for he'd just smeared paint onto his forehead. Strangely, it almost matched his own skin colour. Merely darker by a few shades. Kindly, she leaned forward and began to wipe off the blemish with her handkerchief.

"Mother, I'm not a child" he grumbled, stumbling backwards and away from her.

"Yes, yes, of course you're not." she said absentmindedly and sat herself down next to where Draco had just seated himself. They were silent for a moment as she turned and faced him. The silence unnerved Draco for she seemed to be wordlessly interrogating him with her eyes.

"What?" he asked, his tone mildly irritated.

Countess Kallianeira contemplated skirting around the main reason she'd visited him that evening, but decided that it would probably be better to say it straight out.

"The ball, it's tonight you know."

"So?" he feeling a vague notion as to where this conversation was heading,

"Please?" her hands were clasped together and she had a look of desperation in her eyes. It was on the verge of becoming pathetic.

Draco sighed loudly.

"Please, Adonis, for me? It would mean so much. Just make an appearance. You can leave after an hour and once you've had one dance with the princess."

He gritted his teeth at the mention of the princess.

It would be so awkward…

But she wouldn't know if he'd danced with the princess or not, after all, everyone was supposed to be masked.

"Alright, alright. I'll go. One hour. Then I'm gone" he said finally, deliberately forgetting to mention the part about dancing.

His mother's hazel eyes sparkled with delight.

"Oh thank you so much, sweetness. You don't know how much this means to me" she gushed, smothering Draco with kisses. "Oh, here, you can wear this tonight." The countess revealed a freshly laundered ensemble.

So she anticipated my surrender…

"Oh, hurry, clean up won't you? The carriage will be here in less than an hour. Come out when you're done" she said hurriedly and pushed the suit into his hands.

Draco's perfectly shaped brows furrowed as he held the peacock blue tunic she had given him.

Blue was not his colour. Much less peacock blue. Well, actually, it wasn't that it didn't suit him. Anything Draco Malfoy wore looked good, but he simply didn't like it.

Tossing the ensemble aside, he began to raid his wardrobe for a more suitable colour. One more to his liking. After minutes of scavenging, he finally found what he had been looking for.

And it was not peacock blue.

.:.

Oh Gods, this is killing me

Her breaths were quick and sharp as she tried desperately to move around with as much grace as she could muster. For some strange reason, her corset seemed to have become increasingly tighter as the night persisted relentlessly, not giving her a moments rest. The ball had progressed ever so drearily so far. It seemed everyone had memorized the exact same lines in their what could only be described of as pathetic attempts to court her. Absolutely dreadful. Her stomach growled with hunger but the sound was drowned out by the noisy conversing and the tedious music that rung throughout the ball room. As they did last time, the orchestra finally took a rest and the dancing gradually halted to Hermione's utter relief.

In the span of 30 seconds, she had curtsied and thanked the prince or lord or whoever she had been dancing with (she could never remember) and dashed out of the hall as quickly as she could, lifting her thousand layered dress above her ankles and ignoring her lack of air.

Panting heavily, she had somehow made her way across the gardens and she now leaned against her apple tree, fully pressing her weight against it. Beads of glistening sweat formed across her forehead as she tightly gripped the tree trunk trying desperately to retain her consciousness. Her vision seemed to flash before her, like someone incessantly flashing a camera into her eyes. Her heart pounded wildly within her chest as if trying to force it's way out of the corset that bound her so tightly. Then, her head began to spin violently and her lungs seemed to give up. The world darkened around her, and soon, all was lost to blackness.

.:.

"What a waste of a night" Draco uttered under his breath.

True to his word, Draco had come to the ball that night. But an hour had long gone by and he was still there. His mother had somehow forced him to stay the rest of the night. It seemed that she had indeed anticipated his attendance and had ordered for the carriages to arrive just past midnight. So unless Draco wanted to run the lord knows how many miles he had run the last time, he would have to stay. Lady Luck seemed to have been smiling upon him that night for his mother hadn't had a chance to get near the Princess so he hadn't had to dance with her. Yet. He actually hadn't even seen her the whole night.

Lucky me

Weary from all the mindless chatter that went about, Draco escaped from the ball room, slid out the back doors, and began his hike up the familiar cobblestone path.

The night sky was rather plain that night. It held a bare handful of dull, pulsing stars and the moon was shadowed by the blue-gray clouds that loomed across the sky. There didn't seem to be much of a breeze that night, but still, the air was chilly as it was still about mid-autumn. Dates….time…he still needed to figure out how to read the stupid sundial or where it even was for that matter. The young Slytherin had wandered fairly deep into the gardens already and the lights and sounds from the ball room were no more. His surroundings were dark but it seemed to soothe him being in the darkness. He was never really one for light. The faint streaks of moonlight that shone through the higher foliage told him that he was in the orchard. He smiled faintly to himself in remembrance of what had happened here the last time. His wandering had somehow led him back to his apple tree. Draco didn't exactly know how he had gotten there, for he didn't even know the exact location of the tree. Then suddenly, he stumbled upon a dark mound of something he wasn't exactly sure what but he it nearly sent him flying over it. He gradually regained his balance and stooped down to his knees so that he could get a better look.

An animal?

He held his bare handout and ran it across the creature.

It was soft.

Ever so carefully, he ran his hand up the until he reached what appeared to be its head.

Hair?

Then without warning, a soft groan came from the creature. Startled, Draco retracted his hand. He peered down closely, and what he saw made him jump up to his feet.

It was Granger.

Slowly, he noticed her eyes flicker open and his hand automatically went to his face, checking to see if the mask was still on. Her head shifted slightly and she squinted through the darkness to see his face.

"Malfoy?"

A/N

Review! Feedback good.

cringes everyone hates Thaleia that much? lol. That's a good thing then! Means I'm playing her out properly…I think…

Oh, and someone can't remember who (sorry) asked how long this was going to be, truthfully, I don't know. But I can promise you it isn't ending any time too soon! Thanks all for sticking with me!