I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let's do some living after we die
The Rolling Stones - Wild Horses
---
Draco looked down at Hermione. She was looking straight at him, and for the first time, she wasn't shaking or avoiding his eyes. Draco put his hands on her face, tracing her features, her nose, her cheeks, her mouth.
She pushed his hands away and brought them down to her waist. He kissed her neck and pushed her down on the bed, trailing his fingers on the sides of her legs and pushing her robes up to her waist. She pulled him down ontop of her and ran her fingers through his smooth, silver hair.
And suddenly, his hands were on her face again, and she pulled away, because she couldn't bear the affection. He broke away and looked at her.
"Granger."
She sat up.
"Granger," he repeated. "Don't."
Hermione looked away from him, studying a spot on the wall.
"I.." Hermione's voice felt rusty with disuse.
"I ..miss him."
Draco didn't know what to say, or where to look. This was all wrong. He wasn't the right person to hear this.
"I just.." Hermione broke off, looking down at the floor. "I don't know why..." Her voice cracked and she bit her lip. "I don't understand why... it had to happen to me." She kept her eyes on the floor as she fought to keep her face neutral.
She stood up and moved towards the door. Draco caught her arm and pulled her back.
Their trysts had been going on for months. But that night was the first time they really touched each other.
--
Hermione was thinking about Ron again, Draco was sure of it. She was always thinking about him. That half bemused look, that meant she was thinking about him. The way she played with her hair, that meant she was thinking about him. Draco had given up trying to rationalize his actions weeks ago.
It's in a hospital, so it doesn't count.
I'm crazy, so it doesn't count.
We're both crazy, so it doesn't count.
He didn't know who he was anymore. His father was dead. The family fortune was gone. He had no idea where his mother was. His friends had all dissipated with his money. So, why not go all the way and fuck a mudblood? Why not love her? Why not marry her?
He wanted to destroy everything in his life, and be done with it. Crush any last hope of redemption as a pureblood. There was no fucking way he would ever go back there, not after what had happened to him.
Not after what he'd done.
He hated muggles and mudbloods more than ever, but after the pureblood community found out he had spent three years living there, without magic, there was no way he'd be let back in anyway.
Now both sides hated him, and the only ally he had was the crazy mudblood bitch he fucked regularly.
When their touches had become more gentle, he had tried to ignore it. He told himself it was just because both of them hadn't felt touch for so long. When he realized he longed for her, he couldn't ignore it anymore. When she came into his room that night, and she had talked to him, he knew they were both too far gone to do anything.
The way she made him feel. He was sure it wasn't love. It was some sort of kindred desperation, a sort of desperation that only people who have lost everything can feel. He knew she felt that too, and when they were together, it was as if they were enough broken pieces that could come together and just amount to one normal person. Her broken heart. His shattered mind. Their hands, quick and fast and desperate and searching for something to hold on to.
--
So they ignored everything. They ignored the fact that they were opposites. They ignored who they used to be, because that was all gone now anyway. They weren't the same people. They weren't people at all. They were just empty shells of the past, ghosts wandering the hallways of a hospital, casualties of a war everyone was trying to forget.
--
Harry prattled on about nothing on his next visit.
"Ainsley passed his exams, but do you think that stops him from asking me inane questions all day--"
I fucked Malfoy last night.
"I've started avoiding him. I have to take a huge detour to get to the lou and sometimes I even use my invisibility cloak--"
It was great.
"I know, it sounds a bit desperate, but if you were there, you'd understand--"
The pureblood and mudblood, sitting in a tree.
Eff-You-See-Kay-Eye-En-Gee.
--
"What did he do to you?"
Hermione looked at Draco searchingly.
"What?"
Draco hadn't done much of the talking. He'd left that to her. She seemed like she needed to talk, and he needed someone to talk to him like he wasn't a disgrace. Like he wasn't a treacherous self-serving asshole.
"Voldemort. What did he do to you?"
Draco ran his fingers through his hair and gave a nervous laugh.
"Well, he tried to get me to kill Dumbledore.. But you knew that. And I couldn't. You knew that too. And then he..." Draco stopped and rubbed his face. "It's not important." He gave an insincere smile.
"Tell me about how you and Ron first met."
Draco hated hearing Hermione talk about Ron. But it was the only way to delay what he would have to tell her eventually. And he just wanted her to talk to him like a normal person for a little while longer.
Just until he told her the truth.
---