down, an anticlimactic one-shot
It was like ice and fire, hitting her with the harsh sting of reality and bright flame of the future, warm but bracing. Her thoughts were wild and uncontrllable and sometimes she thought things she had never witnessed before in her life. That's exactly what had happened when she had crashed into Draco Malfoy while walking through Diagon Alley.
He had given her a deep look, his eyes burning mercury, but his skin white and cool. He himself was a stack of contradiction; he presented calm and cool features but a vibrantly malicious heart and a sharpened silver tongue lying in wait just beneath the surface. He was vile and rude but edged with a notion of irresistible charm. And it came to her then, since when did she have thoughts of Draco Malfoy in a fashion akin to the ones she was having now? Hermione was deeply confused.
Draco Malfoy was a rare creature, one whose feelings and actions were out of the reach of the tendrils of the human mind. He spoke so well and carried himself to a certain level that it was astounding. He gave off the epitome of Malfoy aristocracy and charm. He was a serpent of prose, slithering through tall grass and striking subtly with his words, winding himself around you to draw you close and kill you in the same instant. Even if Hermione had a faint idea of these characteristics of the blonde, it never settled into an entire picture. There were always pieces missing, always misunderstandings, always parts of him that escaped understanding. So the most that she could get was an estimate, that she may have been talking about someone like him.
Equal in assessment, he had sized her up. He remembered her face on the day that he had last seen her on the grounds. Startling features, you wouldn't dare to think that someone who kept herself so plain could be such a natural beauty. No touches of make up or alterations to her appearance, nor did she seem to particularly care about turning heads, but she did it anyway. She wasn't too hard to figure out, good intentions sheltered with a bright smile and graceful words. She wasn't one to be toyed with, calm and collective, but disoriented and full of rage when she argued. She kept her cool for a long time, he could notice, and often could only reflect on the angry side of her. She glared, boy would she glare, the deepest glare full of hatred and contempt that would rival a look that Harry would give to Voldemort himself.
Hermione Granger couldn't be that hard to figure out, you would think at first. A brilliant girl with normal looks and plenty of advice. But when you could get to know her, she was this beautiful creature, alike in brains with that of someone much older, plain looks that made her scorned upon because she didn't have to try to be beautiful, she already was. And she knew it. So did Draco.
They shared a look, one of surprise and of slight anger, upon being halted in the daily routines by colliding with each other. But, at the same time, they had no disagreement of the situation at hand, neither Draco or Hermione could possibly begin to object to the close feel of each other's skin as they backed away from each other. The crash had been head on, the smaller of them being Hermione, frazzled and thrown out of her normal mind for a while.
A mutual feeling of stationary placement was among them. They stood for quite a while, the blonde trying to understand that he had run into someone he had hated, but secretly felt for, and that they would just walk away from the pretentious, bubbling relationship between them, and he felt the chemistry. The brunette trying to find out how her enemy had changed so much, from the way he held himself, to the way he looked at her, the gaze lacking the normal contempt and loathing that was normally bursting from the optical seams in his eyes; she was basically trying to figure out what had happened to the Draco Malfoy she had loathed in school.
She finally looked up at him. He scowled, and she hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder, her hands shaking. She couldn't believe this, her nerves were being chopped from being around someone she loathed. She hated Draco Malfoy...at least, she thought she did.
Draco was angry. He had run into her and they stood there, the rush of feelings passing through him quickly, and all the girl could do was stare at him. He wanted her to do something. To give him a dirty look, to yell at him, he didn't care. Anything but give him that stare, the manipulative stare of an opponent deciding to make a move that could change the course of an entire game.
He stared back at her, a certain defiance in his eye. He wanted her to leave. There was nothing he could possibly ever do to ease the utter rupture in his stomach, like the splitting of a vast chasm in his mind. He gave her another loathing look, to try and get her to understand what he was feeling.
She felt the emotions pouring out of his eyes, the contempt and hatred for her filtering through the shades of his spectacularly fascinating silver eyes. The arc of them was clear, like the space between the clouds and the sky during a storm, but the dips in the valleys of his eyes were dark like the center of a rain cloud. She knew he had always hated her, but she didn't know why at that moment. In school, it had been definitive that he was jealous, he had hated her for her background and her intelligence. But standing as a graduate of school, standing toe to toe with her in neutral territory, those grievances washed away, and yet the hatred remained. It was a new reason, specific to the fact that she was staring blankly at him, balking over her words. She shouldn't have cared that his hatred had changed sources. All that should have mattered was that he hated her.
Finally, he turned away, fed up with everything. His feelings dissipated, like the fog that had been around the Alley, and he began to walk away. It was a waste, she wouldn't ever want to hear him out. Sure, he could ask her, but it wouldn't be the same if she wanted to know than if she could tolerate hearing it.
"Wait, Malfoy?" She called out. Her voice was like poison. He totally intending from leaving her there, but he couldn't. His feet felt like cement and he cursed them for have the involuntary control of his body. His hopes were up. Maybe she would start conversation with each other. They could get to know each other, at least as much as friends. They had a clear start outside of school and the potential of the path she was facing overwhelmed him.
"Nice running into you."
Hermione let herself down. She had been wanting to find him and talk to him about his coping of everything after school and that's all she could muster up? After all of the feelings she had been showing, that's all she could come up with? She was ashamed of it, she wanted to talk with him like one classmate to another, one acquaintance to another. He turned with a nod, and walked off. And Hermione knew she had let him down as well.
notes: i contemplated a complete rewrite of this because of the massive amount of purple prose that seemed to take away from the plot line and i may return to edit it again, but for now, i sort of like it this way. it takes a simple situation and drowns it in emotions and imagery and descriptions.