The coldness was what hurt the most. Suddenly everything that made him Draco Malfoy was gone, and all there was left was the cold, and the pain. It hurt so much, the mark on his forearm. It felt like ice was being grinded against his skin, ripping it away, leaving that stupid, dark design on his arm.
Every footstep seemed to create more pain. He was aware of little, except the mental and physical pain that was overtaking him, possessing his soul. All he knew was that he had to keep walking, keep moving. He couldn't be seen. He just couldn't.
But everything was gone now. He'd lost everything. Since he'd started Hogwarts, he'd dreaded the day when he would finally be converted but he'd never really thought it was going to happen. And yet, now it had and he still couldn't believe it. He was no longer than Draco Malfoy, he had lost his identity. He was nothing but a puppet now, a Death Eater.
He finally reached his quarters. At least there would be nobody here. As Head Boy, he and the Head Girl, Granger, got their own quarters. It worked to his benefit. Granger resided there very little, preferring the Gryffindor Towers, and he appreciated the isolation from his buffoons he called friends.
In the room there was a stillness. He hung on the doorway for a minute, and then dizzily the exhaustion caught up on him. He was so cold, too cold. Shivering, he felt himself fall. There was a resounding slam and he had reached his full tolerance of pain. His face crashed against the floor and his nose cracked. He howled out and his eyes watered.
"Malfoy…"
What was Granger doing here?
Suddenly, in his view, all there was, was dark eyes, framed by dark lashes. They were all he could see. It didn't matter that they belonged to Hermione Granger at all anymore, he could now see then as what they were; Beautiful.
He realised that he was in shock.
"What happened to you? Oh, Merlin." The dark eyes disappeared for a moment, but reappeared. Something cold was pressed against his nose. Small arms helped him up and awkwardly brought him in front of the fire – it was lighting; that fire was never lit.
"You're shivering," she whispered.
He couldn't feel the warmth from the roaring fire. His eyes were fixed upon it. He would never feel the warmth again. Not anymore.
Damn it, he should have made more use of his life before hand. He should have sat in front of the fire every night, and witnessed all it offered. Now he would never know – he was dead to it now.
Except Granger was rubbing his hands together with hers, and he could feel that. Was she, Granger, the epitome of warmth, an exception to the rule? Could he stay here forever, in this dazed state where her blood and status didn't matter, safe and protected by this fire and her, his sworn enemy?
His pain seemed minimal in comparison.
Her eyes were beyond beautiful. They opened a whole new dimension of thought of him – they showed him the brink of a world where things were actually beautiful, where fairy tales were real, where he could actually be happy.
And it was too late.
It was too late for Draco.
Before he even knew what he was doing, he was crying. Not just tears, but bawling. Her arms were around him suddenly and she held him in an embrace he had never experienced. She held him like a mother should.
He realised she was crying too. He had heard of her over-emotional temper before and it had always amused him. Now he was glad. He was glad to be around someone with emotions – someone not afraid to show when they were sad or happy or scared. All his life, he'd lived with people with no emotions, cold, full of smirks or scowls or blankness…
"What's wrong, Malfoy? Tell me… it's okay. I'm here." She whispered such things in that hushed little voice of hers, shaky and full of unwilling comforts for him.
He couldn't tell her, but he gave the game away anyway. His eyes strayed from her eyes to the Dark Mark on his arm. She followed his trail and saw it. Her warm body froze, and brown eyes met grey eyes once more, hers full of questions and doubt, his revealing nothing.
Her arms slowly retreated. He grieved that loss, because he was coming out of his shock just as she was entering hers – they were always on opposite sides of the spectrum, weren't they?
His whole life was before him, he could see it, taste it, feel it. Coldness and loneliness and pointlessness. Murder and corruption and torture. Gaining power, and giving it to the Dark Lord. People's screams echoing in his head. Restless nights. Restless days. Fighting for a curse he wasn't sure he believed in. Forgetting everything but his duty to the Dark lord. Being a nobody, being a mindless slave used for the Dark Lord's wishes. Feeling the cold for ever, and ever, and ever. Experiencing nothing else.
Shakingly, he wiped the liquid salt from his face. His throat felt sore and he couldn't get a proper breath. He felt feverishly cold. He moved away from her – as much as he could – and let himself look at her.
Granger was so extraordinarily plain. Unspecial looking. She was pale now, and shaking. Her hair was thrown back, messily, electrified. Her skin was red and dotted. Her eyes were full and wet. Her nose was pink. She didn't have a great figure – she was not a skinny girl, at all. So why was he here – drawn to those eyes and her embrace? What was wrong with him? Was it just shock? He had never looked at Granger like that before, never been effected by her and her…charms? She was unlike all the other girls he'd been with. Pansy, Blaise, Cho Chang, Millicent, Hannah Bones, all were very pretty, willing and exciting. Granger was predictable, fat, and… warm?
When did he, Draco Malfoy, care for anything other than looks and reputation? Had the Dark Mark affected him, in some other way?
Why did he want her to wrap her arms around him again? Was he that desperate for comfort?
Why did he care that there was something like disappointment in her eyes? Why did he want to take it away?
She was overcoming her own shock now, backing away. He reached out and took hold of her wrist, stopping her. He didn't know why.
"Don't go," his voice was as husky as hers.
She looked down dumbly at his hand on her wrist then back up at his face.
"I've lost everything," he whispered. He didn't know what that had to do with her. He just didn't want her to leave him. Not now. Not yet.
"Malfoy…" She seemed to have nothing to say. She wasn't moving away.
But when he started to cry again, she held him.
That was all that mattered to him now. All he could see was her dark hair and her shiny eyes and the contours of her face, not his future, neither the one he didn't have, nor the one he didn't want.
Hermione stood outside of Dumbledore's office, with McGonagall's hand on her shoulder. They had awoken Draco and were just passing her by. McGonagall's face was harsh as he looked down on him. Snape had a hard grip on Draco and was pushing him forward. Dumbledore's face was a portrait of disappointment in him. But Draco wasn't looking at any of them, he was looking at Hermione.
Those hooded eyes burned into her. There was no warmth there at all. There was ice. Why did you tell them? those eyes demanded of her. I trusted you. How could you betray me like that?
You're a Death Eater, she thought back. I had to tell Dumbledore.
But she wasn't so sure. She had left him on the couch in front of the fire and ran to Dumbledore. She had had full faith in him. He would know what to do.
She hadn't thought that Dumbledore would sentence one of his students to Azkaban. She hadn't realised that was how he would handle things. She had thought he would have tried to help him, heal him.
But no.
She had doomed Draco Malfoy into Azkaban and, if he ever got out, he would have his revenge.
With those hooded eyes on her before Draco left Hogwarts School forever, Hermione wondered how she'd ever live with the guilt.
To be continued...