Chapter 3: Draco to Hermione: Falling For You (Weezer)
A/N: Yes! Im so excited for this chapter! I was writing it out in my head while raking leaves (good activity for thinking), and I just hope I can remember it all...there's a lot of explaining to do, so it's pretty long. FFY also happens to be 1 of my favourite songs ever! So just read it, and don't forget to Review! Hope you can read all of it, b/c its still pretty good—despite the length. I hope. oh, and same thing w/lyric changes as chap2
Disclaimer: no tengo nada... "etcetera, etcetera, etcetera" (quote the King of Siam, whom, surprisngly, I also do not own)
And so we begin. Again.
(Draco POV)
Everything crumbled that night.
It was two days into the spring term.
Every damn defense disintegrated.
Every damn wall collapsed. Five small words. They hit those walls like a canonshot and echoed around the concrete rubble.
We were peacefully sitting in our common room, doing homework. I was flipping through my runes textbook, trying to figure out how the ancient Sumerians said "There's a maggot in my steak", and merlin-knows what future assignment Granger was doing. Then, totally out of the blue, Granger says those five, small, damning words:
"Holy shit. You're Draco Malfoy."
I froze. All the blood in my hands and face fled up to my brain, making it throb and hum.
Time froze. The words printed on my textbook blurred together. Thoughts and people's voices rushed together, weaving around each other, each speaking over the other, with no regard at all to my sanity...
"Come back with us..."
"You have no choice..."
"There will be no failure..."
"You're not a killer, Draco..."
"Forget everything..."
"Holy shit. You're Draco Malfoy."
But there was no Draco Malfoy. Not anymore. He had died on a summer night six months ago(has it really only been that long?). He'd died the night he ran away, the night he failed. Until that night, failure was not a word in that boy's vocabulary. But when he ran away, fled, with Snape, to some city in America, where they thought no one could find them, Draco Malfoy fell off the edge of existence.
"Hamish—I mean, Draco? You are Draco...right?."
It was less a question and more Granger telling me who I am. I still kept my gaze on the yellowed pages in front of me, refusing to meet her inquisitive eyes, barely restrained hands, her mouth almost bursting with the thousands of questions I knew she wanted to ask. I suppose it was only a matter of time.
Time. If I could rewind time. Stop myself from making the same mistakes. We thought we'd be safe in some huge, anonymous city. No one would think that two muggle-haters would seek refuge among the dirty things themselves. Obviously we were wrong. One morning we woke up to find Lupin and my cousin Tonks standing over us with theirs wands pointed at our faces. Needless to say, we decided to be cooperative.
They convinced us to come back to Hogwarts, in disguise. Powerful identity charms were placed on us, and we were given cover stories. Honestly, it felt like something out of those crappy spy novels Granger leaves around the common room. (for which I, of course, do not spare even a glance. Beyond the first chapter.)
From that day on, I became Hamish Alexander: red-headed-hufflepuff-boy-no-one-ever-noticed-until-he-became- head-boy. I looked like a Weasley. Only much better looking, of course. But still, the shame was overwhelming for a long time. I guess they put me in Hufflepuff because they were scared I'd "replapse" into my death-eater ways again. As if. I've had enough of groveling and hiding my face.
"Hell-o? Anybody there!" Hermione exclaimed. "Malfoy, just look at me, and tell me: are you, or are you not Draco Malfoy?"
I would just have to lie for all it was worth. Slowly, I raised my face to find her staring at me like she had never properly looked at me before. Every evasive response, every lie, dried on my lips before I could say a word. She knew, and there would be no fooling her. Why'd I even think I could? She's head girl for a reason. Might as well go down with some semblence of dignity.
"How clever of you, Granger. Yes, I am."
I even inserted a smirk to distract her from the trembling in my hands which were still gripping the spine of the textbook.
"Y-ah-but-ho---How the hell did you get in? Why are you here? Are you planning another attack? Wasn't killing Dumbledore enough for you?" She spluttered shrilly, trying to find the right question to ask first. Now she jumped up, fumbling through her robes for her wand, and proceeded to hold it about five inches from my nose. Deja-vu all over again.
"First of all, Granger, I did not kill Dumbledore. Snape did. Second, you can put down your wand because McGonagall knows I'm here. She's part of the reason I'm here at all. Her and our precious little Order."
" Order? How do you know about the Order? And what do you mean 'our' ? You're not a member, are you" She asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
" No, I am not a member. Just because they've agreed to hide me and Snape, isn't going to suddenly make me all gung-ho about saving mudbloods and the like."
I guess it's better to tell her everything, and get it over with. It's not like she's gonna go tell anyone. I know her better than that.
For a little more than four months we had practically lived together. Sharing a common room and head duties. She had always tried to draw me (or rather Hamish Alexander) in, befriend me. At first I'd resisted, resenting everything that had taken me from being the Dark Prince, youngest death-eater, to some ginger-nobbed Hufflepuff with no reputation to speak of—good or bad.
Little by little though, as I truly began to realize how lonely I was, her friendly gestures became a welcome change. It helped that we both spent most of our free time either in the library or our common room. Potter and Weasley didn't return this year, so Hermione probably felt lost without 2/3 of the Golden Trio. She never laughed anymore. Not really, anyway. Just a fake laugh so people would think she was ok. That part was easy to tell, even if she hadn't said it outright.
As part of trying to get me to open up, Hermione had taken to talking to me. About anything. And I listened. Partly because I didn't have anything better to do, and partly...something else. Something thing that had taken root as she asked, day after futile day, "How are you?" "How was your day?". An...amused affection of sorts.
"Well, then." She said now, sitting down again. "Well, then." She fell into a thoughtfull silence, looking down and chewing on her thumbnail, as she was wont to do when trying to think something through. Occasionally she'd look up as though to ask something, and then think better of it before continuing her thumbnail-chewing. I smiled softly, restraining myself from pulling her hand down from her mouth.
The seed had been quick to sprout, and I started giving her one-word answers to her daily questions. I also began to watch her. Trying to figure out how she did it. How she got through each day knowing Potter and Weasley were out there doing who-knows-what to try defeating Voldemort. And here she was, stuck, with a bunch of pimply teenagers who were trying to ignore the tattered world outside their school walls by sneaking off for a snog.
I watched. And I noticed things. I watched her eyes glint with enthusiasm when she spoke about her friends and SPEW; the flames from the fireplace dancing on her hair—making it static and alive. All this I watched while I knew she was trying to get something out of me. Anything, just get me talking. But I never gave her more than a word or two at a time. And yet she'd figured it out? How? I even had trouble recognising myself in the mirror.
I looked at her now. Lips pursed in agonised thought. Then, her voice, quiet and unsure, floated across the room, and penetrated my own ponderings.
"Why did you kiss me?"
I smirked again. So it wasn't actually the first question I'd expected. About time she brought that up, though.
The night before Christmas break had brought the usual round of rowdy, late-night parties that I used to enjoy so much. I'm no longer allowed at Slytherin parties obviously, but I still managed to get plenty drunk at some Hufflepuff festivities. Who knew they had it in them? Anyway, I came back to the Heads' quarters at 3AM. Most people can't remember a thing that happens when they're drunk. Not me; I remember everything.
Hermione was sitting on the couch, writing a long letter. Probably to Weasley. The room was mostly dark, but she sat in front of the fire, and its flickering glow on her face and chest was both eerie and alluring. When she looked up to see who had come in, I could see glistening steaks down her cheeks and overly-bright eyes. For a moment we just stared at each other, neither moving a muscle.
It became one of those times when everything feels scripted, like you're in a play, or a movie. She broke the staring contest, and stood up to leave. I strode over, put my hand under her chin, and lifted her lips up to mine for a swift, smooth moment before walking up to my room. And that was it.
"Please, Malfoy." I blinked. She was still whispering, and her eyes were shut tight. "Stop smirking, and answer me."
I didn't choose to kiss her; it was in the script, and I don't think I had a choice. Given one, would I have done the same? The question spun through my mind all of Christmas and New Years. Hermione had been making more and more appearances in my thoughts, and I couldn't push her out. Not that I was trying very hard. I was lonely, and her voice kept me company.
"Would you fing answer me, already? This is getting really unbearable, you know!" She said. She was still whispering, but now it was more a of a whispered snarl.
I sighed. How could I answer a question I barely knew the answer to? Unable to delay it any longer, I opened my mouth...
Holy
cow! I think I've got one here
Now just what am I supposed to
do?
I've got a number of irrational fears
That I'd like to
share with you
First, there's rules about ghosts(old goats)
like me
Hanging around with chicks like you
But I do like you
and another one:
You say 'Ron' ('like') too much
But
I'm shaking at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby, I'm
afraid I'm falling for you
And I'd do about anything to get the
hell out alive
Or maybe I would rather settle down with you
Holy
moly, baby, wouldn't you know it?
Just as I was busting loose
I
gotta go turn in my dark prince(rock star) card
And get fat
and old with you
Cos I'm a burning a candle you're a gentle
moth
Teaching me to lick a little bit kinder
And I do like you
- you're the lucky one
No, I'm the lucky one
I'm shaking
at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby, I'm afraid I'm
falling for you
And I'd do about anything to get the hell out
alive
Or maybe I would rather settle down with you
Holy
sweet goddamn! You left your elf hats on every couch(cello in the
basement)
I admired the 'knit, purl 2' (glowing
stars)
And tried to knit one too(play a tune)
I
can't believe how bad I suck, it's true
What could you possibly
see in shitty Hufflepuff(little ol' 3 chord) me?
But I do
like you and you like me too
I'm ready, let's do it baby
I'm
shaking at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby, I'm
afraid I'm falling for you
And I'd do about anything to get the
hell out alive
Or maybe I would rather settle down with you
With
youuu, ohhhhhhohhhh...FADES
I took a deep breath and looked across to Hermione. After a second of shocked silence, she fell to her knees...and laughed. Laughed her head off! I mean, her eyes were streaming, she was laughing so hard. This is why you should never tell people "about your feelings"!
"F--k you!" I roared. "F--k you, Weasly, Potter, McGonagall, and the Order! F--k Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Hufflepuffs, and everyone! But most of all, f--k you!"
That stopped her. Hermione looked up from where she was rolling on the floor, and stared up at me with her doe-eyes, wide with shock, and...a little fear?
Damn her beautiful eyes.
"This whole year you've been trying to get me to talk, so now I am, and WHAT do you do? You LAUGH!" I was gesturing wildly with my hands. She was still staring, but now her cheeks were bright pink in an embarrassed blush. I had to stop for a minute to catch my breath.
"You're such a hypocritical mudblood, Granger." I seethed quietly.
I let my words sink in, and walked briskly towards the door. My hand was on the doorknob when I felt someone else's warm hand on my shoulder and turning me around. Before I had a chance to react, Hermione slapped me hard across the face, grabbed my shoulders again, and pulled me into an equally hard, deep kiss.
Heated rushes of exhilaration swept up through my body, while an ice-cold thrill ran down my spine. Our lips moved roughly against each others', and we ran our fingers through each other's hair—though I had to stop when my hands became entangled in her thick mane, and I couldn't move them. But that didn't detract from the excited buzz in my head and heady smell of her shampoo that was blocking most rational thoughts.
Finally, we surfaced for air. Breathing heavily, we gazed at each other without actually seeing anything. At last, Hermione smiled shyly at me, and I smiled back. Quickly, her mouth moved into a devious smirk, and she stood on her tip-toes to whisper into my ear.
"I always had a thing for red-heads."
