Ch.3 – Wistful Losses
Hermione sat down on the bench for a while, looking around the meadow but never searching the trees behind her. She didn't need to. There was no reason to be mistrustful of the darkness. Then, Hermione reached up, on her tip toes, to turn on the lantern suspended above her. Her fingertips were just shy of the switch. She sat down to determine a solution to her problem. Just as Hermione began to get frustrated, a hand reached out from behind her amongst the trees and pulled the switch. It should have frightened her. She should have screamed or jumped, but she didn't. A part of her almost expected something like that to happen. She muttered a thank you and turned around. And she was face to face with Draco Malfoy.
If she was startled or upset, Hermione didn't show it. For that matter, he seemed much more surprised by his own actions than she did. Like an opossum caught in headlights he faltered slightly. He wasn't quite sure why he had done it. Why had he revealed himself when he should have just disappeared? It was merely that she had looked so perfect in the soft moonlight on his bench. His hand had moved of its own accord, and he couldn't quite wish that it hadn't. But he wasn't ready to face her. Not on these terms. And he would have spooked and left had he not been taken with something strange in her face. Certainly, his identity was unexpected and her eyes widened with a sharply cautious gaze. Yet she was gentle. Though sitting vulnerably exposed, she possessed such strength of spirit that it seemed as though she held power and control of the situation.
She began, very softly, "Draco … What are you doing here?"
He stared back forcefully, yet did not respond, until she asked again, more warily and rising to her feet, "What did you help me for?"
Draco stirred heatedly, but flustered and disjointedly, "Why do you call me by my first name? I never meant to help you. What are you doing here, Mud…"
He had to stop. It wasn't worth it to him. Here, he didn't want to hate, banter, or fight. It would cost him far more than it could ever cost her. Emanating passionate and raw emotions, Malfoy could only lose his one haven. This meadow made him so bare that he didn't have the energy to feel. Completely drained, his shoulders slumped and he turned around to walk away.
"Wait…" she whispered, so softly that he scarcely heard her.
He glanced back glaring darkly and sighed, "Just let me be. I'm sick of it. Of everything. Leave me to my little peace." His voice trailed off so that his last sentence was a murmur.
He walked off, head held high and step strong until he was far enough off that she could no longer hear him. Then he began to run. As he dashed away, as though possessed, she uttered aloud to the night, "I'm sorry." She hazily imagined that the lost soul she had met could hear her.