Shades of Grey
Chapter Eight: Draco's Explanation
"Kissing is a means of getting two people so close together that they can't see anything wrong with each other."
- Rene Yasenek
After receiving word that Potter had dropped the Stone somewhere in the Forbidden Forest—to which Draco scoffed and proclaimed the orphan was an imbecile for doing so—Granger had suggested that they pack up camp and head back to the Forbidden Forest. Being in such close proximity to the school after he'd sworn to himself he'd never return unsettled the young Malfoy, but he realized as he aided his traveling companion in packing up their possessions that he didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter. If he were to back out, it would give the Mudblood prude all of the glorified satisfaction she'd been craving ever since they'd started this bloody mission.
And that simply wasn't something Draco was willing to offer to her.
He studied her closely one night as she set up camp in a relatively secluded portion of the Forbidden Forest, after the pair had set up an intense set of protection shields and enchantments around their campsite. His mind kept drifting back to the night they'd celebrated her birthday, and how…angry she'd been with him while intoxicated. She sat alone at the table they ate at, maps and pages spread out before her as she once again skimmed the same reading material they'd picked out of that small bookstore when they first began their journey. Draco was seated on his cot, resting his back against the canvas wall of the tent with a small, worn book clutched in his hands—the very same book Granger had lent to him those weeks before.
He'd made sure to read it when she wouldn't be able to watch him—while she was out searching for food; when she was sleeping. He'd finished the novel finally, and after considering the themes and context of the book, had an idea of what lesson it was his partner had been struggling to convince him of. He eyed her warily—the way she tucked loose strands of chestnut hair behind her ears, and how she'd sometimes sigh to herself when she had finally figured out the missing piece of whatever problem her mind was working on. Her nose would twitch slightly if she grew upset, and he'd taken to noting that she grew quite fidgety whenever she was on the brink of making some sort of breakthrough.
The book, he realized, focused explicitly on racism. Apparently, it had been quite common in the United States around the time for Muggles to discriminate based on skin color. Many seemed to believe that those with fairer skin were superior to others—a trait which caused Draco to scoff and roll his eyes at. For a species that was deemed to be surprisingly advanced for their lack of magical abilities, Draco had difficulty believing Muggles were anything but primitive.
There had been a trial of sorts, Draco had discovered as the plot had unfolded. A man of African-American descent had been accused of a crime he did not commit, and while the young Malfoy Heir assumed that most of the people in the town were privy to this knowledge, none of them spoke up for the poor bloke. None…but one man. There was a character—Atticus Finch had been his name—who had blatantly protested the societal treatment of this man, and had been the one to defend him in a Muggle court.
The story had—begrudgingly—been surprisingly good. It was well-written…for Muggle standards, of course. He'd enjoyed reading it, even if the majority of the characters did piss him off with their treatment of this innocent man. It was as he finished the novel that he finally realized the message Granger had been trying to send him. Determined to approach her, he'd sat with the book clutched in his hands for nearly half an hour, watching as she went over plans that he knew he should have been helping with. But, they'd both worked so bloody hard to find the damn Hallows, and though they hadn't located either one yet, he just…
Shaking his head, Draco moved to stand, crossing the tent silently to sit across from her. Granger didn't bother to look up from the parchment she was studying furiously, so Draco cleared his throat and set the worn book on the table, nudging it towards her slightly. Blinking twice, Hermione's eyes fell from the book and lifted to meet his, slight confusion clouding her otherwise determined features.
"I read it," He said quietly, his voice barely rising above a hoarse whisper. After a few moments of bemused silence, Hermione seemed to grasp what he was getting at, and suddenly her attention had shifted to focus on him. Draco watched closely as her lips parted open slightly in anticipation, and her pink tongue flicked out to slowly lick her bottom lip.
"And?" She breathed, and though the word was spoken softly, it was enough to cause him to jump slightly, startled by how distracted he'd become with…never mind.
"Don't play dumb, Granger—I know why you wanted me to read the blasted thing," Draco replied, and while he'd intended for his retort to be full of bitterness and malice, his tone held none such conviction. It was as though all of his practiced anger towards her had just…dissipated.
"I would have expected someone of your intellect to at least be able to grasp something as basic and blunt as this, yes," Granger said simply in response, and Draco fought off the urge to growl at the slight hint of an amused smirk that lifted the corner of her rosy lips.
It was becoming far too much of an effort to act displeased with her.
Several moments passed in silence, with Draco drumming his hands against the wooden table top in aggravation, struggling to think of a way to compose his thoughts. He didn't know how to go about this—to tell her the truth would be to reveal and unravel the carefully composed shell he'd enclosed himself in since the conclusion of the War, and he wasn't sure how comfortable he was indulging in such foolish impulses.
Licking his lips, Draco sat straighter, subconsciously scooting closer to her. Even though they were isolated in the wilderness, he couldn't help but note that she smelled like soap and…and lavender. The thought that he'd grown so accustomed to her smell disturbed him, and he stiffened slightly.
"You expected this book to change my outlook on Mudbloods and all of your lot, didn't you?" He began, his voice laced with accusation. Granger didn't seem bothered by his statement, merely met his glare with a steady gaze.
"Not change it, no—I could never hope for such a thing," She began, shrugging slightly. "I just wanted to get you thinking about it, is all."
"Are you really that naïve?" Draco blurted out suddenly, incredulity shining on his pale features.
"Naïve? No, I simply—" Granger began in protest, but Draco cut her off, holding up a hand and silencing her with a haughty glare.
"Not about that, Granger," Draco sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes and shifting in his seat. His silver eyes met her hazel ones, and for a moment he found himself unable to speak. The words resided on the tip of his tongue, and it would be so easy to just bloody spit it out, but…
"Look, I don't—the War was really fucked up; you know that," He began, laying his hands flat on the table. Hermione made no show of responding to him, so he nodded stiffly before continuing.
"So many fucking people sacrificed their lives and were killed that day—and for what? For a stupid title of superiority? For something abstract that, at the end of the day, doesn't really make any damn difference? I mean, for Merlin's sake, what was the point?" He spat, running a hand through his blonde hair. Hermione blinked, taken aback, recoiling slightly from the pale-haired former Slytherin seated across from her. She'd clearly taken quite a shock to his outburst which, if Draco was going to be fair, he couldn't exactly blame her for.
"You used to believe there was a point, Draco," Hermione began, her voice soft and timid. Draco blinked, his eyes snapping in her direction as he digested what she had said. Aside from the content, there was something in particular he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around—she'd said his name.
Not Malfoy, or Death Eater, or git—Draco. Just Draco.
"It doesn't matter what I thought," Draco snapped, his upper lip twitching slightly. Hermione stared at him silently, fiddling with her hands and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. He gave a long, tired sigh, gripping the table and swallowing heavily.
"War changes things, Granger—it changes us, as much as we'd like to protest otherwise. It can mold us into creatures that we never thought we'd become. I've watched it destroy people; it's eaten everything I once knew alive and has festered inside of me, rotting and decaying ever since I was old enough to understand it. These people—they walk into war with some sense of noble ideals—honor, duty, and an elevated feeling of superiority. Do you know what that arrogance has gotten us, Granger? Nothing. Because in the end, everything blurs together—there are no sides; only destruction, and those who become prey to it. We all bleed crimson, Granger—it's only a matter of time before everyone else figures it out. Or maybe they won't, I don't know—I've never been much of one for optimism when it comes to human nature."
Hermione stared at him in shock, her jaw slack and her eyes widened. Draco's gaze drifted down to her parted lips once more, and he snapped himself out of his staring before he became too entranced by the curve of her mouth. He attempted to swallow the budding knot in his throat, digging his nails into the wood of the table and meeting her gaze with an impassive one of his own.
Draco closed his eyes for a moment, breathing steadily through his nose and focusing on calming the erratic beating of his heart. He felt something soft brush against the back of his hand, and jumped, startled. His eyes shot open, and he looked to see that Granger had delicately placed her small and dainty hand on top of his. He flinched slightly, yet made no move to snatch his hand from her grasp. Her fingers were warm and gentle, and her thumb lightly brushed against one of his knuckles.
"Stop pretending to hate everything so much," She said in a whisper, her voice quavering. She had moved closer to him, and now Draco could feel her hot breath stir across his skin.
"I'm not pretending," He protested in a grumble, and noticed that his throat ached. "There's nothing to like."
Hermione pressed her lips together for a moment, lifting his hand and enclosing it with both of hers. Uncertainly, she turned his hand over so that his palm lay face up, and used her other hand to trace his fingers before setting her hand inside his, measuring how much smaller her hand was than his own. The touches sent a series of shivers down his spine, but he managed to repress them, determined not to let her know how she was affecting him. How uncomfortable she was making him.
"You see things, Malfoy—you see things that other people can't," She began softly, her hazel eyes moving from their hands to rest on his own distressed grey orbs. "You see, but you cannot comprehend."
As if by a gravitational pull, Draco felt himself scooting closer to the bushy-haired Witch. His nose barely brushed against her own, and he froze, the contact foreign to him.
"There's nothing for me to understand," He protested gruffly, though his argument was meek and dissolved as he blinked back the haze that occupied his mind.
Hermione gave him a sad smile, pressing closer and gazing at him slowly.
"The world is a big place, Malfoy—you'd be surprised how much there is for you to understand," She murmured, her eyes glossy as she stared at him. Slowly, she inched her face closer to his; hesitant and unsure, and though Draco's mind screamed for him to pull away, he could do little but sit frozen in silence.
Time, Draco thought to himself, was an odd thing. The world could pass someone by within the fraction of time it takes one to blink his eyes; time could be everlasting—and a moment could slow down and seem like a century. For him, it was both—as she moved closer to him, he could feel his heart racing wildly within the confines of his chest, and the world seemed to blur before him. But for the aching amount of time it took for her to find him, it might as well have been a hundred years.
So, when her lips first brushed against his, Draco didn't know how to react. Her lips felt soft and warm against his own, like velvet, and the mere sensation of her mouth rubbing against his was enough to cause him to stifle a moan that threatened to erupt from the back of his throat. Ever so slowly, her lips parted, and he found himself kissing her back, as much as he wished he could protest otherwise. When her teeth grazed his bottom lip, Draco froze, his mind sending him spinning back into reality.
He pulled away from her instantly, clambering to his feet and scrambling away from her. He stood, glaring at her, his mouth tingling from the kiss they'd just shared. He felt his heart slowly settle down, and his nostrils flared, his jaw clenched shut. Granger's cheeks were blazing red, and he found that she was unable to meet his gaze. Embarrassed, no doubt.
"Malfoy—" She began, her voice aching as though she'd been slapped. Draco tore his gaze away from her, too infuriated and confused to bother to respond.
He'd kissed the Mudblood. Potter's Mudblood. Indifference or not to bloodline since the conclusion of the War, the thought that his lips had just grazed her own was enough to cause his blood to boil.
"Enough," Draco spat, refusing to hear her explanation of what had just transpired between them.
"Malfoy, just listen to me—I didn't mean to—"
"Just leave me alone!" Draco screamed, his chest aching. The tent was blurring around him, and he realized he couldn't be within the same room as her. Not now; not after she'd done something so foolish and fucked up his carefully thought out plan to loathe her for all of eternity.
Unable to glare at her any longer, Draco turned hotly on his heel and stormed out of the tent, shoving open the tent flap with trembling hands. Once outside, he blinked away the white hot fury that corroded his vision and pumped through his veins. He didn't stop until he'd reached a tree that lay at the edge of their campout, slumping against it and sinking to the ground. He brought his trembling hands up to his face, running his hands through his hair and licking his lips quickly. He could still feel her lips on his, and the velvety texture of her mouth—he'd swear it.
Groaning, Draco buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving inward slightly.
Granger had just thrown a wrench in his constructed hatred of her, and Draco knew there would be no way to get it out.
a/N: Hey, guys! I know it's been a while, but between being extremely busy and such, I just haven't had the time or motivation to write! And I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, and for that I apologize, but I felt like adding much else would be a useless filler, and that's not what I was intending for this chapter. I hope you're all doing well and enjoying the story so far—review and let me know what you think xx .