Falling Tears

Chapter IV

The Evanescence of Love

Draco's eyes shot open to meet, yet still, the swirling snow falling in front his face. He slowly sat up and rubbed his weary eyes. His hands felt numb and stiff, and he was covered in a thin mantle of white.

He stood warily and winced at the chilling sting that ran through his body. Had he really fallen asleep out there? He thought this idly without really caring or grasping the full reality of his surroundings.

He dusted the snow off his clothes and shook it out of his hair. Watching it fall it reminded him of himself. He, too, was falling. Cold, and unaided, bearing the sadness of his own misery.

"If only," he thought as he walked inside the Manor, "There was someone who could be here to catch me."

The entrance hall was dimly lit, and there was no sound to greet his ears. As always no one was there to embrace him anymore. Sighing he continued the walk up to his bed chamber.

His legs felt as if they would give way beneath him as he walked up the six-story staircase. He grasped the railing for support, leaning his weight against it.

When he finally reached his room he collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes feeling the warmth that was beginning to course through him. It was amazing in contrast to the bitter cold night outside.

Turing on his side he faced the picture of his father again, as another memory filled his mind. This one, however, was quite different from the preceding one of his father. It was back to the time when he had first met Hermione, thus beginning their once extraordinary friendship.

He closed his eyes as a slight smile formed on his lips. He remembered that feeling of finding a new friend, and how his heart had sped up when she first took his hand. It was soothing, but very heartbreaking. How did they allow themselves to become so distant from one another? Why had their lives been filled with so much hatred and sorrow?

Remembering that day it made him wish he could go back. Go back for just one day, and feel that again.

… (Flashback…9 years ago…) …

The sky was grey and cloudy, and the weather hinted of an upcoming storm.

Young Draco Malfoy walked along the beach holding his mother's protective hand. His face held a delighted smile as he felt the warm sand between his toes, and the tide that would wash up every so often and cool his feet to his ankles.

Roaring waves were the only sound to be heard, along with the occasional call of the seagull. Tropical winds billowed through his hair at an incredible, but soothing, rate and the smell of coconut mixed with the scent of the sea lingered upon the air.

"Mother," Draco started sweetly, "May we come to this place every day?"

Narcissa Malfoy shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry Draco, but we can't some here often. This is a Muggle area and your father would be very angry if he found out we were coming here." She smiled and felt the cool breeze coursing through her, "I think that it will be okay just this once."

Draco looked down at his feet, "Oh." Slight worry was etched on his face, and traces of disappointment.

His mother squeezed his tiny hand reassuringly, "its okay, one day. He will understand."

Draco shrugged, "Maybe."

Then presently the sound of laughter reached their ears. They turned and looked down towards the south side of the beach, where a young couple were walking hand-in-hand. A few feet in front of them was a little girl no older than Draco's age.

She was busily grabbing all the seashells that she could find and sticking them into a tiny bag slung over her shoulder. This girl had long, thick, ginger-colored hair with many loose curls.

Draco's small heart began to beat harder in his chest as he watched her. He didn't know why, but he felt all warm inside, and his knees started to feel weak and shaky. What was this new feeling? It made him slightly light-headed and he couldn't take his eyes off her. What do you call this? He didn't know. He had never felt this way before.

"Who is she mother?" he asked, his voice awe-struck.

Narcissa shook her head, "I don't know Draco, some Muggle by the looks of it." She looked down at her son curiously and saw the tiny twinkle in his eyes and how his mouth was slightly parted.

She smiled and let go of his hand, "Why don't you go find out?"

Draco looked up at her fearfully, "I-I can't," came his tiny voice, "I can't talk to her."

Narcissa laughed softly. "It's alright," she said in her sweet voice, "go on Sweetheart, find out who she is."

She nudged Draco forward gently, and sighing Draco walked over to the girl, his little feet padding against the sand.

He stopped and looked down at her figure, who was hurriedly picking the best shells. The girl stopped when she saw his shadow hovering over her and quickly stood to face him.

"Who are you?" she asked eagerly.

Draco only stared at her through a pair of wide eyes.

A smile formed on her lips as she eyed him, and her heart beat increased ever-so slightly. This boy was beautiful with the wind coursing through his platinum hair and his blue-grey eyes matching the stormy ocean. She slowly reached out a trembling hand, "I'm Hermione Granger."

A tiny smile came across Draco's face and he put his hand in hers, shaking it slowly. They both flushed. "I'm Draco Malfoy." He said.

They both gazed into each others eyes, neither knowing what this new feeling was, or where it had come from. And neither wanting to turn away or let go of the others hand.

… (end flashback) …

A slight smile formed on Draco's lips and he turned on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. That feeling he had felt must have been love. He had fallen for Hermione that day on the beach, and even at such a young age the feeling of love was so much stronger and clearer than it was to him now.

Back then he actually trusted people enough to love them. He wondered if he could ever get that back. All the things he would give to just feel that again.

But now he was just shattered and broken. Too many things had torn at his heart, who was there to piece him back together?

However, there was one thing he couldn't understand. Hermione had gone through all that heartbreak and pain he had caused her, and yet she didn't seem broken and torn. She still loved all immensely. Though, he could see it in her eyes at times, whenever she looked at him, or whenever he would insult or ridicule her. Was it possible she still loved him?

"No," he whispered to himself, "It was evanescent."

Then sighing, he slowly stood up and walked outside onto his balcony. The cool midnight wind soothed him and he stared out at the gentle moon, the stars reflecting in his eyes.

He let out a long exhale of breath, and ran a hand through his smooth hair. It fell back over his eyes and shifted slightly in the breeze. It was relaxing to be out in the still night. Just something about it made Draco feel a little like his old self again.

It cleared his head, and ebbed away some of the guilt that constantly weighed on his soul.

However, he felt very alone at these times, and only wished for someone to walk into his life and save him, before it was too late and became consumed by his emptiness as his father had.

Closing his eyes, he allowed all his pain to just seep away into the darkness.

His life was too confusing. Did he love Hermione or didn't he? Were all his emotions really weak? All he grew to believe, had it all just been lies?

He knew that killing Hermione would be the only way to prove to his father that he was not weak. That he could be strong and do what needed to be done to save his life.

But, what did he really want? To prove that he was not weak to his father, or prove his love for Hermione?

He didn't really even know if he loved or not, but the thought of betraying her was terrible. Would he die inside, or risk being killed by Voldemort physically for not doing what he was ordered?

"Oh it would be wrong to kill Hermione." Draco whispered to himself, "but I don't see a way out of it."

He looked down at his hands in sadness, "Maybe I do love her, but do I love her enough to die for her?" He still didn't know. Love was something he just couldn't understand like he used to. He'd already betrayed her once, and didn't want to do it again.

'Killing her though,' he thought, 'Would be the ultimate act of betrayal.'