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Cry Me Tears of Fire

By Pensive Puddles

Draco sat down at the table, his hands holding two mugs filled with steaming hot chocolate that a house elf had previously brought it up. Sitting down across from the trembling girl, he pushed a mug in her direction and watched as she held it in her still-shaking fingers. He slowly lifted the mug to his lips and took a small sip; a part of him still loved the taste and texture of hot chocolate. When he was just a little boy back at the manor, the house elves always gave him hot chocolate when he had bad nightmares; the sweetness soothed his fears and calmed him. Despite being odd-looking and smelly creatures, house elves were quite nice, although Draco would never admit that out loud to anyone.

"Thank you," she said quietly, finally bringing the black mug to her lips and taking a sip. She said nothing more. Draco waved his hand in the direction of the hearth and a large, bright fire engulfed the previous dark fireplace. She sighed as heat filtered through the room, but no other sound was made.

Draco looked around the room, staring out the window opposite of them. It was pitch black outside, and the sun wasn't going to rise for another several hours. Draco liked the darkness; there was just something about it that connected with him. Everything seemed so much more…beautiful in the dark, mysterious. It resembled his thoughts and life, he supposed: undistinguishable, dark, and quiet.

"What are you thinking of?" her small voice asked. His pale gray eyes slid over to her and she stared at him in innocent curiosity. He took another sip from his drink to delay his response, while he inwardly debated in answering her. But her pathetic innocence seemed to shatter whatever nasty thoughts he usually would have automatically said, and so instead he replied gently, "How long the nights are in the winter."

"I like the night," she said quietly, thinking to herself. Draco watched her stare out the window, fondly looking at something he could not see. Maybe it was the darkness itself. "You can always trust it to be dark. It's one thing that will never change."

The common room was silent afterwards for a few long, rather enjoyable minuets. Finally, when he grew weary of the silence, he asked, "Who was he?"

She stiffened and tried to forget the memories by taking a large gulp of her drink, burning her tongue. But she didn't care, not one bit; it rivaled the pain that swarmed her whenever she thought back to that fateful day.

"He's name was Todd. He was going to go visit his grandmother in the country," she said, her eyes downcast. He didn't know what to say. He could already guess what had happened, and he really wasn't ready to see Granger break down in front of him. He couldn't stand to see girls cry, enemy or not. It was the Achilles' Ankle in the Malfoy line. Yes, even Lucius himself has to turn away from a crying woman, be her Muggle or not – of course he always pretends to be a true sadistic, he could only truly torture men. A Malfoy's softness towards tears lasts only a short time; nevertheless, those few moments are crucial to their reputation.

"It's all my fault!" she wailed, slamming her cup down against the desk, and making the brown beverage slosh over the sides and stain the table. She covered her face with her hands, pressing her palms hard against her closed eyes, as if trying to squeeze the images of the dying boy out of her mind. "It's all my fault!"

Draco didn't say anything; he didn't know what to say.

"He was just going to visit his grandmother's! Just for the weekend! And I killed him! I killed them all!" she sobbed, visible tears sliding out from beneath her hands and Draco turned away. Damn his weakness to women's tears.

"I didn't mean to do it. I honestly didn't think I was strong enough – I mean, I hoped I had been strong enough but not that strong," she mumbled to herself, seeming to forget Draco's presence, so wrapped in the past she was. "It's my fault why the train fell off the tracks. I made it happen. I made the wind do it. Didn't you see that in the dream?"

Draco didn't answer because she wasn't truly asking for his opinion. He merely watched her shoulders shake violently as she sobbed; terribly horrified, she made no sound. Her hands rested limply on the desk, and it seemed that she was so bombarded with guilt and memories that it left her paralyzed.

He didn't know what he was doing until it was too late, but he suddenly found her looking at him with watery eyes, a small curtain of relief hanging in them as he held her small hand. She gave him a tiny grin of gratitude and squeezed his hand hard, afraid of letting go in case all comfort would disappear forever, and she would be lost to her nightmare memories. Draco didn't pull back; he couldn't. Dangerously transfixed by her pitiful state, he merely let her clutch his pale hand.

It wasn't love; it wasn't anything that would spark any sort of infatuation. Draco Malfoy simply pitied her, and she welcomed his pity because no one else was willing to receive it. No one would have understood, and strangely, her worst enemy – or so she believed – was the only one on the whole grounds of Hogwarts that identified with her.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco cocked his head to the side while he leaned against a tree. He had been standing outside for only a few minuets. Lunch had been practically meaningless; he had lost his appetite as of late. It was relaxing staying at the castle during the break. There were no noisy, obnoxious students to discipline, no homework to stress over, no friends to pester him about any minuscule detail. It was just peaceful, and he could do anything he wanted.

Except, he didn't know what he wanted to do.

His homework wasn't important to him at the moment. He liked to put things off to the last minuet, well, when it came to Hogwarts homework anyway; he worked better that way. There were no other Slytherins of great interest that could possibly entertain him. He supposed that he'd find himself most on the Quidditch field, practicing – maybe he could actually beat that aggravating Potter. How glorious it would be to finally beat him! Especially if it was the last game of the season! No one would care about his previous losses, they would all remember him defeating the great Harry Potter in the final game.

It upset him greatly that people practically worshiped Potter. After all, the Gryffindor had lost a game more than once in the past. But no one really reminded him of that, unlike himself where his loss would always be alluded too. In a way, it motivated Draco more to become better in order to beat Potter. He just wished that people would acknowledge the fact that in the last two years, his only defeats had been against Potter. But they wouldn't acknowledge it because it didn't matter to them; if he couldn't beat Potter, then he wasn't anything spectacular.

But he wasn't on the field and his broom was locked up in his room. Right now, he was just watching his roommate feed what looked like to be bread to the squid. Curious, and not really having anything else to do, he walked over to her.

A bridge had been built over the lake the year before. Younger students loved to lean over the rail and feed the squid during sunny days. He walked up the bridge, his feet tapping hollowly against the wood. He paused near her, leaning against the rail and watching her chuck another piece of ripped bread down into the mass of tentacles that reached up and sucked it into the dark water.

"We used to feed the ducklings down at the pond when I was little. When mum and dad were still together, I mean. When everything was still normal," she said quietly. She smiled fondly as a wet rubbery tentacle reached out of the water and grabbed the bread she held out with her hand. "It was a nice pond. I used to think it was enormous and that it would take forever to row across it. I went back to it once and it wasn't that big anymore. It wasn't as blue either. And the ducklings were all grown up."

"It happens," Draco said. He found it peculiar that she was sharing some of her personal memories with him. And strangely, Draco had this odd desire to share some fond memory of his own. The thing that stopped him was that he couldn't think of any that stood out. It troubled him deeply.

"It's strange how things are so huge when you're little, how every thing's so glorious and magical when you're young. Like when I would swing on the swing set down at the park, I used to think that if I got high enough, I'd be so high that I would just simply fly out of the swing and never come back down, and I'd just fly and fly wherever I wanted to go. That swing set doesn't go that high anymore," she said disappointedly. Draco watched as her eyes glowed at remembering the sensation of feeling the urge to fly, and he watched that brightness die as reality took control again.

She held out the bread to him, offering it to him and he stared at it. She didn't lower it; she understood that it took him awhile to make decisions when it involved her in any way. Finally, he reached out tentatively and took the bread, ripping off a chunk and throwing it into the water. It splashed and bobbled on the surface of the lake before being sucked under by a tentacle.

It was peaceful, he had to admit, standing out on the bridge with Granger and feeding the giant squid. The wind blew coldly against their skin and pulled at their scarves. No birds sang. Only the chilly breeze and the splashing the tentacles made when they grabbed at the slabs of bread that floated in the water disturbed the silence.

"Do you think it'll snow soon?" she asked thoughtfully and hopefully, glancing up at the empty gray sky.

"I don't know. It's defiantly peculiar that it hasn't snowed yet," Draco replied.

"I like the snow, especially the large snowflakes. They make good packing snow," she said. She opened her mouth to reminisce a time of her past, but something stopped her. Draco looked at her and that happy expression on her face was replaced with plain coolness.

"What were you going to say?" he asked without thinking, and was surprised to realize he actually wanted to know.

She shook her head stubbornly. "It's not important."

Draco didn't pursue it. The bread was nearly finished when the next person spoke.

"Why must we fight so much?" she asked.

"We're not fighting now," he remarked and she gave a wry grin that disappeared as she said clearly, "Not now, yes, but other times. We've been bickering and taunting each other since we were both eleven and it's only grown worse as we've gotten older. You'd think that we'd grow out of it."

"Why must we fight so much?" she repeated when he didn't reply to her earlier.

It wasn't like he was ignoring her question intentionally. He was actually pondering the question, and in all honesty, he had forgotten himself what the true reason was. He didn't understand both what the reason was and why he had forgotten. His mind quickly searched for an answer, for some justification. He could feel her eyes on him, waiting for an answer, and some hope that maybe they could become friends. And that was yet another step out of his comfort-zone that he was unwilling to take. "It's because of our blood," he blurted out when she opened her mouth to comment on something.

He fixed his eyes on the still water, avoiding her disappointed look as she asked quietly, "Is it?"

"Yes," he lied, so quickly that he didn't realize he had said it until he heard her breathe a deep sigh.

"If I was Pureblood, would our relationship be any different?"

"Maybe."

"Would we be friends?"

"Possibly."

"Can we start over, then?"

"What?" he stated, rather than asked.

"Can we just…start over? Can we forget about everything in the past?"

"No," he said, watching her wishful eyes dim. "You can't just forget seven years of hatred in a second. It's unrealistic. And in the end, we'll just end up where we are today: bitter enemies."

"Are we?" she asked, curious, wondering how bitter enemies could have a civil conversation.

"Yes," he said, smirking, and she wished he had been joking, that the smirk took all sting out of his statement.

But it didn't. He just leaned against the rail and looked at the squid. She watched him, admiring his pale complexion, the only fair thing that reminded her that winter was upon them, after all, his pale hair and complexion resembled that of a heavenly creature – except it was all a disguise. Underneath, he really was just as evil as the devil.

She scolded herself for being so hostile. She didn't really know who he was exactly. She didn't think he knew who he was either. And the chance to discover it together, him and her, was exhilarating to think about.

"Can we pretend, then?" she asked.

"What? Pretend?" he asked puzzled. He was so lost in his other thoughts that he was clueless about what she was talking about.

"Can we pretend that we're friends? Just for this break. Just in our Common Room. Can we just pretend?" she asked, nearly begging.

Never had he heard something so preposterous in all his years – which was saying something, considering he was friends with Blaise, and Blaise could say some pretty preposterous things. He looked at her oddly, and he saw her face flush in embarrassment. She didn't say anything else. His eyes were so foreboding that she threw the rest of her bread into the lake, not caring where it landed, and walked away.

She nearly wanted to throw herself in the lake and freeze to death than to ever face him again. How could she have been so stupid? She was quixotic to believe that their hostile relationship could change in just a split second, that they – he was capable of throwing seven years of childish hatred away so easily. She had just hoped that he would have…but maybe it was because she felt as if she had no other friend in Hogwarts, and that she and he shared the same magical ability, she had impractically thought that that Dark bond could have let them throw away such stupidity and come to agreeable terms. She could tell he was growing in his Dark Magic, and now that she knew for sure that she possessed Dark Magic inside of her as well, she wanted him to help her expand it, let her become his apprentice in other words. And she needed to be his friend in order for that to happen.

Now, Hermione Granger has always been a kind-hearted girl. She thinks first of the well being of her friends and others before herself. But when it was something so big and alluring as Dark Magic, and her friends seeming to have left her bleeding and bruised in the dirt, she tended to become a little selfish…well, very selfish. And when her selfish ways want something, her determination exceeds the normal definition of determination. And a very selfish and determined Hermione Granger is a very scary person indeed.

Although she had to admit, the good part amongst the nasty, selfish part of herself had to admit that she always wondered what being friends with a Malfoy would be like. How different it must be from her friendship with her other friends! She had never met a person as extraordinary as Draco, let alone befriend them.

"Granger!" a voice cut through her thoughts. Her breath caught in her chest and she slowly turned around, afraid and excited to see what she might find. Draco was walking towards her and he stopped before her. He looked down at her and said quietly, "What do you want to do today…friend?"

She smiled a large smile and Draco felt a strange warmth fill his stomach, as she walked to the castle, beckoning him to follow her.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It was odd for them to pretend to be friends. It wasn't as easy as she had said it would be, or how she had made it sound to be. Whenever Hermione wanted to say or do something, she always debated inwardly first before actually saying or doing it or not. Being Draco's friend was nothing like being friends with Harry and Ron—

Ron…she growled at the name. Back stabbing jerk! I gave him my love, I let him cheat off my homework, and he cheats on me with Lavender of all people!

She brooded so darkly that Draco noticed her cross expression, but he ignored it. It was her idea in the first place that they pretend to be friends. Although, he wondered why he had said anything at all. He hadn't even realized what he was saying until he was half way through, and being his proud self, he wasn't going to be a coward and stop… although he wished now that he had.

Meanwhile, Hermione wondered how she could twist the knife out of her own back and slam it into Ron's. Being that intelligent girl that she was, she knew she should have given him the benefit of a doubt, but her shattered, betrayed heart refused to relent and forgive him. Maybe that was why she wanted to become friends with Draco. Maybe because she wanted the sweet satisfaction of seeing Ron's face when he heard of her with his school enemy. Of course, Ron probably still thought she was oblivious to his affair and he probably was going to dump her when he came back from break. Anger ate at her stomach until her treacherous mind proposed the idea of dumping him first. And maybe even for Draco! Oh! imagine Ron's face then! Well, she wouldn't get with him per say; she'd only pretend as long as Draco was game.

The idea seemed so far-fetched and jealous that Hermione pushed the thought aside. Too many girls had already tried to get back at their exs by dating their enemies, and she wasn't going to stoop to their level; she was too smart and too proud for that. She glanced over at Draco who walked next to her. He strode with sureness in his stride, something that she had never seen a boy do. And she wondered what haunted him at night. Surely something bothered him, something plagued his thoughts. He never did tell her how he became a Controller. There was this haunted look in his eyes, cowering in the darker shades of gray, some sort of fear that he tried to hide from prying eyes. And she admired how he could act the same even though something obviously troubled him.

Draco saw her brown eyes flicker over to his and he automatically looked over and locked eyes with her for a split second before she quickly looked forward again. He inwardly smirked as her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. She flushed a lot lately; did he unnerve her? He hoped so. He liked unnerving people.

He wondered what it would be like to be friends with Granger. He didn't really have friends. Comrades, peers, and servants: yes. But friends? Besides Blaise and Pansy: no. And he usually let Blaise and Pansy decide what to do. He hated feeling uncomfortable and nervous; it was something he rarely experienced.

"Just treat me how you'd treat Potter and Weasley," Draco said after he noticed her open her mouth to say something but stopped and closed her mouth shortly after.

"I usually just do what they want me to do," Hermione admitted quietly.

Draco smirked and chuckled. She liked how he chuckled. It seemed to be trapped in his chest, and rumble there. "Well, we're in an odd predicament, aren't we?"

"Do you mean to tell me that you don't lead your friends?" Hermione asked amused. "You do know that people have labeled you – Blaise, Pansy and you – as the Slytherin Trio to rival the Gryffindor one, don't you? In a way, I always consider you Harry, Blaise Ron, and Pansy me – more because of the fact that she's a girl."

Draco didn't know whether to be offended or not. After all, Draco hated being compared to Potter. "Great," he remarked coldly, his eyes frosting in icy anger and injured dignity, " I'm being compared to Perfect Potter now, am I?"

Hermione stared at him, bemused at his sudden change of attitude. It seemed unreal that he was only laughing seconds before. "Yes," she said firmly. "From everyone else's point of view, both of you are leaders, both of you are determined and respected, both of you have strong personality, both of you are strongest in magic in your house – "

"I think you'd be, since you are Head Girl."

"Yes, but that's when it comes to assignments and studying. Harry's always been strong at conducting magic. I could never be as good as him."

"Need I remind you that you are the one with the ability to process Dark Magic? You need to be strong for that. And you're just an ordinary Mudblood; you weren't helped along by You-Know-Who."

Hermione face glowed in pleasure when he finished. Although he had called her a Mudblood, he had meant it in a good way, and not the degrading way he usually said it in. "Mentally--," she began to object.

"And magically," Draco interrupted. "Really, Granger, you don't give yourself enough credit."

She blushed, as he chuckled. "Hermione," she said, and Draco looked at her. She gazed at him with shy eyes. "Call me Hermione."

His pace never changed as they continued to walk to where she was leading them. Hermione felt humiliation crush her chest. Idiot! She was too bold! She shouldn't have said anything. She shouldn't –

"Draco," he said quietly, so low she almost didn't hear him. "Call me Draco."

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

A/N: So…there you go. Chapter eight. Sorry this one seemed to take me decades and decades to write. Actually, I've had it done for weeks, but I was just trying to get it beta-approved, but no matter how many times I sent it to her, she just wasn't getting it. So, I was tired of waiting, and I felt bad for you guys having to wait (cause I know what it's like to have to wait for a story…drives me bonkers…) so I'm updating, and hopefully there aren't that many typo's and spelling mistakes. If so, feel free to point them out. I know this is going slow, but I'm just trying to get all the foundation laid down.

In other news…for those who are "reading" The Dragonstar Quest, bad news: I deleted it off fanfiction(dot)net. Sorry! I really really am! But it's such a relief to get it off my chest, and I was loosing heart in writing it. And because all these little problems kept cropping up with the storyline I had planned. Who knows, maybe in the future when I really get everything planned out better, I'll rewrite it, and not with such doozy chapters…way to freaken long in my opinion.

Well, Pensive Puddles signing off, but not before saying "Be kind and review! You all did such a spiffiola job last time!"