A/N : So this story finally has a title, yay! Big congrats to SilverGreenBlackisSnakeAttack, who suggested the title "Heart's Demise." And thank you to all of YOU who voted! This was fun. XD
The whole world was crashing down around her ears. Whatever she had been expecting to find at the Manor that afternoon, it had not been to walk in to find Draco immersed in conversation with a pureblooded - blonde - Slytherin girl!
He'd been saying that he was glad to be there with her! Leaning towards her! Speaking softly, probably gazing into her stupid, vapid eyes!
Hermione wasn't going to cry. Not this time.
She heard him racing down the hallway after her, and a strange feeling of déjà vu washed over her. It had been a mere week ago when he'd followed her out this way the fateful morning he'd forgotten they were going to meet her parents.
With a pang, she realized that they still hadn't gone to see them. Was this the reason? Was Draco trying to push her out of his life now? Was he trying to hint to her that she would never be good enough for him? As if she didn't know that on her own!
She came to the edge of the Anti-Apparition charm and turned on the spot, thinking of the very last place she knew Draco would look for her now. It was the only place she could really think of, really.
A second later, she was pushed into the cool, slightly stale air of her bedroom at her parents' house. She knew they should still be in the office now; they wouldn't be back until around six thirty, probably, if their schedules hadn't changed much since she'd moved out.
She glanced around. Everything was exactly as she'd left it. This didn't surprise her much; her mother was a sentimental woman - and obviously visited the room on occasion to dust, Hermione noted.
Her bed, still in the same place, still with the same ragged quilt draped over it, was the solace she sought now. She sank down on the edge of it and put her face in her hands, trying to stop her brain from working.
It was whirring too fast.
It was true. It was all true. Everything Draco's grandmother had said, about not mixing houses and that Draco should be with someone else, someone better.
Because she knew she would never be good enough.
She would never fit in with his family. She knew that. It didn't help that his mother liked her; what was one ally when you're practically surrounded by the enemy?
He was ridiculously wealthy; her family had never been that well-off. Sure, they got along well enough, better than most families, but they didn't have estates that were really more like castles and a treasure trove buried deep below London somewhere.
She thought about the girl that had been sitting with Draco today. That was the type of girl who belonged with him, not Hermione. Pretty - no - gorgeous, that's what she had been. She could stand beside Draco and not have people wondering what she was doing there. If Draco had brought her home and announced her as his future bride, no one would have batted an eyelash.
She was probably rich, too, so she wouldn't have to adjust to Draco's way of life the way Hermione was having trouble doing. Every time he spent money on Hermione - a gift, a fancy dinner - it made her feel uncomfortable because she was unable to give him anything comparable in return.
Finally, everything clicked into place.
It was over. Truly this time. She could feel it, deep in the pit of her stomach.
She was going to let him go.
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Although he knew he shouldn't, Draco was doing all in his power to find her.
It had been two days. How could someone disappear so completely and yet still be fulfilling all her obligations as if she had never left in the first place?
Because she was still going to work. There were just charms in place now; charms designed to keep him out, and he couldn't get in to see her.
All of his letters were being returned unopened. It was more frustrating than he could even begin to describe because he had no idea how long she had been standing at that doorway that fateful afternoon. How much she had heard. What kind of damage had been done.
Apparently, too much.
He even stooped to trying to contact Potter or Weasley, but they weren't any help. Big surprise there.
"She doesn't want to see you, Malfoy," Weasley had spat at him. Well, he hadn't exactly expected him to come running to help someone he'd hated his whole life.
Potter had seemed sympathetic, but he was still unwilling to help.
"I don't know if this is fixable," he'd said, shaking his head with a sad look. "She's really stubborn, you know; she keeps saying that it just wasn't meant to be."
Wasn't meant to be? Was she crazy? Who cared about that nonsense? Meant to be! Hah! He loved her! She loved him, or at least she had. What more was she asking for?
That was the final straw. He needed to talk to her, to talk this madness through and stamp this stupid new idea of not being "meant to be" out of her too-smart-for-her-own-good head. Since when did Hermione care about crazy things like fate?
All he had to do was reason with her. And when that didn't work, he'd simply have to make her stop thinking.
But how was he supposed to get alone with her? He needed a plan. He needed an accomplice.
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For the second time in his life, Draco found himself asking Potter for his help to get Hermione back.
He wondered if this was going to become a regular thing. Hermione losing her head and overreacting to something inconsequential, Draco rushing to her best friend - and his once mortal enemy - to assist in tricking her into listening to what Draco had to say.
Potter was wary, but he still seemed to believe that Draco made Hermione happy, so he was up for helping her get her happiness back, at any rate.
It disturbed Draco when Potter began to tell him how she'd been acting. The last time, she had truly been upset; like Draco, she wasn't eating, was having trouble sleeping, and was generally unhappy all the time.
Not this time.
She was perfectly normal, according to Potter; only those who knew her well knew about the - incident - with Draco. It worried him that wasn't showing any outward signs of pain. Not that he wanted her hurting; he just wanted to know that she was feeling anything for him anymore, even pain or hate.
The strangest thing of all was that Potter believed the story about Draco's grandmother setting him up. He didn't even ask questions again after the initial exposition Draco had given him.
Great. Now if only we could get Hermione to believe.
The plan was simple. Potter was going to ask Hermione to meet him at a restaurant, saying Weasley would be there as well, that they were celebrating some big news, it was a surprise, and he would tell her when she got there. She agreed, no questions asked.
That was the easy part.
Now he was standing outside the Muggle restaurant that Potter had chosen; wearing a suit and tie and feeling nervous beyond words. He still wasn't sure what he was going to say. I'm sorry didn't seem to cover all he felt she deserved.
She was in there now, waiting. He had seen her arrive just minutes ago. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the doorway.
He hoped that was the hardest part.
He knew which table she would be sitting at; hadn't he been over this plan fifteen times with Potter this afternoon? No one threw a spare glance at him; the restaurant was busy, and the right people knew he was going to be arriving. It was better this way, he had told Potter, that no one paid much attention to him. If Hermione knew he was coming, she wouldn't be staying, that much he knew.
He rounded a corner and suddenly had a view of the entire floor of the restaurant.
She was sitting at a table right in the middle of the room (Potter had thought it would be best in case she decided to make a scene), looking like she had just stepped out of one of Draco's dizziest dreams.
She was wearing a white dress, simply cut, casual, since she was going out with her two best friends, so she thought. Her hair was down for once, flowing halfway down her back in untidy waves that she generally hated, but Draco loved. His breath caught in his chest.
Her back was to him, which was good, because he would have the element of surprise as he came up behind her. He still had no idea what he was going to say.
He'd been wrong about walking through the door being the hardest part. Closing the distance between them, his feet felt like lead in his shoes.
She turned her head slightly as he came up behind her, almost as if she could sense his presence. He took a deep breath.
"Hermione."
She spun in her chair now, mouth hanging open for a half a second before she composed herself and clamped it shut.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed as he sat down in the chair opposite her at the small table. Potter had been right about the table. She couldn't storm out on him here without attracting unwanted attention. He heard her mutter something that sounded like, "…going to kill Harry…"
"I came to talk to you," he answered calmly, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward as she leaned back as far as she could get away from him.
"I have nothing to talk to you about."
"You see, the funny thing is, you do."
Hermione sighed.
"Draco. Really, there's nothing to talk about. What happened the other day just proved what I had known all along. We're not going to work out, that's all."
"That's where you're wrong," he replied fiercely. "You haven't even given me the chance to explain -"
"Explain what, Draco? You think I didn't know what was going on? I'm not stupid, you know."
"It wasn't what you thought - that girl - Grandmother -"
"Invited you both at the same time without either of you knowing," she cut across him, waving a hand in a dismissive way. Draco gaped at her.
"I told you I wasn't stupid," she went on. "Your Grandmother is a clever woman. It was a good plan, setting you up so that I would walk in at just the right moment; clean, effective, providing a catalyst to set us fighting so we would break up. No one could ever say it was her fault," she added without emotion.
Draco finally recovered his tongue.
"So if you knew this whole time…then why?" He couldn't finish the thought that had formed in his head. Why did you leave me?
"Isn't it obvious? We're no good for each other." She smiled sadly. Draco was beginning to feel panicky now. She had put extremely too much thought into this. Not good.
"You're serious." A statement of fact, not a question.
"Yes, I'm quite serious," she replied.
"Then you're mad. I would say you're dense, but that isn't accurate at all because you're too bloody smart for your own damn good, but I think the word mad covers it pretty well." He was losing his temper now. How could she sit there, devoid of emotion and feeling, while she crushed his entire world under her heel?
"I'm only speaking the truth, Draco. How can I possibly hope to become part of a family that hates me, that will never really accept me? I don't fit in with them. You deserve better." Her eyes were glistening now. Well, good. At least there was some emotion still in her. Maybe there was hope.
"Is that honestly what this is about? My family? Fuck my family. We don't need their approval," he growled, gripping the edge of the table to keep from throwing things. How could someone so smart be so stupid? "We don't need them at all. We need you to stop acting like an idiot and letting other people tell us whether we should be together or not!"
"So I'm an idiot now? I thought I was too smart for my own good." Anger flashed in her eyes; she was leaning forward on the table now, too.
"No, you're not an idiot. You're acting like one. There's a difference."
Hermione stood up quickly. Draco felt that same sense of foreboding he'd felt the morning of the last day of his life.
"It's over, Draco. Face it, it was over before it started. Just let me go."
And he did.
A/N 2 : I have absolutely nothing to say here. :D