Chapter Seventeen
By Fate
Late that night Hermione sat at her desk, her new quill in hand, the new journal propped open to the first page. She thought of what to write, her tongue between her teeth, then words, and feelings flowed from her head to her hand, and her quill danced over the page.
20/2/97
For the last five months I've spent my 6th year with my worst enemy. Not by choice, of course. Only by fate. Because of his deal with the most evil wizard in the world, and my stupidity in saving him we were placed under one roof, forced to live together.
Maybe it would happen to anyone, a biological gene of human condition. Love, or kill. Or maybe it wasn't love after all. All I know is that snogging him was the most free I've ever felt. I kissed the lips of a man who called me a mudblood too many times to count. His lips are poisoned with terrible words said to me, his hands dirty from the things I fear to imagine he has done.
What's my point? In the end, to me, he's still Draco. Not Malfoy, the boy I despise, but Draco, the man I've come to love. I tried with all my might to not fall, but I've fallen anyways, and how? His journal. It was by accident, I thought I brought my journal (I left it at home), and his flew into my hands. Curiosity overrode any fear I had of him.
Because of my bravery I learned a softer, more deep side of Draco Malfoy. Because of my bravery, I lost him. He may never come back to me, and I could never blame him, but this I do know: I will always, truly, completely, deeply, be in love with the man who made me see past the dark mark.
Draco Malfoy, I love you.
The page held imperfect drops of tears much like her letter to Harry. She had been crying too much lately. This would be the last time. This would be her closure. She let the ink dry, and closed her feelings inside tying it with a bow. She sent it away with a twirl of her wand letting it fly to his bedside.
There wasn't anything else she could do, but wait. Hermione was a logical person, and she doubted Draco would ever forgive her. She knew she wouldn't have forgiven him. Then again, all he had to do was give her that smile of his, and hating him would leave her mind.
Night was upon her, and she climbed into her bed, pulling the covers over her. It wasn't the same without Draco next to her. She was used to his presence, his dark scent on her pillow. It would always feel empty without him. She pulled a pillow close to her, holding it to her chest. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn't cry. She wouldn't cry another night.
Restless, lonely, and tears not quite falling, she drifted off. However long she was asleep wasn't known. It only felt like minutes, but she knew it must have been hours. Something warm, and firm rested on her arm, and she was suddenly wide away. Hermione turned around her arm out for her wand, but another hand grasped her wrist with the speed of a Seeker.
"Draco," she asked hoarsely.
"Yeah, it's just me."
As much as she missed being that close to him, he was too close for comfort. His lips were near hers, it took every fiber of her being not to close the small, almost insignificant gap between them. "What do you want?"
He let her go. Hermione scooted away, her back to the wall. He picked something up beside him. He held it out to her. It was her journal. Her heart jumped in her throat.
"Oh..."
Without an explanation, or accusations he left her on that bed wondering after him. She wanted to summon his journal, what did he think? Why did he give it back?
Hermione untied it, thumbing through the pages. On one she saw handwriting that wasn't hers. It was Draco's. She swallowed fearfully. Was it filled with hate, or love?
"Lumos," she whispered holding her wand over the words.
20/2/97
For the last five months I've spent my 6th year with my worst enemy. Not by choice, but by fate. Because of my deal with the most evil wizard in the world, and the guts it took her to save me, we are now living under one roof.
It wouldn't happen to anyone, it's not a biological gene of human condition: Love, or kill. It wasn't love from the beginning, that much is certain, but it has become that. I know that snogging her was like seeing something you didn't believe existed. It was enlightening, and beautiful. I kissed the lips of someone pure. Her lips bear wisdom beyond her age, and her hands hold innocence.
What's my point? She's no longer Granger, the mudblood. She's the woman I've come to love more than anything, or anyone. I know finding this "journal" wasn't by accident, but her finding mine was. I understand that now, and regret that I didn't listen to her.
I will have her only if she shall have me. I will love her every single day of my life if she forgives me, but if she doesn't I know I will anyway. Nothing in the world could stop me from loving her. I tried so hard not to feel this way about someone I believed to be the scum off my worst pair of shoes. I've found that she is worth more than the entire Malfoy fortune, worth more than any gold, or pure blood that may exist.
Worthy, or not of her, I will continue to love her.
Hermione's promise of not crying that night was broken easily by what she read. She ran the back of her hand across her cheeks. She felt her heart leave her chest with flight like it had grown its own wings.
She left the journal on her bed running to the hall on her way to Draco's room, when she literally ran into him. He didn't smile, or laugh, but held her arms so she wouldn't fall, almost like the first time they snogged. She stared up at him waiting for something. Forgiveness perhaps.
Draco didn't say anything to her, but she knew she had been forgiven, and that he was looking for the same in her. His eyes were back to their stormy gray. He bent his head, his nose barely touching hers, and he waited as if for permission. She raised herself on her toes, and kissed him hard on his mouth.
Right there in the middle of the hallway they held each other. Lavender, and musk mingled. Caramel, and gray bearing into each other. If it was possible their love deepened. They knew then that they couldn't return to the way they were.