Out of all the stories on ff dot net, you chose to review, favorite and alert this one. Shucks. I heart all of you. And, I'm not feeling so great, which is quite conducive to writing. ;) Here you guys go – a little early. The path to true love never did run smooth, or something like that.
LCailan
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Seeing Hermione after he had found out the truth about what Flint had done to her was impossible. Draco had indulged himself once glance, before slipping around the side of the office quarters, and then towards the exit, where he apparated into western London. Zabini was not at work; he had requested Draco meet him at a barista near the alienage he managed for tea and light nosh. It turned out a good excuse as any to get away from the source of his torment.
As he came around the corner, he could see Zabini leaning against the brick wall of the establishment, smoking. His outward appearance seemed to signify nonchalance, but Draco could tell that beneath that veneer there was despair and tension.
"Malfoy."
Zabini put out his cigarette, and then stuck out his hand for a shake, which Draco did with slight reluctance.
"I assume you have some news for me? We oughtn't to be seen together, what with has happened with the escape attempt several days ago."
Zabini nodded.
"Had it been up to me, I would have let them all go. Too many deaths otherwise, and now it's too late."
Yes, Draco decided that he and Zabini shared a brain.
"Shall we?"
Draco followed Zabini into the small establishment, which was redolent of coffee and pastries. For a moment, he pictured Hermione at the dessert table the night of his aunt's party, and a smirk crossed his lips. He wondered if he could get away with bringing her a chocolate éclair, or some such treat. Probably not.
Sighing, he sat down at a table covered in a red and white tablecloth, before ordering food from a short, plump looking Muggle woman. Soon, Draco had his hands wrapped around a mug of steaming Earl Grey.
The two men sat in silence, neither one look at the other, before Zabini broke the silence.
"How is she?"
The words were whispered, and he leaned closer so no one would overhear. The shop was mostly empty, but he refused to take chances.
Draco rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the red marks that were still healing.
"Feisty," he hissed back. "I never thought you had paid attention in Care of Magical Creatures, Zabini. Brown's worse than a bloody hippogriff!"
Zabini looked unfazed.
"She's had a lot thrown at her, and without a wand, a woman learns how to defend herself."
Draco found himself floored at the pride in Zabini's voice, even though it was muted by the worry that predominated. He swallowed his tea for a moment before speaking.
"She's…not adjusting well. She misses you. She misses the baby."
The words faded into the low din of the establishment, and Zabini's face communicated things that words could never have. It would have been impossible for Draco to express what was going through his own mind, and so he thanked Merlin that Zabini did not speak for a long while.
Then, the darker man reached into the pockets of his robe and retrieved a single photograph, laying it on the table in between them.
"That's her."
His words were quiet, the tone thin, as if it were stretched too tightly. His dark eyes revealed the weariness of his soul.
"Lavender called her Daisy. I guess…I just, well she's Daisy to me, too."
The little girl in the photograph had wisps of brown gold hair that framed a tiny, round face, beautiful in its innocence and sweetness. She had a dimple in her right cheek when she laughed and waved up happily at the two men staring down at her. She had skin the color of milk laced coffee but her eyes were her mother's – a startling blue Draco had only ever associated with fairy princesses from the storybooks his mother read to him as a child.
"She's-"
Draco thought he should have said something; words were appropriate, after all. The child was beautiful, he knew. And Zabini was lucky. His child, no matter how she had been conceived and despite the consequences of that conception, was still alive. Scorpius was long dead, and there was a strange mixture of hatred and bitterness that flowed within Draco. But even with that, he sensed a rush of joy for Zabini.
Disgruntled by the never ending rush of emotions he was feeling lately, Draco pushed the photograph towards the other man, not wanting to gaze down at Daisy any longer, for she wrought in him feelings and memories he didn't want to relive. Not ever.
"All's fine, mate?"
Draco swallowed with difficulty.
"Peachy."
He downed tea that burned his throat and warmed him, dispelling the strange icy feeling that had suddenly coated his insides. Indeed, his fingers still trembled because of it. He breathed in the comforting spicy and bitter scent of his beverage.
Zabini hesitated.
"I was hoping you'd give the photograph to Lavender, you know, so she…knows that Daisy's getting on well. That she's growing and she's more beautiful each day and-"
Draco made a strangled sound of impatience.
"Fine, I'll take it to her. I'll tell her what you told me."
The interruption was harsh enough to cause his companion to fall into silence, and Draco tucked the small photograph into his robe pockets, and out of sight.
"Are you sure all's fine, Malfoy?"
Draco gritted his teeth, and nodded.
"Leave me be, Zabini."
It was all he could say in the end, for he wasn't sure how to speak of a son that had been taken from him much too soon. It seemed impossible to put such a loss into words. He had tried, once, to write it down, and in rereading it Draco had felt a deep chasm between the words he had penned and what he had been feeling. No, it would be impossible. Nothing else was said for a moment, and Draco took another swallow of the tea just as their food arrived. He wasn't hungry, but he dutifully choked down food that tasted like nothing.
"I've found a way to get Lily Potter away from Pansy Parkinson."
When Draco glanced up, Zabini was watching him with something akin to sympathy.
Does he know what I'm thinking? Merlin's Beard!
"Have you?"
He put down his fork, and pushed the plate of half eaten food aside, trying not to look eager. It wouldn't do.
Zabini took a breath.
"Flint's requested a list of children to be sent for experimentation to Azkaban. I got the owl this morning, but haven't replied. The paperwork for her transfer out of London would take longer than this. If I play my cards right, I could have her out of Pansy's hands within the week."
The iciness returned full force, causing Draco's breathing to stop.
"Are you barking mad?" he hissed, gray eyes flashing. "I want Lily out of London and safe. That was the deal we made, Zabini, and I'll be a gryndilow's uncle before I see you back out of it!"
Zabini leaned away from Draco, raising one eyebrow at the blond man's vehemence. It still made no sense to him why it was so important that Ginny Potter's daughter be safe.
Wouldn't I do the same thing for my Daisy?
Yes, he would have. But, Lily Potter wasn't Draco's daughter, and therein did lay the mystery of his decisions. Nothing made sense. He swallowed and his jaw clenched.
"If you'd stop being such a sodding berk, and let me finish! Bloody hell, Malfoy!"
Draco sat back, lowering his head, wishing he had better control over his emotions, though, since Granger had walked back into his life that part had been rather difficult.
"Fine. Crack on, then."
His response was sharp, and the silence that followed was icy.
"If I get her on the carts to Azkaban, and ensure that I'm driving the cart that she's on, which I can, I'll be able to make a detour. I know someone who'll take her, get her on the first train out of London. Lily's name will be on the list for Azkaban, and there are so many children in my alienage, I can't imagine that anyone would miss her if she didn't make it there."
His face was grave.
"And once they do, she'll be long gone. Voldemort has influence within all of London, and most of England, but the movement isn't widespread; she'll be safe once she's out of the country."
Draco swallowed, looking into the deep brown depths of his tea, just as the Muggle woman brought them a plate of biscuits.
"You have contacts from within WERA? Isn't that dangerous? Especially if the Ministry starts sniffing around?"
Draco found himself both shocked and hopeful at how deeply entrenched Zabini had gotten with the freedom movement. The darker man chuckled.
"Not exactly," he said.
Then, he sighed.
"It's one of those situations where you know someone, who knows someone, who knows…"
He paused, biting his lip.
"When Lavender first came to Paddington, there was a group of women who…were sympathizers. They kept it quite silent, but I found out about it anyway. I know where they live, and I knew that at some point Lavender would need help, so I chose to pretend that I didn't know what they were getting on about. It's served me well. I protected them, and they've returned the favor. They knew of my relationship with Lavender, and they knew about her pregnancy. They have Daisy. Well, one of them has her, and if I need my daughter out of London, she'll be on the next train out. And I can do the same for you. For Lily Potter, if that's what you want."
Draco searched Zabini's face, realizing that in those words flared a hope that he hadn't felt in a long while. There was a way out. Perhaps, a way out even for Granger, if she wanted it.
"How can any Mudblood help anyone now? If the Ministry catches wind of something like that, they're dead. Anyone with them is dead. Your daughter-"
Zabini shook his head, his eyes widening.
"They're not Mudbloods. They're pureblood and fighting for the same cause as WERA. There's more of them than the Ministry knows, rebelling in their own way. Living a life of obedience on the surface while going against the Ministry underneath."
Draco hesitated and Zabini leaned across the table, his gaze intense.
"What choice do you have, Malfoy? The paperwork for legal transfer could take months, at least. I could have this arranged within days, and Lily could be gone. It's not safe for anyone now, and especially anyone staying with that Parkinson cow."
The blond man swallowed.
"You're right."
His words were choked as he was suddenly struck by a thought that made his heart race.
"If you can do what you say you can, could you do it for anyone?"
He could get Hermione and Lily out of London for good. Merlin knew where they would go, but they'd be away from him and he wouldn't have to worry about her anymore. It's what he wanted, for the alternative was frightening. Each day he saw Hermione, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that he didn't care. In fact, Draco knew that caring was a given, and that his feelings were careening into dangerous territory.
It's out of the question. Whatever this madness I feel is, it's out of the question. I simply cannot even accept such a thing! I need her gone. I need all of this over. I need to be back to normal.
Zabini looked at Malfoy with a critical eye, one eyebrow lifting in his musings.
"What's this about, Malfoy?"
Draco sneered.
"If you can do it for one person, you could do it for two, maybe three, yeah?"
Sighing, the dark haired man shook his head.
"Sorry, mate. I'm not about to risk WERA's position. I might be able to sneak two by the Ministry, but any more than that and they'll be right suspicious."
His dark eyes narrowed.
"I'm asking you once more. What's this about?"
Draco sighed, the flare of hope dying in a glorious burst of light, and then his world was dark once more. Sighing, he sat back against the chair in a limp fashion, and then shrugged.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll tell you."
And why not, he figured?
After all, he was in the same position that just weeks ago, he had promised himself he would never take. And the misfortune of it all was that he hadn't even chosen it; when it came to Hermione Granger, Draco wondered if he had ever had any choice at all.
"It was never about Ginny Potter."
He looked down, his heart trembling.
"It's about Hermione Granger."
Her name was like the most powerful incantation he had ever whispered.
Hermione had not seen Marcus Flint since the horrific afternoon that she revisited each night in her dreams. She wasn't even sure how many days had gone by, only that she could no longer sleep, for her actions haunted her the moment she drifted off. What had once been a respite from the world was now something Hermione tried to avoid. Therefore, she spent most of her waking hours in a daze of exhaustion, simply hoping that she could get through another day. That and wishing that whatever WERA was planning would come to fruition.
Hermione found herself daydreaming about the possibility of an escape along with Justin, Lily and Ginny. Though she had spent so many years on the run from the Ministry and it had been the most difficult time of her life, it was still preferable to the hell that she had experienced at the alienage. She craved freedom, even if it was uncertain and bore its own hardships.
But, would it happen? And would Lily be back before it did?
Such questions filled her with a leaden, heavy feeling which would not abate. Hermione spent as much time thinking about it as she did trying not to think about it.
It was one of those moments that she was spending trying not to think about it, when she heard a voice that froze the blood within her, and caused her breath to stop. Too many times she had heard that same hiss in her nightmares.
"Going somewhere, pet?"
And when she looked up, Hermione saw Flint lounging against the office building, watching her from under heavy thick bangs of hair.
"You meetin' Malfoy, are you? Funny, I thought he'd have tired of you already!"
Hermione knew if she ignored him and kept on moving, he'd follow her, or worse. And being in the courtyard where anyone could come out and find them was infinitely safer than having him follow her to he deserted road where Draco might not get to her in time. If, at all, since she was no longer sure who to trust.
So, she stopped, turning to face her tormentor.
"As I do each morning."
"Of course. Lucky git, isn't he? What most of us wouldn't do for a regular fuck! I guess that's the perks of being the Head of the Hit Wizard Squad."
His tone was nonchalant, but his dark eyes glittered menacingly in Hermione's direction, making her swallow under his scrutiny. As she watched, he righted himself, a smug smile on his ugly face.
"You'd best start practicing, doll. For sure, Malfoy will want something new and fresh eventually, seeing as you're nearly used up, aren'tcha? You think you might keep him satisfied for much longer? I don't. Don't worry, I take it when I can get it. I'll have a go once he's finished."
As he passed, Hermione felt herself begin to tremble and her eyes fluttered closed.
Please, don't let him hurt me!
She felt his breath against her face.
"And, I'll make you love it."
His breath smelled of smoke and filth; he was gone a second later, leaving her alone. Trying not to stumble on her uncertain legs, Hermione hurried to meet Malfoy, praying that he would not ask too many questions, for she didn't know what she would tell him.
Draco looked down at Hermione. Her face was pale, with only fevered spots of pink color along her cheekbones. She had been late; and she had arrived frazzled, yet trying to appear as if nothing was amiss.
Draco hated himself for noticing she wasn't. And even more so for caring either way. He knew it had something to do with Flint, but for days Hermione had remained infuriatingly silent, avoiding him and the possibility of being questioned. Was she truly that terrified? Did she not know that he would protect her from that worthless git? Had he not told her?
It was all together too confusing to Draco. What he needed to know she wouldn't divulge.
What did he tell you? What frightens you so?
He wished that Hermione could understand- could trust his feelings, the fact that he had never been more serious about protecting her than he was now.
He cared for her. For whatever inexplicable reasons that had overtaken his heart and muddled his rationality.
"Are you ill?"
He asked the question cautiously, searching her face, the dull brown eyes, and the way she avoided his gaze and hunched into herself. It was a pointless inquiry, he knew. And she knew, too, her answer dismissive.
"No, I just want to go."
"Granger-"
Her head jerked up, a flash of anger, hatred and panic in her brown eyes now.
"No! I have a job to do, and I want to do it. I don't want to talk."
Draco knew her well enough now to recognize that in spite of the angry retort, it was fear that was driving her. But what had terrified her remained a frustrating secret.
They portkeyed into Kensington as always, and the silence between them all the way to the house had worn on Draco in ways he never imagined silence could. It was so heavy, it was bloody near oppressive. The house was disused and devoid of life as Astoria spent most afternoons away from home now. The change left Draco perplexed, but it was rather pleasant all at the same, and so he didn't question it much. As they climbed the polished cement steps leading up to the massive covered porch of his home, the silence between them became too much for him and Draco turned, stopping her.
"I'm bloody sick of this, Granger."
The words were harsher than he had intended. And, as if he hadn't already felt unnerved enough, her reaction made his brow furrow and rattled something within him.
All color fled her face, leaving behind an ashen wasteland, and he could see the obvious fall of her features, the flash of panic in those exquisite eyes, and the way her lips began to tremble. Her touch, when it came, was icy cold.
"No," she whispered, and Draco realized how shallow her breathing had become.
She was terrified, he realized with a start.
"No!"
Her voice was a strange squeak-like sound as she repeated that one word and her grip on his hand intensified to a shade less than painful. It was bizarre that even in that vise-like grip; her hands did not warm in his own.
"If I'm doing something wrong," she whispered frantically, "you can tell me, and I'll fix it!"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"You can't be sick of me, I just – please, I'll do anything!"
As Hermione clung to him, her pathetic display wrought loathing from Draco, though that was fast being replaced by sympathy. And self-loathing. And disbelief. And horror.
"Granger-"
He tried once more to interrupt, but this time, she reached up, running her fingers along his body, and even though Draco tried to pull away from her desperate touch, she would not be deterred, for she was driven more vehemently than he. Her lips pressed against his, hard. Draco's head spun deliciously. He knew bedazzlement charms; he had also often used a confundus charm as well. But then, there was Granger's kiss and her gentle touch, which were doubly as powerful as the entire latter put together.
For a moment, he gave in, before he realized what he was doing.
"Enough!"
By the time he dragged her into the house, Hermione had started to sob.
The house was swathed in shadows, a coolness residing in the corners and the high ceilings. The air was still and neither of them spoke, their ragged breathing the only silence of the room. It only served to increase the tension between them.
Hermione's heart hammered out of control within her.
This is it. Flint was right. Oh, God, I had hoped he wasn't! Now what?
Now, she knew what it felt like to be completely without hope. Now, she knew what Lavender Brown must have felt when the only man she had trusted had deserted her.
It's not the same! I don't love him!
Her face burned and her fingers were frozen. She felt as if the shame that flooded her conscience had burned away the heart of her, leaving behind only the ache in every one of her nerve endings. The pain was raw; it made her dizzy. She wasn't able to take a full breath or harbor rational thought. All she knew was that Draco was sick of her.
What had she done wrong? What did he want that she couldn't give him? What would she do now? Hermione fought with the bout of sobbing that threatened her. How he would mock her if she fell apart here, in his home, and yet she didn't know how to keep her pain at bay.
The world had already torn her down, and Draco would finish the job. He would destroy what was left of her, and then…
I'm pathetic. I'm nothing. I threw myself at a man who never wanted me. I wanted to trust a man who never intended to help me. I believed in something that never existed. And now, he'll toss me aside to Flint and the others, and by the time I look death in the face, there will be nothing left of me. Oh, Gods! Please –please-
Draco was shaking her.
"Not of you, Granger," he whispered. "Not of you."
Hermione gasped. Her next breath felt saving; she felt like she had broken through the surface of a sea of despair, and his words were the sweet air she needed for survival. Blinking, she looked up at him, numb and mute, wanting more than anything to believe his whispered words.
He reached down to capture her face in his hands, running his thumbs across the softness of her heated cheeks.
"Of this situation," he continued, reaching to pull her close.
He felt so warm, too warm, Hermione realized. His touch was a balm, soothing all the aching, ragged edges of her. She melted into him willingly.
"Of your secrets, Granger. I know what happened with Flint."
She froze in his arms, beginning to tremble.
"I know what he did to you."
Breathing heavily, Hermione refused to listen to anymore of his words. No, she couldn't. She had to focus on pleasing him, on making sure that she would remain in his favor. A mistress didn't speak, did she? A mistress did what the man wanted, knew how to please him.
"I don't want to talk, Draco."
The words were muffled, as her lips found purchase against his collarbone, and her fingers moved to undo the buttons of his crisp, white shirt. Pulling at it at first with gentleness and then with increasing frustration, she managed to tear of several of the buttons, and they scattered around on the hardwood floor. As she fought with his stubborn shirt, Hermione rained heated, frantic, and needy kisses along his flesh, pressing her face against his, heedless of her tears, and of his confusion and growing concern.
"Hermione," he murmured, wanting to soothe her, bewildered at her actions and the fact that she was bloody trembling like something had given her a fright. It didn't make sense, nothing did but-
"Just hold me," she sobbed against his neck, terrified, confused. What was happening to her? Why did she feel this way?
"I don't want to talk; I just want to be with you! Just like you said. Just me and you. Nothing else, I don't want to talk about anything else!"
The words ran over one another in her hasty pleading, as she clutched him close, her hands now more familiar with the planes of his body, greedily running along whatever part of him she could reach. He was warm, and soft, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to be as close to him as she could. To be taken by him so completely that he would burn away all thought, all consideration, all rationality. She knew he would set her free from all her torments.
Hermione pushed Draco gently against the wall next to the wooden staircase leading up to the first level of his home. He stumbled, and then settled onto the bottom step, Hermione following without hesitation, moving to press herself against him completely.
At first, he fought with her, and she could feel his hesitation, but soon enough she was able to soften him with her kisses, with the touches that were growing increasingly more passionate. She lifted herself, and then straddled his lap, the action so intimate; she could feel his gasp, even as he struggled to maintain a fast fleeting control. Her wild curls, the waterfall of caramel and chestnut tickled his face, and he breathed in the singular scent of her, for he found it comforting. Still, he knew he was beyond just this feeling with her, just the blinding, all consuming physical need for her. He wanted more; he wanted to know her mind, too. What she was thinking. He wanted to know all of her. During the cold grip of reality, Draco might not even have known his true desires, but when he was with her like this, he wanted so much more than she had given him.
"What… did he… tell you?"
The words came in between her relentless, searing mouth.
The question, even in husky tones, made her blood run cold, and she burrowed further into him, pressing herself closer, kissing him with abandon. She could lose herself in this man, Hermione knew. She wanted to; she wanted to feel the all consuming oblivion he provided. She wanted him to erase the strange, new feelings within her, for none of those made sense. She didn't want to be afraid or long for him anymore. She didn't want to think about Flint or her nightmares, or Lavender and her baby, or Seamus, Justin, Ron…
Tears began to fall.
"No," she whispered, the plea hot against Draco's lips as he fingers found the button of his trousers and undid them, reaching to take the hard length of him into her hand. He jerked against her, letting out a stifled moan whilst pulling her body flush against his stomach so that there was no space between them. Her gentle ministrations made Draco forget what he had been thinking before.
"No. No more talk, Draco. I want you. I want you, now. Don't you want me? Don't you want this? It helps, doesn't it? It makes everything else go away, and I just don't want to think anymore! I don't want to feel this way! I just want you!"
Nothing had ever sounded so erotic, as organic as the words that slipped from her flushed lips as she moved to kiss him once more and her hand began a delicious stroke along his hardness.
But it was right then, that Draco was hit with a wave of haltingly stark realization. Maybe, it was the way she was looking at him. He wondered if the shock that had run through him at her touch, which had awakened all of his senses, had also shocked some sense into him. Or, perhaps it was just that he knew Hermione to be incredibly brilliant, and not above using his weaknesses to get what she wanted.
At any rate, it was like bucket of cold water, causing him to sputter and pull away from her. She was crying, the tears glistening on her flushed cheeks like watery diamonds.
"Please," she begged, her words a ragged plea.
"What did he tell you?"
It made sense to Draco now. Her possessive behavior, the fear – yes, he understood everything. It had become all to real, much too quickly. He stared at her, waiting and she remained silent, shaking her head.
"BLOODY HELL GRANGER!"
The words made her flinch, and her eyes closed, tears slipping from them. Draco wanted to hurt her. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to gather her into his arms and abandon himself to her magic.
No, he couldn't. Not now, maybe, not ever again.
"Did he tell you I'd abandon you? That I wouldn't want you anymore? That you'd end up like some of the women he's been with?"
Each of the questions was stated with increasing vehemence, his tone colored with disbelief. He hated his own anger but it was better than the sheer disappointment that reigned within him.
"Do you really believe him?"
Draco pulled away from her viciously, standing up from the step, causing her to fall unceremoniously to the floor, tears streaming down her face.
"You disgust me," he hissed, his eyes narrowing into tiny, glittering slits the color of a stormy sky. "This whole time, after everything we've gone through, this is still just a deal to you, isn't it? You're afraid to cause me displeasure in bed, aren't you? Thinking I might do this with the next tart that comes along, do you?"
His words were harsh, derisive, driven by his pain and disappointment. He had hoped she'd seem him differently than those cretins like Flint and Mulciber. When he had begun to harbor such hopes, Draco didn't know. The only certainty was that the realization she still believed him to be like them had destroyed something deep within him.
As Hermione scrambled backwards, falling silent at his violent outburst, he advanced on her, fists clenched.
"You think I'm some loose lothario that sticks it into anything that walks?"
His face had turned pink as he yelled.
"Go to hell, Granger! You sanctimonious sack of shit! And get out of my sight! Maybe I AM sick of you! Maybe you are just one in a thousand willing to lie down and have me give it to them!"
Draco found himself a mixture of things – angry, disappointed, shocked, confused, and terrified. But none of those raging emotions matched his despair at not being wanted by her. And not being good enough.
Trembling, he took several breaths, and a moment to gather his wayward emotions. He knew he shouldn't have fallen apart, and now it was too late.
"Have you ever considered, for even one, sodding second that I might care for you? That I've probably cared for you from the moment I met you in that London slum? You silly, blind, stubborn woman!"
He let out a strange half laugh, his eyes watering.
"I don't sleep with everything that walks, Granger! I didn't want them, I wanted you!"
Then he threw his hands up, and gathered the remnants of his shirt around him.
"But, not anymore, I don't. Not this way, and not without reason."
He turned, and walked out of the room, leaving Hermione half-naked in the shadows. For a long while, she sobbed silently, crumpled against the wall, her face hot and her fingers frozen. Her hear beat dully within her, strange, tiny beats which held no rhythm. Her trembling heart whispered to her that it couldn't be over, that he cared, that he had wanted her, that he-
Am I blind? Am I mad to believe I might care too? Do we care about each other? Is that it? Can this even be?
Nothing made sense, but Hermione struggled to stand on her rubbery legs, finding support against the wall by the stairs until she could firmly stand. Then, her eyes traveled to the room where Draco had disappeared.
And she went after him. She stumbled forward, her vision blurred by hot tears. He was not in the main room, and so she moved forward, as if in a fog.
She went after him. She didn't know why her heart hammered so strangely within her chest. She didn't understand the need within her. She couldn't understand why, when he entered the room, she had trouble breathing.
She went after him. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what would happen next, afraid of admitting that she had wanted him to say those words; she had wanted him to care for her.
She went after him. And, when she found him he was watching her, a gleam of wariness in his grey eyes.
And, she faced the strange feelings within her. Feelings that she hadn't felt in a long time, if ever.
"Please, Draco."
He didn't move.
"I can't help what happened. I can't help longing for you, please. Please, don't turn away from me."
He did just that, moving away from her, to the window that overlooked the garden, the blooms of summer long dead. She reached up, put her hand on his.
"I need you, as much as you need me. Don't push me away. You make this world a better place."
Her words were tremulous, and all she could do was hope he believed her.