Chapter Eighteen: Alone
Hermione tied her hair back into a neat french braid. She buttoned up her uniform shirt. She tied her red and gold tie.
To the outsider, an average onlooker glancing as she walked by, Hermione Granger was fine. She sat in the front of every class with her hand raised at each question. She smiled with her housemates over lunch. She always wore her shirt perfectly tucked into her skirt, her stockings without a single run.
She looked so put together, so perfectly fine in every way.
But to everyone who knew her, the Gryffindor boys, Pavarti, Ginny, or Luna, Hermione was anything but fine. She poured herself over her schoolwork and textbooks at a level that would rival her Third Year. Her mouth might smile by the definition of the expression, but her eyes carried an ever-present glimmer of unshed tears. She slept beside the fire in the Common Room every night, where she would try to keep her crying quiet enough so that others wouldn't hear.
To Hermione herself, she was just different. She knew she wasn't fine, but she also wasn't not fine, either. She was somewhere in between. Somewhere near the place where you don't feel anything at all.
She'd become a ghost of herself, only going through the motions of the life she was expected to participate in.
Pretending.
Hermione, the marionette, moved through classes by the strings of expectation. She felt nothing, empty, and broken, but her body knew when to nod along with Ginny's pointless conversation, or when to smile because Harry was looking her way.
She knew that she was supposed to study and she was supposed to move on. But moving on was a concept entirely new to the brainy witch, and she was almost certain that whatever she'd had with Draco wasn't exactly real, so it probably shouldn't be this hard, right? She probably shouldn't spend so much of her time thinking about him, right?
But Hermione couldn't help it.
Her thoughts wandered back to him oh so often. It was the only time the slightest trace of emotion found its way into her heart: when she almost missed him before the agony set in. She couldn't stand to look at him in class or across the Great Hall. She'd gotten in the habit of getting to class early and sitting up front, then staying late so he'd already be out of the classroom by the time she turned around. She always faced away from the Slytherin table at mealtimes, when she went. She'd even been avoiding her dormitory altogether, avoiding her bed, which she knew to be covered with that green plush blanket, Draco's cloak draped over the bottom left post, and his Slytherin scarf tucked underneath her pillow.
They were all too tangible reminders of the happy moments she'd shared with him over the last two months. Each object marked important moments in their relationship that now gave her pain. Walks around the castle in the beginning, Draco slowly wiggling his way into her heart with actions filled with care, then how he'd completely warmed her up and made her feel protected and safe and wanted… But thinking about those memories, those moments, was too much now that she knew they were all lies.
That's one thing that made the week since their split even worse. She wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.
Did he give her his cloak because he didn't want her to be cold or because he needed her to think about him after he'd left? Did he tell her those inspirational words because he wanted her to achieve great things, or because his task of fixing the cabinet was going too slow for his liking? Did he cover her with the blanket because he cared about her comfort while she slept or because he needed her to stay healthy so she could properly help him with the cabinet? Did he smile at the sight of her wearing his scarf because he was starting to like her for real, or was it because it showed that he had completely won her over?
No, facing her bedroom filled with these tormenting reminders would hurt too much. Instead, she preferred to sleep on the small, scratchy couch in the common room, pretending she didn't notice Harry's footsteps creep down the boy's staircase to check on her.
She let him stay the first night after he promised not to ask any more questions. She needed to know that somebody was still there, that people were still breathing, that the world was continuing around her even though her world had stopped.
But the next night, she insisted she was okay to be left alone. She told him that she needed to get better on her own, that she couldn't lean on him forever, but in reality, she didn't want him to see her cry any more than he already had. She supposed he'd been sneaking down with the invisibility cloak just to be sure.
She'd have to thank him when the weight of existing lightened– when she'd be liberated from this sinking feeling that was drowning her.
Currently, it was Thursday, midday. Hermione had skipped lunch. She sat in the bay window, gazing mindlessly over the grounds. Her eyes stuck on their bench by the lake for a little too long, and it stung again.
It was raining. She wondered if there were a spell that would allow the roof to disappear so she could feel the drops, so she could drown in them.
So she could smell that lovely smell of fresh rain that she craved so much.
No, Hermione wouldn't be so lucky. She liked to imagine the sky was crying for her, having sensed that she'd shed all of the tears her body could muster.
The sky was gray, with thick, dark, nimbostratus clouds and it reminded her of him, too.
Like the raindrops that she watched, Hermione felt like she was falling. Falling, deeper and deeper into a sad, dark place where no one goes and it never ends… until it does, with a crash and something physical to show for the brokenness she feels already.
But she'd continue to lie, donning a mask of her own when others were looking. She'd continue to pretend she was fine.
After all, she'd been lying all along, hadn't she?
Her relationship with Draco was fake, not real. Her feelings for Draco were real, not fake.
But worst of all, she insisted over and over again that Draco was not a Death Eater… and he was.
It was self-destruction.
Perhaps Malfoys are cursed, damned to a lifetime of unhappiness. Perhaps this particular Malfoy was destined to single-handedly repay the gods for every wrongdoing his ancestors had ever done. It seemed to be the only explanation.
Why else would his world come crashing down the moment he found true happiness?
Oh yeah, it was all because of this fucking Dark Mark.
He'd stared at her vacated spot at the top of the stairs for hours after she left, thinking.
He'd finally had a taste of what life was supposed to feel like, what it was like to be wanted and accepted by someone you love. But then he had to remember. And then he had to tell her. And then… Then all of the exhilaration that he'd felt before vanished in the blink of an eye with the shed of a tear.
Her tear.
He'd lost her. And to Draco, that meant the same as losing everything.
Losing Hermione meant that he'd lost his hope. Without her by his side, he'd have no chance in fixing the cabinet, no chance at completing his task, no chance at surviving. But that thought only barely crossed his mind. It was an afterthought, a prayer, really. Because if he couldn't have Hermione, there wasn't really a reason to survive anyway.
That night, he lost the one person who had ever made him feel like a person, like something more than a mere Malfoy expectation. He never knew he would be able to love someone. He thought he was incapable - as all Malfoys are, but then Hermione swept into his world with her positivity and stubbornness and bright eyes and he suddenly found himself feeling. The way she talked about him, with that spark behind her retinas as if the sheer persistence of her look and her words could carve canyons into his unused heart so light could pour in. Draco, in all his sixteen years, had never known someone who could leave such a profound and lasting impact.
Sure, he couldn't forget his parents and himself, but Hermione was different because she didn't have to. Maybe she didn't even try to. Just by being her passionately perfect self, she had awakened something brighter inside Draco's soul, something he didn't know was there before.
Girls with that kind of power only come once in a lifetime, he knows, if they ever come at all, and he'd lost her.
Hermione was it. She was brilliant, beautiful, and bossy in all of the best ways. She was determined and loyal like a true lioness. She was cunning and careful, always considerate of others. She was honest and selfless, she was passionate and funny. She was everything he needed and nothing he deserved. She was so effortlessly herself, and the world loved her for it, and for some reason, she'd chosen to smile at him on that tower and she'd chosen to kiss him back when no one was watching.
She smiled at him. She cared about him. She wanted him. He finally felt like he had a future that could have happiness in it, and then his past decisions, past failures, had blown it all up.
For a moment, then, when her tears were silent and he could feel her eyes on him, he'd almost hoped that she would stay. He hoped that she loved him enough to say, "dammit Draco. That is the most mindless, reckless, senseless mistake you could have ever made. Why would you even consider this? Ugh, Nevermind, how can we fix this? How can we get you out of this? Surely there's something we can do."
But that "Nevermind" never came. She didn't care to help. She didn't love him the way he loved her.
So she left.
He stood there for hours afterwards, staring at the top step, mourning the many casualties.
Their relationship. His hope. And, probably, his life.
But that night, Draco was so very wrong. Life could, indeed, get much worse. He thought losing her was hard? He thought battling those feelings of self-hatred and the devastating pain was difficult? Oh, he'd been wrong.
Watching her break when he told her he loved her, watching her cry for his faults, watching her leave, was painful. But falling more and more in love with her from afar was fatal.
He thought his feelings would start to fade as he no longer spent time with her. He thought without the big things that made him fall for her – kissing on cold benches, walking around the castle hand-in-hand, hearing her voice fill with passion when she gets on a rant, hearing her laugh or being the subject of her smile – without those big things, his feelings would disappear.
But the feelings were not fading, not in the slightest. They were growing, somehow, exponentially fast, and it made losing her even more painful.
His eyes drifted to her in every class, unconsciously searching for her in every room. He'd sit in the back row with Greg or the other Slytherins and he'd try to remain focused on the class or the professor or the textbook less than a foot in front of his face, but he couldn't. No matter his efforts, his eyes would find her.
It was quite distracting, to say the least. He found himself growing more and more in love with her with every day that passed. He couldn't fathom how that was happening. It was the little things that jumped out at him and captured his heart. It was the way she chewed on the end of her quill as she read, and the way she'd try to sneak a read at Potter's parchment without him noticing, no doubt intending to help. It was the way she tapped her feet below the tables in Potions, and the cute way her face looked all scrunched up when she held a hairband in her mouth and ran her hands through her thick curls to put it all up. It was the poise and pride in her posture and tone whenever she was exercising her responsibilities as a prefect. It was everything, all of the little things.
And it hurt! It hurt like hell to be falling more for the witch when she was getting on so well without him. It was driving him to utter madness. His feelings were so torn. He loved her so he wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. But it also killed him to see her smile at anyone else.
How dare she smile, didn't she know he was breaking? Didn't she know how much it tortured him to see that smile and not be able to kiss it? Didn't she know how hard telling her had been for him?
No, he scolded himself. She wouldn't know. She wouldn't know because he never tried to explain himself. He didn't bother to explain that this Mark wasn't something he wanted. He didn't bother to explain to her why he'd taken it. He didn't bother to tell her that he wished he hadn't.
He didn't explain the thoughts that circled his mind every day, or that he wondered if there could be another way to protect his mum. He didn't tell her that he frequently contemplated Potter's potential for succeeding in the war. He didn't tell her that he would trade everything he had, every knut to the Malfoy name to change the world they were growing up in.
He didn't tell her any of this because the moment she saw the Mark on his arm, she didn't look surprised. She didn't look confused. She understood. She believed without question that Draco willingly, eagerly signed his life away.
He didn't tell her any of this because she didn't for a moment wonder if he had other motives.
He didn't tell her any of this because deep down he knew that he deserved every bit of pain a human could possibly feel.
Today was Friday, five days after what he'd realized had been their breakup. Five days without kissing her, five days without speaking to her, five days without really even seeing her.
This was Friday, and only a week until what could have been their first non-fake date at Slughorn's party.
He couldn't get her out of his mind. He'd barely spoken to anyone and was doing his best to tune out the whispers that began to fill the halls as the other students started to figure out Draco and Hermione were no longer a couple.
Five days was too much. He had to do something. He had to see her, or feel her, or tell someone about what he was feeling inside. He had to get some of this pain off of his chest before it crushed him. But telling people wasn't an option. Telling someone would mean explaining their fake relationship, explaining the cabinet, and explaining his Mark.
Without Hermione, without anyone to talk to, Draco sat grumpily at the Slytherin Table for dinner, surrounded by students, but ultimately alone. Hermione sat at the other side of the room, facing away from him yet again. She was sitting next to that Irish bloke that blows stuff up all the damn time. Even from a distance, Draco could see the arrogant git was flirting with her; the bastard.
Draco mumbled a short incantation that turned his drink into something more alcoholic; firewhiskey.
He welcomed the burn as it traveled down his throat, sending warmth throughout his body. But it wasn't enough; it wasn't the same. He missed the warmth that was Hermione's touch and the way her eyes scorched his soul without pause or trying or forgiveness. He took another sip, hoping to feel something, anything other than the ache of missing her.
Still, he couldn't take his eyes off of her.
.
.
A/N: Thank you all who read, reviewed, and favorited last chapter even though it was kind of a downer. Like I said last week, THIS STORY WILL HAVE A DRAMIONE ENDING. I have a few ideas in mind for the rest of the story and I've found that it won't fit nicely in 26 chapters. It will probably end up being closer to 28/29, but I'll let you know when we're getting close. Shoutouts this week are for everyone who disliked the content of last chapter, but let me know how much they loved the writing! Seriously, each and every one of you saved me from feeling too awful all week.
Now, keep reading to see how our favourite couple ends up getting back together, shall we? Stay tuned.
Questions: Both of our characters are pretty torn up here, and I hope you liked getting some insight into Draco's thoughts following the breakup. Leave a review letting me know what you think!
Thanks, as always, to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic.
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Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise