Water - Chapter 21 (Part One)
Disclaimer: All these characters belong to JK Rowling. I own nothing!
Warnings: Sexual content, Strong language
Chapter 21. (Part One)
When you look back on the last few months, you have to hold your breath. The rush of nausea and pain can sometimes be too much to bear. The lack of oxygen somehow makes it easier to endure.
So when you look back, hold your breath.
And then when you breathe out you can pretend, at least for a moment, that those months never, ever happened.
*
Hermione had slept in Ginny’s bed the night she left him behind. The same night she told him that she didn’t love him. She could feel the unasked questions burning in Ginny’s head, and she was so grateful that they stayed there.
Once Hermione heard her fall asleep she let the tears overwhelm her, shaking gently on the edge of the bed in silence. When morning came, she left before anyone else in the dormitory had woken up.
That day the corridors were empty. It was a Sunday morning and everyone was sleeping in. But it felt like they weren’t even there. It was as if no one was within miles of her. She couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears as the pain swirled bitterly in the pit of her stomach.
Sunday was the day he had to leave. He would be gone by the evening. So Hermione sat outside the castle for hours, listening to the wind, ignoring the growing hunger that added to the haze in her head. And when dusk fell she returned to the tower. She opened the door. And there was nothing. No one.
He had gone.
Three days passed. Three nights without him sleeping in the other room.
The pain Hermione felt was crippling. She would go to sleep and she would wake up. And the pain was still there. It was searing through her stomach and up into her chest. It wouldn’t leave.
She went to lessons, sat in silence and wrote things mindlessly. She avoided breakfast, lunch, dinner. She moved outside when too many people were inside. She avoided everyone. And at the end of the day she was back in the dormitory, sitting at the top of the stairs tracing the wood of his bedroom door with her fingers, knowing he wasn’t behind it. Not knowing where he was. Simply replaying the last words she had spoken to him in her head. Over and over again. Each time the pain increasing. Each time the tears falling. All of this until she was too tired to think anymore, and then she would be back in bed. Back into the senseless escape of sleep.
On the fourth morning, she woke violently from a dream. It was still dark outside, but late enough for her to get up and feel the slow throbbing return to her stomach. Late enough to not fall back asleep and forget he wasn’t there anymore.
Her first lesson was with Harry. The first lesson of the week she had with him. The first time she would be in a room where she couldn’t hurry out or avoid him, even though Harry had noticeably been letting her do so the few times they crossed paths this week.
But something in Hermione didn’t want to avoid him today. Suddenly, this morning, she needed Harry. She needed someone to fill the hole in her head with something else. Something to gloss over the torturous words she kept replaying in her head.
She needed someone to tell her that what she did was right so that it would stop feeling so horrifically wrong.
And Harry had to be that person.
*
Draco kept thinking about what he should have done when that door closed behind her.
He should have opened it again. Straight away. He should have gone after her, taken her in his arms, pulled her back into the room. He should have made her understand.
He should have made her see.
He would kiss her. That’s all. He would kiss her mouth and her eyes and her cheeks. He would hold her. He would fight the talk in his head that told him it was wrong. Because when he held her there was no possible way it could be wrong. And maybe it would be like that for her too. Maybe if he held her, she would see that these things she thinks are true are actually false. And these things she thinks are wrong are actually right. And that she was his, even thought she tried to pretend she wasn’t.
But he didn’t do that. He didn’t do any of it. Because even in the depths of his desperation, even having stripped himself bare of any safe pretence, there was still a fierce stab of pride that rooted him to the spot. It weighed him down like chains. And although every emotion was screaming at him to follow her, those dark and punishing thoughts kept him still.
No, Draco. Don’t go after her. She’s doing you a favour. She’s giving you a much-needed way out of this horrific mess.
He swallowed the thoughts down like wire. They scraped the walls of his throat.
Instead he thoughts about the words he had spoken to her, and the things they had meant. The last hopes they had exhausted.
“I love you, Hermione.”
That wasn’t what he meant at all. How could it even come close?
There are those emotions that are frustratingly impossible to articulate in words. You cannot express them to anyone. You cannot open their eyes wide enough to see every painfully intricate thread of feeling twisted around your heart. They weigh upon your chest with an immovable pressure that slowly and quietly suffocates you. And you are helpless and speechless and lost in it all, clinging at empty adjectives and expressions that might just about scrape the surface of what it is you’re feeling inside.
Others are around you looking in through the misty, distorted glass. But they can never see every detail in all its glorious definition. Trapped behind that glass, submerged in the murky water, you stare back at them, hopelessly sinking to the bottom.
Draco should never have attempted to explain his feelings to Hermione. Those painful, indescribable feelings trapped in his rib cage. There was no possibility she could ever understand with all that glass and water that separated Draco and every other person he had ever known.
He tried the words. They didn’t quite fit. But he kept going anyway because he had started. And if he could get her to understand a fraction of what was going on inside him, how much he was hurting and how much he felt for her, then that would be something at least. And he needed anything.
“Love”.
Whatever that meant. Whatever surface that scraped. It didn’t seem adequate. It was just a word. And Draco never understood it. The sheer complexity of feeling inside him could never begin to be summed up by one word. It was a stupid word - an ultimately weak one people grab at to try and untwist the suffocation in their heads.
It’s like how they call it “grief” when you lose someone. Draco always thought there was no word for it. No set of words. It was what it was. Different to every person and entirely devastating and consuming on a level no word or words could ever truly sum up. It’s not just a process, it’s a permanent segment of your person and your being that you can never get back. Someone who made you you is gone, and as a result you have to struggle with a missing piece that can’t be replaced.
“Grief” just doesn’t cut it.
And so neither did “love”. Everything about it was wrong. Because he didn’t want to buy Hermione roses. He didn’t want to write her love letters and hold her hand.He never once thought about growing old with her. He never once thought of their relationship having any kind of capacity outside the castle walls. He didn’t think like that. He didn’t think ahead. He could only focus on what overwhelmed him minute-by-minute. What was there right this second.
He had stepped out of the war in his head and in his world and realised there was something else there before him. Something that impossibly trumped it all. He never knew it could happen, he was raised to believe nothing else mattered.
Hermione saw him and she hated him, but she understood him and she wanted him. She was feeling some of that mess that he felt. She was his. Her presence a complete poison in his body, distorting his thoughts and his movement. A complication he never intended, a situation he was never truly aware of happening until it happened.
But there wasn’t and never has been an easy way out for Draco. He belonged inside those crumbling walls in his head, a place he would no doubt stay until there was nothing left to crumble anymore.
But not before he tried one last time. He was so determined to prove to her what he felt and what he knew was inside her too.
One last time.
And if it didn’t work?
Well, that would be it. He would be done.
He would leave this useless place and never come back.
*
Hermione asked to meet Harry after class. He had barely agreed before she walked away towards the back of the classroom and sat down at the table furthest away.
Afterwards, Harry waited as the chattering crowd filtered out of the classroom. She walked past him slowly, catching his eye and silently beckoning him to follow. She walked out of the room and down the corridor, down the stairs, more corridors and more stairs. It soon became clear to Harry that she was taking him outside.
For the duration of the walk she said nothing. She didn’t even look back at him to check if he was still following her. And so he said nothing to her in return. He was strangely hesitant. She seemed different somehow.
Finally, she stopped by the bank of the lake. The sun was disappearing already. The air was thin and cold.
She turned to him. Slowly, almost cautiously, she raised her head.
“Harry...”
That one word. It told him so much. Her broken voice and trembling lips were holding back something painful.
This is what you have to understand about Hermione; she’s never fallen apart before.
It was everything Harry hoped he would never see happen to her.
He said nothing in reply. Instead, Harry took a step towards her and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
Her head fell against his shoulder as her body started to shake with the silent tears she had been fighting to hold back.
Long moments passed by.
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
“Why are you saying sorry?”
“Because. It’s been- it’s been a strange few months this term,” she mumbled. “Strange. You know?”
Harry drew in a breath. He brushed away some hair that was sticking to her cheek. “Hermione,” he began, “don’t apologise to me. It’s not- it’s not how I said it was. I know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not how I thought it was, between you and...” He trailed off. “Between you both.”
“I don’t understand.”
Harry looked down for a moment. “I thought...” He was struggling to find the words. “I thought he was using you.”
She swallowed down some tears. “I think he was.”
“I don’t know, Hermione.”
“Harry- he was. He- he is. He’s changed me. He’s made me into someone I’m not.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “I can see that it’s made things different. It’s made you feel different. But- but you’re still Hermione. You’re still there.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. I know you are.” Harry swallowed. “And if he was using you at the beginning, he’s not anymore. I don’t think.” He had to push the words out.
Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide and glistening. “I thought- You said... This whole time...” She couldn’t finish the sentences, and Harry understood why she was so confused. He himself could barely believe the words coming out of his own mouth. They hurt tremendously.
“Hermione,” he breathed, taking her hand, “You know how I feel about him. About Malfoy.” He paused. “And what’s worse, I know how he feels about you.” Harry felt the sickness creep into the bottom of his stomach. “I think there’s something there. Something I didn’t think he was capable of. And- you must see it. Because you’ve stayed with him. You’ve been- with him.”
“Harry-”
“Hermione, I hate him. And I’m not doing this for him.” Harry shook himself. “Really, I’m so far from doing this for him. But I think he feels something for you that I can’t understand. Or be okay with. But that doesn’t change the fact he feels it. And if you want him to feel it- if you’re okay with it, then...” He took a breath. “...Then I’m not standing in the way.”
Hermione was shaking her head incredulously. “Harry, stop it.” The tears started falling again. “I came down here to tell you... It’s over.” Her voice cracked. “It’s over, Harry.”
His heart jumped. “What? Did he do something to hurt you?”
She started to shake again. “No, it wasn’t him. It was me. I told him I didn’t love him... I left.”
Harry stared at her.
“I left,” she repeated. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment.
Love? What was she talking about?
Love. Why had that even come up?
Harry clenched his jaw.
“Say something, Harry,” she said, audible frustration through her tears. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You and Ron? I told him I didn’t love him because I shouldn’t!”
“Because you shouldn’t?”
“No. I shouldn’t. So tell me I did the right thing.”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
She was shaking so much. The short, sharp intakes of breath between her sobs sounded raw.
“Harry!” she cried.
He held her shoulders to steady her. “Hermione, please.”
“Tell me!” she said, her voice getting louder. “You tell me I did the right thing, Harry! Because- because I did it for you!”
“No, Hermione,” breathed Harry, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t say that.”
“You need me!” she cried, “I know- I know, Harry. You love me.”
“Of course I love you.”
“But you really love me, Harry!” She pushed away, angrily. “I’ve seen it. You don’t need to pretend anymore. I’m- if you love me- then we can-”
“Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
He went to put his arms around her again, calm her down, but she pushed them away. “No,” she said, her teeth grit tightly together, “You do not get to do this. You- you’ve been telling me to end it. You’ve practically abandoned me over it! And I know why. It’s because- it’s because you love me.”
Harry’s heart sunk. “I’m sorry,” he replied, his throat dry. “I know I’ve abandoned you, and I’m so sorry.” He went to put her arms around her again. This time she surrendered. Her head fell against his chest hopelessly. “Hermione,” Harry continued in a murmur, “I did have those feelings for you. I think. And it’s because I was confused. You know, before. But not now.” He was struggling with the words. He didn’t know what to say about it. He didn’t know which parts were true and which parts were false. “I promise you. I- I’ve thought about it. These things happen, you know? People get feelings mixed up and- we’re really close. And you’re beautiful and I’m only human.” He took a deep breath. “But they weren’t real feelings. I’m sorry I ever made you feel guilty for them.”
There was a long pause.
“Harry,” she whispered against him, her throat audibly dry, “When we were fourteen...” She hesitated. “You told me you loved me.“
“What?” Harry exclaimed, his arms tightening unintentionally with alarm.
“You blurted it out. Right here, by the lake.”
“I don’t remember that,” he lied, uncomfortably.
“And then you tried to do a memory charm on me.”
Oh God.
Harry flushed a colour he was intensely relieved she couldn’t see with her head beneath his chin.
“I pretended it worked.”
“It- didn’t work?”
He felt her shake her head against him. “You weren’t very good at them.” She sounded like she was smiling slightly through her quiet tears. “But you were only fourteen. We were young.”
“Yes. We were. Very young,” he added with emphasis.
“Still,” she continued. “When we were fifteen I heard something between you and Ron. Something about me.”
“Eh?”
“You were both round the corner and as ever Ron had no volume control. He was asking why you talked about me so much. Why you talked about me the way you did. Why you thought it was a good idea to miss Quidditch practice in favour of me teaching you Arithmancy.”
“I needed the extra lessons,” said Harry, defensively.
“And you said that to Ron and shook off everything else. I believed you. I didn’t have any reason to think otherwise. Not really. I didn’t even understand what Ron was talking about. And he bought it. So did I.”
“Good, because there was- nothing to buy.”
“But last year,” she continued, her voice still a whisper, “you did something that I couldn’t ignore.”
Harry froze. Fuck. What was it? What did he do now? None of this was helping. He’d been through it in his head. He was confused,. Why was she doing this?
“W-what?” he stammered, uncertain of whether he wanted to know the answer.
“You kissed me.”
“What? No I didn’t!”
“Under some mistletoe. Everyone was doing it. We were all drunk after the Christmas Ball. And- and when you got to me- you kissed me.”
“Yes- because everyone was doing it,” he reminded her.
“Yes. But your kiss was different to everyone else’s, Harry.”
“Hermione...” Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He was very tempted to unwrap his arms from her body, and he would have done so were he not so afraid of her starting to shiver violently again or- worse- seeing the expression on his face. “I don’t think it was. I think you’re reading into it.”
“I know you remember.”
Of course he remembered. And he remembered the next morning and intensely hoped she was too drunk to do the same. He had gone to kiss her, but it had lasted far too long than was acceptable. Too long to be friendly. His hands had touched her too gently. And his lips had burned against hers too tellingly. She had pulled away, laughing, politely brushing it off in that Hermione way.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked, his voice low.
Hermione sighed. “Because if I was anyone else, I would have been over the moon. I should have been. You’re wonderful, Harry. Girls trip over themselves to talk to you.”
He swallowed, waiting for the inevitable “but”.
“But I was too used to you being my best friend,” she said, softly, “And those things- even though I remember them and they definitely meant something- they were few and far between. So I didn’t think too hard about it. Until I saw how crazy this whole- thing- made you. And then it was too late.”
He felt her start to shake again. Her tears were back, if they ever left.
“And now... Malfoy...” she whimpered, “He’s changed me. Into something horrible.”
“Please don’t start that again-”
“He can’t be right for me- and- maybe you can instead...”
“Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve been through a lot. More than anyone can stand. Physically and emotionally. You’re exhausted.”
Harry knew he was telling himself this more than he was her. He had to remember what her mind must be like in this moment. Completely fragmented.
She loosened herself from his hold slightly, but not completely. It was enough for her to look into his eyes.
“You’re right,” she whispered, her cheeks wet, “I am tired. I just want- someone to take it away. All of it.”
“You don’t mean what you’re saying. And it will get better without you having to do this to yourself.”
“What makes you think I don’t mean it?”
“Because you don’t mean it.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t, Hermione.”
And before Harry knew what had happened, a look of defiance flashed across her face and her lips were on his.
Everything went black inside Harry’s head.
He couldn’t think any thought or see any picture. He could only feel the feeling that burned into him as Hermione’s lips pressed urgently against his. After a moment of shock, he found himself instinctively leaning into her. It didn’t feel real, and he almost started to kid himself that it wasn’t as his tongue touched hers and he felt his body react completely to her advances.
Something screamed at him in the back of his head. His own voice. Loudly shouting at him to stop.
But it was so hard. Her lips were between his and he could barely think beyond that. Hermione was kissing him. And for the first time in a long time he found himself admitting that he’d wanted this moment forever.
And yet he couldn’t escape the fact that this wasn’t right.
The voice screamed in his head again. Be stronger than this. Be stronger for her.
This isn’t what either of you want.
With an unthinkable strength Harry broke the kiss and took two firm steps back. It separated them completely.
He struggled to compose his breathing.
Hermione was staring at him, her eyes wide and glistening.
There was a long moment of silence between them. All that could be heard was the wind against trees. Eventually, Hermione began to shake her head, her hands cupping her face as she fell to the ground, shaking.
Oh no.
Harry rushed over to her and knelt down. “Hermione...”
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled from behind her hands, body almost doubled over with her forehead touching the ground. “So sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he assured her, rubbing her back with his palm. “Please. It’s my fault for even- for even... Please, Hermione. Get up from the ground. It’s too cold.” Slowly he pulled her up into a sitting position. Her body slumped against his.
“I’m such a m-mess,” she stammered, “God. S-so awful. What am I thinking?”
Harry lowered his eyes to the ground, heavily swallowing down the thoughts of what had just happened. It was a complete mistake. And it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because she was his best friend and she was in too much pain to mean any of it. Look at her. So much pain.
“I think...” he began, “You need to realise why you’re feeling like this. Why you’re- doing this.”
She shook her head again, her lips trembling more violently now as she spoke. “B-but...I can’t.”
He bit his lip. “You made a mistake with Malfoy.” He paused. “Well, you made a lot of mistakes with Malfoy. But I guess telling him- what you told him- was one of them.”
“But- it was the right thing to do. You made me think that... Harry... And- and what I think I want isn’t the same as what I should do. What I should do for everyone involved. D-don’t you think it’s... right, Harry?” Her voice was getting stronger again, though her body remained heavy against his.
“Why are you looking for my reassurance?” he murmured, “You know yourself whether or not it was the right thing to do. How are you feeling? Are you feeling okay? Are you feeling relieved? Because- because I don’t think you are.”
“You told me to do this.”
Harry understood. She wanted to blame someone for her pain, and he was the right person. He was the perfect person. She wanted him to acknowledge that the decision was taken away from her. That she was acting on behalf of someone else.
And all because, deep down, she couldn’t really do it for herself. She couldn’t tell Malfoy she didn’t love him unless it was for Harry.
Harry had made her feel like this. Harry had made her feel like it was never a decision for her to make by herself. That it would cost her too much.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” He took her hand. “I- I fucked up. I really did.”
“Don’t...”
“I tried to tell myself I did what anyone would have done to keep you from him. Anyone that really knew either of you.” Harry squeezed her hand. “But that was never the right thing to do because it meant I drove you away. I left you alone.” He paused. “I left you alone when all I wanted to do was save you.”
“Please, don’t...” She shook her head through the tears.
“I’ve been so caught up in myself,” he continued, pushing past the interjection. “I’ve been so obsessed with hating him. And I do- I hate him. But not enough to push you away.”
“Harry-”
“You ask me if you did the right thing telling Malfoy that,” he continued, “And...I don’t think you did...” Harry swallowed. “I don’t think you did do the right thing, Hermione.” He forced the finality in his statement. “And I think you know that. I don’t like it and it makes me feel sick, but- I’ve realised I can’t keep you unless I get over it. Or at least pretend to get over it.”
She was shaking her head. “I’m not the same. I can’t make this decision as me.”
“Stop talking like this.”
“You know it’s true. You know I’ve done things I would never normally do.”
So stubborn. Always so bloody stubborn.
“Hermione...” he swallowed, “I can’t- There’s only so much I can say here. Because you know I find it difficult. And I’ve said it all now. Not that I can believe I’m saying any of it in the first place.” He exhaled. “People change. It does happen, Hermione. Perhaps these last few months have changed all of us. But deep down we’re still the same people.”
“I can’t be the person Draco thinks I am.”
Harry winced at the sound of his name. The way she said it was so easy, so familiar. It was alien to Harry. They only ever said his name with spite. But not Hermione. Not anymore. “Look, Hermione. I want to be able to talk to you about this. I do. But- I’m struggling. All I can say is maybe things aren’t what I thought they were with him. Maybe I should step aside and give it some kind of chance. That’s- that’s as far as I can go.”
She sniffed. There was a small silence.
“It hurts, Harry,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“It really hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
He waited for her to speak again, but no words left her mouth.
And with that, it seemed there was nothing left to say. From either of them.
Harry and Hermione stayed there on the ground as many minutes passed.
It was at least half an hour before Harry decided to pull Hermione to her feet, hold her hand in his, and lead her back inside.
*
Pansy Fucking Parkinson.
Only fate would have it be this way.
Draco had been heading towards the castle doors that took him out onto the open grass by the forest. He knew Hermione had been going outside every day since the night she’d left him. He saw her sometimes when he purposefully searched for her presence out of the nearest window. It hadn’t been the right time to go out to her then. He was biding his time, half terrified of the finality of it all.
After all, he had promised himself this was the last attempt before he left. And he would leave. He had to, he reminded himself. Otherwise she would lose Head Girl. He was sure of it. If he kept dragging her back into this she would lose the one last thing she had left, and she would never forgive him for it.
He knew Hermione’s classes would be finished. It was the first place he could think to look for her.
As he headed down a quiet windowless corridor that ran along the very back of the castle, he noticed Pansy rounding the corner. She was around six feet away before Draco completely processed her presence and noted that she had come to a halt in front of him.
“Draco.”
Her voice was impressively calm. Draco would have expected her to barely raise her head at him after everything, let alone stop in front of him and say his name like that. It was as if she had nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to fear him for.
She was so very wrong.
Draco stared at her, unmoving. His lips remained tightly shut. He needed to ignore her. He couldn’t cause trouble now. He didn’t want to get involved in her games. He didn’t want to press that dangerously unstable part of him that had barely been refraining from punishing her in spectacular ways for everything she’d done to Hermione.
“It’s funny I should run into you,” she spoke again. This time her voice sounded more apprehensive.
Draco’s fists clenched at his side. “Bad idea,” he hissed, shaking his head.
The warning in his voice visibly shook her.
“Y-you won’t do anything,” she stammered, “You can’t.”
“And why is that?”
She hesitated. “You’re in too much trouble already. One more problem and you’re out.”
“Somehow I think my revenge would be more that worth it.”
“Revenge?” The word seemed to catch in her throat. And then she straightened herself. “You lost your ability to hurt me a long time ago, Draco.”
“I doubt that.”
Pansy looked down momentarily and cleared her throat. “Well before you start, I thought you might want to know-”
“Fuck off, Parkinson. I’m ashamed to even be exchanging words with you.”
Draco started to walk forward, eyes focused at the end of the corridor as he concentrated with all his effort on moving past her without smashing her head against the wall for the second time.
“Wait-” she started after him.
Draco kept walking.
“I saw something you might be interested in.”
Keep walking.
“You’re looking for the mudblood, aren’t you?”
Draco stopped before he could convince himself otherwise. He spun back round, teeth clenched. “Don’t push me, Parkinson.”
“Right, yeah,” she scoffed, “I forgot you don’t like me calling her that anymore.”
“I don’t like you referring to her in any way whatsoever. I don’t like you thinking about her, Parkinson.” He paused. “Unless you’re thinking about how much I want her and not you. You can think about that.”
“Are you sure she wants you back?”
“Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”
He could scarcely believe he was voluntarily standing there, talking to her. The waves of anger were starting to overwhelm him, stabbing his muscles and willing them to move in her direction. It took everything he had not to shake with it. He didn’t want to give her anything. He wanted to disregard her completely. He so wished he could.
“I was only asking because-” she hesitated again, “Because I saw her outside with Potter.”
Draco laughed loudly. “Of course you did,” he spat, “And I’m sure you heard them unveil some wicked plan they both have to fuck me over, right, Pans?”
“I didn’t hear anything, actually,” she replied, her eyes narrowing.
“When will you give up?” he asked, shaking his head, “It’s beyond pathetic. There really are no words for you anymore.”
“Is it really that unlikely that I’d see them? People going outside after class isn’t the most coincidental thing to ever happen.”
If he didn’t despise her so much, maybe he would have admired her determination. Pansy Parkinson didn’t give up without a painfully long and repetitive fight.
“When will you get it, Pansy?” growled Draco, “It was never you. Hermione didn’t steal me away from you. She didn’t take what’s yours. You never had me.”
Pansy cocked her head back defiantly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Draco,” she scowled, “This isn’t about me wanting you back. Why would I? After the depths you’ve dropped to? You’re not even one ounce the person you used to be. You do realise no one respects you around here anymore, don’t you? People are laughing at you, Draco.” She put her hands on her waist. “Besides,” she added, “I’m with Blaise now.”
“Am I supposed to be surprised? You’ll drop your knickers for anyone who so much as looks you in the eye.”
“You’re wrong,” she spat, “You know how in love with me he’s been. The whole time you and I were together it was all said to me. Every time you turned away, he was there.”
Draco laughed. “Fuck, Pansy. Is this the part where I’m supposed to give a shit? Let’s not change the subject here. You want to play games with me but you’re a vile little girl who didn’t get her way. Don’t pretend it’s anything otherwise. I promise you, if you want to push me, I’ll gladly make you suffer again. And this time I won’t feel a shred of guilt.”
“That’s fine, Draco. But I know what I saw between her and Potter. And by the end of this week I’ll make sure everyone else does as well. Then you’ll be even more humiliated.”
“You do that.”
“Though I must admit - even I was surprised. You always said Potter had a thing for her, but I never really believed it was reciprocated. I just thought he was the desperate puppy pining after her. ”
Draco really should have said something else then, but he was too busy controlling the waves that were piercing through his minimal composure. She had to stop talking about her. He had to make her stop.
“But there you go,” she continued, “I always knew she was a whore.”
“Shut the fuck up, Parkinson,” he growled, “I mean it. Don’t do this to yourself. Because I don’t think I can refrain for much longer.”
She wants you to hit her. She wants you to get thrown out. Remember that.
He had to remember that.
Pansy hesitated, taking a small step back. “I’m not playing games,” she breathed, her voice shaking, “You can pretend to yourself all you want. But I saw the mudblood kiss him and it didn’t look platonic from where I was standing.”
Draco was searing.
“And where was that you were standing, Pansy? In your fucking over-imaginative head?”
Pansy took another step backwards. “You know,” she breathed, “I still think about what you did to me. About- about how you hurt me that night. My head hit the wall pretty hard, Draco.”
He held his breath momentarily at the sudden change of subject.
“And when I ran away I felt so ashamed,” she continued, “It was stupid, really.”
“What was stupid, Parkinson, was me ever regretting it for a second.” Although maybe that was lie. Maybe Draco still regretted it. Only for the sharp memories of his father that still burned inside his eyelids whenever he pictured the moment with Pansy.
“I know you want revenge,” said Pansy, her voice quiet, “I keep waiting for something to happen.”
So was Draco. He was waiting too. Waiting for his patience to snap. Waiting to break his promise to Hermione that he wouldn’t touch Pansy for what she’d done. As if Hermione really had her own plan. As if Draco believed that. He knew she just wanted to keep him and Harry out of more trouble.
She echoed his thoughts. “I’m guessing she told you not to do anything to me.”
“You reckon?”
“Not even threat of expulsion would be enough to stop you. So it has to be her as well, right?”
“You may not get what you deserve while the school rules still apply, Pansy, but we’ll all be out of this place this time next year. And you should know - I will never forget what you’ve done to her.”
She hesitated briefly. “You know she’s too moral to ever allow you to do anything.”
“Somehow I think Hermione will forgive me.” Although, somewhere in the back of his head Draco noted her forgiveness might not be necessary. She might not be in his life at all after tonight.
She still might turn him away.
Pansy stared at him for a few seconds. “I’m going to leave now,” she murmured, “And you can think whatever you like about what I’ve told you. You’ll get the truth for yourself eventually. You’ve always been good at getting there. Just a bit slow along the way, that’s all.”
Draco was using every ounce of willpower he had to keep his feet where they were. He couldn’t reach her from here. And that was good. Because he couldn’t risk losing everything over her. Not now.
“Goodbye, Draco.”
Pansy turned and walked briskly up the corridor in the opposite direction to where Draco stood, shaking.
Before he had a chance to compose his breathing, he turned and pushed himself the last few metres to the end of the corridor, rounding the corner and heading straight for the castle doors. He had to get outside. He had to breathe in the cold air and let it cleanse him of all the violent thoughts running through his head.
A wall of freezing air drenched his skin as he pushed open the heavy doors. The light had almost faded completely in the late afternoon. From what he could see, there were only a couple of students sitting on a bench further along the castle wall.
After a couple of deep breaths, Draco headed out onto the grass. He had to push back the thoughts of Pansy and focus completely on what mattered. He had to forget her lies and ignore the persistent stabbing in his gut that suggested there was something in them.
When he reached the bottom of the hill, he followed the banks of the lake around towards the other side of the castle. She sometimes stood by the lake on that side, always gravitating towards the same spot as if it meant something.
But he couldn’t see her today. The banks of the lake were empty. There was no one, not even any stray students skimming stones onto the water. It was too cold and too late. People were inside. She was inside.
Draco turned and headed towards the nearest castle entrance at the top of the steep hill.
He was tracing a mental map of where he would look for her next when he saw them far up ahead. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, staring.
Two people, holding hands, just disappearing through the entrance to the castle.
Pansy’s words burned fiercely in his head.
*
Part Two
Warnings: Sexual content, Strong language
Chapter 21. (Part One)
When you look back on the last few months, you have to hold your breath. The rush of nausea and pain can sometimes be too much to bear. The lack of oxygen somehow makes it easier to endure.
So when you look back, hold your breath.
And then when you breathe out you can pretend, at least for a moment, that those months never, ever happened.
*
Hermione had slept in Ginny’s bed the night she left him behind. The same night she told him that she didn’t love him. She could feel the unasked questions burning in Ginny’s head, and she was so grateful that they stayed there.
Once Hermione heard her fall asleep she let the tears overwhelm her, shaking gently on the edge of the bed in silence. When morning came, she left before anyone else in the dormitory had woken up.
That day the corridors were empty. It was a Sunday morning and everyone was sleeping in. But it felt like they weren’t even there. It was as if no one was within miles of her. She couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears as the pain swirled bitterly in the pit of her stomach.
Sunday was the day he had to leave. He would be gone by the evening. So Hermione sat outside the castle for hours, listening to the wind, ignoring the growing hunger that added to the haze in her head. And when dusk fell she returned to the tower. She opened the door. And there was nothing. No one.
He had gone.
Three days passed. Three nights without him sleeping in the other room.
The pain Hermione felt was crippling. She would go to sleep and she would wake up. And the pain was still there. It was searing through her stomach and up into her chest. It wouldn’t leave.
She went to lessons, sat in silence and wrote things mindlessly. She avoided breakfast, lunch, dinner. She moved outside when too many people were inside. She avoided everyone. And at the end of the day she was back in the dormitory, sitting at the top of the stairs tracing the wood of his bedroom door with her fingers, knowing he wasn’t behind it. Not knowing where he was. Simply replaying the last words she had spoken to him in her head. Over and over again. Each time the pain increasing. Each time the tears falling. All of this until she was too tired to think anymore, and then she would be back in bed. Back into the senseless escape of sleep.
On the fourth morning, she woke violently from a dream. It was still dark outside, but late enough for her to get up and feel the slow throbbing return to her stomach. Late enough to not fall back asleep and forget he wasn’t there anymore.
Her first lesson was with Harry. The first lesson of the week she had with him. The first time she would be in a room where she couldn’t hurry out or avoid him, even though Harry had noticeably been letting her do so the few times they crossed paths this week.
But something in Hermione didn’t want to avoid him today. Suddenly, this morning, she needed Harry. She needed someone to fill the hole in her head with something else. Something to gloss over the torturous words she kept replaying in her head.
She needed someone to tell her that what she did was right so that it would stop feeling so horrifically wrong.
And Harry had to be that person.
*
Draco kept thinking about what he should have done when that door closed behind her.
He should have opened it again. Straight away. He should have gone after her, taken her in his arms, pulled her back into the room. He should have made her understand.
He should have made her see.
He would kiss her. That’s all. He would kiss her mouth and her eyes and her cheeks. He would hold her. He would fight the talk in his head that told him it was wrong. Because when he held her there was no possible way it could be wrong. And maybe it would be like that for her too. Maybe if he held her, she would see that these things she thinks are true are actually false. And these things she thinks are wrong are actually right. And that she was his, even thought she tried to pretend she wasn’t.
But he didn’t do that. He didn’t do any of it. Because even in the depths of his desperation, even having stripped himself bare of any safe pretence, there was still a fierce stab of pride that rooted him to the spot. It weighed him down like chains. And although every emotion was screaming at him to follow her, those dark and punishing thoughts kept him still.
No, Draco. Don’t go after her. She’s doing you a favour. She’s giving you a much-needed way out of this horrific mess.
He swallowed the thoughts down like wire. They scraped the walls of his throat.
Instead he thoughts about the words he had spoken to her, and the things they had meant. The last hopes they had exhausted.
“I love you, Hermione.”
That wasn’t what he meant at all. How could it even come close?
There are those emotions that are frustratingly impossible to articulate in words. You cannot express them to anyone. You cannot open their eyes wide enough to see every painfully intricate thread of feeling twisted around your heart. They weigh upon your chest with an immovable pressure that slowly and quietly suffocates you. And you are helpless and speechless and lost in it all, clinging at empty adjectives and expressions that might just about scrape the surface of what it is you’re feeling inside.
Others are around you looking in through the misty, distorted glass. But they can never see every detail in all its glorious definition. Trapped behind that glass, submerged in the murky water, you stare back at them, hopelessly sinking to the bottom.
Draco should never have attempted to explain his feelings to Hermione. Those painful, indescribable feelings trapped in his rib cage. There was no possibility she could ever understand with all that glass and water that separated Draco and every other person he had ever known.
He tried the words. They didn’t quite fit. But he kept going anyway because he had started. And if he could get her to understand a fraction of what was going on inside him, how much he was hurting and how much he felt for her, then that would be something at least. And he needed anything.
“Love”.
Whatever that meant. Whatever surface that scraped. It didn’t seem adequate. It was just a word. And Draco never understood it. The sheer complexity of feeling inside him could never begin to be summed up by one word. It was a stupid word - an ultimately weak one people grab at to try and untwist the suffocation in their heads.
It’s like how they call it “grief” when you lose someone. Draco always thought there was no word for it. No set of words. It was what it was. Different to every person and entirely devastating and consuming on a level no word or words could ever truly sum up. It’s not just a process, it’s a permanent segment of your person and your being that you can never get back. Someone who made you you is gone, and as a result you have to struggle with a missing piece that can’t be replaced.
“Grief” just doesn’t cut it.
And so neither did “love”. Everything about it was wrong. Because he didn’t want to buy Hermione roses. He didn’t want to write her love letters and hold her hand.He never once thought about growing old with her. He never once thought of their relationship having any kind of capacity outside the castle walls. He didn’t think like that. He didn’t think ahead. He could only focus on what overwhelmed him minute-by-minute. What was there right this second.
He had stepped out of the war in his head and in his world and realised there was something else there before him. Something that impossibly trumped it all. He never knew it could happen, he was raised to believe nothing else mattered.
Hermione saw him and she hated him, but she understood him and she wanted him. She was feeling some of that mess that he felt. She was his. Her presence a complete poison in his body, distorting his thoughts and his movement. A complication he never intended, a situation he was never truly aware of happening until it happened.
But there wasn’t and never has been an easy way out for Draco. He belonged inside those crumbling walls in his head, a place he would no doubt stay until there was nothing left to crumble anymore.
But not before he tried one last time. He was so determined to prove to her what he felt and what he knew was inside her too.
One last time.
And if it didn’t work?
Well, that would be it. He would be done.
He would leave this useless place and never come back.
*
Hermione asked to meet Harry after class. He had barely agreed before she walked away towards the back of the classroom and sat down at the table furthest away.
Afterwards, Harry waited as the chattering crowd filtered out of the classroom. She walked past him slowly, catching his eye and silently beckoning him to follow. She walked out of the room and down the corridor, down the stairs, more corridors and more stairs. It soon became clear to Harry that she was taking him outside.
For the duration of the walk she said nothing. She didn’t even look back at him to check if he was still following her. And so he said nothing to her in return. He was strangely hesitant. She seemed different somehow.
Finally, she stopped by the bank of the lake. The sun was disappearing already. The air was thin and cold.
She turned to him. Slowly, almost cautiously, she raised her head.
“Harry...”
That one word. It told him so much. Her broken voice and trembling lips were holding back something painful.
This is what you have to understand about Hermione; she’s never fallen apart before.
It was everything Harry hoped he would never see happen to her.
He said nothing in reply. Instead, Harry took a step towards her and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
Her head fell against his shoulder as her body started to shake with the silent tears she had been fighting to hold back.
Long moments passed by.
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
“Why are you saying sorry?”
“Because. It’s been- it’s been a strange few months this term,” she mumbled. “Strange. You know?”
Harry drew in a breath. He brushed away some hair that was sticking to her cheek. “Hermione,” he began, “don’t apologise to me. It’s not- it’s not how I said it was. I know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not how I thought it was, between you and...” He trailed off. “Between you both.”
“I don’t understand.”
Harry looked down for a moment. “I thought...” He was struggling to find the words. “I thought he was using you.”
She swallowed down some tears. “I think he was.”
“I don’t know, Hermione.”
“Harry- he was. He- he is. He’s changed me. He’s made me into someone I’m not.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “I can see that it’s made things different. It’s made you feel different. But- but you’re still Hermione. You’re still there.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. I know you are.” Harry swallowed. “And if he was using you at the beginning, he’s not anymore. I don’t think.” He had to push the words out.
Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide and glistening. “I thought- You said... This whole time...” She couldn’t finish the sentences, and Harry understood why she was so confused. He himself could barely believe the words coming out of his own mouth. They hurt tremendously.
“Hermione,” he breathed, taking her hand, “You know how I feel about him. About Malfoy.” He paused. “And what’s worse, I know how he feels about you.” Harry felt the sickness creep into the bottom of his stomach. “I think there’s something there. Something I didn’t think he was capable of. And- you must see it. Because you’ve stayed with him. You’ve been- with him.”
“Harry-”
“Hermione, I hate him. And I’m not doing this for him.” Harry shook himself. “Really, I’m so far from doing this for him. But I think he feels something for you that I can’t understand. Or be okay with. But that doesn’t change the fact he feels it. And if you want him to feel it- if you’re okay with it, then...” He took a breath. “...Then I’m not standing in the way.”
Hermione was shaking her head incredulously. “Harry, stop it.” The tears started falling again. “I came down here to tell you... It’s over.” Her voice cracked. “It’s over, Harry.”
His heart jumped. “What? Did he do something to hurt you?”
She started to shake again. “No, it wasn’t him. It was me. I told him I didn’t love him... I left.”
Harry stared at her.
“I left,” she repeated. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment.
Love? What was she talking about?
Love. Why had that even come up?
Harry clenched his jaw.
“Say something, Harry,” she said, audible frustration through her tears. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You and Ron? I told him I didn’t love him because I shouldn’t!”
“Because you shouldn’t?”
“No. I shouldn’t. So tell me I did the right thing.”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
She was shaking so much. The short, sharp intakes of breath between her sobs sounded raw.
“Harry!” she cried.
He held her shoulders to steady her. “Hermione, please.”
“Tell me!” she said, her voice getting louder. “You tell me I did the right thing, Harry! Because- because I did it for you!”
“No, Hermione,” breathed Harry, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t say that.”
“You need me!” she cried, “I know- I know, Harry. You love me.”
“Of course I love you.”
“But you really love me, Harry!” She pushed away, angrily. “I’ve seen it. You don’t need to pretend anymore. I’m- if you love me- then we can-”
“Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
He went to put his arms around her again, calm her down, but she pushed them away. “No,” she said, her teeth grit tightly together, “You do not get to do this. You- you’ve been telling me to end it. You’ve practically abandoned me over it! And I know why. It’s because- it’s because you love me.”
Harry’s heart sunk. “I’m sorry,” he replied, his throat dry. “I know I’ve abandoned you, and I’m so sorry.” He went to put her arms around her again. This time she surrendered. Her head fell against his chest hopelessly. “Hermione,” Harry continued in a murmur, “I did have those feelings for you. I think. And it’s because I was confused. You know, before. But not now.” He was struggling with the words. He didn’t know what to say about it. He didn’t know which parts were true and which parts were false. “I promise you. I- I’ve thought about it. These things happen, you know? People get feelings mixed up and- we’re really close. And you’re beautiful and I’m only human.” He took a deep breath. “But they weren’t real feelings. I’m sorry I ever made you feel guilty for them.”
There was a long pause.
“Harry,” she whispered against him, her throat audibly dry, “When we were fourteen...” She hesitated. “You told me you loved me.“
“What?” Harry exclaimed, his arms tightening unintentionally with alarm.
“You blurted it out. Right here, by the lake.”
“I don’t remember that,” he lied, uncomfortably.
“And then you tried to do a memory charm on me.”
Oh God.
Harry flushed a colour he was intensely relieved she couldn’t see with her head beneath his chin.
“I pretended it worked.”
“It- didn’t work?”
He felt her shake her head against him. “You weren’t very good at them.” She sounded like she was smiling slightly through her quiet tears. “But you were only fourteen. We were young.”
“Yes. We were. Very young,” he added with emphasis.
“Still,” she continued. “When we were fifteen I heard something between you and Ron. Something about me.”
“Eh?”
“You were both round the corner and as ever Ron had no volume control. He was asking why you talked about me so much. Why you talked about me the way you did. Why you thought it was a good idea to miss Quidditch practice in favour of me teaching you Arithmancy.”
“I needed the extra lessons,” said Harry, defensively.
“And you said that to Ron and shook off everything else. I believed you. I didn’t have any reason to think otherwise. Not really. I didn’t even understand what Ron was talking about. And he bought it. So did I.”
“Good, because there was- nothing to buy.”
“But last year,” she continued, her voice still a whisper, “you did something that I couldn’t ignore.”
Harry froze. Fuck. What was it? What did he do now? None of this was helping. He’d been through it in his head. He was confused,. Why was she doing this?
“W-what?” he stammered, uncertain of whether he wanted to know the answer.
“You kissed me.”
“What? No I didn’t!”
“Under some mistletoe. Everyone was doing it. We were all drunk after the Christmas Ball. And- and when you got to me- you kissed me.”
“Yes- because everyone was doing it,” he reminded her.
“Yes. But your kiss was different to everyone else’s, Harry.”
“Hermione...” Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He was very tempted to unwrap his arms from her body, and he would have done so were he not so afraid of her starting to shiver violently again or- worse- seeing the expression on his face. “I don’t think it was. I think you’re reading into it.”
“I know you remember.”
Of course he remembered. And he remembered the next morning and intensely hoped she was too drunk to do the same. He had gone to kiss her, but it had lasted far too long than was acceptable. Too long to be friendly. His hands had touched her too gently. And his lips had burned against hers too tellingly. She had pulled away, laughing, politely brushing it off in that Hermione way.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked, his voice low.
Hermione sighed. “Because if I was anyone else, I would have been over the moon. I should have been. You’re wonderful, Harry. Girls trip over themselves to talk to you.”
He swallowed, waiting for the inevitable “but”.
“But I was too used to you being my best friend,” she said, softly, “And those things- even though I remember them and they definitely meant something- they were few and far between. So I didn’t think too hard about it. Until I saw how crazy this whole- thing- made you. And then it was too late.”
He felt her start to shake again. Her tears were back, if they ever left.
“And now... Malfoy...” she whimpered, “He’s changed me. Into something horrible.”
“Please don’t start that again-”
“He can’t be right for me- and- maybe you can instead...”
“Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve been through a lot. More than anyone can stand. Physically and emotionally. You’re exhausted.”
Harry knew he was telling himself this more than he was her. He had to remember what her mind must be like in this moment. Completely fragmented.
She loosened herself from his hold slightly, but not completely. It was enough for her to look into his eyes.
“You’re right,” she whispered, her cheeks wet, “I am tired. I just want- someone to take it away. All of it.”
“You don’t mean what you’re saying. And it will get better without you having to do this to yourself.”
“What makes you think I don’t mean it?”
“Because you don’t mean it.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t, Hermione.”
And before Harry knew what had happened, a look of defiance flashed across her face and her lips were on his.
Everything went black inside Harry’s head.
He couldn’t think any thought or see any picture. He could only feel the feeling that burned into him as Hermione’s lips pressed urgently against his. After a moment of shock, he found himself instinctively leaning into her. It didn’t feel real, and he almost started to kid himself that it wasn’t as his tongue touched hers and he felt his body react completely to her advances.
Something screamed at him in the back of his head. His own voice. Loudly shouting at him to stop.
But it was so hard. Her lips were between his and he could barely think beyond that. Hermione was kissing him. And for the first time in a long time he found himself admitting that he’d wanted this moment forever.
And yet he couldn’t escape the fact that this wasn’t right.
The voice screamed in his head again. Be stronger than this. Be stronger for her.
This isn’t what either of you want.
With an unthinkable strength Harry broke the kiss and took two firm steps back. It separated them completely.
He struggled to compose his breathing.
Hermione was staring at him, her eyes wide and glistening.
There was a long moment of silence between them. All that could be heard was the wind against trees. Eventually, Hermione began to shake her head, her hands cupping her face as she fell to the ground, shaking.
Oh no.
Harry rushed over to her and knelt down. “Hermione...”
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled from behind her hands, body almost doubled over with her forehead touching the ground. “So sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he assured her, rubbing her back with his palm. “Please. It’s my fault for even- for even... Please, Hermione. Get up from the ground. It’s too cold.” Slowly he pulled her up into a sitting position. Her body slumped against his.
“I’m such a m-mess,” she stammered, “God. S-so awful. What am I thinking?”
Harry lowered his eyes to the ground, heavily swallowing down the thoughts of what had just happened. It was a complete mistake. And it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because she was his best friend and she was in too much pain to mean any of it. Look at her. So much pain.
“I think...” he began, “You need to realise why you’re feeling like this. Why you’re- doing this.”
She shook her head again, her lips trembling more violently now as she spoke. “B-but...I can’t.”
He bit his lip. “You made a mistake with Malfoy.” He paused. “Well, you made a lot of mistakes with Malfoy. But I guess telling him- what you told him- was one of them.”
“But- it was the right thing to do. You made me think that... Harry... And- and what I think I want isn’t the same as what I should do. What I should do for everyone involved. D-don’t you think it’s... right, Harry?” Her voice was getting stronger again, though her body remained heavy against his.
“Why are you looking for my reassurance?” he murmured, “You know yourself whether or not it was the right thing to do. How are you feeling? Are you feeling okay? Are you feeling relieved? Because- because I don’t think you are.”
“You told me to do this.”
Harry understood. She wanted to blame someone for her pain, and he was the right person. He was the perfect person. She wanted him to acknowledge that the decision was taken away from her. That she was acting on behalf of someone else.
And all because, deep down, she couldn’t really do it for herself. She couldn’t tell Malfoy she didn’t love him unless it was for Harry.
Harry had made her feel like this. Harry had made her feel like it was never a decision for her to make by herself. That it would cost her too much.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” He took her hand. “I- I fucked up. I really did.”
“Don’t...”
“I tried to tell myself I did what anyone would have done to keep you from him. Anyone that really knew either of you.” Harry squeezed her hand. “But that was never the right thing to do because it meant I drove you away. I left you alone.” He paused. “I left you alone when all I wanted to do was save you.”
“Please, don’t...” She shook her head through the tears.
“I’ve been so caught up in myself,” he continued, pushing past the interjection. “I’ve been so obsessed with hating him. And I do- I hate him. But not enough to push you away.”
“Harry-”
“You ask me if you did the right thing telling Malfoy that,” he continued, “And...I don’t think you did...” Harry swallowed. “I don’t think you did do the right thing, Hermione.” He forced the finality in his statement. “And I think you know that. I don’t like it and it makes me feel sick, but- I’ve realised I can’t keep you unless I get over it. Or at least pretend to get over it.”
She was shaking her head. “I’m not the same. I can’t make this decision as me.”
“Stop talking like this.”
“You know it’s true. You know I’ve done things I would never normally do.”
So stubborn. Always so bloody stubborn.
“Hermione...” he swallowed, “I can’t- There’s only so much I can say here. Because you know I find it difficult. And I’ve said it all now. Not that I can believe I’m saying any of it in the first place.” He exhaled. “People change. It does happen, Hermione. Perhaps these last few months have changed all of us. But deep down we’re still the same people.”
“I can’t be the person Draco thinks I am.”
Harry winced at the sound of his name. The way she said it was so easy, so familiar. It was alien to Harry. They only ever said his name with spite. But not Hermione. Not anymore. “Look, Hermione. I want to be able to talk to you about this. I do. But- I’m struggling. All I can say is maybe things aren’t what I thought they were with him. Maybe I should step aside and give it some kind of chance. That’s- that’s as far as I can go.”
She sniffed. There was a small silence.
“It hurts, Harry,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“It really hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
He waited for her to speak again, but no words left her mouth.
And with that, it seemed there was nothing left to say. From either of them.
Harry and Hermione stayed there on the ground as many minutes passed.
It was at least half an hour before Harry decided to pull Hermione to her feet, hold her hand in his, and lead her back inside.
*
Pansy Fucking Parkinson.
Only fate would have it be this way.
Draco had been heading towards the castle doors that took him out onto the open grass by the forest. He knew Hermione had been going outside every day since the night she’d left him. He saw her sometimes when he purposefully searched for her presence out of the nearest window. It hadn’t been the right time to go out to her then. He was biding his time, half terrified of the finality of it all.
After all, he had promised himself this was the last attempt before he left. And he would leave. He had to, he reminded himself. Otherwise she would lose Head Girl. He was sure of it. If he kept dragging her back into this she would lose the one last thing she had left, and she would never forgive him for it.
He knew Hermione’s classes would be finished. It was the first place he could think to look for her.
As he headed down a quiet windowless corridor that ran along the very back of the castle, he noticed Pansy rounding the corner. She was around six feet away before Draco completely processed her presence and noted that she had come to a halt in front of him.
“Draco.”
Her voice was impressively calm. Draco would have expected her to barely raise her head at him after everything, let alone stop in front of him and say his name like that. It was as if she had nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to fear him for.
She was so very wrong.
Draco stared at her, unmoving. His lips remained tightly shut. He needed to ignore her. He couldn’t cause trouble now. He didn’t want to get involved in her games. He didn’t want to press that dangerously unstable part of him that had barely been refraining from punishing her in spectacular ways for everything she’d done to Hermione.
“It’s funny I should run into you,” she spoke again. This time her voice sounded more apprehensive.
Draco’s fists clenched at his side. “Bad idea,” he hissed, shaking his head.
The warning in his voice visibly shook her.
“Y-you won’t do anything,” she stammered, “You can’t.”
“And why is that?”
She hesitated. “You’re in too much trouble already. One more problem and you’re out.”
“Somehow I think my revenge would be more that worth it.”
“Revenge?” The word seemed to catch in her throat. And then she straightened herself. “You lost your ability to hurt me a long time ago, Draco.”
“I doubt that.”
Pansy looked down momentarily and cleared her throat. “Well before you start, I thought you might want to know-”
“Fuck off, Parkinson. I’m ashamed to even be exchanging words with you.”
Draco started to walk forward, eyes focused at the end of the corridor as he concentrated with all his effort on moving past her without smashing her head against the wall for the second time.
“Wait-” she started after him.
Draco kept walking.
“I saw something you might be interested in.”
Keep walking.
“You’re looking for the mudblood, aren’t you?”
Draco stopped before he could convince himself otherwise. He spun back round, teeth clenched. “Don’t push me, Parkinson.”
“Right, yeah,” she scoffed, “I forgot you don’t like me calling her that anymore.”
“I don’t like you referring to her in any way whatsoever. I don’t like you thinking about her, Parkinson.” He paused. “Unless you’re thinking about how much I want her and not you. You can think about that.”
“Are you sure she wants you back?”
“Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”
He could scarcely believe he was voluntarily standing there, talking to her. The waves of anger were starting to overwhelm him, stabbing his muscles and willing them to move in her direction. It took everything he had not to shake with it. He didn’t want to give her anything. He wanted to disregard her completely. He so wished he could.
“I was only asking because-” she hesitated again, “Because I saw her outside with Potter.”
Draco laughed loudly. “Of course you did,” he spat, “And I’m sure you heard them unveil some wicked plan they both have to fuck me over, right, Pans?”
“I didn’t hear anything, actually,” she replied, her eyes narrowing.
“When will you give up?” he asked, shaking his head, “It’s beyond pathetic. There really are no words for you anymore.”
“Is it really that unlikely that I’d see them? People going outside after class isn’t the most coincidental thing to ever happen.”
If he didn’t despise her so much, maybe he would have admired her determination. Pansy Parkinson didn’t give up without a painfully long and repetitive fight.
“When will you get it, Pansy?” growled Draco, “It was never you. Hermione didn’t steal me away from you. She didn’t take what’s yours. You never had me.”
Pansy cocked her head back defiantly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Draco,” she scowled, “This isn’t about me wanting you back. Why would I? After the depths you’ve dropped to? You’re not even one ounce the person you used to be. You do realise no one respects you around here anymore, don’t you? People are laughing at you, Draco.” She put her hands on her waist. “Besides,” she added, “I’m with Blaise now.”
“Am I supposed to be surprised? You’ll drop your knickers for anyone who so much as looks you in the eye.”
“You’re wrong,” she spat, “You know how in love with me he’s been. The whole time you and I were together it was all said to me. Every time you turned away, he was there.”
Draco laughed. “Fuck, Pansy. Is this the part where I’m supposed to give a shit? Let’s not change the subject here. You want to play games with me but you’re a vile little girl who didn’t get her way. Don’t pretend it’s anything otherwise. I promise you, if you want to push me, I’ll gladly make you suffer again. And this time I won’t feel a shred of guilt.”
“That’s fine, Draco. But I know what I saw between her and Potter. And by the end of this week I’ll make sure everyone else does as well. Then you’ll be even more humiliated.”
“You do that.”
“Though I must admit - even I was surprised. You always said Potter had a thing for her, but I never really believed it was reciprocated. I just thought he was the desperate puppy pining after her. ”
Draco really should have said something else then, but he was too busy controlling the waves that were piercing through his minimal composure. She had to stop talking about her. He had to make her stop.
“But there you go,” she continued, “I always knew she was a whore.”
“Shut the fuck up, Parkinson,” he growled, “I mean it. Don’t do this to yourself. Because I don’t think I can refrain for much longer.”
She wants you to hit her. She wants you to get thrown out. Remember that.
He had to remember that.
Pansy hesitated, taking a small step back. “I’m not playing games,” she breathed, her voice shaking, “You can pretend to yourself all you want. But I saw the mudblood kiss him and it didn’t look platonic from where I was standing.”
Draco was searing.
“And where was that you were standing, Pansy? In your fucking over-imaginative head?”
Pansy took another step backwards. “You know,” she breathed, “I still think about what you did to me. About- about how you hurt me that night. My head hit the wall pretty hard, Draco.”
He held his breath momentarily at the sudden change of subject.
“And when I ran away I felt so ashamed,” she continued, “It was stupid, really.”
“What was stupid, Parkinson, was me ever regretting it for a second.” Although maybe that was lie. Maybe Draco still regretted it. Only for the sharp memories of his father that still burned inside his eyelids whenever he pictured the moment with Pansy.
“I know you want revenge,” said Pansy, her voice quiet, “I keep waiting for something to happen.”
So was Draco. He was waiting too. Waiting for his patience to snap. Waiting to break his promise to Hermione that he wouldn’t touch Pansy for what she’d done. As if Hermione really had her own plan. As if Draco believed that. He knew she just wanted to keep him and Harry out of more trouble.
She echoed his thoughts. “I’m guessing she told you not to do anything to me.”
“You reckon?”
“Not even threat of expulsion would be enough to stop you. So it has to be her as well, right?”
“You may not get what you deserve while the school rules still apply, Pansy, but we’ll all be out of this place this time next year. And you should know - I will never forget what you’ve done to her.”
She hesitated briefly. “You know she’s too moral to ever allow you to do anything.”
“Somehow I think Hermione will forgive me.” Although, somewhere in the back of his head Draco noted her forgiveness might not be necessary. She might not be in his life at all after tonight.
She still might turn him away.
Pansy stared at him for a few seconds. “I’m going to leave now,” she murmured, “And you can think whatever you like about what I’ve told you. You’ll get the truth for yourself eventually. You’ve always been good at getting there. Just a bit slow along the way, that’s all.”
Draco was using every ounce of willpower he had to keep his feet where they were. He couldn’t reach her from here. And that was good. Because he couldn’t risk losing everything over her. Not now.
“Goodbye, Draco.”
Pansy turned and walked briskly up the corridor in the opposite direction to where Draco stood, shaking.
Before he had a chance to compose his breathing, he turned and pushed himself the last few metres to the end of the corridor, rounding the corner and heading straight for the castle doors. He had to get outside. He had to breathe in the cold air and let it cleanse him of all the violent thoughts running through his head.
A wall of freezing air drenched his skin as he pushed open the heavy doors. The light had almost faded completely in the late afternoon. From what he could see, there were only a couple of students sitting on a bench further along the castle wall.
After a couple of deep breaths, Draco headed out onto the grass. He had to push back the thoughts of Pansy and focus completely on what mattered. He had to forget her lies and ignore the persistent stabbing in his gut that suggested there was something in them.
When he reached the bottom of the hill, he followed the banks of the lake around towards the other side of the castle. She sometimes stood by the lake on that side, always gravitating towards the same spot as if it meant something.
But he couldn’t see her today. The banks of the lake were empty. There was no one, not even any stray students skimming stones onto the water. It was too cold and too late. People were inside. She was inside.
Draco turned and headed towards the nearest castle entrance at the top of the steep hill.
He was tracing a mental map of where he would look for her next when he saw them far up ahead. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, staring.
Two people, holding hands, just disappearing through the entrance to the castle.
Pansy’s words burned fiercely in his head.
*
Part Two