The Domino-Effect

Lover of the Light

Chapter Sixteen: The Domino-Effect

One day later...

Hermione had the terrible habit of hiding from the world when something disturbed her. There, she said it. She'd be a liar if she denied that fact, but here she was, being honest. She knew that she'd seclude herself to her dormitory once more, threaten Parvati Patil not to go about revealing her whereabouts again, and just suffer by herself until someone had big enough quaffles to go and find her.

This time, however, she was choosing to embrace the unconditional love and support her friends have been giving her from day one and take the plunge. Regardless of wanting to hide underneath her blankets like she was a little girl, wishing the monsters underneath her bed away, she was going to have to get up, dress herself, and tell them what she needed to.

She was grateful it was a Saturday and she didn't have to hunt all four of them down during the busy school-day and their different schedules. It was almost surprising that she found them all together, entering the castle from their trip to Hogsmeade earlier that morning. She'd been tempted to ask why they were together, but when Blaise handed her an assortment of Sugar Quills and Ron a large box of Chocolate Cauldrons, she knew that they must've stumbled upon each other at Honeydukes and rivaled over what her favorite sweet was. Both had it wrong, by the way. It was Licorice Wands that she fancied.

She put a pause in their sweet-giving and ushered them to an empty classroom with a serious expression. All four of them knowing her and her tempter quite well followed after without a retort. And once she made sure not a single one got lost along the route to an abandoned classroom in the Fourth Floor, all bickering and stomping on the way up the ever-changing staircase and the corridor floor, she flicked her wand, arranging four single desks into a straight line, and ordered them to sit.

"We're not children," huffed Ginny as she obediently took a seat on the desk in the middle of her brother and her boyfriend.

"We're not children," mimicked Blaise, rolling his eyes at the ginger as he scooted his desk far from the three Gryffindors. "Honestly, Hermione, need I be here with them? I bought you your favorite sweets, didn't I? I don't need to suffer this kind of abuse."

Ron snorted loudly, leaning forward to glare at the Slytherin at the opposite end of the row. "Your mere existence is an abuse to us, Zabini. And 'Mione's favorite candies are Chocolate Cauldrons! I told you that in Hogsmeade. I would know, she's my best—"

"Is that a ring on your finger?"

Hermione had been standing in front of the four with her left hand practically smacked over her face. She waited almost two minutes before any of them noticed. And as her brother argued with Ron, both glaring at one another, Harry's eyes glancing between the Gryffindor and Slytherin, it took Ginny's rolling eyes to settle on the brunette before silence fell on them.

That is, silence that lasted less than three seconds.

"—Hermione?"

"—What the bloody hell is that?"

"—I'm going to kill him!"

A resounding use of wandless magic left all four students stuck to their seats. She was going to use a Silencing Charm to hush them all up, but the grave expression on her face made them all zip their lips tightly. (Some glaring at her with haughty disobedience—Blaise, mainly.)

She took a deep breath, looked them all in the eye, and exhaled noisily. "Yesterday, after the three of you left," she glanced at the only three Gryffindors, "Theo and I talked thoroughly about our betrothal. As you know, I didn't want to get married, but after...a deliberate discussion, we agreed that maybe getting married is the best thing for us."

One. Two. Three.

Four sets of distinctive eyes blinked at her robotically.

One. Two. Three.

She cleared her throat, ringing her hands together in front of her.

One. Two. Three.

She took another deep breath, braved to look them in the eye again, and exhaled slowly this time. "It's getting closer to the scheduled wedding date, and let's face it, we're not getting rid of that contract. It's impossible and never in the history of Pureblood betrothals has one been broken without death or mutual agreement before. If Theo and I are bound to this, then we're doing it amicably."

One. Two. Three.

She raised a brow at them.

One. Two. Three.

Nothing.

One. Two. Three.

"It might be pleasant. He has a horrid mother, that's a fact, but he's willing to put his foot down to keep her far from us as possible after the wedding occurs. We've discussed buying a separate home from both families, a neutral territory for us, and continue from there."

One. Two. Three.

Blaise opened a packaged Sugar Quill and started chewing at the end of it. His green eyes were on her, but they were unmoving.

One. Two. Three.

Ron coughed.

One. Two. Three.

Harry and Ginny continued to stare at her like she'd just sprouted a second head.

One. Two. Three.

"I...I understand that accepting this engagement ring is quite significant as far as betrothals go, so it's practically a sealed deal. And as I said before, we're both committed to try and have a...erm...a relationship."

One. Two. Three.

Blaise continued chewing on his Sugar Quill, but he extended the package to Harry and the latter took it without a glance at the Slytherin.

One. Two. Three.

Harry refused the candy, but Ginny took one and then handed the bag to Ron.

One. Two. Three.

Ron greedily took a few Sugar Quills, placed them on the counter of his desk, opened the box of Chocolate Cauldrons, grabbed a few, and then proceeded to pass them to his sister for distribution amongst the others.

One. Two. Three.

"It'll be fine, right? I mean, Theo's nice. He's been nothing but sensitive and lovely throughout all this ordeal. And we get on fairly well. He's attractive too, isn't he? I'm sure in no time I'll...erm...be head over heels for him. This marriage can work."

One. Two. Three.

"—Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"—You've really lost it, 'Mione!"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when Blaise and Ron lost their silence. She was glad they started commenting, but then she wasn't when Ginny opened her mouth. "What about Malfoy?"

It was like one of them had cast their own use of wandless magic to make her stumble back a few steps. She swallowed an uneasy knot in her throat. "What about him?" Her voice was small, scared.

Ginny rose a delicate, red brow. "Don't play stupid, Hermione; you're just insulting yourself. You like Malfoy, remember?"

"I don't—"

"You kissed him and you liked it."

The brunette had to be quick to hide the hurt that swam into her brown eyes at that memory. It seemed like a long time ago, the kiss; yet she dreamt of it every night since then. It was far but it was near. It was also foolish and right; just like it was nothing and everything at the same time.

"Come on, Hermione," urged the redhead girl. "Why would you do something as stupid as this when you're clearly—"

"What's done is done," she replied instantly, fast before anything else could come out. "Snogging Malfoy...It's nothing. Now, Theo and I getting married, that's going to happen. I need all of you to be there for me. Don't fight with me, don't insult me, don't threaten people, just accept it like I have."

One. Two. Three.

Blaise yanked a chunk of Chocolate Cauldron with his teeth, glaring at her with great disappointment.

One. Two. Three.

Ron sighed, slouching against his desk and grabbing a sweet from his tabletop.

One. Two. Three.

Ginny narrowed her eyes, inspecting her, clearly frustrated with the older girl.

One. Two. Three.

Harry was the only one that stared at her like what hadn't left her mouth was completely ridiculous. He glanced at the engagement ring on her left hand, then back at her brown eyes.

If there was anybody in the world that trusted Hermione's judgement, maybe not always at first and without an argument, it was Harry. And Hermione was going to need one person on her side to help her go through with the agreement.

                                                                          XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Eight days later...

She smiled as she reread a sentence from a delightful letter she got during breakfast.

...he congratulated and told Mother I was an excellent student. He said if I kept it up that I could one day study Runes from tombs in Egypt! Egypt, 'Mione!...

Hermione had been contemplating the idea of getting closer to Benjamin Nott from the moment she met him. He was a timid little boy, clearly scared of the world, and clearly out of friends. He was lonely and secluded, obviously mistreated by his mother—the frightful bitch—and it softened Hermione's already golden heart. That's why, on her return to Hogwarts, she decided to send him a little note to check up on him. And when he first replied, a day after, she could feel the excitement, fear, and gratitude exploding from his response.

The little boy was the only thing that was appealing from Theodore Nott's family. He was the only member of that family that gripped her from the moment her brown eyes found his anxious blue ones. He reminded her of a mixture of people—from herself to even Draco Malfoy—and she found that she cared for him instantly.

...Mother grinned with pride, but when we Flooed home she said not to get any ideas. Tombs in Egypt are not a place for a respectable pureblood boy. What does that even mean, 'Mione?...

Theo had approached her a few days before, asking if it was true that she was writing to his younger sibling. Hermione had retaliated with questions of her own, asking why it mattered that she did and if it was a problem. The Slytherin had only shaken his head at her, smiled that charming smile that was irritating as much as it was friendly, and they proceeded to go in different directions.

There was obviously more to little Benjamin's shy personality, but she figured that was too personal to ask Nott. Yes, they were set to marry, friends, but she felt like asking him something of that sort was crossing the line. Especially by the protecting gaze that took over Theo's dark eyes whenever his brother was brought up. In the end, she guessed, she'd find out when she became a Nott. And maybe then she could actually do something to ease all the boy's troubles and make his childhood something happy rather than the dull one he was living.

...Aladdin was really entertaining, 'Mione. I wish I had more books like that. There's only books about laws, history, and fiancees in our library. Father used to tell me that there was no place for daydreaming. I like daydreaming. And I really liked Aladdin. Maybe one day I can live an adventurous life like he did, except not the stealing. And have a monkey like Abu...

Smiling again, Hermione tucked Benjamin's letter into the pocket of her jeans and leaned over a small table to finish the response she had for him.

You're brilliant, Benjamin! I'm sure your tutor was very impressed. You show great potential. And, hey, I'd like to go study Runes on a tomb in Egypt someday, too. Maybe once I'm done with Hogwarts you and I can take a trip there. I'll need someone as skilled in Ancient Runes as you to unravel the mysteries of old Egypt and their pharaohs with.

Don't worry too much about the lack of enthralling books in your life. Once I marry your brother I promise to build a library filled with adventure books in our home just for you. You can stay over the weekend, holidays, or whenever you want to and read all of them. I'll even read with you! Don't tell anyone, but Hermione Granger likes to dabble in fiction books from time to time. People think me nothing but facts and evidence, but I like daydreaming too.

In the meantime, I'm sending another book to withhold you. This one's the story of a girl named Mulan. I translated the story into Chinese Runes, so take all the time to decipher it. It can be a bit of a challenge. Then again, you'll most likely surprise me.

Sincerely,

'Mione.

She tucked the letter under the strings of the parcel she had ready for Benjamin Nott. Humming a light tune, finding her mood several degrees better than its been in a while, she tied the package to her owl's leg. She scratched its feathers, kissed it on the head, and fed it a treat before it flew off into the afternoon.

She turned back to the table she was using in the Owlery to pack up her quill and inkpot when she felt arms wrap around her from behind. She stiffened immediately, not familiar with the height, the hard body behind her, or the smell of sandalwood and musk.

"Thank you."

Releasing the panicked puff of air that was caught in her throat, Hermione also let go of her wand that slipped from inside her sleeve. She turned around swiftly, back still rigid, and found Theo's black eyes glittering at her.

"What you can possibly talk about with an eight year-old—especially one you don't know—is beyond me, but I thank you. Your letters really make him happy, Hermione."

She cleared her throat, casually backing herself to the table and adding distance between them. "Don't thank me," she said in a voice that contrasted with her previous uncomfortableness, "I'm glad to do it. Your brother's a sweetheart. Writing to him doesn't take up a lot of my time, and I find it to be the only thing in my control these days."

Like she'd done, Nott backed away. There was a frown denting his forehead, causing his indigo-like eyes to appear frustrated. "I'm sorry," he sounded sincere. "I'm sorry that I've constantly made it impossible for you to be happy. Your brother might hate me and all, but maybe he's had a point all along. Maybe if I disappeared everything would be—"

Her heart really was made out of gold. She erased the space she and Nott had left open and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was taller than her so she pulled her head back a bit to meet his eyes. They glistened, they swam with hurt and self-loathing, and Hermione decided that she's seen too many people in her life with that same look on their face and she wasn't having it anymore.

She'd taken Theo's engagement ring, a symbol of her acceptance, and she wasn't going back on it. No matter how many times she took off the ring, tempted to throw it off the Astronomy Tower or feed it to Hagrid's creatures, or the eight nights she's spent crying instead of sleeping since he gave it to her.

"When we get married, Benjamin will live with us, Theo." She never moved her eyes from his. "He can be with us and be happy."

"But you won't be happy, Hermione."

She smiled sadly, finding that tears clouded her vision. "Neither will you."

His thumb went to wipe the fallen tear that landed on her cheek. "You're honestly the best friend I've never had."

Another tear fell. "Maybe that'll be enough to give Ben a happy life."

He hated himself. Absolutely fucking loathed himself. He'd been rooting for her, for someone to find a bloody way out of this betrothal, but here they were. Closer everyday in getting married. Both helpless, both miserable, and only him to blame.

He was a coward and he was manipulative, she was brave and always giving—it was no hassle to put that ring on her finger. He had to share something with her that nobody else knew, he had to give her all his secrets, something that no Slytherin does, and he waited for her to cry all the tears that she needed until she finally accepted and slid the ring onto her finger.

"Hermione—" As he remembered her crying, looking absolutely hopeless, he was about to tell her to sod the ring, forget everything, to keep fighting for a way out, but an owl swooped into the window of the Owlery and landed on her shoulder.

She pulled away from Nott, directing herself and the unknown owl to the nearest table. She laughed at the bird's gentle nipping of her ear, and took the note tied to its leg. "Where'd you come from?" She asked the owl. "Don't tell me George has managed to..."

You're not forgotten, Aria. I'll see you soon.

There was a picture tied to the letter. It was of her. She was out by the greenhouses, conducting research on a few plants with Neville. She remembered that, it was not but three days ago. She hadn't seen anyone around the greenhouses but her, Neville, and the class of Second Years learning about Mandrakes.

Her attackers were closer than she imagined. They were inside Hogwarts and she had fought with Deon Zabini into not placing Aurors in the castle to watch over her.

She gulped.

"Hermione?"

Crunching the parchment and the photo, Hermione turned to the Slytherin with a carefree smile. "We should head back now, don't you think?"

                                                                  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thirteen days later...

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were disgusting.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were ridiculous.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were annoying.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were in love.

They were sitting on a desk in the middle of the room, on the right side and pressed against the wall of the Transfiguration classroom. Harry Potter was leaning on said wall, sitting saddle-style on the bench, and Ginny Weasley in between his legs; her own back flush against his chest. They were laughing about something and it echoed around every corner of the classroom.

They had waltz into the classroom holding hands, like most would find them doing so since they returned from the holidays as on-again boyfriend and girlfriend, and had eyes for no one but themselves. As such, Ginny followed her famous boyfriend to the desk of his choosing and grinned widely at him when he patted the bench for her to sit. One minute they'd gone from having a teasing conversation about Quidditch to Ginny shoving Harry playfully, calling him a git, and in the next Harry had her pressed to his chest and his chin resting on her shoulder as they spoke quietly.

Well, the mumbling between them had only last three minutes before a smile stretched Harry's face and his eyes glittered like it was the happiest moment of his life. He leaned forward, lifting his chin from the redhead's shoulder, and captured his girlfriend's lips with his. Shifting in the bench to get a much better hold of Harry's mouth, Ginny placed a hand at the side of his face, caressing his skin there with her fingertips, and both kept their eyes closed.

The snogging between the two Gryffindors lasted as long as it took for other classmates to walk through the doors of the Transfiguration classroom and for their wolf-whistles and their loud teasing to interrupt them. Harry flushed, Ginny smirked, and everyone else that knew them laughed whole-heartedly.

After that, Harry pecked her mouth, kissed both her cheeks, kissed the tip of her nose, and ended the kissing with one on her forehead. Ginny's eyes fluttered open after he was done and both shared this private, secret, and mesmerizing gaze with one another. It made them both glow, it made them both grin, and it made them both look complete.

Yes, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were in love. And yes, Hermione Granger found them absolutely disgusting.

Bitter old hag, she thought to herself, shaking her head in a self-scolding manner. How could she be such a grouch when it came to her friends? She'd been waiting forever for them to get together again and she was curling her lip in disgust at their display? It was beautiful and sweet that they loved each other that much. Hermione was happy for them.

No, you're jealous of them, her thoughts went off again.

She sighed. There was no point in denying the truth: she was jealous. Let it be known, however, that she wasn't jealous of Harry and Ginny. She was thrilled for them, really, but what nagged her and made her feel the green monster of envy jumping on her chest was what they had.

Despite the complications—the war and then Harry's stupidity—their love managed to triumph. They were perfect for each other; meant to be. They shared a love that was pure, that made him better and happy and complete, that made him have hope for the future and in himself. They shared a love that was strong, that made her grow and made her caring, that completed her and that overjoyed her.

Blinking away from her two friends, Hermione focused her gaze on her open book as her eyes watered. Her jealousy had quickly transformed to utter sadness, to gripping misery, and she was trying to fight off a sob trying to claw its way up her throat and past her lips.

She was never going to have what they had.

Hermione was never going to get a chance at a love that could consume her, that could make her feel so many things at once. She gave that up thirteen days ago. She gave up the opportunity to search for bliss and instead accepted a lifetime watching her friends have theirs and reading it off the pages of old books.

She closed her eyelids to forbid tears from falling, but in doing so, in letting her vision turn into darkness, the image, the taste, and the feel of kissing a certain boy took up her mind. She remembered the surge of excitement, of fear, and of fireworks taking up everything that she was when her lips moved along with his.

No, she berated herself, opening her eyes again. She couldn't. She wouldn't go there—it hurt too much.

She released a puff of oxygen she'd been holding in, turning in her lonely desk to make sure no one in the classroom saw her distress. As she did so, as she made sure Harry and Ginny were still being sickly sweet with one another, that Seamus was showing a few Gryffindors a new trick he learned, and Ron sat by himself, head buried in his arms in what look like a napping position, she turned to the doors of the classroom and she saw that her mind had summoned the devil.

In all of his glory, the Slytherin Prince pierced his silver eyes directly into her brown ones without remorse. His pale features were filled with indifference as always, cold and poised from the exterior, white-blonde hair tousled and around his forehead, almost touching his eyes, and she melted and froze at the same time.

It had been thirteen days since Theo gave her that ring, but it'd been thirty-one days since she willingly had Draco Malfoy in her presence. They had avoided each other after their kiss, both afraid—she knew that much—but after that it'd been only her that was hiding. She avoided looking at him during classes, ate with her head down in the Great Hall, and stuck to a large group of Ravenclaws while studying in the library to dodge him.

Did she owe him an explanation? Did he want one?

Had the kiss meant anything to him?

Was their new-found friendship ruined because of it? Was there even friendship left?

And was he trying to squash unknown feelings too?

He started approaching, walking away from the doorway as more of their classmates entered. His footing was firm, fluid, and his eyes never left her face. They were icy, resenting—it broke her heart.

Maybe she'd been wrong, maybe she did like him. Maybe he grew on her, maybe she knew it as it was happening and didn't mind it at all. Maybe their kiss was something, and maybe it did shake up her world.

More tears came for a swim in her brown orbs, his grey ones lessened in resentment, but then he was blocked from her peripheral view when another Slytherin stood between them. "Good day, Miss Granger."

Draco's right palm clutched itself into a fist when Nott appeared and kissed the Gryffindor Princess on the cheek. He settled his schoolbag on the open space next to her, a hand on her back, and sat himself on her bench like it was his assigned place.

Granger turned slowly around, hunching her back, shrinking away from Nott's touch, and the other did not falter. Instead, he rubbed her back soothingly and silence fell among them.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Appearing through the doors, Zabini and Parkinson stood beside Malfoy for a moment. "I want to hex his bits off but she forbids it."

"She'll probably need those bits for the honeymoon."

Draco and Blaise both flashed Pansy a deadly glare and the witch backed away; not without a smirk and high, mocking laughter. Zabini settled himself on the seat next to him, tossing his bag on the floor and propping his legs up on the tabletop. And right as McGonagall strolled in, Draco didn't miss Pansy putting a hand on the Weasel's back, waking him from his slumber, and taking a seat next to him.

                                                                             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty days later...

"Stop fidgeting," he told her with a chuckle, looking down at her shorter figure and grinning. "It's going to be fine."

She looked up at him, narrow eyed and completely out of patience. "How do you know that?" She huffed at him, waiting for a response. A response she didn't let him give. "This will be complete chaos, Nott, and you know it."

He knew she was right—when isn't she—but he still grinned. "Maybe so, Hermione, but it's necessary. All part of the charade, isn't it? Now, smile and play the part."

She grumbled a curse word.

"That's the spirit," Theo goaded her. "Real ladylike. Charm your hair red and you'll be a perfect Weasley."

Professor Flitwick passed them in the corridor, a smile at first as his eyes landed on Hermione, but then it dimmed at her and her company. He looked surprised, and not in the good way. He slowed his walking, dropping a box of feathers, and Nott laughed as he continued to drag her along to their destination.

The Gryffindor groaned. She just knew it was a terrible idea. She had that feeling in her gut. Usually, she ignored that feeling and trusted her brain instead, but whatever logical reasoning Theo gave her to convince her to do this was being drawn out by the screaming of her gut. It told her no, no, no, no—but there she went. Selfless like always.

"You worry too much, Hermione."

"With good reason, Nott."

"It'll be fun."

"It's going to be a nightmare."

He shrugged and said nothing. He kept that irritating grin on and helped her turn the corridor and into the hall where her Ancient Runes class was located. He insisted on making her late for starters, all part of the plan he'd said, and now they were met with a group of students waiting outside for the professor to show up and their lesson to commence.

The class was compiled of a selected group of students: Hermione, Daphne Greengrass, Padma Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Dean Thomas, Cho Chang, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. And the moment that her and Theo turned the corner, they all stopped their conversations amongst each other and looked at them.

The surprise that'd been on Professor Flitwick's face was now on most of Hermione's friends. And, once again, it was not the good kind. How could it be? She was standing there, fingers intertwined with Nott's intimately, he was carrying her books—acting like a couple.

Equal looks of indignation and confusion crossed their classmates' faces.

At the same time, Nott and Hermione found sharp, grey eyes sending waves of hate at them. Finding resolution to glance away from them, Hermione found that Malfoy was not the only one full of disgust.

"Problem, Smith?" Hermione cringed when her ears picked up Theo's voice.

Zacharias Smith, Hufflepuff and fellow D.A. member, was white faced, blue eyes scowling, and clenching his fists. His aversion to the sight that the Slytherin and Gryffindor were rivaled that of Malfoy's and was more public than the latter's.

Nott's grin turned into a leer at the reaction. "Think of it as House unity. Hermione and I are flawless together."

Hermione gasped as Zacharias ripped his back against the corridor wall and headed towards them, wand out, but Susan Bones managed to grip her housemate by his shoulder before anything grave occurred.

"Ignore him, Zack," breathed Susan. "He's a git."

Theo's leer was still full, flashing at the other students, but when he moved to face Hermione it disappeared. His black eyes were serious and the hand holding on to hers was a painful grip.

"Why are you antagonizing them?"

The dark-haired Slytherin handed the Gryffindor her books back. He didn't say anything for a moment, watching her clutch and gather all her belongings with one free arm. "Because," he murmured like it was the most painful thing ever, his other hand reaching up to cup the left side of her face, "it's the only way."

                                                                      XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty-four days later...

N.E.W.T.s were approaching faster than the Seventh Years imagined. The exams were pushed to the back of their minds as returning to Hogwarts was more about reuniting with the rebuilt castle, seeing friends that survived, and relishing in the memories that the grounds brought. It was bittersweet being back, and no one paid much mind to graduating from the school. That is, until McGonagall announced the three-month mark until the exams started. Most, who were deadly concerned about relearning everything they forgot, hurried to the library and began studying immediately. Others said they'd start, but not so motivated in actually doing so. For the first time in history, the Brightest Witch of the Age found herself in that procrastinating lot.

Her N.E.W.T.s studyguide was in front of her, Charms section opened, listing all the things that would be on the exam, suggesting practice methods, and yet Hermione found herself doodling on the pages.

She sighed.

Were she fully concentrated on the fact that she was damaging her studyguide with green ink—grabbing that wrong one from her schoolbag instead of the professional black—she would've reprimanded herself severely. Unfortunately for her valuable study time, Hermione's mind was long gone and stuck in a memory inside of her bedroom in the Zabini Estate...

She was a complete mess, pale and weak, recovering from the Sectumsempra curse, but the boy seated on an armchair next to her bed did not care. He didn't look at her like she was unkempt with wrinkled pajamas, looking like death; instead he watched as she drank all her potion with precise care. His facial features were blank as she remembers them being always, but his silver eyes had gleamed like the protective light of the moon during dark nights.

She'd been so confused that he was there, feeding her the potions the Healer gave like clockwork. She didn't know why he'd observe her until the potions took their effect, making her less pale, making her feel less in pain. She didn't know why he was the last thing she saw when she closed her eyes and the first when they opened—why he never seemed to leave her side despite getting what he'd wanted.

All she knew was that it started a domino-effect.

"Enough," she murmured to herself, shaking her head like she could shake the memories out.

She would've found that it was going to take more than a scolding to remove her thoughts from the Slytherin Prince, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head without her consent.

She felt dizzy.

Her head was spinning, thoughts spinning, brain-cells spinning, veins—everything inside her was twirling in rapid motions. Her chest started heaving: in, out, in, out, in, out with complete force. Her throat felt tight, like she was being choked.

Aria.

She gasped, scared, opening her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

Aria.

She couldn't see anything. Her vision had gone white like the sclera of her eyeballs. She was panicking more, the blood in her body feeling like it was running cold and yet thicker than normal. Her hand on the table dropped the quill; moving frantically around the tabletop in a hurried search for her wand.

Aria.

Her fingers sensed the automatic heat of her wand, magic ready to spew out, but her hand suddenly went immobile. She couldn't move her hand, couldn't cast a spell to release her of the tortuous bind she was in. She was gasping again, panting wildly, but nothing.

Nothing until she felt an electrical shock on her shoulder.

And just like that, she was free.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

Dragging in oxygen from her nostrils, fingers squeezing her wand to the point of almost snapping it, Hermione found that the shocks of electricity moved from her shoulder, down her arm and onto her free hand. The shocks settled on her fingers, lighting her up with warmth that her body seemed desperate for.

"Malfoy?" She gasped out when the infamous blonde appeared on the chair next to her, still squeezing her fingers.

The Slytherin eyed her carefully, watching as she breathed with difficulty and closed her eyelids. "You seem ill."

Not ill, she wanted to tell him, scared and prosecuted. Someone had entered her mind. Someone had infiltrated her head and practically suffocated her.

She didn't respond. With silence looming over them, her eyes remaining closed, he used his awake ones to scan her. He paid extra attention to her face: rosy cheeks, nose, pink, plump lips and found that he missed them. He felt pathetic for admitting it, but he needed to have her this close on a regular basis to feel like he'd accomplished something during the day.

How'd he get to this point?

A smile was about to tug on his lips, but he blinked and caught sight of a glimmering band on one of the fingers he was holding. He released her at once and flew up from his seat.

"No!" It was loud, people turned, but Hermione didn't care that she was in the library. Her eyes shot open, frantic and terrified, and her fingers went to immediately grab onto any part of him. "Wait, Malfoy—stay."

Her tone was desperate and he had to ask, "why?"

Tears accumulated in her orbs. "Because," her voice quivered along with the fingers holding onto his wrist, "you make everything better. You...Just stay. Please, Malfoy. Stay." There was such a double meaning to that. She needed him to touch her, to send that invisible cure his skin had into her pores. She needed him to sit next to her, hold her hand, make the pain she was feeling disappear; to numb it. She needed that as desperately as she needed him—just him.

"Wouldn't want to upset your fiancee now, would we?"

He went to pull his wrist from her hold but she fought him. "Don't bring Theo into—"

"Why wouldn't I?" He hissed. "You're his, aren't you?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are!"

"Theo doesn't matter," she practically screeched back. She just wanted the calm he surprisingly brought her. Why couldn't he see that? "I don't even know why you care about him! Just please sit—"

"You should." He gave one more forceful tug and managed to get free. He was angry, looking like the true Slytherin he'd been before the war. "You should fucking know why I care, Hermione."

He stalked away. He left her with nothing but a furious sneer to remember and the fear in her bones that someone had penetrated her mind from inside Hogwarts' library.

                                                                     XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty-six days later...

"Honestly, Ronald. I went to the trouble of making you a study-chart, the least you could do is use it. Look, if you mix the lacewing flies into the potion you're going to end up with what Seamus ends up with all the time—an explosion." Reaching across the work table, Hermione separated her friend's ingredients into a yes-and-no pile. "Dragon's blood?" She rolled her eyes. "Why in Merlin's name would you need Dragon's Blood to make Veritaserum?"

As the brunette lectured, Ron's focus was on the other end of the classroom. Feeling especially jolly that day, Slughorn had paired off students to assist one another in areas of potion-making that they needed help with; meaning that several students were hardly concentrated, walking in and out of the classroom, and conversations boomed. While he got Hermione—brilliant and lovable Hermione—Harry was sent to the opposite end to work with Pansy Parkinson.

Harry looked frustrated, not by his partner but by the material. Knowing his best friend, Ron could guess that Harry's mind was on the Half-Blood Prince's potions book and whether there was a chance it could be rescued from the Room of Hidden Things. Part of Ron sympathized, potion-making was not their forte, it was Hermione's; alike every other subject. But another part of him, a disturbingly large part, was intent to every movement the witch beside Harry made.

If she was having trouble with their potion, Ron couldn't tell. Her pale face was like a blank canvas, void of anything. Her stuck-up expression did not appear once, not even when Harry turned to talk to her. They seemed to be discussing their potion like they were friends, like it was an everyday occurrence that the Boy-Who-Lived talked to the girl that was willing to give him up to Voldemort not nine months ago. Twice for some reason, something he'd have to ask Harry later about, she laughed; tossing her head back and her shoulders shaking with the vibration of that laughter. It was enthralling—he found that annoying.

"Mint? Why is there mint here, Ronald? For goodness sake, you're trying to make Veritaserum not mouthwash!"

He told himself several times that he was not going to think about their mutual secret, the one that linked them, one that shifted things between what was right and what was wrong, but he just couldn't. How could he? She was bloody everywhere. Not just that, everytime she did something like laugh, like smile, like look normal, he was thrown off. He knew her secret, he knew her pain, but she hadn't lost her mind like he had. Regularly, she was nothing but cool expressions, mocking laughter, but he'd seen what was behind that. Between that, between her truth and those odd smiles and laughter, he found that he just couldn't bloody stop thinking about her.

Why?

He could rip his hair out and make a carpet out of it for how much she frustrated him. She unsettled and settled him at the same time. And if her glances towards his direction—his blue and her blue meeting, powerful and knowing, secretive and distant—didn't stop, he was going to end up crazier than before.

"Ronald!"

Fluttering his lids with bewilderment, Ron looked away from ahead of the classroom to find Hermione scowling at him in a way his mother does when he didn't clean his room.

"Be careful with that!" Her finger pointed to the cauldron in front of him. "You're boiling the potion too early! While it's steaming it can be dangerous, Ron. Create enough mist to be inhaled and you'll have everyone spilling their guts!"

"Right, right," he coughed. "Sorry, 'Mione. Bit distracted."

Hermione huffed, her scowl not leaving. She was not having a good day and Fate decided to be a bitch by pairing her with her redheaded best friend. As much as she loved Ron, he was impossible in Potions. She had a much better chance making him concentrate in Defense Against the Dark Arts because he was like every wizard that thought that by casting a strong hex made them a man. In his words, Potions requires kitchen skills. She could kill him, really.

"Maybe you'd be more focused if you stopped gawking at Parkinson."

Right as Harry's partner laughed again, Ron turned immediately to his own. "What? I'm not—"

"Oh, please," scoffed the brunette. "You can't lie to save your life, Ron. Not to mention I'm not blind—you've been staring at her since class started. Why don't you ask Harry to change partners with you if you're that desperate to have her around you?"

Ron could feel his ears turn red. "I don't know what—"

"How about you be honest with me and just tell me what's going on between you?" She crossed her arms, frowning and tapping a foot as she watched him expectantly. "My life may be a mess, but I'm not lost in it not to notice what happens in my friends' lives."

She was bloody good, he knew that much. She was absolutely brilliant at everything, but she was also especially scary as she was a humanitarian. If he did tell her she'd run off to attempt to play mother-hen. Besides, it wasn't his secret to tell. Ron may have messed up in the friend department loads of times, but he always took secrets to the grave.

"Fine," she huffed angrily, completely out of patience.

He didn't even get a chance to explain himself when his partner turned on her heels and headed towards the door of the classroom.

She was acting like a total cow, Hermione was well aware of that. She knew that her understanding had been clogged all day, and all day she'd been snapping at people like they were the ones that discomforted her. Truth be told, she was discomforting herself. For a moment, even if for the smallest second, she wanted not to be herself. She wanted to be able to run away from herself, hide in a cave and not come out until everything was settled.

"...like that! Well, fuck you!"

Back pressing against the corridor wall, like someone had shoved her to it, Hermione remained silent as she heard arguing at the turn of the hall.

"Clever remark; is that all you have?"

"You don't fool me with this sudden change of heart! You don't even bloody fool yourself!"

There was a snort.

"Be a man and admit the truth!"

"Don't pretend to know—"

"Oh, but that'd be the day, wouldn't it? Slytherin scum don't know the truth if it bit them in the ass!"

"Listen here, Hufflepuff, I will curse you back and make you regret the day you crossed my path!"

"Do it! I fucking dare you! Take my wand—take it! Curse me!"

The side of her that was a Prefect launched away from the wall and practically ran to turn the corner. And as she did, as she almost slipped on the marble flooring of the hall, Hermione found Zacharias Smith shoving his wand into the hands of Theodore Nott.

The atmosphere couldn't have been thicker with hatred if anyone tried to make it so. The three stood in a triangle; blue, black and brown eyes shifting between each other like a dance. The only difference was that Hermione's were alarmed, Zacharias' were infuriated, and Theo's were quick to mask themselves into smugness.

"Ah," grinned the Slytherin, "my lovely fiancee is here. Did you know she's a prefect, Smith? Care explaining to her why you were on the verge of attacking me?"

Hermione shot Nott a warning glance as he started approaching her with a swagger to his step, grin on his face that didn't make his eyes sparkle in a way he hoped looked convincing.

Nott attempted to put an arm around her shoulders but she shoved him off. Hermione looked at the Hufflepuff with reassuring eyes, trying to ease the situation before hexes started flying. "Zacharias, calm—"

"Piss off, Granger," hissed the Hufflepuff. He shoved his wand into the pocket of his robes and started walking. And before he turned the corner where Hermione had come from, he pushed into her with his shoulder; making her stumble and land into Theo.

An exasperated sigh escaped the girl's mouth as Nott settled her on her feet again. "He hates me," she mumbled to the Slytherin. "Everyone hates me."

Dropping all his facades, Theo looked sadly at Hermione. "No, they all hate me."

                                                                 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thirty-one days later...

She hated being the Mary-Sue.

If there was something that revolted Hermione it was powerless women. Not the kind that were weak or defenseless by default, but the ones that chose to be. She didn't respect women who chose not to fight their own battles, that left their lives in the hands of others. If there was anything that being in the Wizardying World taught her, it was that she was perfectly capable to fight, maim, and protect equally as effective—if not more—than the most experienced soldier.

She was used to knowing things. And if she didn't know them, she was used to burying herself in research and finding the answer. She was also used to being the voice of reason, but in this case she wasn't. In that past month she'd become a contradiction of all her beliefs.

We're not done with you yet.

Fingering the anonymous note she received earlier that week, Hermione felt more than angry at herself. A part of her wanted to go straight to McGonagall and the Zabinis to inform them that the enemy was inside the walls of the castle. She wanted to trust them, wanted to confide in Harry and in Ron, her sworn protectors and faithful companions. She wanted to get this problem sorted, but then a more prominent part, one that was influenced by her stubbornness, told her not to.

That was her paradox Mary-Sue complex.

She knew that this problem might be out of her hands, that maybe she wouldn't be able to protect herself; yet she refused to bring anyone into it because she assumed she could handle it in the long run.

Reality was that she was growing scared.

Not just by the threat of those trying to hurt her, but because her control had already slipped from her fingers and crashed around her feet.

Nothing was right.

Forget the news of her being a Zabini by birth, it was what came with that title. It was the loss of her muggle history; having a new family; knowing that she was walking around with a Glamour Charm on her, that all her features weren't really hers; the crushing of her would-be romance with Ron; her betrothal to Nott; his horrid mother; and Malfoy.

She groaned, tossing her back against the grass of the lonely hill she'd claimed as her own during the last break of the day. She closed her eyes and wasn't surprised that her mind took the chance to display the face of Draco Malfoy. She hadn't known it before, but her memories really gave justice to his features. It wasn't until she went without him, without his presence and their conversations, that she began studying every detail about him.

He was gorgeous, really. And she understood the swagger to his step when he walked; that stupid, arrogant bastard.

"Wrackspurts got you down?"

Opening her left eye, Hermione found a hazy figure standing above her. The carefree smile, the dreamy blue eyes, the pale complexion, and that long blonde hair was enough to make her snort. "Hello, Luna."

"Hello, Hermione," greeted the Ravenclaw, her dulcet tone ringing along with the breeze passing through them. Taking the liberty, Luna took a seat next to the brunette. With a quick examination of the older girl and her pose, Luna shrugged her shoulders and laid on the grass exactly like Hermione. "Are we cloud-watching?"

Sometimes, Luna was a subject caught between love and annoyance. Though the girl was rather sweet, Hermione couldn't always stand the sparkly personality that made up the Ravenclaw. It was one thing to daydream, but a completely different thing to live there. Despite that, as wishy-washy as it sounded, Hermione thought that everyone needed a Luna in their lives. It kept things interesting.

"Oh! Look! That one looks like a Dabberblimp!"

Opening her right eye, Hermione's focus went to a cloud the Ravenclaw was indicating. It didn't have a shape. In fact, the grey sky above them was practically cloudless. They were still in the winter season, there was going to be nothing but gloomy, murky skies and rain for several months.

"That looks like a pancake to me, Luna."

"Well, if you opened your mind a little, Hermione, you'd see the Dabberblimp." Luna chortled to herself, shaking her head and fanning her blonde hair more throughout the grass. "No wonder the Wrackspurts have you down."

The brunette looked away from the sky. "I don't know what that means."

"Not surprising," replied the Ravenclaw. "But you don't know a lot of things lately, do you?"

Were it any other occasion, any other lifetime, Hermione would've snapped with defense. Were it those times, she would've—as politely and directly as possible—told that blonde that she was full of rubbish fantasy and that she didn't have time for imaginary creatures. But seeing as it wasn't those times, Hermione just exhaled noisily and nodded.

Why deny the truth? She hadn't a clue about anything.

"People think that love is true only when its simple." Hermione furrowed her brows at the next words that came from Luna. "That's not true at all, is it? Love doesn't have to be Nargles infesting Mistletoe and conspiring to join you with someone. Love isn't always obvious. Love can be true when it seems hopeless and out of your control."

Hermione's lips couldn't part to respond when Luna flashed her blue eyes away from the sky to her.

"Love not only gives you light in the darkness, but love is also the darkness. It's simple to give up and dwell in pity, but Love never does that. Love keeps going. Love keeps existing until the last candle is burnt out."

Hermione managed to swallow and moisten her throat. "W-Wha—"

"Dumbledore was right when he said that Love conquers everything," continued Luna like she hadn't heard the Gryffindor try and form a sentence. "I'm sorry about your betrothal with Theodore Nott, Hermione. It must be awful."

"How do—"

"But it must be more awful to give up on love."

No words wanted to come out of Hermione's lips then. The knot in her throat forbade it even if they tried to come on out.

"It's not selfish to check if the flame is still burning." Luna smiled gently. "It's not wrong to assume there is a flame. And it's not wrong to become invisible and hide yourself in the place you need to be in the most."

Hermione's head was rushing. "Luna, what—"

"Oh, here comes your brother," interrupted the Ravenclaw again.

Surely enough, as Hermione and Luna pulled themselves into a sitting position, Blaise came cat-walking to them. A smirk pulled his lips, exposing his white teeth, and something mischievous sparkled in his emerald gaze.

"How'd you keep finding me, Blaise?"

"Little First Years," was his immediate response as he chucked his schoolbag onto the grassy space in front of the girls. "They're small: that makes them easily overlooked and easily scared. It took one wave of my fist and they all pointed to here." He turned away from his half-sister, examining the blonde. "None mentioned Loony Lovegood, though."

Hermione frowned, crossing her arms. "It's Luna, Blaise."

The Slytherin kept roaming his eyes over the Ravenclaw like it was free reign. He'd heard about the girl, dodged her like many others, but he had never really been in her presence before. He hadn't even known what she really looked like. And now that he did get a good view, it was pretty interesting to see what made up the girl.

"You're still mad at me, I'm guessing?" He cleared his throat, turning back to the brunette.

His sister scowled.

"I'll take that as a yes," he huffed as he took off his robes. He sprawled them on the grass, dragging an edge of it with the tip of his shoe to extend it out. "Though, I really don't see how this is my fault."

"You told Deon and Allegra about the ring!"

Blaise rolled his eyes, carefully sitting himself on his robes. "Well, you accepted the ring. Had you chucked it at his face and hexed his balls off, we wouldn't be having our first, real sibling fight, would we?"

"You're impossible."

"I'm handsome," he corrected after her groan. He turned back to face the blonde, an eyebrow raised to let her know that he was definitely giving her the go-over.

Much to his ego, Luna Lovegood had no clue that he was trying to intimidate her. After all, Luna was not intimidated—ever. Especially not by a boy; a boy Slytherin to be precise. She just watched him right back with her whimsical gaze and studied him in return.

And once she found what she thought was worth searching for, Luna rose to her feet and dusted her skirt. "I better be off. Neville's waiting for me."

"Oi, stay for a while, Loony," chirped Zabini before Hermione could say a farewell to her friend. "I just got here. Unless...Am I too charming for you? I do give witches that impression, you know. Some have even passed out due to it."

The Ravenclaw picked out a stray leaf from her long locks. "I'm actually leaving because I don't like you, Zabini. Well, all of Ravenclaw doesn't like you at the moment for the things you've been saying about Cho. I just figured, for once, I'd show some House spirit."

Blaise frowned while still managing to look offended. "I didn't—"

"Bye." Wiggling her fingers at them, Luna turned and started skipping back the way she came from.

"That girl's mental! How can she not find me charming? I can even charm that pants off Moaning Myrtle. Loony is not—"

"Invisible! Luna's a genius!"

"Oi!" Hermione launched herself to her feet and started sprinting after the Ravenclaw. Zabini was left alone, looking appalled and forgotten. "Come back here, Hermione! I don't do lonely!"

                                                                        XXXXXXXXXXXX

He'd been thinking of Astoria Greengrass for some time now.

Back in the days when he thought he was on top of the world, he did have some sort of friendship with several Slytherins that he'd known since childhood; that were commanding and respected and feared—not just within their House but in others—and because his father expected it from him because or who their families were. He didn't have best friends and didn't get touchy-feeling with them like a bloody Hufflepuff, but once upon a time he shared laughter and easy conversations with a few. And one of those selected people had been Daphne Greengrass.

She was in his year and his parents always encouraged him to keep friendly with her because of her family. He did it out of obligation, but he did find her easy to be around with. She was a bitch and annoying when she wanted to be, but she wasn't a lap-dog in the way that Pansy had been with him. Greengrass never attempted to impress or grab anyone's attention by being the damsel in distress or the girl that was always willing to give you a go. She kept to her friends, sister, kept a decent reputation as a Slytherin, and then proceeded to have a disastrous relationship with Zabini.

Before he lost himself completely in the task of planning Dumbledore's murder, Draco had been vaguely aware when Daphne's younger sister started to show up more often. She'd been beautiful, Astoria. A typical pureblood witch: tall, blonde, piercing eyes, and a silence about her that no one bothered to figure out. They talked once or twice in passing and that'd been it. He really never gave her a second glance.

It wasn't until a depressing and shit excuse of a Christmas, when he and his family were kept as prisoners in their own Manor as the Dark Lord continued to destroy their world, that he found out about his betrothal to her. The Greengrass patriarch didn't carry the dark mark, but alike Deon Zabini, Mister Greengrass had been useful to the Dark Lord because of his political standing in other countries. And it'd been that night when that family had been over, mainly to discuss matters with Bellatrix about an underground movement in Russia for her to report to her beloved master, that plans of a wedding started brewing between the mothers of both families.

Draco had kept his head down, hadn't looked at Daphne or Astoria, and retreated to his room as soon as dinner had been over. He'd been expecting Bellatrix or his father to storm up to his bedroom to try and drill the importance about his tie to a pureblood witch to bring honor to the family, to continue the legacy, to give potential servants for the Dark Lord, but it'd been his mother that found him after. Narcissa Malfoy was not the openly affectionate mother, but he remembered that she looked at him with sympathy then.

'I'm sorry,' she had whispered, barely audible that he didn't think he heard it at all. 'It's the way it has to be.'

He knew that to be true. It wasn't a secret that every member of his family—both Black and Malfoy—had been married off to someone with a legacy as pure as the one before it. His own parents' marriage was arranged. And knowing how proud Lucius Malfoy was of his history, Draco didn't expect anything less than to fulfill the same duties as him. That included an arranged marriage and servitude to the Dark Lord.

'...Maybe you'll fall in love, Draco,' his mother had also whispered as he gave her his back. 'I eventually did. It's possible.'

He hadn't heard about wedding plans or the Greengrasses again after that Christmas night. So much had happened; the war had started raging, Potter was on the move, the Dark Lord was getting more vicious, the immediate call for battle at Hogwarts—and all the bloodshed and deaths that came after.

Astoria Greengrass had died as one of the many casualties of war. She'd been brought up twice after: the discussion of going to her funeral, to give their respects to the Greengrasses; and when his mother had mentioned that his duty of an arranged marriage had been canceled. After that, he never gave her another thought. He didn't know her, she wasn't a friend, and he didn't care.

Lately, however, he wondered if things would've been different at the very moment if she would've been alive. Would he attempted to woo her? Would she have been around more? Would they've come to an agreement—given it a chance?

Most likely not. If there was a single person in the world that he had to be honest with, it was himself. Draco knew perfectly well that he was long gone down in an abyss to give a damn about a girl and a marriage. His mind was fucked, his soul was torn, his heart was frozen. He would've ended up loathing her; tying her as another expectation as a Malfoy to achieve.

But, maybe...

Maybe if Hermione hadn't come into his life the way she had, throwing everything off balance, he wouldn't be thinking of Astoria Greengrass at all. If Hermione hadn't captivated him in a way he never wanted to be captivated before, then he wouldn't be hoping for the girl to still be alive so that he'd have a reason to forget about Hermione. And that was the thing wasn't it? He needed an outlet to forget about the Gryffindor Princess.

But how could he? What was powerful enough to make him forget that she existed, that she changed him?

Perhaps she didn't change him completely—war had done that by its own disastrous accord, but she had managed to shift things significantly. His views on blood purity had changed during the war: when he watched people die in front of him, when he was ordered to curse, when he saw Bellatrix torture Hermione, when every Muggle-born and every Half-Blood bled as red as a Pureblood did. He didn't give two fucks about blood purity by the time the secret of her being a Zabini and a pureblood came to light. That hadn't mattered, she hadn't transformed in his eyes because of that.

It had been her heart.

In the list of people that had every right to hate him, she was amongst the top three. He knew she didn't though; knew that she wasn't capable of it when she helped save his life that night the Room of Requirement started burning down or when she testified to keep him from Azkaban. He saw rage in her eyes when he stepped through the Floo and they both found out that his parents were her Godparents, but it was never hate. She lashed out words that made him angry that first night of their reunion, but she never gave an inclination that she loathed him with as much passion as he'd once hated her. Despite dealing with her own problems, hating every aspect of her new life, she gave in to the fact that he and his parents were going to be around her—after throwing a tantrum, that is. And when he'd been cornered by her to ask for what he needed to ask, memories of hatred did not cross her features once when he requested forgiveness. She had instead given it to him easily, like it had been no effort at all to let the past be the past.

That started the domino-effect.

He'd been studying her for a while, but by that moment, when she told him she didn't blame him for the scars Bellatrix left on her arm and that he was forgiven of the burden he carried from her part, he really started seeing her under a new light. He found a new world in the eyes staring back at him that had gone unnoticed by him for years. There was something about the brown in her gaze. It wasn't dark and plain; it was vibrant, it had golden specs, and they were filled with trust as much as they were virtuous.

He'd been close to her before that night, and he knew that she was always forgiving as she was stubborn. He'd been around her long enough to accept the fact that the Gryffindor Bookworm was pretty, but that night, that night she forgave him, he thought she was beautiful. He didn't care that she was almost transparent as a ghost or on her sickbed, he could see the unadulterated soul she lived with and it was captivating. And the night of the Christmas ball at the Zabini Estate, when she descended from the stairs and met his eyes...no words short from breathtaking and exquisite could be compared to her. She lit up a light inside of him that he'd been trying to dim.

When they started spending time together, one on one, he confirmed that she really was unlike any other. She wasn't the least bit interested in what was in the magazines, what was the latest gossip, what was in as fashion, or what anyone wrote about her and her two friends in the newspaper. She shied away from all attention; didn't crave it nor did it matter. When she spoke, it was something unfiltered, deep and honest. When she had thoughts to share, letting him listen despite the urge of not wanting to, he found that they were dark and tortured; almost as similar to the ones he carried. And when they had conversations, simple and neutral conversations disregarding the world outside her bedroom, he found that she was the only one that challenged him. She fought, debated, shot back, mocked, and stung equally as he did. Nothing about spending time with her was dull—not even when both sat in silence and read books from her overflowing bookcase.

Little by little, undetected by him, she became a part of his day. She became something that he considered his. And when Regina Nott started appearing, interrupting his time with her to discuss wedding plans, the cruel, selfish bastard in him started poking his ribs; signaling that he was definitely still in there. He'd never felt that type of discomfort in his life, so he hadn't known what to do with it when it happened. He just got up, left to find Blaise, and left her to her wedding plans—despite the urges that told him to stay. That fateful night, the night they kissed, he'd been on the patio subconsciously, halfway drunk but coherent enough. He wanted to be there for her; he wanted to be there when she needed to step out of the room to breathe and feel and be Hermione the Righteous Gryffindor. And when she had appeared, just as he hoped and expected, and gazed at him with those lovely eyes of hers, he knew he was done for it. He had already let her in.

The kiss had wiped out all the other kisses he'd had in his lifetime.

But then she'd gone and accepted an engagement ring from Nott. They had started to act as a couple: holding hands, walking to class together, and disappearing together after dinner. Draco had seen his fellow Slytherin, on occasion, sneak his way back into the common room and head to his dormitory after curfew. He didn't want to think that he was out there with her, that the acceptance of their betrothal was something more, but who else would he be with?

His mind had developed the memory of a night two weeks ago when he'd been sitting alone by the fireplace, Nott walking in looking completely frazzled, blatantly ignoring him, when he felt a tingle run up his spine. The memory of that dark scene started getting blurred, a light started appearing by the hall of the dormitories, one that didn't exist.

Someone was trying to penetrate his mind.

He bolt upright from his four-poster. Automatically, like how he'd been taught by Bellatrix and Snape, Draco put up mental-barriers to forbid anyone access to his mind. He concentrated, barely any effort as he applied the Occlumency techniques he'd learn to defend himself from trespassers.

"Impressive."

Goyle had been off who-the-fuck cares where, Zabini was probably whoring about before curfew was called—he was supposed to be alone in the dormitory. But he wasn't. He heard the voice. It was implanted in his mind, it echoed around the lonely room.

He opened the curtains of his four-poster in one hard yank. And surely enough, no one was there.

"My Occlumency is not as powerful as that." On the left side of his bed, where nothing but a nightstand tucked in the corner was, a brunnette appeared from thin air. "But I bet you'd love the fact that Harry is complete rubbish at it."

Draco stared wide-eyed as the Gryffindor Princess smiled lightly before him, folding a cloak casually.

"If I had better luck, I would've caught you sleeping and nosed about your head again."

He hid his surprise as quickly as she'd caused it. He went impassive. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

She raised her brow at his use of her first name.

He didn't notice. "How'd you even get in?"

The girl shrugged. "Long story."

Resting his back against the headboard of his bed, Draco tried his best to seem aloof over her presence. "Your facts might be a little jumbled. This isn't Nott's dormitory."

Taking a courageous breath in, Hermione still fiddled with a corner of Harry's cloak. "I'm aware of that," she said in a weak tone. "I...I came looking for you, actually."

"Is that so?" After her comment, it was hard not to show his surprise. But he also felt anger over it. There was no trouble displaying that. "Brought me a wedding invitation, did you?"

"Malfoy—"

"Or are you looking to have girl-talk about your fiancee with me? Has the She-Weasel and the rest of your lot had enough of your swooning? Surely there's someone in the castle dying to hear how Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott are smitten with one another."

"Malfoy—"

"You're not wearing the ring. What happened, little Gryffindor? Already fighting with your betrothed? You two were so snuggly today in class, certainly—"

"Malfoy, shut up!" Completely enraged—of course he'd make her feel that way—Hermione was tempted to whip her wand out and curse him to snap his mouth shut. "I'm not here to talk about Theo and I! I'm here for you, you bastard! I'm here to talk about us!"

Well, that certainly silenced him. It took two minutes of looking at one another, so many emotions from her and his all perfectly hid, before he decided to speak again. "There's no us," he said fluidly, icily. "You wasted your time coming here."

"Don't," Hermione breathed, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't do that, Malfoy. You know...Please just don't try and hurt me."

He frowned at her. "Yes, of course. I forgot I was the one avoiding you."

"It's hard," she screeched at him, looking thoroughly outraged, "and I'm terrified, Malfoy! I don't know what happened, what changed between us, but it did! And...And I had no idea what I felt for you, but the more I went without you..."

"Don't say it," he snapped at her. "Don't even fret about it, Hermione. I don't feel the same. Nothing changed."

He wanted to wound her. He wanted to cut her as much as she'd been cutting him. And she would've believed his cold words if it hadn't been for the vibrating magic between them and the flash of longing in his gaze. He was brilliant at staying behind his barriers of protection, but once in awhile, when she was lucky, she got to see him peek over them.

Knowing that Slytherins never hear words they don't want to, Hermione dropped the cloak and her wand on the ground beside his bed. Taking a deep breath, she climbed her way onto his mattress. On her knees, she slowly approached him. He was definitely taking a look behind his walls when his features grew nervous, especially when she placed her hands on his shoulders and dragged herself a little closer to him.

With a small smile, Hermione closed the distance between them and pressed her lips onto his. She had been completely determined to take them hostage; kiss him with as much rawness as she had the first time, but she wasn't allowed. When she started to turn her head to the side, started to part her lips to fully taste his mouth and tongue, she jolted and groaned with great discomfort.

"For fuck sakes, Hermione." Grabbing her by the shoulders, as she weakly leaned back, Malfoy cradled her in his arms. "You can't do that! Loyalty clause in your fucking marriage contract, remember?"

Hermione laughed. She laughed like it was the most amusing thing ever; like her bones didn't feel like they'd been stung by a cheap hex. It wasn't too painful, not enough to make her squirm and cry, but enough to distract her.

"What's so bloody funny?"

"You were about to kiss me back," she commented casually, laughter still underlying her words.

He didn't respond. He looked down at her, glaring.

Smiling at him, her shoulders still shaking from her giggles, Hermione leaned against his chest. He was holding her—he'd never so much as gave her a hug before. There was something about his arms, hard and muscled, like a protective cage. She found security in them, yet she felt trapped. It was like he didn't want to let her go, and she was perfectly okay with that. She'd stay trapped with him for ages if he wanted.

She could smell that fresh, minty, and masculine scent on him; one that she missed. It was coming from every corner: his sheets, the pillows behind him, the mattress, his clothes, his skin, his breath—it really was intoxicating.

"I knew it was going to happen," she muttered after a few silent moment. "I knew something was going to hit me as soon as I kissed you, but I didn't care. I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you."

Fluttering her eyelids open, Draco found that mesmerizing brown sparkling up at him. He swallowed a knot of wanton emotions. "Why are you here, Hermione?"

"Because," she continued to whisper, eyes filling with a few tears, "it's where I want to be...I need to be here."

"But Nott—"

"I don't like Theo," she cut him off. "Aren't you listening, Malfoy? I want you."

"Then why did you take his bloody ring? Why did you stop looking for a way out of the betrothal?!"

Tears fell. "I have my reasons," she told him with a pain in her chest. "I know...I know it's selfish of me, Malfoy. A part of me knows that I shouldn't be here, that I shouldn't mess with your head...or with my heart, really, but I don't want to keep hiding. Even if for a night...I just want to be here with you. I want to enjoy your silence and presence."

Closing his eyes with deep frustration, Draco pressed his forehead against hers. Without much fight to stay nonchalant, he found that his arms squeezed her tightly; flushing him more against his chest. He felt her warmth; her pure soul and golden heart.

"Why are you here?" He mumbled again, sounding deeply in pain.

"Because I miss you, Malfoy," she breathed in response.

He let out a strangled puff of air. "I don't know what happened," he began, sounding like he was fighting with himself to keep the words in. "But I need you to be here, Hermione. I don't want you to, but I can't help it. You've taken residence inside my head and you don't want to bloody come out."

"I've been trying to get you evicted from mine for a while now, too." She put a hand at the side of his face, gently running her fingertips along his jaw as she stared at him like she'd been bewitched. "But you're all I think about. I get so lost in my thoughts of you that I can't breathe sometimes."

His silver eyes opened again. "This is going to be a disaster, Hermione."

"Isn't it already?"

He snorted. "Leave it to a Gryffindor to be a martyr."

She pinched his chin in scolding. But before he could react, she said: "I want to stay here with you tonight."

He pulled his head away from hers to get a better look at her face. He wanted to find a bluff; he wanted to find her smirking, like she was toying with him, but there wasn't any. Her brown eyes were sincere, expecting, and her facial features were determined.

"You're aware I share the dormitory with your brother, right? He'll kill me if he sees you in my bed."

It was Hermione's turn to snort. "Since when does a Slytherin care about morals?"

His forehead creased a little as she pulled herself away from his arms. She hopped off his bed, kicking off her shoes and taking off the black coat she had on and throwing them on the ground next to the cloak she'd brought.

"You're keeping the jeans on, then?"

She scowled playfully at him as she reached for one of his hands and yanked. "You're not that lucky, Malfoy." She wasn't strong enough to make him get up from his four-poster, but she was happy that he obliged her intended action without question.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

His heart was beating on overdrive. There she was, untucking his sheets and blankets from their place, fluffing pillows, all with the intent of staying with him in his bed. And there he was, staring at her with awe, chest filling up with the strangest sensations of feeling whole, feeling complete, when not an hour ago he was damning her existence.

But that's who they were, wasn't it? They were not simple. They weren't two people with neutral personalities—they were both bolts of petrifying thunder. They hated each other, accepted each other, annoyed each other, fancied each other; all in a repetitive cycle. They were destined to drive each other insane.

"You've more guts than I gave you credit for," muttered Draco as he climbed back onto his bed.

"I can be selfish too. Courage has nothing to do with it," she responded. She raised her wand, flicked it, and made the curtains of his four-poster close. She waved her wrist, sparkling jets of magic exiting from her wand as she muttered spells that would keep anyone away. She secured their little haven.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

His heart didn't stop the embarrassing loud banging it was doing inside his chest as she went underneath his blankets, cuddling into his side. She pressed a kiss on his forehead, on his cheek, at the corner of his mouth, on his jaw, on his neck, on his collarbone, and then on his covered chest before she rested her head upon it.

She could sense his surprise, his timidness, but she felt so relieved when he eventually wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She felt protected all over again.

Tears prickled her eyes—she had spent weeks dodging him, when all along she needed to be right beside him. It was odd, unreal, but that's where her place was. It broke her heart to know that she was never going to end up there in the long run.

But for that moment, for that night, only they existed. For that night, they were together and nothing mattered. For that night, everything was finally as it should be.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top