A/N: Here it is, all edited and fresh to be read! The 9th chapter! LOL, that sounds quite the opposite of interesting, but anyway.

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"I'll maintain a facade. If not for your sanity, then for mine. No one can cross the gates. No one can build a bridge."

Priori Incantatem

"I swear, the incessant buzzing has risen in me an unexpected hatred for bees that I will never be able to comprehend."

Finite Incantatem

The two friends blanched on hearing the door and the disheveled, yet deeply annoyed words that had followed. They turned to the red-haired girl with shocked expressions, trying to hide their guilt behind their now-wide eyes.

Hermione kicked Harry in the shin from where she was seated, the action somehow going unnoticed by one angry red-head. She screamed at him the words 'I. WANT. TO. LIVE. If you do too, HELP ME,' through a perfectly mastered expression. If possible, Harry's eyes widened even more before he gulped and slowly nodded his head, turning his attention back to the seething woman, who was now walking towards them in menacing steps.

"Ginny! Is dinner ready? Oh goodie," she began, trying advertently to calm her friend down before she exploded- or worse, before she decided to explode either of them.
Knowing that they wouldn't open their blasted mouths without a hell lot of persuasion, Ginny now took on the obnoxious and ghastly smile a certain pink woman- a witch, in the Muggle sense if you would, was infamous for. She fixed her husband and best friend with the look and stared them down until Hermione finally sighed, knowing well that she couldn't win against Ginny's stubbornness.

"Oh, fine. Alright, I cast the Charm. But only because Harry asked me to." She smiled, a bit slyly for having framed her best friend, but well, he deserved it, didn't he?

Harry looked at her with a betrayed expression, his eyes screaming 'TRAITOR' at her so loud she almost thought she'd heard it. Yet, he turned to his loving wife, and placed a quick, chaste kiss on her cheek. It was aimed toward her lips, but well, she had to turn her head at the last moment, didn't she?

"I swear, Hermione's just jealous of you. That's why she's trying to ruin the surprise I wanted to give you for our second anniversary, but, oh well." He shrugged. Ginny slapped a hand to her mouth in astonishment, her eyes lighting up. As she looked at the raven-haired man she had the fortune to call her husband, she remembered painfully the crush she had developed the very first day she had seen him. And with that came the relief, the satisfaction of having done something she was proud of herself for- marrying the love of her life.

She gave Hermione an accusing look as she reached for Harry, her arms wrapping around him and pulled him into a tight hug. Merlin, how she loved him. Meanwhile, Hermione pondered over Harry's words. He'd hit a nerve without even knowing or trying, and it felt suffocating. She hated herself for being so selfish as to want that for herself, that she couldn't even be happy for her best friends.

As Ginny pulled away after about a good thirty seconds (Hermione had been looking away and at other things that adorned the room so as to give them some privacy and save herself from being awkward), she smacked Harry on the head and smirked. At his questioning look, (alongside the best puppy-dog impression he could muster), she simply said, "That was for ruining my feelings towards bees. And the surprise."

"But that was for the surprise! And you didn't like bees anyway! And frankly, you asked about it, and not very kindly," Harry tried to protest against the unfairness from his wife. Honestly, he enjoyed having harmless arguments like these with her, mostly because they were rare to come across these days. And now, well, thanks to Hermione, he'd get another chance to because of the 'surprise' he had been planning. He scoffed mentally.

Ginny simply shrugged. "I don't care." Harry gave her a look before sighing. He never could win with her.

"Great, now I hope that that's out of the way, and we're all going to have dinner. Follow me, idiots," she announced with a pointed stare towards the two as she started moving towards the kitchen where she had previously emerged from, the lights in there getting switched on automatically as they had switched off when she had left.

Hermione sent an eye-roll towards her red-headed friend's back as Harry and her followed Ginny into the kitchen. She lightly bumped her shoulders into his, getting him back for accusing her of being jealous. He merely shook his head at her childishness. It was moments like these that he had come to cherish. Albeit with a little bit of grumbling that always seemed to be involved, no matter what.

Inside the kitchen, at the four-seater wooden piece of architecture she and Ginny had previously been sitting on, there were now delicacies, complete with a pitcher of pumpkin juice. As the three sat down, Harry let out a small whistle at the amount of work his wife had out into it, silently thanking Hermione for coming over. Ginny chuckled at that, while still awe-struck, Hermione said, "Merlin, this seems delectable. Ginny, you can be a pain in the arse some times, but I will always love you for your cooking. I'd do anything to inherit those skills from Mrs Weasley too."

Ginny glared at her playfully before laughing again. She motioned for them to begin, and in a matter of minutes and pleasurable moans, they had finished the next best food Hermione had ever eaten, after all of Mrs Weasley's assorted dishes, of course.

After helping with the dishes, Harry excused himself to his room to get some more files done. Ginny had tried to oppose to him working his head off, but the look on his face saying that he needed a little alone time shut her up. She simply smiled at him and watched him climb up the stairs with tired eyes. Hermione felt guilty, even though she wasn't too much at fault, but somewhere along the lines maybe she had been instrumental in making the fatigue catch up to him.

When Ginny turned to Hermione back in the living room with hopeful eyes, she sighed, trying to suppress the guilt. You see, she still wasn't sure whether to tell her the truth or not. The plethora of emotions swirling inside of her head had only stopped once, to pronounce guilt as the predominant one of the agenda for today, and then they had slipped right back into painful motion.

"I asked him what it was, or is, that's been giving him such a hard time. I even accused him of betraying our friendship by not telling me. His answer wasn't very... satisfying, if you would, but that's all I could find out. You know how difficult he can be with all the self-inflicted blame that surrounds him like a dark cloud most of the time," she said as she rubbed her eyes, trying not to let her utter frustration for the fact show. Because when Harry Potter was cursed, it wasn't just with the killing curse. Metaphorically, of course.

Ginny sighed too, trying to push the tears back in. She had always been so strong, but she couldn't bear to see the man she loved blame and overwork himself to death for no apparent reason. She knew he was hiding something beneath the precipice; she'd been spotting slivers of real worry flash in his eyes every now and then for quite a while. And she was so exasperated with him for not telling her what it was that had been taking a toll on him, and in turn, on her. But she had figured being mature was probably a more approachable option and wait for her to tell him in his own time. But that never stopped the frown of desperation sneak into her face once in a while.

Hermione took in her friend's slogged form, and gulped. She felt horrible for not revealing the real reason, but maybe it was for the best if the case stayed confidential for a little longer. Relatively new situations had yet to be discovered; if they did get located, only then would the news be announced to the people, or so she expected.

Sitting in quiet contemplation for quite a while, Ginny gave the brunette beside her a once over. Merlin, she was fetching. Even in a daze and after looking sufficiently disheveled, one could safely say that Hermione Granger was nothing short of attractive.

"On a lighter note, you look pretty lovely today, Hermione. I really hope you reconsider my advice about getting into dating again," Ginny said slowly and quietly, looking up at her friend as she did.

Hermione blushed. Hard. The blush was creeping up through her neck and was well above her cheeks when she said, "Oh, thank you so much, you look beautiful too," completely ignoring her last statement. Ginny proceeded to sigh dramatically at her stubbornness for the activity, but said no more. She knew it was all in vain; her friend had always seemed horribly abhorrent of the particular activity and she probably knew the reason why. Ron.

They had then fallen into effortless conversation, being careful not to bring up Harry or Ron anywhere. At around nine, Hermione decided to call it a night. By then she knew everything about the next day's Daily Prophet news. Ginny had already filled her in about all the Quidditch teams that were gearing up for the next season (something she had been forced to listen), and about the pending announcement that was soon to be made to the Weasleys. A spectacle she was actually looking forward to.

Harry and Ginny bid her goodbye with hugs and a promise of dinner at The Burrow on Sunday. She'd stepped out of their doorstep, and flashing one last smile at the pair, Apparated away to her apartment.

She landed in the living room of her flat with a loud pop. She had only dropped on the couch, kicking off her boots, when a soft music playing caught her ears. She froze. She knew this tune. Loved it actually. And that was because that was the last CD she had placed in her CD Player that was placed at her table top in her room. Her eyes widened in alarm (it was a reflex by now), she climbed up the stairs to her room, her wand ready at her side.

Pushing the door open with her free hand, she was met by the sight of an owl perched on her CD Player. She heaved a sigh, shaking her head for being extra jumpy and Carefully approached the owl. It looked regal and powerful, its head turned up in what she guessed was annoyance for having had to wait for her to deliver the message. She pulled out a drawer, her eyes on the owl all the while, and picked up a bag of owl treats to offer to the owl perched on her music player. Hermione gently untied the scroll of parchment tied to its leg as she waited for it to have a treat. The owl seemed to peck at one reluctantly, and flew off with an annoyed hoot when she had the parchment in her hands.

What the scroll contained was certainly not desirable. Quite the opposite, actually.

To Miss Hermione Granger,

Keeping in mind the importance of a formal letter that is a requirement for our upcoming official dealings, I'm writing to you (I'm itching to write 'reluctantly' here but being the mature adult I am, I won't) to inform you of the recent development that is our meeting first thing tomorrow. My secretary's told me about some files that require your signature. Do not be late, or you may lose your job. No offense, of course.

D. M.

P.S. I would appreciate it if you try to keep yourself from falling into oblivion when you see me this time. I agree that it must be hard to see my striking features in person and to not just swoon, but do check yourself.

Hermione took in a breath to calm herself. She knew she needed to get her bearings to relax, for attempted murder wouldn't be held in her favor. She could feel his smirk boring into her head as she wondered furiously how big his head could get before bursting like an overstuffed balloon. Aha! Now that was a great scene she'd pay to watch.

Grumbling at the stark irony that was her life, she quickly grabbed some comfortable pajamas and walked over to the washroom, stepping in, and locking the door behind her. When she emerged a few minutes later, her hair wet with the shower she had just taken to clear her mind, the fatigue had caught up to her already as she dropped straight on the bed. Soon, she fell into a deep slumber, only to be haunted by nightmares of gloom and endless darkness.

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In another world far away from hers, or maybe not so much, a man, grown but lost in his faded childhood, sat in his study, clutching his head between his hands. Silently staring into oblivion as his mind became numb with all of the buzzing unanswered questions. Guilty. Not really retrospecting as much as trying to sieve out all the bad things he had ever been possessed to do. New guilt rushed in as he recognized his mind trying to blame it all on someone else, someone who was not him, just like it did every time.

His entire careless existence, he had been devoted to whom he had called his father, consequently turning toward sin. Where there was war and destruction, there was hate and anger. And the difference of opinions may not be of that great value, to anyone really, but what he had had to undergo, watch, and absorb had changed him. The gamut of all things from hell that surrounded him refused to budge, and frankly, he had stopped trying. He'd tried to pry it off of him when he first discovered it, which had led to him becoming who he was now. Behind the bars, a prisoner of his mind.

Façades usually take time to drop. Sometimes forever. And sometimes, even forever isn't long enough. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, what Draco had more often than not seen was this frame of a man whose world was painted in the darkest shade of black. Of the silent kind of angst, which is meant to be devastatingly slow in destruction. Everything was hollow inside. This protective covering he had built around himself had been biting its creator for a while now, gradually driving him towards deterioration. But no one could see what was hidden inside. There was rarely that sliver of hatred that slipped up, and that was enough for him to know what he dominantly felt for himself.

He'd been cursed to have the same thoughts over and over again, to die of his own churning mind. He never did say much, and whatever managed to slip past would be so laden with his inner murk that it would drown before it could even reach someone. So even if he did cry out for help, the demons inside made it so that he couldn't ever be heard.

But the arrogance, that was a feature of his dark mask. Appearances and fake masks had always been his forté. And the only reason it had been so was for his mother. Sure, she was closed off, and not pleasant in the slightest to most, but she was his mother. And he respected her. She loved him (he didn't know how she managed to, and honestly, why), but he couldn't bring himself to say the same to her. He did, he felt the same. He just couldn't control the notion if it ever entered his mind and made it its home. He knew how much the word irked him, for there was no way that he could ever twist it around enough to fit him.

He firmly believed that he wasn't capable of love, and neither did he deserve it. If he ever tried to mould it to fit him, it would break. All the love of the world couldn't save him. You are broken only when you believe you are. He was past that belief. He'd accepted his fate, for there was no other way he could have continued living. His existence was as futile as any other wizard who had lost everything in the War. Sure, he had found his humanity, but he had also lost it at the same time.

Draco often reflected on the vigorous past he had. It was inevitable; he got sucked into it unintentionally as soon as he'd have a minute to spare. It felt excruciating. So he busied himself all times of the day, forgoing sleep most nights just to keep the nightmares at bay. The Ministry had assigned him a bloody shrink when they had weirdly figured out that he was troubled, but that was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't have wants anymore, but having to go to a shrink would've been the last straw. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it sounded, but he knew he couldn't bear to look at another of his kind and have them judge him plenty while he, like an idiot, was supposed to blurt out his innermost secrets.

The wonder of giving in became more and more pleasing everyday, but that was torture, wasn't it? Having relief so near in his line of reach, but having no way to touch it. No matter how darkly appealing the thoughts of ending it all were, he shrugged them off. He was not depressed. Or suicidal. It was just a phase, and like all others, it too shall pass.

All these thoughts warranted a strong drink, but he controlled himself. One drink usually turned into an entire night of drinking alone and then those stupid feelings just intensified, and he couldn't take it. His mother had been waiting for him to come back from work for quite some time now anyway, and he wouldn't want to disappoint her. Not again.

Trying to get positive ideas to fill up in his head so he could face his mother without pulling her into his bayou of gloom, he nodded his head. Tomorrow was a new day. A new journey. A new way to restore his family's drowning name. Now that was good enough.

As he tried to switch to lighter notions, an unexpected face popped up into his head and his eyes almost bulged. When would the Devil inside him stop playing games? She was... another person who he could never look at the same way again. Who was she? Under all of her poise, her attitude, her smartness, her façade, who really was she? He respected her though. Shocking, really. But he did. He never once saw her crumble down in front of anybody. She was referred to as the epitome of bravery and the pillar of strength for this messed up world. But he'd always believed that she was just better at hiding than most. Or maybe she was actually strong and he was wrong. Gryffindor, after all. He faintly wondered if he could ever be like that. It was wishful thinking.

A voice jotled him out of his thoughts. "Draco, dear, dinner is served. Could you come down? I really did not want to eat alone tonight, again." Narcissa Malfoy said, standing at the doorway to his room. Though people might call her cold and unfeeling, she'd somehow always known exactly what her family had been going through. She'd tried to help countless times, trying to get them back to reality, far from the toxic purgatory of darkness that constantly thrived in all their minds. Her family had been cursed from the very beginning. This was the most she could do, for the darkness was powerful on its own. It wouldn't let her. It shut everybody out who could seem to care for its host, and it pained her to no end.

Draco quickly looked up and on seeing his mother, managed a ghost of a smile to glide over his lips. He stood up and walked up to her in long strides and held her warm hand in his cold ones. "Of course, mother. What's for dinner, anyway?" he said, as he led her out of his study and into their living room. He watched her face as she smiled at him lovingly and started talking about how she had ordered the elves to prepare his favourite dish.

He looked around the room from the bottom of the stairs that they had just descended. They had opted to change the gloomy decor of the entire house once their trial was over. The blacks had been graciously turned into whites and other soothing summer colours. He personally thought it was too bright, but the look of pure satisfaction and happiness on his mother's face made him decide otherwise than to say it. The furniture had all been moved out and instead they had opted for cheerful and new ones. All in all, the once morbid Malfoy Manor now looked like the dream house of any happy human being.

They walked over and sat at the long, dark and glossy maple wood dining table. Draco sat in the Head's chair and surprisingly, Narcissa didn't object. She sat on his right. The entrance to the kitchen was just behind them and with a soft clap of her hands, the food appeared on the table. Draco looked at it with an unreadable expression; he had lost his appetite long ago. But just to keep his mother happy, he forced a look of appreciation and longing on his face and began to reach for as much food as his impeccable manners would allow.

Dinner was the time when Draco saw his mother and listened to her rambling about her extravagant balls and parties. He himself thought that they were ridiculous, but anything that pleased her was welcomed with open hands by him. He disliked balls with a fervour because all his so-called childhood, he had been taught to keep himself upright and behave as an honourable pureblood should, and the pleasantries he exchanged with seven year old girls just to wonder who he would be married off to weren't exactly that desirable. The thought that Pansy Parkinson could be his potential bride made him want to hex anybody who even suggested that.

When he was sure that Narcissa was sleeping, he quietly traipsed up to his study to write a letter to Granger. Of course, he would have to let her be privy to his arrogant side. The last one he wanted pity from was Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy hated others' sympathy. He did not need it. He never did.

Seeming satisfied, he called for his owl, Venus, and attached the letter to her leg. He motioned for her to fly off after handing her some owl treats. Done for the day, he resigned to his bedroom for the night, waiting for sleep to come. It never did.

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Also, I really thought the song up top really describes Draco. And Hermione too, a bit. Billie Eilish, or/and Khalid fans give me a shout! They're both beautiful music composers, I must say. *sighs*

Please, Kill Me,

DoveMalfoy19 x

I Love Dramione. You Should Too!