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"I want to hold you when I'm not supposed to.
When I'm lying close to someone else,
you're stuck in my head,
and I can't get you out of it."
The bed had been feeling colder as of late and nothing could help it. Not a Warming Charm, not heavier blankets, not even an unhealthy amount of tea. The brunette knew that it was all psychological, and the longer it went on she would surely go mad. It had already taken a toll on her relationship, although it was debatable if it had been stable from the start.
With a groan, Hermione sat up in bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them to her body. Even her limbs were like ice. Was her heart so dead that it had stopped pumping the necessary blood to keep her warm?
"Mind over matter," she whispered to herself, her breath tickling her arms as she spoke. Hermione glanced to the right of her bed. It had been void of her other half for the past three months. Beyond the bed was a night table, and on that night table were unopened letters from the same person. Her name had been messily scrawled onto each envelope, most assuredly the letters on the inside holding the same script plus the occasional splatter of a tear.
He was a crier. Not that anything was wrong with a man displaying his emotions, of course. It just so happened that Hermione wished that he could have reeled in the salty example of the hurt she had caused him because it made her feel worse than she already did. The last eight months had been a steady push of a knife through his stomach accompanied with a gentle turn which Hermione attributed to his decision to leave until she "sorted herself out."
Hermione laughed out loud —a sharp cut in the deafening quiet that ricocheted off the walls and crashed onto her ears. Love was messy. A person didn't "sort" themselves out of the sticky web that was emotions and heartbreak. They drowned. She had been submerged in a tumultuous sea of regret and heartache for years, only managing to catch her breath and hold onto debris of happiness in the form of the people around her. However, love was chaos. It was a wave that came crashing and would send her back under to drown again.
Without anything to hold onto, Hermione had found herself filled with a darkness that made it hard to think, breathe, or feel. Tomorrow would be the final nail in her coffin if she didn't do something, but she was still unsure of what to do. Regardless of her uncertainty, Hermione found herself crawling out of bed. She didn't bother changing out of her slip, recognizing the disaster that she would be bringing in addition to her mere presence.
Hermione quickly rushed down the stairs, slipping as she missed a stair. Her bum and upper right thigh skid on the stairs as she landed ungracefully on the floor —her hands taking the brunt of awful carpet burn as she stopped herself from flinging forward. The sensation was welcomed considering how numb she had been feeling, and it reminded her that she was alive instead of the dying shell of a woman she had become to believe herself to be.
Hermione picked herself up from the ground and carefully made her way to her fireplace. She took up a decent handful of Floo Powder as she stepped into the fireplace, but she held her hand awkwardly as precious bits of powder fluttered to the stoned bottom. This could all be for naught. She would be unable to make it there if this didn't work, and then what? Make an even bigger scene as the sun set the next day?
"That would be lovely," Hermione murmured drunkenly although she was sober. With the prospect of failure, she clearly enunciated her destination and dropped the Floo Powder down. She had fully expected to go nowhere, but instead she tumbled out of an adjacent end. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and she looked back at the fireplace she had come out of for confirmation.
No, it wasn't her own. She wasn't home. She was in a place that she had once thought of as her home despite the horrible things that had once occurred in it. It was funny. Something so dark could look so beautiful if accompanied by the right light.
He had been that light.
"You have a death wish."
Hermione abruptly turned from examining the fireplace and looked up. Despite clearly hearing a man's voice, she had been afraid that it would have been her. But no. She was nowhere in sight —perhaps asleep in the very bed that had once cradled her to sleep. Hermione took a deep breath, suddenly very aware that she was showing more skin that she would have liked in his presence. How awkward she must have looked with one arm across her chest, and the other arm covering her hips. She was the physical representation of the word "wounded" had a dictionary needed a picture. Alas, that was how she felt, at any rate.
"It was worth the risk," Hermione meekly replied. Even from a distance she could clearly see his perfect blond brow rise high into his hairline —or perhaps she simply knew him too well. Silence filled the air. It was heavy and thick enough to mask his footsteps as he took one stair at a time to make it to the foyer.
"Nothing is worth an Avada to the heart," Draco said. He was still at a distance from her —six or seven feet, perhaps, but it was the closest they had been in years.
Hermione licked her dry lips, and her heart fluttered dangerously when she realized that his eyes had focused on the action. "This was. I… I'm not good at apologies, Draco. I'm not good at admitting when I'm wrong, and because of that I have made so many mistakes. Those mistakes led to you making them too."
"Mistakes?" Draco sputtered. "Hermione, I—"
"—don't," Hermione interrupted. She saw the anger in his eyes, but that was a luxury she couldn't afford. "I shouldn't have let you go."
"You didn't let me go. I walked away."
"Only because of what I told you. You… You remember what I said, don't you?"
Draco clenched his jaw as he cast his gaze to the floor. "Every damn day."
Hermione felt her voice catch in her throat. Anger she had been prepared for, not sadness. Not grief. Not despair. She saw all three in Draco even though he was doing his hardest not to look at her. It was different when just one of you was hurting. Pain in another just meant more pain for yourself, and Hermione swallowed deeply as she took a tentative step to lessen the gap between them.
Five feet.
"I thought I was doing what was best for you."
Draco's gaze shot up at that moment and, whether intentionally or not, he closed the gap further.
Four feet.
"Best for me? Throwing away everything that we had was best for me? You were all I wanted."
"You wanted your family too," Hermione countered. "You could lie with your mouth all you wanted, but it hurt you when they told you that they didn't have a son anymore."
Perhaps he had tried to hide his flinch, but Hermione saw it anyway. It was still an open wound, apparently. Another source of heartbreak.
"I did it for you, but it broke me more than I though it would," she continued, taking more steps forward.
Three feet.
"Time doesn't always heal," Hermione frowned. "Sometimes it cuts you anew with memories sharper than a blade. It also doesn't help to see you in the Daily Prophet, or from afar, knowing that the smile you wear is fake."
Another flinch, but more violent, and perhaps uncontrollable unlike the one from before. Draco shook his head, his shoulders sagging, his eyes weary from the weight of the conversation —or perhaps from life.
"I'm getting married tomorrow, Hermione."
"I know," she said softly, a lone tear dropping down her cheek. More followed when she saw Draco come closer. Larger steps, a faster pace, and very little space. "I don't expect anything from you."
"Then why are you here?" Draco asked in a whisper. Hermione shivered when he did, and she nearly collapsed when she felt his hands rest on her cheeks.
"Because…" she whimpered, "because I would never forgive myself if I let you go through with getting married and you didn't know how sorry I was. How much I regret that…"
"That what?" he urged. The pressure on Hermione's cheeks bordered on pain, but much like her fall on the stairs, she was happy for it. A reminder that she wasn't numb. Further clarification that this moment was real, and that a man whom she loved was here, flesh to flesh, and giving her warmth she could get nowhere else. "That what, Hermione?" Draco asked again, this time calmer and sadder.
Hermione placed her own hands over his, her vision blurred from the tears as she miserably replied. "That you're not marrying me."
Draco closed his eyes, his forehead now resting on hers as he heard words that he never thought he'd ever hear. Words he knew deep down that he wanted to hear, but hurt every part of him.
"So, what now?" he questioned as he reopened his eyes. "You're going to just wish me all the best and be on your merry way?"
Hermione inappropriately chuckled, a hiccup thrown in the mix, and shook her head as she gently removed his hands from her face. "Just the latter," she answered. "I'd be lying if I wished you the best."
Draco felt his body break as he watched Hermione back away from him and head to his fireplace. It felt like that moment years ago, except in reverse. Instead of him leaving, it was her, and he wanted more than anything to call her back. He wanted to make her stay and find a way to fix the cascade of mistakes that had followed them both, but he didn't. He merely watched her disappear in a wisp of green flames and nearly collapsed where he stood. Instead, he abruptly turned and looked up at the landing, sure to find a figure watching him, but instead finding nothing but shadows.
Draco gave one last look at the fireplace before heading back upstairs, beyond his bedroom, and into his office where his third glass of brandy was waiting for him.
"You're an idiot," Theo told him once the door was closed. Draco huffed before flopping down onto his favorite armchair and taking up his brandy.
"You were there then," Draco sniffed. "You were listening."
"Yes, I was listening. When you didn't come back I thought something was wrong." Theo sat down next to the blond, his face filled with nothing but disappointment as he dropped the question burning inside of him the moment Hermione left. "Why didn't you tell her that you called off the wedding?"
Draco held back tears as Theo's question rolled off his tongue. He longed for the very curse to the heart he had mentioned mere minutes ago. He wished he could chase her. He wanted nothing more than to find her and hold her when he wasn't supposed to. She was buried so deep into his heart that not even the love of another could remove her.
"Draco?" Theo pressed. The blond looked at him, fully aware that the dam of emotions he had been holding back had come crashing and was drowning him.
"It wouldn't have mattered," Draco bitterly replied. "At the end of the day, she's still married."