Work Text:
Note: This is a chapter from one of my fanfics 'Make Or Break?' which I am currently in the process of rewriting and finishing.
Tears rained from the tree as he curled in on himself, tucking himself tighter into his jumper and robes. It was peaceful, the only sound, the water of Black Lake lapping at the shore. There were no students about and Draco felt free to break down, get away from his horrid task in killing Dumbledore.
Draco didn’t want to do it, unsure if he actually could. The only thing that kept him going, was the fact that he knew Harry was working on a way to rid the world of Voldemort. With that monster gone, Draco could finally have his sister back, finally have his friends back, not have to constantly worry that his mother would be killed if he stepped out of line.
There was a snap behind him as someone stepped on a branch, leaves crackling underfoot.
Draco turned quickly, nearly falling out of the tree, to see who was headed his way, hoping they didn’t notice him.
He nearly scoffed when he recognized Hermione’s frizzy hair. He stayed silent, watching her approach the tree, hearing the quiet sniffles floating off into the silent night.
Why was she crying? She had everything. There was no reason for her to cry.
Draco suddenly remembered Ron, hanging over Lavender, laughing along with her, staring at her with googly eyes. He knew that Hermione had liked Ron, knew that he was the reason she was upset.
Draco debated whether he should go down and comfort her, or stay hidden in the tree, deciding that staying out of it would be best for both of them. It wouldn’t be long before she left and Draco would go back to his dorm, so he sat there silently, trying to think about anything but Hermione, his mind floating back to his task.
His life had only gotten worse from the moment Voldemort stepped into their house, full of hatred and ready to kill anyone who got in his way. Draco was forced to do as he was told, to hurt people, kill people, treat people like they are nothing, and he hated it.
A stray tear traced his cheek, falling flat on Hermione’s head. She whipped around, looking up, expecting it to start raining, shocked when she found him sitting in a tree, hand covering his mouth to keep his sobs silent as tears streaked over his cheeks and hand.
Hermione slowly climbed the tree, gingerly sitting on the branch right next to him, silently offering comfort.
“This is my spot,” he choked out.
“No, it’s mine.”
“I’ve been coming here for years. It’s my quiet place, somewhere to clear my head.”
“That may be, but I have also been coming here.”
“I don’t believe you,” he answered, no longer choked by sobs.
“You don’t have to, Malfoy, but it’s the truth,” she nearly growled.
“Why are you crying?” Draco asked, changing the topic completely, uncomfortable now that he knew his safe place had been breached, not just once, but for years.
“No reason,” Hermione hissed defensively. “Why are you crying?”
The point of view suddenly switched and he was seeing the whole ordeal from Hermione’s side.
Hermione watched him carefully, trying to see if he would act out, but he just sat there, shoulders slumped in defeat.
He wasn’t handsome. His pale skin shone in the moonlight, blonde hair practically glowing as it framed his face. His full lips were shadowed, stormy-grey eyes clouded over with tears.
Draco Malfoy wasn’t a handsome person. He was stunning.
“Why are you crying?” she asked again.
Draco considered telling her that he wasn’t crying, that there was no reason for him to cry, but he was tired of lying to everyone. He needed someone to open up to and he knew that Hermione would keep a secret, but he couldn’t just tell her everything.
“I have,” he paused, trying to figure out how to say it without clearly stating that he had to kill Dumbledore. “ I have been assigned a task. I don’t want to do it, but if I don’t,” he trailed off.
“Someone else will get hurt,” she finished, heart melting when he nodded. “Draco, you’re smart. The smartest person I know. You’ll be able to figure this out.”
Draco shook his head solemnly. “You don’t understand, Hermione. If I don’t do this, then I failed. Everyone I love, my family, my friends, they will be killed, tortured in the worst possible ways. I can’t let that happen.”
Tears pooled in his eyes again and he looked down, not wanting Hermione to see him so vulnerable.
Hermione’s heart sank as she watched him curl into himself even more. She gently grabbed his chin, pulling it up so that he had to look at her, tears leaving tracks through the dirt on his face. “Draco… You will get through this. I promise you. Whatever it is, you’ll find a way around it. I know that.”
Draco pulled away, turning his head to the side and quickly wiped the tears away, looking at the ground below them, not wanting to see her face. “Why are you out here?”
It was Hermione’s turn to look away.
“I’m not good enough for the man I love. I thought he loved me back, but he can’t stop hurting me,” she whispered. Draco looked back at her, noticing the furrow in her brows as she glared at the ground angrily.
Hermione stayed silent a moment, before speaking up, words harsh. “I just hate how life is always fighting against you. No matter what you do, you just can’t seem to get away from the path to hell paved for you.
“I try, so, so hard to get him to realize that I’m not just some bossy know-it-all. I’m not the person he used to know, the person he met in our first year, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to see it. It just… it hurts too much,” Hermione finished, whispering.
Draco called her name, waiting for her to look at him before continuing. “Then he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on. He doesn’t know the absolute treasure he left behind,” he whispered, quieter.
Hermione’s eyes widened, a quiet gasp leaving her.
Draco would have been surprised too if he were in her place.
“How could you say that?” she asked, dumbfounded. “You’ve always hated me.
Draco hesitated, unsure whether he should tell her or not. It would reveal so much of him that he was nervous to say anything.
Draco sighed, deciding that he should at least try to make up for all the hurtful things that he had said to her in the past.
“Because I know that he’s missing out on a huge opportunity. He let you, the brightest, sweetest, most beautiful witch of our age, just pass by. It’s his fault, not yours, that he skipped it,” Draco decided, blushing slightly when he realized that he just called Hermione beautiful.
Draco hadn’t realized it, but they had leaned towards each other throughout the conversation and their lips met.
The memory switched back to his point of view as if he wasn’t meant to see how she felt about it, but he didn’t quite mind reliving this moment.
A shiver ran through him and he realized that he had wanted this. He had wanted to kiss her for years, but was never able to. He finally found the person he wanted to be with, but of course, he wouldn’t ever be able to have her.
She wouldn’t want to date him anyway, especially after he kills Dumbledore. It would ruin any chances that he may have had with her. Draco hated his life so much, and he could finally understand what Hermione had talked about life paving a path to hell, always fighting against you.
After a moment, they pulled away, Draco’s eyes opening to find Hermione, smiling with bright eyes and blushing. Draco turned away to hide the blush and decided to avoid talking about what had happened, sure that Hermione was disgusted with him.
They talked for hours about random things, enjoying each other’s company as hues of orange lined the dark pink clouds as the sun rose for a new day.
Draco knew that they should head back to their dorms so that they didn’t get caught, but he didn’t want their conversation to end. He was enjoying himself, but they parted ways once again, dragged back into the real world, one where they hated each other.
Even though Draco was supposed to hate Hermione, his harsh words died on the tip of his tongue most of the time.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Hermione’s mouth, how her lips felt sliding against his, how wonderful it felt to finally be with someone who understands him, who appreciated him for him. It didn’t matter though, because his life wasn’t his choice.
Once again, Voldemort had ruined his life.