45

She knew he was gone before she opened her eyes; perhaps she always knew it would end up this way. Still, it made her eyes string. She clutched the blanket closer to her bare chest whilst curling up in a ball, her toes burrowing into the blanket searching for warmth. The smell of sex lingered in the sheets, and the soft touch of his fingers remained on her body. He was everywhere, and she couldn't stand it. She could still feel his lips against her skin, and remember the way he looked while he said the words. "I love you", written all over her body, whispered against every inch of skin. Said in a thousand different ways, with every word being a step closer to. A step closer into being just Tom. Not Voldemort, just Tom.

Yet time had slipped through her fingers too quickly for her to savour the moments, for her to make a real difference, and she was left with the bitter taste of failure. She slowly eased herself out of her bed to get changed into her pyjamas, and then slid back under the covers, hoping, by some miracle, that when she opened her eyes she wouldn't be alone.

A pounding on the door woke her up, and suddenly he was there, a grin stretched from ear to ear, placing himself upon her bed as though he belonged there. His black hair was as messed up as it was last night, she thought, staring through a sleepy and surprised haze, but after blinking a few more times she realised it wasn't him.

"Draco," she muttered sleepily, but a smile crept its way to her lips.

"It's ready Hermione. It's finally ready," he laughed, closing his eyes and shaking his head in bliss.

"What's ready?"

"Thank fucking God, I have been bloody praying for this day to hurry the fuck up. It's just been so long, and its going to be over. Finally over."

"What's going to be over, what's ready, Draco I don't understand?" Hermione said, panic drifting into her voice.

But he just kept smiling.

"Draco?" she said again, this time sounding frightened. She placed her had on his shoulder, trying to grab his attention, and finally he opened his eyes to look at her.

"We're going to kill him Hermione; were going to fucking kill him."

Her heart suddenly dropped, and she flinched away at the words.

"What do you mean?" her voice quivered, and she went back to curling herself into a ball. She wasn't ready. It wasn't fair. Not now.

"I mean its done, the potion is finally finished, and we are getting out of this hell hole. Maybe I didn't plan on leaving the earth this way, but I don't want to be killed by one of them when they figure out it was me.," he the last sentence slowly, shuffling towards her with a sad smile having replaced his previous smirk.

"I don't understand," Hermione chocked, not being able to keep her voice even anymore. He was saying words as though she was going to understand, but everything he said blurred into a long jumble of noncence.

Her fingers gripped around her knees, as she attempted to collapse in on herself, trying to disappear from the world completely.

"Hermione," his voice was softer, and he placed a hand on her knee.

"I've been brewing a potion, funnily enough one that Voldemort taught me himself, and It's poison Hermione. It's taken a bloody long time to get right, but I managed it, and we are going to kill him tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah tonight." He was speaking to her as though she was a child; saying every sentence gradually, letting his plan unfold. A plan he had never told her before.

"You never mentioned this before," she hiccupped, screwing her eyes shut and hoping the tears wouldn't betray her.

"I had to make sure there was no possible way he found out Hermione; you understand that don't you?"

No she didn't; she wanted to have known. But if he was going to poison him, then at least she wouldn't have to kill him herself. She wouldn't have anything to do with it.

"H-h-how are you going to give it to him?" she stuttered, lifting her head up from her knees to look at him.

"It's you Hermione. You're going to kiss him. And you're going to die."

His plan was perfect, it was genius, pure genius. First she would drink the poison first, 15 minutes before meeting him, making sure to coat it in her mouth. Step 2, he kissed her. He would die 30 minutes after, 15 minutes after she died. She would have to die in his arms, but he would follow soon after.

He used to referee to the poison as "The Kiss of Death," as all that was needed was a taste to kill you. Voldemort himself had created it, but now he was never going to get the chance. It was liberating knowing he was going to be the one that defeated him. It was as though this heavy weight he had always carried on his shoulders had been destroyed, leaving his free and happy. Happy. Something he hadn't felt since he was a child.

He couldn't understand why she began crying as soon as she finally understood what he had been saying.

But he knew the smell of her sheets all too well.

"I can't," she sobbed, "he's just a boy."

"He's a monster Granger. You of all people should know that. What would Weasel think?"

"He cant think he's dead!"

"And why the fuck is that?"

She didn't answer and instead sobbed louder, pushing her face against her knees.

"I cant do it Draco. I cant. I don't want to. Don't make me. Please," she chocked in-between sobs, until gradually she began trying to pull herself again.

"Don't do this to me Hermione. Not now. Please. I'm ready to die. I just want to die."

He wanted more than anything not to feel. He missed his mum, he missed his friends. He missed normality, he missed being popular. This wasn't living, and this wasn't fair. How could she do it? How could she sympathise a cold-blooded murderer? How could she let him touch her, lust over her?

Traitor

Traitor

Traitor

The words were echoing in the silence; they didn't need to be spoken. They both listened to the sound of her sobs, until finally all that was left was occasional snuffles.

"I'm going to die tonight," she whispered eventually.

"That's the plan."

"I don't think I'm ready to die."

"It will be painless."

"Promise?"

"Promise."