Chapter 2
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"I hate sunsets."
(Long hair bathed in a warm glow, creating a halo … (and you make such a convincing angel…))
"Why?"
(Hands swiftly move to create an obscured portrait… (and you marvel at how much it screams 'you'…))
"Whenever I look at it, I see sin. My sin. The red speaks for it all, you know. It makes me feel so dirty, even if I already atoned for everything. And I…I just can't seem to erase it, just like I can't erase sunsets…because they're part of nature and nature is…everything that defies human logic and…Ugh. I'm not making any sense, am I?"
(Lips curl up into a smile, cherry red lips turned white under the heavy canopy of sunlight… (and your silent laughter echoes sharply in the bleeding air…))
"No. You always don't. But I'm used to it."
(Figures move... (and you shiver at the contact…))
"Yeah. Just like sunsets."
(Behind you, the world fades in a mesh of pink and orange and red.)
…………………………
Hermione Granger slowly opened her eyes and was met by the fierce orange glow of afternoon sunlight. She moved her stiff fingers and listened for any sound that might indicate that she was not alone in the room, but all she heard was the slow, torturous wheezing of an old man in the portrait stationed near her window. Gently pulling herself up into a sitting position, she noticed that the curtains were drawn wide open, providing her of a wonderful view of the sunset.
Hermione became subconsciously aware that she wasn't supposed to be awake. She wanted to sleep and never wake up. After all, she had spent most of her post-Hogwarts days locked up in a cold version of hell, with only the grimy stone floors for a mattress, and now, here she was, covered in velvet bed sheets in a bed that was twice the size of her prison cell. No one could blame her for finding it hard to adjust to such lush surroundings.
But there was still one thing that nagged at her, and she soon found out what it was. Her body, especially her arms, was no longer in pain. In fact, all her bruises and wounds were already gone. She figured that Malfoy must be thoroughly shocked by the recent events that he had, for a minute, forgotten how to act like the son of a devil incarnate. Blinking, as though to reassure herself that she was not hallucinating, Hermione rose from her bed and gingerly touched her now unblemished skin. She had been so far away from the wizarding civilization that she forgot what it felt like to see and experience magic.
Walking barefoot towards the full-length mirror stationed near the wardrobe closet, she tentatively touched the outline of her reflection with her fingertips, as though afraid it would suddenly break at the merest contact. She saw her own lifeless, doll-like brown eyes staring back at her and she involuntarily shivered. It was the first time she had seen herself in two years.
Mirrors… It fascinated her. She loved the way they shined, especially when hit by direct sunlight, and the way they could warp and twist various images given the right angle. When she was in Azkaban, mirrors and all kinds of sharp objects were prohibited inside the cells for fear that the prisoners would try to intentionally harm themselves, so it came as an utter shock to her to see herself looking much like Sirius Black during his first few weeks after his escape from Azkaban many years ago – thin, brittle, and gaunt-looking. She did not like the feeling that that thought brought her.
Hearing a cracking and scuffling noise behind her, Hermione swiveled and came face to face with an old female house elf carefully draping a set of ornate dress robes on top of her bed. Upon seeing Hermione, however, the elf's eyes fully widened, and she nearly dropped the dress she was holding.
"Wait," Hermione said, but it came out more as a whisper and mere jumble of words. It was too late, too, for the elf had already apparated away, presumably to the kitchens, in order to inform the other house elves of her unfortunate luck to meet Azkaban's most known dark witch face to face.
If Hermione had been in the right state of mind, she would have felt a rush of sudden disappointment and pain by being treated and feared by one of the magical creatures whose causes and proper rights to freedom she had ardently supported when she was a student. Now, though, it only left her with an empty hollow feeling at the pit of her stomach that she could have easily ignored.
She approached the corner of her bed again and marveled at the elegant piece of artwork laid in front of her. Unlike the dress she was currently wearing, it was pure white, with sleeves that had intricate designs beautifully woven from the hair of unicorns, and flowed all the way down to her knees. With the dress came a note that was written in fine, cursive letters. It said: Wear it for tonight's meeting. –M.
Hermione froze upon reading it. She had almost forgotten Malfoy's words a while ago. She was… after two torturous years… she was to going to meet her former best friend again. Harry Potter. How would he react upon seeing her? Will he curse her the way he did when they last saw each other? Or better yet, would he try to kill her? She did not dare guess. All her thoughts were directed on the owner of the green eyes that used to haunt her night and day in Azkaban.
"Traitor. The severed ties of friendship for the price of ambition. Traitor. Traitor!"
Hermione let out a gasp once those familiar words seeped back into her mind like the poisonous blood flowing through her veins. Again and again she heard his voice, and this time she could imagine his face – a mixture of betrayal and pain buried under cold layers of anger – and each time she did, she felt herself bleeding on the inside.
And, oh God, oh God, she inwardly said, it hurts.
Her whole countenance trembled and she covered her ears with her hands to try to block out the pain, all the while muttering to herself, "Stop it. Stop it. Stop-"
("-Traitor, traitor-")
"- it, please. I don't want to hear him say it. Stop it, stop it –"
("Traitor!")
"STOP IT!"
And Hermione Granger, in all her Gryffindor glory, with her back turned away from the glorious sunset, wept invisible tears and mourned the cursed fate that would forever be hers.
…………………………
Welcoming the silence once again, she sat on one of the chairs surrounding the table and stared at her wrists, as though imagining them to still be bound by heavy shackles. Her thoughts were centered on the confrontation she would no doubt have later upon seeing Harry Potter again for the first time in two years.
But soon, she got tired of thinking and dwelling on the impossible, so she stood up and made her way towards the window sill and parted the curtains, only to see someone whom she hadn't seen in a few hours. It was Malfoy, and he seemed to be sitting under the shade of an old apple tree. Upon closer inspection, Hermione discovered that he was idly plucking blades of grass, and he appeared to be thinking deeply about something, judging by the permanent scowl on his face.
He's probably thinking of ways to curse me, Hermione thought with no feelings of discomfort or anger whatsoever.
Suddenly, Malfoy's head turned a fraction of an inch, and before she knew it, his harsh gray eyes were boring holes in her skull. She stared back at him for a few seconds, face numb and frozen, and then, just when she was wondering on what to do next, Malfoy looked away. She watched him wipe away bits and pieces of grass from his robes and walk away back inside, his fists clenched and back ramrod straight. Hermione, for her part, quickly drew back the curtains and leaned against the wall.
She wondered what that was all about. What was it that made him go out and mull things over? Did he think she was spying on him? But she had no time to ponder these thoughts as she could no longer ignore the sound of voices coming from downstairs. Running towards her bedroom door and pressing her ear against it, she heard a man's voice, as well as the sound of the heavy, double doors of the manor being opened. That only meant one thing. He was here. Right now. Just a staircase away from her.
Hermione's lips trembled. She heard Malfoy loudly order one of the house elves to bring in the "visitor". But she remained frozen in place, stomach jittery and eyes holding back tears. She couldn't do it. She couldn't. Just the thought of going downstairs and looking at him with the knowledge that he would be looking right back at her with his eyes filled with so much hate and pain tore away at her resolve and the remaining piece of her sanity. She would rather go back in Azkaban than face him. It was just… too much.
"I can't do this," an agonized Hermione whispered.
…………………………
Draco Malfoy hated visitors. He hated them with a passion usually reserved for annoying people such as those working for the Ministry, although back in his childhood days, during family functions and dinner parties spent mingling with all of Lucius and Narcissa's handpicked allies, one would suspect he thought otherwise. True, when he was younger, he had aspired on doing nothing but impress their guests and earn high praises that was sure to make any Malfoy proud, but as he got older, he learned that those who usually knocked (or more like apparated) at his front door brought nothing but trouble. And as Draco ordered the doors to open to reveal the object of his frustrations, he realized how correct his earlier thoughts were.
"Honestly, Malfoy," Harry Potter grumbled as he stepped inside the grand reception area of Malfoy Manor. "It would save me a lot of trouble if you would just remove the anti-apparition wards inside this house."
"Manor, Potter, not house," Draco corrected, annoyed.
Harry rolled his eyes. Apparently, no matter how long he and Draco spent their time together, Draco would still remain an insufferable, arrogant prick whose pride is about as tall as the Eiffel tower.
"Yeah, well, whatever, Malfoy," he said. "I have a surprise for you."
Draco frowned suspiciously at the wide grin on his co-worker's face. That only meant that whatever the surprise is, it was not something that Draco would like much. "Spit it out then, Potter, and let's get this over with," he told him.
Harry stared at the front double doors opened again, revealing another figure much taller than either Harry or Draco. What made Draco's jaw drop, however, was the flash of red hair that accompanied the stranger.
"Weasley?!"
"Hello to you too, Malfoy. Long time no see."
Indeed, it was none other than Ron Weasley. He appeared to be taller than the last time Draco had seen him, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that his unruly mane of red hair had grown longer, reaching his shoulders, and he was wearing a white, fitted shirt underneath his slightly tattered navy blue dress robes. Sporting a large grin that rivaled that of Harry's, Ron Weasley, proclaimed by the public as one of the most famous war heroes ever and the best friend of Harry Potter, sidled over to Draco and ruffled his blond tresses by way of greeting.
"Bugger off, Weasley! How many times have I told you not to touch my hair?!" Draco practically screamed, his face contorted with rage at the unkind handling of one of his most prized assets. Nobody save for his mother was allowed to touch his hair.
"Too many times for my liking, ferret. That's why it's only natural for me to forget a single word you said," Ron answered, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Anyway, in case you were wondering why I came back so early and visited you poor excuse of a loser, well…"
"He just got lucky and finished his job earlier than expected. Apparently, his idea of a surprise visit included apparating directly in my apartment and walking in on me in the loo. Must've hoped I was showering," Harry informed Draco.
Ron's ears immediately turned pink. "That's rubbish, Harry! You know that was by accident! And besides, I'm already seeing someone else, so don't flatter yourself."
"Oh yeah, I remember her. The one you met at a pub a few days after breaking up with Lavender Brown. What was her name again?"
"Victoria."
By this time, the full impact of Ron Weasley's arrival hit Draco squarely in the face. For a few precious seconds, he allowed his face to pale, and it was only to his satisfaction that no one seemed to notice. But Weasley, however long he had stayed in Germany for his solo mission and however badly the rest of their crew missed him, was not supposed to be here in his abode at this moment.
Damn it! He wasn't supposed to be here! Everything's ruined! Draco thought angrily. Ron's presence, he believed, would only provide a dark foreshadowing of Draco's future. It was bad enough that he had to talk to Potter about the new addition to the crew in such a way that the foolish git would not dare to commit suicide, never mind the fact that there was a huge possibility that he would show him exactly why he had been able to defeat Voldemort (in short, he was going to kill him and feed him to his house elves on a silver platter), but with Weasley, he would be killed in such a way that he would never be able to reach Purgatory, much less Hell.
After all, Ron was gifted with the insane ability to overreact in any given situation and respond in the only way he knew how –violence. Draco valued his life, so he was not quite sure on how to tell them about the reappearance of someone whose name still managed to make Ron and Harry cringe. Surely, he simply couldn't settle for, "Oh, the murderer of McGonagall, the one you once called best friend, is currently residing in the manor with me, and she's soon to join our team, but it wasn't my idea, so please don't get mad at me?" He highly doubted the Wonder Twins would like that.
"Malfoy? MALFOY!"
Draco was jolted back from his thoughts when Harry shook him lightly on the shoulders. "What?" he whispered.
Harry gave him a funny look. "What were you thinking about, ferret? You weren't listening to a thing I was saying, were you?" he said in a voice that only meant he thought Draco was going crazy again.
Draco, meanwhile, ignored Harry's subtle jibe. Instead, he collected himself and reminded Harry what he came here for.
"You said you wanted to discuss something with me. Isn't that right, Malfoy?" Harry answered, grimacing. "Somehow, I don't think I'd be thrilled about what you have to say, seeing as it's so important that you have to tell it to me personally, on a Sunday night, no less, whereas I could have spent it taking Ginny to a fancy restaurant and snogging her senseless."
"That's bloody disgusting, Harry! I mean, that's my sister! There has to be a rule against saying such things like that in front of friends," Ron sputtered as he made choking noises in the air.
Draco, still overcome with fear at the fact that this might be his last day in this world, had no energy left to give his companion a disgusted look. What he did, however, was to summon his house elf, the same one who catered to Granger's needs a while ago, in order to tell her to go fetch and bring the visitor in, where they would be waiting for her inside the dining hall for dinner.
"Visitor? What's this about, Malfoy?" Ron asked as Draco led the way to the dining chamber. "Don't tell me you're getting married?"
At this, Draco turned a nasty shade of green as he imagined himself getting married to a convicted murderer. He restrained himself from throttling Ron's neck when he glared at him and sneered, "The complexities of your brain never fails to astound me, Weasley."
"You're right. It was stupid of me to think that somehow, someone would be loony enough to want to marry a prat like you," Ron retaliated. By this time, they were already getting seated in the dining room, and upon arrival of one of the house elves, food instantly appeared on the table.
"Maybe we should wait for that guest of yours to arrive before digging in," Harry wisely said, more to change the subject to stop their growing row than out of concern.
"Yes. For once I agree with you, Potter," Draco said, stomach twisting at the mention of the "guest".
But as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of Hermione Granger, and for a split second, Draco thought she must have murdered his house elf and was well on her way to murder them. That, or the fact that maybe she had already killed herself, given her delicate condition the last time he spoke with her.
Where in Merlin's beard are you, Granger? I swear, if you don't show up, I'll kill you even before Potter realizes he wants to kill me, Draco thought, incensed.
"Alright, that's it! I've had enough. Whoever this guest of yours is, Malfoy, I don't care. I'm hungry, I'm going to eat right now, and there's no bloody way the two of you could stop me," Ron suddenly spoke. He looked at Draco and Harry with a determined expression on his face, as if daring them to object.
Draco sighed, although inwardly he was cursing Granger again and again and was making eternal vows to hex her senseless. "Fine. Let's eat," he growled, and with such brutal force that would put his parents to shame, he angrily stabbed his fork at his sliced chicken, imagining it was Granger's head.
However, midway through their meal, and just when Ron had finished narrating his self-proclaimed heroic adventures in Germany and Draco had given up all hopes of her coming, the door to the dining chamber slowly creaked open, and in stood a woman in splendid dress robes who, if not for her face that was cast in shadow, could have passed off as any ordinary witch with no connection to his guests whatsoever.
Naturally, Draco was the first one to see her. Even though his hatred for her had risen to the point where all he was seeing was red, he could not help but wince once he met her perfectly vacant chocolate eyes. She looked like Death itself. Her unruly dark brown hair was tied haphazardly in a loose pony tail, giving the impression that she had at least tried to look decent but proved unsuccessful in the end. And even though there were no trace of bruises on her arms and legs like before (courtesy of him), her lips were cherry red, and they appeared to be bleeding from too much biting.
Hermione allowed her eyes to wander around the room, although she never once tried to look at her former friends, and for the second time that day, she caught Draco's eye. And the intensity of her look shook him to the core. What he saw in her gave him the impression of strength, yet for one second, he imagined that she was sending out a plea for help.
Before anyone else could speak, all heads turned to Harry as he coughed and spluttered and choked on his own food. Ignoring Ron's cries of "Are you alright, mate?" and managing to get his hands on his goblet of pumpkin juice, his breathing eventually evened, and the coughing stopped, yet what caused the tightening of Draco's stomach was Harry's brilliant green gaze directed solely on the motionless Hermione. It was hard to imagine what his reaction was. For all Draco knew, he was shocked, angry, skeptical, or maybe a mixture of all three. It was only when Harry spoke in a brittle tone that betrayed his masked face that Draco was able to guess exactly what his friend's feelings are.
"Malfoy, Ron, can you slap me?"
Ron, still oblivious to the bearer of Harry's stare, scrunched up his face in confusion. "What did you say?" he asked.
"I said, can you slap me? Hurt me, punch me, whatever you think is necessary for me to return to normal because… I think… I'm hallucinating…" Harry's voice trailed off, and his voice wavered a bit.
For the first time since Hermione's arrival to dinner, Draco gathered up the courage to speak the truth. "Potter, I don't think-"
His remark went ignored when Ron delivered a light but swift punch to Harry's cheek, and although all occupants of the room heard the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, Harry's face remained clean and bruise-free.
"Hell, that felt good," Ron joked, making an obvious effort to bring his best friend out of his stupor.
Sadly, that particular ruse did not work, for Harry Potter remained in a trance-like state, his skin pale and eyes slowly resembling that of Luna Lovegood's. Oh, how he longed to close them, to not see the figure of the ghost who had come out to haunt him. And yes, he allowed himself to believe that she was nothing but a ghost, for who else- the gods perhaps – would play such a cruel trick on him, who else would show him the face of the person from his past, the person who was still capable of giving him nightmares that would send him reeling and gasping for breath in the middle of the night?
"Hit me again! Hit… hit me again, because I still see her… but I'm sure she's just my imagination because there is no bloody way in hell that I deserve to be punished like this and –oh Merlin – I must be going crazy because I'm imagining her staring at me and she's not moving but –damn it – she's still there!" Harry would not stop rambling, and as his hands started to tremble uncontrollably, Draco could see that the careful layers that Harry had built over the years was slowly crumbling, and he hated the fact that he could do nothing except look at his friend who was clawing and tearing on the inside.
Alarmed at the hysterical tone of Harry's voice, Ron, whose back was to the entrance to the dining room, slowly turned around to find out exactly what had managed to produce such a reaction from his best friend, and he nearly fainted at what he saw. Granger, Hermione Granger, was looking straight at him as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Ron had imagined this very scene dozens of times, and he remembered creating a list of things to do to her, a list of curses to tell her, and other things that would leave her no doubt that he now consider her as nothing but a traitor who deserves a punishment greater than death. But now… now that he was actually face to face with her, now that she was standing just a few steps away from her, looking so brittle and broken and defeated… He did the only thing he could think of.
He stood up and punched Harry again in the face.
"Bloody hell, Weasley!" he heard Draco curse, but he paid him no mind.
Ron's emotional blue eyes were fixed solely on Harry, the only other person who could possibly understand what he was feeling at the moment. One look at the numb expression on his best friend's face and this confirmed his suspicions. Vaguely, he inferred that that powerful punch he just gave would earn Harry a bruise tomorrow, but he could not allow himself to care at the moment.
"Harry, mate, snap out of it!" Ron exclaimed in a voice that was ninety-nine percent demanding. He grabbed his friend by the collar and shook him none too gently. "You're… you're just dreaming… Tell me you can't see her anymore! Tell me she's just a figment of your imagination! Tell me that… that she's not real! Say it, Harry, and I'll believe you! However insincere you sound, I'll bloody well believe you!"
Harry painfully closed his eyes, his teeth clenched, but other than that, he remained silent.
"Harry, you prat, say something! Tell me she's not real!"
Eyes opened once again, Harry harshly broke free from Ron's painful grip. "I can't… I can't fucking convince myself to say it, not when you so obviously see her too!" he screamed. The instant he did, a portion of the plates and glasses on the table shattered in a sudden burst of accidental magic.
Draco, to prevent himself from saying anything as dramatic as the ones his visitors have been sprouting and to prevent himself from showing any signs of concern for his two obviously lunatic co-workers, instead managed to yell, "Potter, that's my dining utensils you're destroying! Watch it!"
Luckily for him, both Harry and Ron were both too wrapped up in their own emotions to care for something as frivolous as antique Malfoy glassware. In fact, they, or more specifically, Ron, decided it was a good way to show his temper by pounding the table and smashing his plate in the process. But Ron took no notice even as the tiny shards of glass prickled his skin and produced a tiny trickle of blood on his fingers. Instead, he muttered again and again, "I'm just dreaming. She's not real. Not real. Not real. Not real."
"I'm sorry for being late for dinner."
Draco could only stare in absolute horror, mouth agape, as Hermione Granger proved to everyone that she was, indeed, capable of making her vocal chords function. All eyes, even a pair of wild green eyes, were on her. Of all the times when she could have spoken up, and of all the things she could have told them, she instead chose to do something as idiotic and random as apologizing for being late for dinner, as if either one of his guests were in the mood to listen to her apologies, seeing as they were both going mad trying to ignore her presence.
Just when Draco was about to criticize her outlandish behavior and just when he thought that things could not get any worse, Hermione, sensible person that she is (and this, of course, was said with a certain degree of sarcasm), daintily took a seat next to him, and was now in Ron's, who was seated opposite her, full view. As if she could not feel the weight of everyone's stare on her, she proceeded with cutting the bread laid out in front of her, unmindful of the fact that said bread was actually on top of a plate that is missing one fourths of stainless glass. (This is, of course, due to Harry's earlier outburst).
If before, the current master of the house thought her slightly crazy, now, Draco wasn't entirely sure if he could categorize her as being a madwoman, because surely, such a title is too mild for someone capable of committing such actions. If he had been in her situation, he was certain that the last thing he would do upon seeing the very people who had helped put him in prison was to ignore their very existence. But then again, he thought in a poor attempt to see reason, maybe she was just too emotionally worn to maintain her wits and sensibility, and to act in a way that most normal human beings do. Maybe, the only way for her to deal with such trauma and distress is to block out reality and imprison herself in another world where there is no one but her.
This realization did not make it any easier for Draco, for he was still oblivious as to whether he should feel pity or anger for her. It could be pity because he believed that no human being, no matter how vile and cruel, deserves to suffer this way (after all, he, being a former villain, had been given a second chance by his enemies, so why not her too?); on the other hand, he was also angry at the fact that her current behavior would not help him explain and settle matters with the two, currently emotionally wrecked Gryffindors.
But no matter, if ignorance was the way they wanted to play this game, then Draco was fine by it. He would bring them back to reality, even if cost him. "Potter, Weasley, get a hold of your selves. You're embarrassing me," Draco snapped. "I'll explain everything to you." At the murderous looks on Harry and Ron's faces, he added in the most harsh manner possible, "No buts, no complaints. I am going to give an explanation and both of you are going to fucking listen to me, and I don't care what it takes. If I have to Stupefy you or Crucio you into cooperating, then so be it."
Aware of everyone's attention on him, and even more aware of the fact that one wrong move on his part and Potter and Weasley would gain the right to kill him in the worst, most painful way possible, Draco spoke.
"First of all, you're not hallucinating, although as to whether or not you're going crazy, I'm not so sure…" After earning a set of deadly glares from both men, Draco wisely refrained from saying any more insults and instead, continued, "Yes, the person you are seeing in front of you right now is in fact, no other than Hermione Granger herself. We all know her history, murderer and best friend and all, and for your information, I am not bloody well pleased for her to go traipsing around in my manor like some harmless, innocent member of the Light, so don't you fucking blame me for these particular turn of events. There is only one scapegoat here, and that's the Ministry."
"They," he spat with so much ferocity, "are the ones who decided that they'd had enough of being scared shitless of her, so they decided that dumping her at us and letting her being part of our crew has to be loads better than helplessly watching her kill Azkaban criminals who, in my opinion, really deserved to die anyway. And yes, if you're still so thick as to not realize what I'm getting at, that bloody well means that she, Hermione Granger, is released from Azkaban and is now walking the earth as a free citizen. That, and the fact that she's going to replace Finnegan."
Draco temporarily broke his tirade upon hearing Ron's painful burst of "WHAT?!" and Harry's equally painful gasp that he tried so hard to conceal. As for Hermione, who had now stopped her attempts to fill her stomach with bread, he had a hunch that he would no longer be easily deceived by her empty expression. In fact, he knew she was hurting as much as they were, so he dared not look at her for fear of doing something he might immediately regret.
Silence, something which Draco was slowly getting used to when in the presence of one Hermione Granger, seemed to stretch on, and he swore he could see the food in front of him slowly rot away. It was only when Harry bravely chose to speak once again that he felt as if he could breathe normally again.
"You're under the Imperius, aren't you?" Harry said, his voice quiet yet steely and resolved, whereas his eyes bore hints of accusation directed at Draco. "And this… this whole fiasco is nothing but a powerful spell she designed in the hopes of exacting revenge. As for her presence here, I bet all my money in Gringotts that she just escaped. That's it, isn't it?"
"Listen to yourself speak, Potter," Draco sneered. "Me, betwitched? That's absurd! It most definitely is just something that your own brain created in the hopes of ignoring reality. I'm right and you know it."
Harry narrowed his eyes at him, and this time, it was Ron who voiced his opinion. "Harry, he," He gestured towards Draco, "must've helped her. There's no other possible explanation as to why she's here, in his home no less."
"Weasley, how wonderfully brilliant for you to include me in today's crimes," Draco scoffed, unwilling to do nothing to the recent attack on his pride.
"Shut up, Malfoy! You miserable, old git! You coward! I can't believe you let that murderer escape! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" Ron screamed, standing up so abrupt and drawing his wand and pointing it at Draco.
"Ron, no!" Harry, heroic being that he is, managed to grab the redhead at the last moment and stop him from attempting to cast the most unforgivable spell to their own comrade. "Stop it, Ron! I don't think Malfoy helped her escape on his own free will, but-"
"That's bullshit, Harry!" Ron hysterically yelled, struggling to break free from Harry's strong clutches. "Let me at him! I want to kill him!"
"No, you won't, Ron!" Harry said firmly, strengthening his grip on Ron. "You won't because you can't! Because you're not a murderer, not like her!" This time, he gave Hermione, who was innocently watching by the sidelines, his most hated glare, and for a moment, he reveled in the fact her hands shook, and he managed to create a crack in her carefully crafted mask of sweet ignorance.
Emboldened by this, Harry continued speaking. "I hate you, Hermione Granger."
Silence once again.
"I hate you so much, more than I have ever hated Snape or even Voldemort himself! You have no idea how… how broken I…we have all been because of your betrayal! You might as well have done it the Muggle way and stabbed me on the back with a kitchen knife and…. and… I would've…I would've died for you the same way my dad would've died for Peter! I HATE YOU!"
Draco was clueless as to what to say next. Oddly enough, he ran out of insults and curses to yell at both Harry and Ron. And apparently, so did they. Ron remained silent, and it was only upon glancing at his tightly clenched fists that one would be instantly reminded that he was still in the mood to kill anyone whom he could blame for this whole reunion. Harry, on the other hand, was breathing heavily, having exhausted his lungs to the fullest. Instead, he opted to notice all the tiny little details of the Malfoy marble floor, in such a way that his bangs partially hidden his eyes, and therefore, Draco and Hermione were not subjected to see the rage and hatred still clouding those usually calm green eyes.
"I'm not a murderer." This was whispered with such frailty; had it not been for the fact that there was complete, utter silence, her comment would not have been heard at all.
Finally, Draco gathered the courage to look at her. She was staring at a particular spot on the wall, and one hand was insufferably gripping her spoon, so much so that her knuckles had turned a ghastly white. For the first time, he was able to see the emotions that she had hidden for so long – everything from sorrow to hatred to anguish. In fact, her face was painted with so much dilution that his mind was sent lurching and he felt himself falling into a dark, bottomless abyss. For once, he was allowed passage at the complexities of Hermione Granger's heart.
"I'm not a murderer," Hermione said, this time stronger.
She stood up and turned to leave. Everyone, even Harry, looked at her retreating back, but not before catching a glimpse of one lone tear making its way down her cheek, and not without hearing her last words, the remains of a girl trying so hard to be her own princess.
"I'm not a murderer and I have never been. The only thing I've ever murdered was myself."
And in that moment, she was raw, bleeding poetry personified.
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AN: Lots of drama, OOC characters, and grammar mistakes. Don't I know it? And yeah, I'm oh so terribly sorry for this very late update, but I've been busy with a lot of things, and trust me, you don't want to know. : )
Anyway, I know I did a crappy job of portraying Harry and Ron's characters. I mean, it's just that I'm not used to writing them, so any suggestions please? Also, for those of you who commented on Blaise being OOC, my sincerest apologies. You're right, I'm sorry I got carried away.
I do hope you continue reviewing though, because I'm really anxious to know your reactions for this chapter. Is Hermione freaking you out? Is Draco losing his title of "evil git"? Was I right in adding Ron to the mix? Are Harry and Ron's reactions acceptable or not? Tell me, folks, and I promise, no matter how vile and horrible you think this story is, I'll accept it. So go review!