bleedingangel84 | Fallen: A Thwarted Love Story, 9/12 (Reply)

Chapter 9: A Sheep In Wolves' Clothing

Time seemed to speed up immeasurably as the hour for facing Voldemort grew nearer. Draco became easily distracted and irritable, subconsciously trying to distance himself from Hermione. Though his heart ached to have her closer to him than ever before, her safety was of the utmost importance to him. Better to have her alive and peeved at him temporarily than dead by his own hand at the whim of a crazed lunatic. I hope that she can forgive me when all this is done, he thought to himself distractedly.

“Draco? Draco Malfoy, are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Hermione’s voice was irritated as she broke into his reverie, a pout marring her full, pink lips. “No,” he answered honestly, “I was far too distracted by that lovely mouth of yours to take in a word you said. Why must your lips look so damn kissable? It’s really doing my head in.” Draco said the last with his most charming smirk fixed across his mouth, hoping to avoid one of the quarrels that seemed to occur with greater frequency of late.

“Nice try, Draco, but you won’t get out of this so easily as all that this time,” Hermione stated, “Now, where were you last night? I waited by our tree for hours, but you never came.” Hermione’s liquid brown eyes seemed to pierce his soul as she gazed at him, and he felt his heart accelerate with fear. His expression turned apologetic as the image of a forlorn, shivering Hermione took shape in his mind’s eye. Scrambling to find a reasonable explanation for his failure to meet her, it was all he could do to keep his body and emotions in check. “I-I couldn’t get away. Prefect duties were a bit…messier…than usual. Some of the first years decided to let off a whole package of Dungbombs as a prank. Took forever to sort it out. I’m sorry Hermione.” He put on his most innocent, sincere expression, praying silently that she wouldn’t question him further.

Though her eyes held lingering hints of suspicion as to his whereabouts the previous night, she seemed content not to pursue her line of questioning further, for which he breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Poor baby. Those first years really took it out of you, did they?” she asked with sympathy. “Most definitely. Care to make me feel better?” he pleaded. Her deep lingering kisses from his mouth to his neck drove all but the most tenacious of the previous night’s memories from his besotted brain.

Walking back to the Slytherin dungeons that night, Draco could feel the weight of his horrid memories returning. They seemed to linger in the air around him, stinking like so much fetid smoke, their aroma tainting his skin and the folds of his clothing. The screams were the worst, he thought, that girl howling in agony as they took her, pleading with me to help, and all I could do was watch and pretend to enjoy the show. The perfect Malfoy clone. All the while I kept seeing was Hermione’s face. Gods, if he ever does that to her I—

Draco forced his thoughts to an abrupt halt, not even daring to contemplate the notion that the Dark Lord could use Hermione in such a fashion. As he lost himself to uneasy dreams that night, he vowed more fervently than ever that he would see the madman fall to his knees, begging for mercy that was never to come, even as he breathed his last breath.