Changes
By darthelwig
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I do not own Harry Potter or any of these characters in any way. I am also making no money off of this story, damn it! But if wishes really do come true, maybe I have a chance!
Rated PG-13- mild language and sexuality.
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed me! You make me want to keep writing.
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Stalking was truly far below his station. A Malfoy had other ways of getting what he wanted. Money, influence, power… they were all his. He could have whatever and whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He had never needed to resort to stalking to get near a girl before.
So why was he doing it now?
Here he was, hiding behind a shelf in the school library, trying to get a glimpse of her. He had finally worked himself up to the point of talking to her, but then Potter and Weasley had walked in, spoiling the moment. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, he’d been so close to his goal, but he could NOT approach her with those two idiots hanging off her. He stepped a little closer, trying to hear what they were saying, but it was no use. He couldn’t get close enough. There were too many people in the library. He had to remain aloof and uninterested.
He was debating on just giving up on his brief flash of courage when the boys left, presumably to practice Quidditch before the sun went down. That had become their habit these days, since both of them were on the team. He hated to admit it, but the practice had paid off. Weasley was quickly becoming a decent player. It was about time too. Last year’s matches had been far too easy to win with him as Keeper. Draco preferred not to waste his time practicing. Quidditch wasn’t his passion. He only played because Potter did, and he was already a fair player. Besides, he had much more important things on his mind- the most consuming being that girl sitting a few feet away.
He took a deep breath, grasping the frayed remains of his courage. The walk seemed to take forever. She seemed to sense his approach, though, because she turned to look at him, a strange gleam in her eyes.
“What do you want, Malfoy? Why were you spying on us?” God, she sounded angry, and he felt himself increasingly drawn to her.
“I wanted to talk, Granger. Is there something wrong with that?” He did his best to sound arrogant and unaffected, but he was finding it exceedingly difficult with her glaring at him like that. Why couldn’t she just be cold to him? That would be so much easier. Instead she had that fire in her eyes again, and he knew that no matter what, he wouldn’t be running away this time.
“You never want to talk to me, Malfoy. What are you after? Have you come to play a trick on the mud-blood?” She was standing now, hands on her hips, a defiant look in her eyes. Draco was intensely aware of their close proximity, but people were looking their way. He had to get her alone.
“Well, I want to talk to you now. Let’s do this somewhere else, though.”
“What’s the matter, Malfoy, too many witnesses?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice strained. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the library, completely aware he was making a fool of himself, but unable to stop. He didn’t let go until they had found an empty classroom. By then Hermione was furious about how he was manhandling her, and Draco was panting from the effort of dragging her against her will.
“Quit it!” he yelled as she hit him for what seemed the billionth time. It was just lucky for him she couldn’t reach her wand. He was sure she would have jinxed him by now.
“Let me go, Malfoy!” she yelled at him, and he did. She stumbled backwards, surprised by his sudden release of her arm, and nearly fell over. Draco reached for her, catching her before she lost her balance completely. She stared at him in shock. He seemed surprised by his actions as well, releasing her more slowly this time, his face an impassive mask.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, more quietly this time. Draco shook his head, not sure how to answer her, unsure what to say now that he had her alone. The words he had practiced in his head all seemed hollow and insufficient. How could he tell her that he was sorry for how he had treated her? How could he say that he was wrong and ask for any kind of forgiveness? How could he let her know how he felt now that he’d grown up and realized that his father’s ideas and values didn’t have to be his own? How could he reveal to her that she was the cause of this change in him?
“Draco?” she asked, her voice a whisper. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. He could feel the comforting weight of it, could hear the concern in her voice, and was amazed by the true power of her heart. How could he dare to touch something that pure? How could he think it? What gave him the right to do so? He had earned nothing. He hadn’t stopped tormenting her, hadn’t repented his ways, not really. He was still the same person she had always known.
He realized he had no choice. He had to turn away.
“You know what,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “it was nothing. Just… forget about it.” He pulled away, letting her hand drop from his shoulder. The sudden absence of that warmth brought her loss home to him. He couldn’t have her until he’d made amends, if he ever did. Until then, he would feel that cold in his heart, but that was how this had to go. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise.
He stalked from the room, fighting back a wave of nausea, leaving a very confused Hermione staring after him.
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