by Madd Spammer
 
 
 

            “Uhh, Hermione, do you realize that you’re standing under the mistletoe?”  Lavender Brown pointed out to the
bushy-haired girl wearing velvety red dress robes.

            Hermione Granger glanced upwards, where there was, indeed, a mistletoe floating in midair by some sort of charm.
And then she looked to the person who was in front of her.  She knew that pale face all too well.  He stared back at her, with
his steely grey eyes, seeming to say both “What are you waiting for?” and “Don’t you dare,” all at once.

            She felt her composure melting away faster than she ever knew it could.  This was not something she wanted to be
faced with, then or ever again.  When Millicent Bullstrode sneered, “What’re you waiting for, Mudblood?  Go on!  Kiss him!”
it was more than Hermione could bear, so she turned the other way and ran in the other direction, out of the hall, and far down
the hallway.

            Finally stopping, she was in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, but there was no way she was going
to be able to get in.  The fat lady was gone.  “DAMNIT!” she shouted, angrily kicking the painting’s molded frame, and then
practically collapsing onto the floor, letting loose all the tears she had somehow managed to hold in.  Her red robes, becoming
saturated with her tears, were slowly turning to a shade of burgundy from the salty droplets.

            She was curled up in the fetal position, her knees tucked into her body, her head on the floor, and her arms shielding
her face.  Her hair gently fell in cascades all over her, some of it sticking together from her tears, which were managing to get all
over her.  She couldn’t see how it was her tears alone that were making her so increasingly moist.  It was almost as if someone
had sprayed her with a hose, and it was one of those days when the air’s humidity is so high that the water just never
evaporates.

            Endless sobs escaped the mass on the floor that was Hermione.  She cursed the day that she had realized that she was
in love with Draco Malfoy.  She knew it would never work, but she had let her heart plow onwards without the consent of her
mind.  She all too clearly remembered the day that the whole mess had started.

            It was a cold, November afternoon that almost seemed like a cool September night.  The sun was hidden by the rain
clouds, losing its position in the sky, and darkness was already starting to fall.  Hermione was walking along Hogsmeade’s
worn paths alone, but not quite sure why.

            She then sat on the ground, and leaned back against the hard outside wall of the shack at the edge of the town.  It was
something that scared everyone else away, but somehow she found comfort in its seclusion.  It was the place she liked to go to
think, and no one ever bothered her there.  If they even came by and noticed her, they always left her alone with her thoughts.
At least, almost everyone did.

            “What are you doing here, Mudblood?” a voice taunted from somewhere nearby, and was coming closer.

            Hermione, who had been staring up at the blue-grey sky, shifted her gaze back down to earth, where she saw a lanky
figure in black robes strolling towards her.  His silvery blonde hair, weighted down from the afternoon’s rain, hung over his face
and into his eyes.  Every once in a while he flinched his head to adjust how his pale tresses fell upon him.  It sort of annoyed
Hermione, but at the same time, it somehow amused her, and she felt her lips form a little smirk.

            “Thinking.  That’s all,” she answered, surprised that she harbored no urges to use a sharp tongue against him for the
name he had just called her, and for all of the other times he had done the same thing and more.  Remembering that she was
talking to Draco Malfoy, she added, “What does it matter to you?” and pursed her lips tightly together.

            “Ah, it doesn’t.  I’m just curious,” he said coldly and proceeded to take his wand out and twirl it through his fingers.
He focused only on that slender rod of mahogany, not Hermione, for a moment, and then shifted her attention back to her, but still fiddling with his wand.  “Thinking about what?”

            She wasn’t sure how to respond to his inquiry.  At that moment, his voice had lost its normal iciness.  He seemed
almost normal.  She wanted to tell him what she was thinking about, but could she confide in him?  This was Draco Malfoy, not just anyone.  “How do I know I can trust you?” she whispered, looking straight into his eyes.

            Then he smiled.  It wasn’t a devilish grin, or an evil smirk like the ones he wore so often, but it was a genuine smile.
The kind of smile that you get from a friend.  One who cares.  “I’ll show you how you know you can trust me,” he articulated softly, pointed his wand up and the sky, and murmured an incantation loud enough for Hermione to hear, but soft enough that she couldn’t make out the words.  Wondering what he was up to, she cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look, to which he responded by motioning up towards the sky.

            When Hermione looked up, she didn’t see the downcast sky, full of dark and ugly clouds, like she had expected, but
she saw a brilliant band of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and violet stretching out far and wide.

            She could trust him.  She was sure of it, and told him everything that was wearing on her mind, and everything that she
was afraid to tell anyone else.  She never stopped once again to wonder how she was trusting him, or why.

            He had sat down next to her on the ground, and even had his arm around her while she poured her heart out about the
tensions between herself and Ron and Harry.  Amazingly, she welcomed his touch.  It was comforting to her, and that was
exactly what she needed.  She had needed someone to just be there for her, and to listen to her, and then to tell her that
somehow, everything would work itself out.

            Remembering all of this, Hermione slammed her fist up against the wall in a short-lived fit of rage.  Her knuckles
throbbed, and she cursed aloud, “Bloody hell,” despite the fact that the pain almost felt good to her, because, if only for a brief
moment, it distracted her from the constant emotional pain that plagued her.  She even considered giving the wall another
undeserved punch, but decided against it, as her knuckles were already ragged and bloody.  As she watched the scarlet liquid
flow out over her hand, she felt relieved, almost as if it wasn’t actually blood leaving her body, but all of the hurt from
everything that happened.  She had felt so dirty, and guilty, and now she felt like she was being cleansed of it all.

            Still on the floor, Hermione took her un-bloodied hand and swiped her matted hair away from her face, wondering
what it would be like to shave it all off.  She would feel so free without that horrible bushy hair to worry about.  All it ever
did was get in the way.  And she’d just love to shock everyone by doing it – not that she really cared about what they would think.

            From where she lay, she looked up at the wall she had just lashed out at.  It seemed that this was the only wall that
wasn’t trying to close in on her.  Everything in her life had been making her feel so trapped for what seemed like forever.  She
was a prisoner of her parents, who always forced her to get good grades, and she was a prisoner of her own discretion, which
always chose the wrong people to let into her life and pushed the good ones out.  She just couldn’t win.

            “Herm, don’t worry about them.  You have me,” he had said to her another time that they were together.  He seemed
to have gotten over the fear he once had of that decrepit shack at the edge of town, and they continued meeting up there just to
talk and to be with each other.  Despite the person she used to think he was, Draco was fast becoming a good friend to
Hermione, and somehow, her most trusted one.

            “I’m glad I do have you,” she had whispered back, leaning her head on his shoulder, to which he responded by softly
planting a kiss on her forehead.  He slowly put his arm around her waist, and she buried herself upon his chest.  She closed her
eyes, not wanting the moment of bliss to end.  It felt so right for her to be there with him at that moment.

            A lone tear slipped down Hermione’s cheek, when she thought she had none left to cry.  She missed that feeling she
had felt when she was in Draco’s arms.  She felt so safe and secure, like he would always be there for her, even if she was the
only one who knew he was.

            She had leaned back against him, his body supporting her full weight, and both of his arms holding her securely in
place.  With his hands, he massaged her sides, and she couldn’t help thinking of how his hands were the perfect size to fit
around her.  His hands slowly traveled to the opening in her robes, beneath her shirt, and upwards.  They ran over and over the
curves of her body, and somehow, she didn’t know what to say, or what to do, except to run her hands across the stitches of
his sleeves.

            His hands were extremely smooth, she remembered, and his touch was so soothing to her lonely soul and weary body.
She wasn’t really sure about his motivation, though.  She hoped that maybe he felt the same way that she felt about him, that
maybe he loved her, too.  Then again, there was the possibility that he was just messing around.  She never let that possibility
get too much support in her mind, because she always wanted the other one to be true.

            That day, when it was time for them to depart and go their separate ways, before she gave him the customary hug
goodbye, she kissed him.  On the lips.  The kiss was tender and sweet, and she was so surprised that she actually did it.  Even
more surprisingly, he kissed her back.  When their lips finally parted, she threw her arms around Draco and held him as close
to her as she could.  She didn’t want to let go of him.

            The heap of scarlet laying on the floor unclenched her fists, finally sat up, and moved so that the wall was supporting
her back.  Hermione still didn’t want to let go of Draco, and for a while, she had even thought there was hope for the two of them. The day after she had kissed him, he had actually smiled at her over the tables at breakfast, something he wouldn’t normally dare do, for fear of someone figuring out who he was smiling to.  If only she could have known that the next Saturday, her hopes were to be crushed.

            Glancing at her watch while she hurried up the path, Hermione knew she was late, which wasn’t something she wanted
to be.  She hoped that Draco wouldn’t have given up on waiting for her, because she had been anticipating this time with him
for the whole week.  After what seemed like an eternity, the shack finally loomed into view, but Draco was nowhere to be found. “He’s just late, too.  That’s all,” she told herself, hoping that if she believed it, maybe it would be true.

            She paced back and forth between two trees, waiting for long minutes that turned into hours.  He never came.  When
the sun tucked itself away below the horizon, she realized that waiting any longer would be fruitless, and endangering to her
health, because her teeth were already chattering and her fingers numbed by the cold.  It was time to go back.

            Hermione hung her head, defeated, and held it in her hands.  She remembered how she had innocently thought that she
was just too late, and she had just missed Draco, but that illusion was shattered when Draco’s owl headed right for her at the
Gryffindor table when the post arrived.  When she read the letter and burst into tears, everyone thought that Draco had sent her
a written threat, because, after all, his father was a Death Eater, and the group had been once again gaining power.  Rumors
ran rampant as she fled from the Great Hall, the one thought in her mind being, “This is worse than they’ll ever know it could be.”

            It was horrible for her;  she just couldn’t handle that kind of rejection.  Someone she thought she was actually close to
just turned his back on her when she thought she needed him most.  She wished she could just run to him and once again pour
her heart out to him, and have him put his hands on her and say that everything would be fine, but this was one time that she
couldn’t.  She had no one to turn to, because she let herself drift apart from Harry and Ron.  She had only wanted to be with
Draco.

            And then, there he was, as if wishing he would be there just made him appear.  His figure loomed over her, his arms
crossed, and his grey eyes looking down at her, saying that he didn’t want to be there, and he didn’t even know why he was.
“You’ve got to give it up, you know,” tumbled out of his mouth.  From the way Hermione saw it, it seemed like he didn’t even
think about saying that, but was satisfied with it once he did.

            Hermione furrowed her brow.  “Give what up?”  She had no clue what he was talking about, and wasn’t sure she
wanted to know.

            “The whole self-pity thing.  The only person who did this to you is you.  You can’t keep feeling sorry for yourself,”
came his answer.  She couldn’t believe that these were the words coming out of his mouth, the very same mouth that had been
in contact with her own.  It had made her think that the two of them shared some sort of bond.  She shook her head, and over
and over she repeated towards the ground in disbelief, “No, no, no…”

            His tone of voice changed to one that nearly harbored some sort of emotion, “I tried to be there for you,” his eyes
burned into Hermione’s soul as he said it, “I wanted to – ”

            “NO!” she interrupted him, finally snapping.  She felt like she had tried to be amiable long enough.  Now she would
have her say, and he would listen.  “How can you say that?  You know you didn’t want to be there for me.  You told me
yourself, in that damned letter.  You ‘didn’t want to be around me’ because I’m ‘self-centered.’  You’re the one who told me
to talk about myself all the time.  You didn’t want to be my friend.  You know all you wanted was…” she trailed off, her eyes
burning and her lungs short on air.  So much anger was built up in her that she had never known it was possible to feel, but
somehow, she felt unable to truly hate him, no matter how much she wanted to.  It would have been so much easier that way.

            “Can’t you say it?  Is Hermione Granger, the world’s largest bookworm, also the world’s biggest idiot that she can’t
put a few words together?” he sneered at her when he saw a weakness, and his eyes focused hard on the trembling Hermione.
It must have made him feel so superior to her at that moment, but, she reminded herself, that’s what Draco Malfoy was about –
putting other people down to make himself feel superior.  And she knew exactly the way to show him up.

            She picked herself off the floor and stood up.  She stared him right in the eyes, on an even keel with him because of the
boots she was wearing.  Her brown eyes gave no indication of anything she was thinking at the moment.  “I don’t need any
lousy words,” she whispered, never shifting her gaze from the stone-like spheres embedded in Draco’s face, even when she
saw them reflect a green light that seemed to come directly off of her body.  As those stones lay on the ground, still open, but
unblinking, Hermione gave a short laugh.

            “Draco, if you want something bad enough, you don’t need to follow your Daddy into dark magic and learn your little
incantations.  You don’t need words for magic at all,” were her last words to the corpse of Draco Malfoy.  She strode away
from the scene, making sure that one of her steps landed on top of his lifeless body, pitying him, not herself – he never had the
chance to bleed.