Chapter
9
Soul
Far Gone / Glorious Betrayal
A cracked wall-length
mirror reflected her startled self back at her, skin pale and ashen against
clothes black
as night. Footsteps told her that he had followed her. She didn’t turn
around, and
wasn’t surprised
to see that he didn’t have a reflection. After all, becoming Dark Lord
must
have meant
he’d given his soul to the dark side completely.
“My Lord...” A hint of bitter sarcasm touched her words, and her eyes were cold and distant.
“Hermione. I uh...”
“You what? Want me to clean your shoes? Scrub the bathroom until the floors shine like stars?”
An awkward
silence so thick it could be punctured by butterfly wings filled the distance
between them.
Finally, Hermione broke the silence.
“So what DO you want?”
“Accio seats.”
He summoned two plush velvet chairs. “Just to talk...” He sat down. “Nothing
more.”
“I see we haven’t brought any little gifts.” She smirked.
“Don’t push
me you little brat. I’m trying to be nice.” His wand was pointed at her,
tiny dangerous
blue sparks
shooting into the darkness like perriwinkle fireworks.
“Or what...you’ll
blow me into oblivion in a trillion little bits? Well,” She said with a
startling
emptiness,
“Go on then. Try it. Use your kazaam and pow on me. Will it fill the gaping
void in
your already
lost soul if you do that? Soul, hah,” She laughed in an acidic sort of
way and
leaned towards
him. “Lest you have one Draco Malfoy. Lest you still have one.”
The words hit
him like a frosted lashing whip, and for a moment, the walls of solid stone
and
ice around
him seemed to fall, like a smashed lego castle. But the walls came back,
and he
seemed to
almost suck in his pain and torment, as if he himself were a black hole
of nothingness.
“What do you
know anything about me? Huh? You think you know so much. Even in Hogwarts,
you had to
be the brightest flame. Always...so intelligent, so lively...so much of
everything I could
never be.
You hadn’t the faintest idea of what was underneath everything that was
me and you
still don’t.”
Hermione sucked in a breath, her curiosity stirred as if it had been hit by some charm or spell.
“Do you want
to actually tell me about your Jerry Springer-esque life? Or would that
mean you’d
have to kill
me afterwards?”
“Who’s Jerry Springer??”
“Muggle TV guy...” Hermione muttered. “Now spill the beans, or I’m calling Oprah.”
So Draco spilled,
pouring out the secrets from all the dark nooks and corners of his hopelessly
lost life.
Hermione listened quietly, her eyes not quite meeting his, but filled with
compassion and
understanding.
“You’ve had a pretty lousy life.”
He narrowed
his eyes, ashamed and half-annoyed at himself for having told this...servant,
things
he’d never
ever told anyone else.
“Well at least my parents don’t clean other peoples’ teeth!”
“Didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“That whole
thing you said about my parents should be in the past tense. They’re dead
now.”
She whispered,
with a deathly coldness. “They died when YOUR people went on that mad
muggle-massacre.
And at least my parents didn’t force me to commit my life to killing innocent
people!”
“I’m sorry.”
She sneered, her pity for him turning into anger and hatred.
“Sorry? You’re
SORRY? Oh that’s a laugh. You don’t have the heart to feel SORRY about
anything.”
“I...I am.”
He said, almost wistfully. His expression hardened. “You tell anyone anything
about
what I have
said here tonight and I’ll-”
“You’ll kill
me or blow me up or something.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s getting
old.” She
gasped as
she felt something cold and metal dig against the soft flesh of her neck.
“Don’t tempt
me.” He leaned in and whispered, his voice low and threatening, like a
rumble
of distant
thunder. Swallowing hard, Hermione kept her eyes away from him. His smooth
voice started
singing in her ear. “Time...is on my side...yes it is...”
She ignored
the smooth sound of his singing, and instead concentrated on the feel of
ice-cold
silver on
her neck.
“Why the choice of weapon? Where’s your wand?”
Silence.
A clatter followed
as he threw the jade-handled knife on to the stone floor. Unsure and
not-completely-in-control
of the situation, Draco turned to leave.
“You wouldn’t have done it. You can’t.”
Startled at the amazing clarity and frankness in her voice, he whipped around and looked at her.
“What makes you think...that.”
“Because I’m
still standing here, saying these words to you.” She closed the distance
between
them. Standing
on tip-toes, Hermione gently kissed him.
A shock wave
passed through them both. Hermione, who seemed to finally realise what
she’d
done, pulled
away from him, half-horrified. Draco gaped at her, and then sneered cruelly.
Hermione’s
heart ached at his reaction. Not waiting for him to say anything, she turned
and
fled from
the room.
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