Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. This includes the song lyrics, which belong to the Goo Goo Dolls.
And I’d give up forever to touch you
Because I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t want to go home right now…
“Malfoy!” she yelled, out of breath, as she banged on the entrance to Slytherin common room. “Malfoy, are you there?”
Then a horrific thought caught in her throat: What if Lucius had already come? What if Malfoy was lying in there right now, blood trickling down his cheek, black bruises emerging from his ivory skin…
The visual gave Hermione chills, and she instinctively grabbed her wand from inside her robes. Panic was pulsating through her- she had to get inside. Her mind searched frantically for what the password might be…
Closing her eyes, she heard a distant voice in her head… a faint memory flickered…
“Oooo, Harry’s a Parselmouth…”
“Yes, I think the world found that out second year, Granger.”
“Parselmouth!” she screamed, flinging open her eyes. And the stone door swung wide.
Hermione burst through, still gasping for air as her eyes anxiously searched the common room. She took another couple steps in and heard the door swing shut behind her.
He has to be here. Her nerves were on fire. He has to be here! But if he wasn’t… if he were gone…
“Malfoy?” she called. But there was no answer.
Then, she suddenly heard a muffled ruffling sound coming from behind her to the right. Whirling around, she saw Malfoy, legs crossed and hunched over beside the fireplace.
Hermione gasped in relief.
Rushing to collapse beside him, she asked, “Are you alright?”
Malfoy stared into the flames. He seemed completely paralyzed. He wondered dully what had made Hermione rush to him, but ignored his question as he shoved it, along with everything else, into the back of his mind.
His hair was disheveled; it was obvious he’d run his fingers through it countless times. He was shaking slightly, despite being so near the fire that its sparkling reflection was trapped in his eyes. Deep frown lines, the sort that seventeen-year-old boys ought not have, swam into view. They sunk down his cheeks and came to a rest upon his soft pink lips, which were quivering so lightly that Hermione hadn’t noticed.
And I don’t want the world to see me
Sitting on the deep green rug, Hermione shifted so that her face was less than a foot from his. She stuffed her wand back in hes robes and eyed him worriedly. A moment passed- then two- all the while Malfoy sat and stared, taking no heed that a frightened girl was sitting beside him, waiting with bated breath for him to speak.
She grasped his hand. He didn’t pull away, but neither did he strengthen his grip; his hand hung loosely, like a dead limb, in her own.
“Malfoy… please… say something,” she whispered in his ear.
Malfoy heard the intense concern in her voice, and his heart gave a small stir.
He blinked. Turning ever so slightly to meet her gaze, he moved his hand to intertwine his fingers with hers. Hermione’s eyes lifted and a small, relieved smile stretched across her face.
Malfoy gazed into her bright, round eyes, and immediately knew he wouldn’t be able to suppress his feelings for her. He wasn’t strong enough. No man was strong enough to ignore such powerful emotion. He felt a twinge of gratitude and devotion towards her, until it was washed away by his next paralyzing thought-
Lucius. If he found out… if he ever learned of any of this… he wouldn’t just kill him. He’d kill her.
Malfoy let his hand fall limp again.
“No!” Hermione whispered, “Come back! Don’t go off in another daze, oh please don’t…” her voice was agonized with pain.
Because I don't think that they'd understand
She could hardly stand it anymore. Everything- the war, Voldemort, Harry, the Weasleys, now Malfoy- it all avalanched into her heart, creating an icy grip that wouldn’t allow for more than a shred of hope, a shred of faith. She couldn’t lose that shred now.
Malfoy knew what he had to do. His eyes stung at just the thought of it, but he was smart enough to know that Hermione would never listen, would never take his advice and leave him. She’d try to be strong and bear the burden and the threat. But she had enough to manage without him. He had to sacrifice the only person he’d ever really loved… but it was for her. If he didn’t, she would die. He had to let her go…
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Meeting her gaze for a second time, he took a deep breath. Her eyes lifted again in happiness, but quickly dissolved in another frown when she saw the tormented look on his face. He closed his eyes one last time to savor what she looked like without tears streaming down her soft cheeks. He wanted to remember her that way.
“Go,” he whispered softly.
Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.
“W- what?”
“Go,” he whispered again, his voice shaking.
The common room seemed to darken with Malfoy’s heart. It had never appeared so dank and despondent. All light seemed to be drained from it, all sense of optimism rinsed into black void.
“I- w- well… no! I won’t go… Malfoy, please… tell me what’s wrong. Is- is it your father? Did he- did he come tonight?” she asked with wide eyes.
Malfoy closed his own in anguish.
Please just leave, he thought miserably. Don’t make this harder than it already is…
He now understood why so many Slytherin guys didn’t date girls, but used them; it was much easier to avoid love, much easier to stay invulnerable and hide from it. After all, it only caused pain. Love only worked out in fairy tales; and Malfoy’s life was far from one.
His heart wrenched open as he allowed himself to believe, for the first time, that she could love him back- how excruciatingly unfair. He’d been deprived of so many things his whole life, and not once did he pity himself. Not once did he ask for anything, not once did he want or need help.
But that day in Hogsmeade he’d understood why people believe in miracles; he was so certain he’d found one in her. He felt like an idiot for trying to suppress it, but that was only natural for him at the time. If he had known then that he’d have to give it up… he would have allowed himself a moment of happiness; one moment to sustain him the rest of his life.
But as he watched the familiar gold flicker once more in her lovely gentle eyes, and his heart swelled with passion, he couldn’t help but feel that he was currently the center joke of all the universe.
When everything feels like the movies
You bleed just to know you’re alive
“Go,” he said once more.
“Malfoy,” Hermione cried, “Please stop telling me to go! Please… please, talk to me…”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Malfoy breathed her sweet scent once more, and locked it into his memory forever. He wanted to remember that too.
With the heaviest heart he’d ever felt, he whispered one last time…
“Please… go…”
Hermione looked up at him. She saw the hurt embedded in his soul; it peered at her through his glassy eyes. She shook her head.
Malfoy restrained the hard lump in his throat and stifled the whimper that was longing to be released. He couldn’t believe it… she knew. She knew about his father, knew he was still alive. She must know the danger she’s putting herself in by being with him. She rushed through the door to save him… she rushed through the door to her own doom… and now she wouldn’t go. She wouldn’t leave his side.
A lone tear trickled down Malfoy’s cheek. He turned his head so Hermione couldn’t see.
And I don’t want the world to see me…
Gathering all his strength, Malfoy stood and released himself from her embrace. He immediately felt the absence of her warmth, and became slightly nauseous with the knowledge that he’d never feel it again.
“Go. Now!” he yelled. His hurt was turning to anger… he needed her to leave before he lost his nerve.
“W- why?” she asked with trembling lips.
“I said go, Mudblood! And don’t ever talk to me again!” he shouted.
Because I don’t think that they’d understand…
The look on Hermione face succeeded in shattering Malfoy’s heart into a thousand splintered pieces.
He had to get away. He took off up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory and slammed the door shut behind him. His breathing was quick and heavy, his eyes red and glistening.
He heard Hermione’s stifled cries below. He felt as if his chest had split in two as he sunk heavily against the wall for the second time that night.
Give me her pain, he thought wretchedly… I can handle it! Give it to me! She doesn’t need more…
When everything’s made to be broken,
But when he heard the soft thump of the common room’s door shutting behind her, shutting her away from him forever, he felt that there was no pain greater than his own.
…I just want you to know who I am.
Hermione didn’t sleep at all that night. She watched with detached emotion as the dawn’s rays played on the curtains in her dormitory. She hadn’t cried; she’d been too shocked to cry. She merely gazed at the ceiling with wide, sparkling eyes, trying to calm her breathing.
She could hear a soft pattering sound growing louder in the distance… what was that? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It was barely noticeable. But then she heard a familiar swooooosh, a loud thump, and a cry. What was that? She asked herself, without really caring about the answer.
“Hermione! Hermione, we know you’re up there!” Ron had tried to get to the girl’s dormitory again. “Blasted thing turned into a slide again,” he could be heard saying to Harry.
Hermione narrowed her gaze on her bedpost. She slowly came out of her reverie… the room came into focus… she received a mild surprise at seeing her bedroom illuminated by the soft sun…
“Hermione?” came Harry’s slightly uncertain voice.
She rolled over. She wouldn’t go down today. She didn’t need to eat, didn’t need anything… she’d lay in bed… knowing exactly where she was… but ever so lost…
“Hermione, it’s Christmas!” Ron called.
She stirred. Looking at the clock as if it would suddenly scream “Happy Christmas!” in consent, she slowly, and without fully realizing, climbed out from under her covers and heaved a deep, defeated sigh.
She washed her face and combed her hair in a daze, her eyes never focusing. Climbing down the stairs, she was met by Harry’s wrinkled forehead and Ron’s frown.
“Hermione, what happened last night? Are you ok?” Ron asked.
“I- I…” she stammered. The common room seemed much smaller than usual. She felt as if the walls were closing in around her… suffocating her… she couldn’t breathe…
“Hermione?” Harry asked worriedly.
She fell to the floor.
“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed. “Hermione, what’s wrong?!”
He flung himself to catch her, and just barely caught her head before it crashed with the hard stone floor. Ron rushed to her face and felt her forehead.
“She’s pale… and freezing. Harry, get a blanket,” he said.
Harry grabbed a deep red throw from the sofa and wrapped it securely around Hermione’s shoulders before lifting her to one of the chintz chairs by the fire.
Her eyes were struggling to keep open. She hadn’t slept in two full nights out of anxiety for one circumstance or another, but that wasn’t what caused her to faint. She had felt her heart breaking… felt it so painfully, so unexpectedly as she stood swaying on the spot… she felt it as a normal person felt their leg snap in two.
“Hermione, look at me…” Harry commanded. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She managed to peer through a small slit between her two glowing red eyelids.
“H- Harry…” her voice fell at the end.
“Maybe I should go get Madam Pomfrey, Harry…”
“No,” Hermione whimpered.
Both boys stared at her.
“Hermione-”
“It- last night… it was- I had to go… Malfoy…” she stumbled.
“Malfoy? What about him? Did he hurt you?” Ron asked furiously.
Hermione nodded wildly, answering truthfully, but not really knowing what she had just agreed to, or what she’d just sparked in the eyes of her two best friends.
Harry swore loudly.
Ron stood to leave, intentions set on smashing Malfoy’s head into the nearest sharp object.
“Wait- we need to make sure she’s ok first,” Harry forced his mind to think rationally. Ron nodded.
“Where are you hurt?” Harry continued to ask.
Hermione, still completely unaware of her own actions, pointed to her heart in a haze.
“Did he hex you?” Ron asked fiercely.
“W- what?” Hermione questioned. Hex? Hex me? No… what’s Ron thinking? Hermione’s mind was clearing a bit.
“What did he do?” Harry prodded with a shaky voice.
Hermione looked into his eyes. The gentle, bright green seemed on fire, ablaze with a different kind of fury she’d never seen…
She sat upright in the couch and shook off her trance. Taking a deep breath, she mumbled, “It’s not like that.”
Ron and Harry exchanged confused looks.
She felt too drained to speak, let alone tell them her whole story of coming to be friends with Malfoy… of coming to feel for him… of coming to lo-
“Tell us, Hermione… come on,” Ron pried impatiently.
Brow furrowed, eyes alight with hurt, Hermione began telling them the whole story, front to finish. She began with his first visit with her potion, their argument, then how she fell down the staircase after her nightmare. When she ended her tale with the previous night’s occurrences, she didn’t dare look Harry or Ron in the face. She knew they’d be understanding and compassionate, but they would never grasp her misery- they couldn’t understand what it was like to fall in love, and not know it until it’s too late.
She let her mind race a circle of memories. She remembered back to Hogsmeade’s edge. She’d seen the love there. Buried far below, but not out of reach, she’d seen him… then she caught a distant glimpse of his face, so confused yet content, happiness radiating from his rapidly beating heart… she remembered how beautiful it sounded. She remembered him giving her a brief window to his soul… she’d peeked through enough to see truth; truth that was covered in false layers, like an invaluable gift that still encompassed insurmountable beauty, but had just been dusty with time, as if sitting idly on a shelf.
She remembered his sparkling eyes, resembling a storm of passion with winds that swept her heart off the ground… she remembered being curled next to him in soft blankets, sleeping soundlessly for the night. She remembered his gentle touch on her bare back, and how astonished she was with his soothing strokes and tender nature… she hadn’t know those things existed in him…
Then she remembered how she’d ignored it all, pushed it all away thinking their relationship was far too underdeveloped and tentative to be anything other than platonic. She remembered the look in his eyes when she had been sure he was going to kiss her… she remembered pretending as if that moment hadn’t happened an hour later. She remembered being so adamant on helping him, on taking some of his anguish and storing it in her own body for him.
She remembered she’d never see that love in his eyes again. She’d never have the opportunity to take his pain…
But as she looked to the fire with pleading, desperate eyes, she felt that there was no pain greater than her own.
I would give up forever to touch you.