Part 2 of Draco tear jerker
Part 3 of Draco tear jerker
Part 4 of Draco tear jerker
Part 5 of Draco tear jerker
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Draco was sitting on his knees in the middle of his room. He watched, almost blinded by pain, as crimson blood ran down his pale arms. A jack-knife sat next to him, the edge covered in blood. Draco sighed, and reached for a shirt. He used it to quickly stop the cut veins from losing more blood. Why? Draco thought. Why do I do this? Why can't I stop? This wasn't the first time Draco had watched his blood stain his arms. No, the first time was too long ago to remember. The scars were there, but no one saw them. They were white, Draco was pale. But his wrists were a jungle of cutting scars. The cuttings stood out in Draco's mind. All day, he sat and stared at his scars. All night, he dreamed of tidal waves of blood. Draco's father was too wrapped up in being corrupt to notice his son's depression. Draco's mother was too wrapped up in herself to have any time for her son. His friends, Crabbe and Goyle, were too stupid and thick to be understanding. So Draco kept to himself. He took his anger and sadness out on that stupid Harry Potter and his friends. Dumb Ron Weasley, with his huge, caring family... show-off Hermione Granger with her proud parents...but Harry was the worst. His dad had died to save him and his mother. Then his mother had died to save him. Draco couldn't even imagine being loved like that. "Draco? What are you doing in there?" Lucius Malfoy was outside Draco's door. "Nothing," Draco said quickly. But Lucius Malfoy must've noticed the panic in Draco's voice, because he said, "I know you're doing something. Let me in!" Mr. Malfoy began to rattle the door handle, but it was locked. Draco looked down at the bloody shirt and his pale arms where they had been stained red by his blood. There were still open cuts on both his arms. "I'm not doing anything, Father!" Draco cringed. Father was such an ugly word. Why couldn't he use 'Dad' like everyone else? It might make Lucius Malfoy seem human. Just then, Mr. Malfoy took out his wand. "Move away from the door, Draco. I'm going to blast a hole in it unless you open it up!" His eyes wide, Draco scrambled to the other side of his bed. He shoved the shirt underneath it. "Draco! Let me in! I don't want to ruin this door, it's very rare wood!" He cares more about the wood than he does me! Draco thought as he ran to his closet. He pulled out a sweater, and put it on, hoping that it would hide his wrists. A bang echoed throughout the room, ripping a hole in the middle of Draco’s door. Mr. Malfoy came through it. Mr. Malfoy stepped forward, looking at his son and all around the room. His eyes fell on the jack-knife, and the blood on it's edge. He then saw then smear of blood on the floor that had happened when Draco had used the shirt to wipe it up after it had run off his arms. "Draco," Mr. Malfoy said softly. Draco supposed that he was trying to appear concerned. But his eyes were still like cold steel, with fire behind them. His voice still had that edge to it. "Tell me that that blood is fake." Draco didn't move. "Draco," Mr. Malfoy said louder. "Tell me that that blood is fake." "The blood is fake, Father." Draco said sarcastically. "Draco! What have you been doing!?!" Now Mr. Malfoy was shouting. "Lucius? What's going on?" Naricssa Malfoy stepped into the room. "Draco, why are you wearing a sweater? What have you done now?" Mr. Malfoy pointed to the floor, and Mrs. Malfoy saw the blood and knife. "Oh my god, Draco, say you haven't!" Well, Draco thought, they were going to find out anyways. He moved so that he was standing in front of them. He pulled the sleeves of the sweater back, revealing his bloodstained arms. He lowered his head, his hair falling into his eyes. He remembered that he hadn't used gel that morning. Draco was thankful now. His hair sort of hid his expression, and the hatred he felt for his parents in his eyes. Mrs. Malfoy gasped at the sight of the open, red wounds that her son had inflicted on himself. The stains were just too much though. They showed how much blood Draco had let himself lose. She fainted. Luckily Mr. Malfoy was next to her. He caught her just before she hit the ground. "Now look what you've done. Don't move. I'll be back to deal with you," he sneered at Draco. Once again Draco got the feeling that his 'father' disliked him greatly. Don't move. Mr. Malfoy's words bounced through Draco's mind. The tone of voice he had used. Like, I can't believe you're stupid enough to do this. So Draco, trying to provoke Mr. Malfoy's temper, didn't move at all. When Mr. Malfoy was back from putting Mrs. Malfoy somewhere were she could get some smelling-salts to wake her up, Draco still stood with his ugly wounds showing. "Cover that up," where Mr. Malfoy's first words when he walked in. "Why?" Draco sneered at him. "Can't understand why your son would want to hurt himself?" "No." Mr. Malfoy retorted. "I don't understand at all. Your life should be perfect, Draco. We give you everything you need. What is wrong with you?" Love, Draco thought. You don't love me. "Nothing. If something's wrong, I cut. It's a habit." Draco thought maybe if he were blunt enough, his 'father' would get the point. "Habit?!?! How long have you been doing this!?!" "Hm. Let me see. I first cut in third year...about two years." Which was true. Mr. Malfoy's eyes got huge. "Do you know the danger you've been putting yourself in?" He asked, the question a cold, hard whisper. "Do you?" Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course. I could die, I've lost so much blood. Do you think I'm this pale naturally? Oh please. Every time I cut, if I don't stop it in time, I could die. Which, at least, would-" He stopped. "Would what?" Mr. Malfoy reached over and grabbed Draco's forearm. "What would it do if you died?" Draco stared into his father's cold, steel eyes. He gulped. Mr. Malfoy's grip on Draco tightened. "You're hurting me." Draco said. He didn't lose eye contact though. Mr. Malfoy didn't loosen his grip. "Tell me what you were going to say!" Mr. Malfoy roared. Draco flinched. "Put me out of my misery! If I died, I'd never have to see you again, and it'd be the happiest day of my life!" Draco shouted back. Mr. Malfoy's eyes got even wider. "Don't say that! Don't ever say that again!" he whispered. "Why? Afraid the stupid Ministry will hear about it?" Draco said evenly. "Do you know what it would do to this family? The Malfoy name forever tainted! And it would leave me in a very uncomfortable position at the Ministry! What if someone decided that you didn't kill yourself, I killed you? What then?" "Oh please!" Draco told him. " Is that all you care about? Your office position? Oh, heaven forbid. Well, if I decide to kill myself, I'll leave the Ministry a note so they'll know I did it, alright?" "Shut up. Shut up, Draco." Mr. Malfoy told him. His grip on Draco's arm tightened more. "You're hurting me!" Draco yelled at him. Mr. Malfoy smiled evilly. "So who hurts you more? Me, or you?" "You, you, you! Do you know, that in my fifteen years of life, you have never once told me that you love me? Ever? Does that answer your question of why I cut? Happy now!?" Draco's eyes filled with tears, something that was entirely new to him. He had said that just to make his father feel bad, but now that he thought about it, it was true. Draco couldn't ever remember his father telling him that he loved him. Mr. Malfoy loosened his grip on his son. Draco pulled off the sweater he was wearing, and looked at the spot where his father had grabbed him. It had turned bright red. He knew that it would be black and blue. Mr. Malfoy stared at the spot. Then he brought his hand up, just to look at it. His vision switched between the red spot and his hand. "Great, Father. Now I have a red spot to go with my cuts." "I'm sorry." Mr. Malfoy said hurriedly. And then he was out the door, closing it behind him. Draco sat down on his bed. Had his father really said 'I'm sorry'? Those words had never come from Mr. Malfoy before. Ever. Draco sat there, rubbing his arm, for a long while. Suddenly, Draco looked at his door. Mr. Malfoy had shut it, yes, but there was still a huge hole in it from where he had blasted through the first time. Draco sighed, and got up. He found his wand, said "Repairo" and the door was fixed. He got under his bed and found the bloody shirt he had used to stem the flow of blood from his wrists. He looked at it for a bit, then used a clean corner to get the rest of the blood up off the floor and his jack-knife. When Draco picked his jack-knife up, he had another urge to cut. He brought the knife to his wrist, ready to cut right underneath the newest, still-open wound. It rested on his skin for a while. He bit his lip, getting ready for the pain in his wrist again. But just then, the Malfoy house-elf, Missie, came through the door. "What?" Draco said, angry that he had been interrupted again. The house-elf looked at him, and at the knife resting on his wrist. "Master shouldn't do that," the elf said wistfully. "Master Malfoy told Missie that if Young Master Malfoy tried to, to stop him." "Go away, elf." Shaking her head, the elf went over to Draco. "It's for Young Master Malfoy's own good." She said as she eased the knife out of Draco's hand. The house-elf left, taking the knife with her. My life is so screwed up, Draco thought. And then, even though it was only about 4:00, Draco went to bed. He just didn't know whether or not he could go the rest of the day without cutting. And he knew how much blood he'd lost so far, and that it was bad to cut too often. He snorted. Since when was it good to cut at all? The next three weeks passed without anything happening. Draco would've cut, but he couldn't get his hands on a knife. Mr. Malfoy had gone though a change, somehow. He didn't seem to be able to look Draco in the face, or talk to him. It looked as though Draco had dented his pride. So, it was September 1st. He was going to Kings Cross, to school, where his friends were stupid, thick. Where kids talked about their loving parents. It all sounded like bragging. It wasn't-it just sounded that way. Draco had packed. He had all his new things. In the car on the way to Platform 9 and 3/4, there was silence. His mother asked Draco if he wanted her to come in with him. Draco said no. Draco had just gotten onto the platform when he heard grunting behind him. He rolled his eyes. It was Crabbe and Goyle. He turned, and looked happy to see them. Over a bit, Draco saw Potter and Weasley. A girl was coming toward them. She was beautiful, from behind at least. Her hair, which was all Draco could see, fell halfway down her back. "Who's that?" Draco asked Crabbe and Goyle. They just looked at him. "Hello? Anybody in there? I asked, who is that?" He pointed at the girl, just as she turned. Draco gasped. There was no way. It was Hermione Granger. But then it wasn't. She was different. More...mature, more grown-up. Suddenly, Draco was glad that he'd given up on gel. He turned his head sharply, then back again. Now his hair completely hid his eyes, and therefore, his reaction. "C'mon," he mumbled to Crabbe and Goyle. They got on the train, and found a compartment. "Uh, Draco, uh, are you, uh, alright?" Crabbe asked in his slow way, as though he didn't know quite what he was saying. "Yeah, uh, you acted, uh, really, uh, weird, uh, about, uh, what’s-her-name, uh, Granger." Goyle added, even slower than Crabbe. "I'm fine. Don't talk to me. Do you guys have a-" Draco stopped himself just in time. He had been about to ask for a knife. Instead, he breathed in deeply, and out again. Then he settled into a seat by the window, and absent-mindedly started insulting people. Which was because he hadn't yet, and Crabbe and Goyle must be left totally in the dark about Draco's family life. Just then, someone pulled open the door to their compartment. It was Potter and Weasley, along with Granger. Draco's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Then he caught himself. "What do you want, Potty, Weasel?" "Oh, sorry." Hermione said. "We didn't know you were in here, or we'd have brought-"she stopped. "Malfoy, what did you do to yourself?" She was staring at his wrists. Draco stood up quickly. The scars from his last, and most drastic, cutting were still red. They brought out all of his scars. Draco stepped close to Hermione and whispered, "Tell no one. I'll tell you later." Hermione just stared. "Get lost...Mudblood." He flinched at the last word, and gave her a look that he hoped said 'I don't mean that!' Hermione nodded. "Let's go, Ron, Harry." "Uh, Draco? What was, uh, that about?" Crabbe asked. Draco shot him a dirty look. "Don't talk, Crabbe. I can't stand your stupid mouth running." Right before they all reached Hogwarts, Draco got his hands on a quill and some paper. He composed a quick note. Hermione. Meet me tonight at midnight right outside the Divination room. No one goes there. I'll tell you what I did. Draco Draco held onto the note while they got into the horseless carriages. The next time he saw Hermione, they were slipping into the Great Hall. Draco, acting as though he didn’t see her, ran over to her and knocked her over with his shoulder. They both fell. Draco pressed the note into Hermione's hand and just had time to whisper "Don't show this to anyone" before Potter grabbed him. "Watch where your going, Malfoy!" "Shut up, Potty." And Draco slinked off toward the Slytherin table to watch the Sorting and for the Great Feast. After the feast, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle all headed up to the Slytherin Common Room alone. They gave the password, entered, and gazed contently at the green-hung room for a second before heading up to their dormitory. It was there that Draco received an owl. It was from Mr. Malfoy. There wasn't any note, just a package. Draco ripped it open to find two things inside. A piece of paper and his jack-knife! Finally, Draco thought. I could've used this a while ago. He opened all the blades on the small knife, making sure each one was as it was before. The only difference was that the blood-stains were gone. The piece of paper had three words on it. I'm Sorry. Father. Well, at least he tried for the loving side. However, Draco didn't think it worked to well. That night, around eleven, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle all went to bed. Crabbe's snores almost immediately filled the room. Goyle's own snorts told Draco that he was free to go. Even the Common Room was empty as Draco made his way down the stairs at five minutes to midnight. Silently, he left. Slowly he made his way toward the Divination classroom. When he got there, Hermione hadn't arrived yet. Draco sat down and leaned against the wall. Times passed, and still no Hermione. Draco fell asleep. It took Hermione a while to get there. When Draco awoke, she was sitting next to him. She had pulled one of his arms into her lap, and was examining his scars closely. "Hey!" Draco said, pulling his hand away. "Draco, what in Heaven's name happened to you?" Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. "Have you told anyone anything?" Draco asked, ignoring her question. "No. I almost did. It was really hard to explain you whispering to me on the train, and knocking me over, but I didn't say anything." "What did you tell them?" "That you were insulting me." "Oh." Draco looked away. He felt horrible for making Hermione's life miserable, just because his own was miserable. Hermione didn't notice, and instead, pressed on about his scars. "Draco, what's been happening to you? There are a lot of scars here. And these- " She touched the red, open wounds, "these look infected." "Well, they aren't. They always look that way for a while afterwards." "After what, Draco?" Hermione was steeling herself for something bad. Draco could hear it in her voice. Draco took a deep breath, and let it out. "There really isn't an easy way to say this, so I'll be blunt. I cut myself, Hermione." Hermione stared at him. Her eyes got even bigger. "Whenever I'm angry, or upset, or overwhelmed, I cut. It's become sort of a habit." "A habit?! Draco, I was counting those scars, there's about thirty on each hand! How long have you been doing this?" Hermione seemed stunned that her enemy would do something like cutting. Draco found that he couldn't meet her eyes. "About two years. The first time was an accident, I cut myself trying to open a package from home. I was...transfixed. The blood is so red, and I was so pale. I just couldn't stop. The pain is so great that it clears my mind, I think. All I can think about is the pain. So I forget what I'm feeling." Draco looked up, to find Hermione with huge eyes, her jaw dropped. Draco reached over and closed her mouth, putting his finger under her chin and pushing up. Then, realizing that he was touching her, he jerked his hand away. "Sorry, you probably didn't want to know all that." "No," Hermione said quickly. "It's alright. Anything else you want to tell me?" Draco looked into Hermione's eyes. They looked concerned, kind, like she would do anything to help him. He looked back at his wrists. He remembered his first accidental cutting. The first time he did it on purpose. The look on Mrs. Malfoy's face when she saw the blood and the cuts. Mr. Malfoy as Draco told him that he'd never told Draco he loved him. Hermione's face when she saw the scars. Her, as she examined his wrist. Then the look that was on her face now. He found himself suddenly spilling everything. The fight with his father. How much he just wanted a 'dad' instead of the cold, hard steel he had. How he was jealous of Harry and Harry's parents. How he wished he could brag about his parents the way other kids did. How his cruelness was just a cover-up. And Hermione just listened. Nodding every once in a while, but she didn't interrupt him at all. Draco was glad-it was easier to go and go and not stop. He just sat, talked, and stared at the scars he had given himself. When Draco was finally done, he looked back at Hermione. She didn't look shocked, or anything like he thought she would. "And I'm sorry," he finished. "For making your life miserable. For calling you 'Mudblood' and all. I really didn't mean all that. I hope..." he hesitated. Hermione urged him on with a nod. "That you'll forgive me." Hermione smiled. "It's alright, Draco. I don't mind now that I know why." Draco gave her a weak smile. "Hey, I'll bet that it's getting really late. Or early. But we'd better get back to our common rooms." Hermione nodded, and they stood up. "Listen, Hermione, thanks for listening. I know that it was probably hard to hear all that, but I really needed to say it." "It's fine. Do you want to meet here tomorrow night too?" Draco knew he didn't, that he had gotten everything out that night, but he answered, "Yeah. There's still some stuff." Hermione looked at him strangely. "Are you going to be alright?" she asked, suddenly very worried. I hope I don't look that bad, Draco thought. "I'll be alright." And then Draco, without thinking, began to lean in, to kiss Hermione. Halfway there he stopped. Hermione was one of his greatest enemies. Hermione stepped away, and then practically flew down the stairs. Draco shook his head, and made his way back to the Slytherin dormitories. He met no one. When he got there, he added two new scars to his wrists. The next day passed amazingly slowly for Draco. He tried to find some longer robes to hid his new scars, but couldn't. He had to just put his hands in his lap, and hope that he didn't have to raise his hands. Crabbe and Goyle noticed a difference in their friend. (Which shows how much Draco had changed that night.) He seemed jumpy, nervous. Every time that dumb Potter and his gang passed, Draco looked at them, following them with his eyes. In fact, Draco was looking at Hermione, trying to see if she'd said anything to Potter and Weasley yet. He couldn't tell. Potter and Weasley didn't seem to know, but Hermione was just as jumpy as Draco was. That night, Draco met Hermione again. They sat down against the wall like the last night. "So, what's up Draco? You've been jumpy all day. Whatever it is, you can tell me." Draco opened his mouth to tell Hermione exactly what had happened last night after he had gotten back to his dormitory-but found that he couldn't. He shook his head. It was useless. That made Hermione really worried. She began to suspect exactly what Draco had done. "No, Draco, you didn't! You didn't!" She pulled his hand toward her, revealing the two wounds. One, the older, had a scab on it. But the new one was still crimson, and there was still a bloodstain on his arm from where the blood had run down his arm. Draco looked away. He couldn't stand to see Hermione that way. She looked distressed, like she couldn't believe he had done it again. For a while, she just stared at the cuts. Draco still couldn't look at her, even after she had let go of his hand. "Draco," she said softly. Draco cringed at the sadness in her voice. "Draco. Look at me." She put a hand on his far cheek, and steered his head toward herself. Draco saw that she had tears in her eyes. "Why, Draco? I don't understand. I thought that last night...that it would help..." "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm so sorry." Hermione's hand still rested on Draco's cheek. Slowly, he moved it away. Suddenly, he was angry. "Why, Hermione? I was doing fine, cutting when I had to, but then you come in! Why couldn't you just leave me alone? You act like since I cut last night, your trust and all has been broken!" Everything came out in a hard whisper. "Because, Draco," Hermione told him, getting very close to him. "It's what you do when you love somebody." And she kissed him. Draco's lips greeted Hermione's hungrily. A warm, fuzzy feeling mixed with excitement spread throughout both of their bodies. Hermione pressed one of her hands against his cheek, and the other against his chest, pushing at him, yet pulling him closer at the same time. Draco's hands found her neck, her hair. They sat, kissing for about a minute, which Draco thought was nowhere near long enough. They only separated because of an intrusion. And if it had been someone else, they might've kept their passionate, tender embrace. "Hermione, what the Hell are you doing?!" a voice asked, and it sounded very familiar. Hermione jerked away from Draco, and they both looked around wildly. They couldn't see anyone. "Get away from her, Malfoy!" the voice yelled, and it clicked. "Get lost, Potter, no one invited you!" Draco shouted back. "Harry, I know you're here under your cloak. Please come out!" Hermione added. A small hesitation, then Potter's head appeared in mid-air. Draco felt himself tense as he pulled himself to his feet, trying at the same time to hide his cuts and scars. "How much did you see, Potter?" He asked in a deadly whisper. Potter completely ignored him, and went around Draco to Hermione. Hermione burst into tears. "How come you always have to look after me, Harry? I finally have someone I love, and you-" Hermione's sentence was cut off by choking sobs. Draco knelt beside her, and took her back into his arms. He soothed her, stroking her hair. But his gaze stayed locked on Potter. "How much do you know?" he asked again. Potter's face looked uncomfortable for a second. "I just walked in a second ago, when I shouted." "Harry," Hermione interrupted. "Get your hand off my back. I can't see it, but I can feel it, and it's driving me insane." Draco felt hot anger surge through him, like how that warm, fuzzy feeling mixed with excitement did a minute ago. He wanted to put Potter somewhere dark, somewhere where no one would ever see him again. And he hated himself for it. That was his father coming through, the man he hated so much. Realizing he was like his father made Draco break, and he ran from the Divination tower and back to the Slytherin Common Room. He left Hermione, who looked so hurt and destroyed to see Harry, and Draco running. With tearstains on her cheeks, and a shiny wetness still in her eyes. A confused Potter that wasn't quite sure what he had stumbled into. Draco, again, hated himself for leaving. Draco stumbled into the Slytherin common room, and into his dormitory. Grabbing at his knife, he rested the cold steel blade on his wrists, wanting the cut. Wanting to forget everything that had happened. Wanting the pain to clear his mind. But then Draco thought of Hermione's face when he showed her the cuts from the night before. The betrayal he had done. He realized that every time he cut, Hermione felt it too. Inside her love for him, she somehow shared his pain. And he couldn't. Draco couldn't do something that would upset Hermione, or let her down. So he went to bed, and tried not to sob too loudly. The next day arrived with a splitting headache for Draco. Hm, he thought. Pain. More pain. Draco's head felt as though someone had decided to cut designs on it with a dull blade. Two identical waves of pain coming from both sides and moving in. Draco sat up and rubbed his temples. Remembrance of last night washed over Draco. He fell back, wanting to go back to sleep, for it all to be a dream. All Draco could think about was Hermione-Hermione's hurt, betrayed eyes as she saw Draco's new cuts. Hermione telling him that she loved him-the first time anyone had ever said that to him in his whole life. Hermione kissing him. Hermione crying. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. But with Hermione Draco had to think about what he had done-running from her and leaving her. Because he was like his father. That seemed so trivial now. He was in love. Draco could only hope that Hermione would forgive him for running. Draco threw quick glances at Crabbe and Goyle, to make sure they were still asleep. They were. Draco slipped quietly out of bed. Running down to the Common Room, he composed a quick note in his head. He grabbed a quill and piece of parchment (neither of which belonged to him) and jotted it down. Dear Hermione, I am so sorry for last night. I just got really upset at something. I'd say meet me tonight, but I'll bet that you haven't gotten much sleep lately. Meet me tomorrow night. Make sure Potter or Weasley do not follow you. Love, Draco P.S. Does Potter know about my...problem? And does Weasley know about that and us? Let me know. I love you. Draco read the note over once more, to make sure it was exactly what he wanted. Nodding to himself, he ran back upstairs and dressed quickly. "Huh? Uh, what are you, uh, doing, uh, Draco?" Crabbe had woken up, and he caught Draco reading his note again. "Nothing." Draco said quickly. "Get out of bed. I want breakfast. Wake Goyle up. I'll be downstairs waiting." Could he get any more stupid? Draco thought as he settled into an armchair to wait for Crabbe and Goyle. No, Draco thought suddenly. That's something 'Father' would say. And I refuse to be anything like that...that...monster. Clunking on the stairs told Draco that Crabbe had gotten Goyle up and they were ready to go. Draco pushed himself out of the armchair, and beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. They left the Slytherin common room, and made their way toward the Great Hall. Then, just before they entered the Hall, hands grabbed Draco and pulled him into a broom cupboard. Crabbe and Goyle were in front of him, and didn't notice. Draco was pushed up against the wall, and he heard someone say quietly, "Lumos". The small cupboard filled with light, and Draco made an exasperated sound. It was Potter and Weasley. "Hello, Malfoy." Potter said coldly. He seemed to loom over Draco, enormous. Draco remembered last night, when he had wanted to lock Potter away. Now it seemed as though Potter was going to lock him away. "What do you want?" Draco said, trying not to shudder in the cold cupboard. "You know what we want, Malfoy. We want to know why you were with Hermione last night," Weasley replied, with ice dripping from every word. "Why?" Draco sneered at them. "Didn't Hermione tell you?" Potter shook his head, and both he and Weasley had dark looks on their faces. "Hermione won't talk to us. She kept bursting into tears every time she saw us." Draco felt his heart sink. Hermione was having trouble with her best friends, and Draco had a gut feeling that it had something to do with last night. "I'll talk to her," he said, gulping loudly. "Where is she?" Again Potter and Weasley exchanged dark looks. "We don't know," Weasley said bluntly. "We tried to talk to her last night, but she kept crying. We left her down in the common room, but no one's seen her since." Draco's heart hit rock bottom. Hermione was gone. She just...disappeared. Draco put his hands on Potter's shoulders. "Are you sure? Positive that no one's seen her? Because Hermione..." Draco trailed off. He was going to say that Hermione never disappeared. But he couldn't bring himself to say that word, 'disappeared'. Instead, Draco shook Potter vigorously. "I need to find her. I have too!" Potter took Draco's hands off his shoulders, and gave him a strange look. "You might try the library." he said. Draco took off for the library, completely forgetting Crabbe, Goyle, and breakfast. Draco speed off for the library at full speed. He knocked over a suit of armor coming around a corner. Passing a door, he went right through the Fat Friar. The Friar made Draco cold, so cold. But he couldn't stop. He had to find Hermione. He had to. Draco almost ran past the library's doors, and he hit his side hard on the doorframe coming through. He sprinted past bookshelves, looking through all of them for Hermione. Draco ran through the tall, sturdy shelves, but it seemed to take forever. He past through Fiction, Non-fiction, Potion Books, Charm Books, Transfiguring Books, Biographies. Soon there was only one place left to look. The Restricted Section. Draco's sprint slowed to a walk. The Restricted Section had always given him a funny feeling-like there was someone watching him. He shuddered as he passed under the rope that separated the Restricted Section from the rest of the library. He searched through the haunting, skeleton like bookshelves, trying to see, or at least hear, Hermione. Draco stepped around the 'J' aisle. A soft, sobbing noise reached his ears. He lifted his head, trying to find its source, certain that it was Hermione. He listening for a moment, then raced forward. Draco threw quick glances down each aisle, and, finally, saw Hermione. She was huddled at the end of the 'W' aisle. Her head was buried in her hands, and her body was being racked with sobs. Draco slowly made his way towards her, praying that he could make it to her without Hermione hearing him. Each time his foot landed on the hardwood floor, it seemed to echo throughout the Section. A few paces away from her, Hermione's head jerked up at Draco. She was on her feet in a flash, fresh wave of tears streaming down her cheeks, ready to run. But Draco caught her hand, and she couldn't. Hermione choked back a sob and looked at Draco. "Let me go," she whispered. Draco, instead of letting her go, moved Hermione over to him with the arm holding her hand, so that she was standing in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, touching her chin. She trembled slightly. Draco lifted her face towards his, and leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against hers. She welcomed them, but a fresh, cold stream of tears ran down her cheeks. Draco separated, and brushed his lips against them, wiping the tears away. Hermione curled her hands around Draco's neck, and rested her head on his chest. She sobbed into the front of his robes, cold, salty tears that reminded Draco of the ocean. And he stood there, holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, her back, waiting for Hermione to stem the flow of tears. Slowly, Hermione calmed down. She clung to Draco, like if she let go she'd drown in her own tears. Draco's touch soothed not only her, but him as well. Hermione's small disappearing act, however minor, had scared him. Scared. Everyone thought that he didn't know how to be scared. But he'd been scared before, just once. The first time he'd cut himself. The feeling was new still, but it was oddly settling. Draco thought that, somehow, being able to be scared made him different from the person who claimed to be his father. "Draco," Hermione's soft whisper led him out of his mind and back to her. "I can't do this. I just can't." Draco was taken back. Confused, he asked, "What do you mean?" "This, all this. It wasn't meant to be. We both know it, " Hermione's voice was, again, choked with sobs. Draco felt tears sting his own eyes. "No," he told her, softly yet forcefully. "We have to be together. Have to. I love you, Hermione. I love you." Now Hermione's tears had fully come back, and Draco felt tears sliding down his cheeks. Draco, again, pressed his lips against Hermione's. This time, however, it was more forceful. Draco felt like if he ever stopped Hermione would leave and never come back. Hermione kissed back desperately. Then, halfway through, she broke away, and ran. She left Draco standing there, more tears running down his cheeks. Draco walked through the day like a zombie. Hermione was absent from all the classes he had with her. And from the looks on Potter and Weasley's faces, she wasn't in any of the others. Draco almost cut once. Then, he realized that his cutting is probably why Hermione was crying, why she couldn't love him. It hurt, though. To know that she loved him, and that she felt that she couldn't. Hermione wasn't at lunch either. Draco kept meeting Potter and Weasley's glances, and they were always the same-where is she, and what have you done to her? Draco wanted to say that he hadn't done anything except love her. That she was somewhere thinking about breaking his heart. He didn't see Hermione all day. Not afternoon classes, not dinner. Draco tried to focus on something else, but it was too hard. What Draco did see was an owl, late that night in the Slytherin common room. It's snowy white feathers stood out brilliantly against the green and silver hangings of the common room. It carried a letter, which it dropped over Draco's head. He caught it, and ripped it open eagerly. Malfoy, they wrote. Draco was crestfallen. He had hoped it was from Hermione. But she'd call him Draco, not Malfoy. He read on. Have you seen Hermione? We haven't. If you do, send us an owl. We are really worried. Thanks. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Draco thought for a second, then replied, Potter and Weasley, I haven't seen Hermione. I'll say something if I do, but she's avoiding me. It's a long story. Do you think she's eaten? I mean, she wasn't at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. If you see Hermione, owl me fast. Thanks. Draco Malfoy It felt awkward to write to Potter and Weasley, his enemies. But then, a month ago, he would have been repulsed at the thought of Hermione kissing him. Now all he could think about was the feel of her soft lips on his, the texture of her hair as he ran his fingers through it, her hands around his neck. Draco had to blink tears away. Draco sent the white owl off, and got an answer in about fifteen minutes. She knows where the kitchens are was all it said. Draco went to bed and dreamed a dream that Hermione had sneaked into his dormitory, and was trying to wake him. He opened his eyes, but Hermione's eyes were pouring blood and a white owl scratched Draco's eyes out and the whole world was red red red. Then Crabbe came with a bag, and it had Potter chopped up in little bits inside. Draco woke in a cold sweat, and didn't sleep again all night. Hermione was at breakfast the next morning. Draco, however, was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle and couldn't get over to her. He fingered the note he wrote yesterday, remembering the last line. I love you stuck out so badly. He clenched it in his fist. He tried one more time to meet Hermione's eyes. Nothing. Draco poked a hole into the parchment, then using just his one hand, shredded it into his pocket. The day dragged by. Hermione, while in all of the classes Draco had with her, wasn't like normal. She didn't answer any questions. Professors that didn't take roll call, and just saw who was in their seats, counted her as 'absent'. She worked quietly, keeping her head down. She didn't look his way at any time. Draco did get looks from Potter and Weasley though. They weren't the usual 'you- are-such-slime' looks, they were confused, the 'do-you-know-what's-wrong-with- her' looks, accompanied with a jerk of the head towards Hermione. Draco just shrugged. He knew perfectly well what was wrong with Hermione. The scenes under the Divination room and in the library played over and over in his head, constantly. Draco absent-mindedly ran his fingers over his scars as he thought. Then he noticed Hermione was looking at his hands, trying to see if he'd cut again. Draco smiled at her, and pulled back his sleeves slightly so that she could see that he hadn't. Hermione looked relieved. But didn't look at him again all day. Draco wished she would. He loved to look at her, her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair. Hair. Draco got to look at her hair every time he glanced at Hermione. It was always the hair on the back of her head. That night Draco got another owl. It wasn't the snowy white that Potter and Weasley had sent yesterday, but a tawny one that Draco recognized as the one his 'Father' used at the Ministry. Scowling at it, he opened the letter it carried. Come home for Christmas. Father and Mother Draco sighed and tossed the letter behind him, unwary of where it went, not that he cared anyway. His 'father' sent him that letter every year. Last year, though, he had stayed for the Yule Ball. In fact, his 'father' didn't even take time to write that letter. It was in his secretary's handwriting. After that, nothing special happened at all. The days dragged by, turning slowly into weeks. Draco showed Hermione his wrists everyday in Potions, to prove that he had stopped cutting. What Draco didn't show Hermione was his upper arm, which was black and blue. He had been hitting and pinching himself there recently, instead of cutting. About three weeks after the library scene with Hermione, Draco lay sleeping, unaware of the dark, cloaked figure watching him. The dark figure watched him twitch, as Draco dreamed Hermione was cutting his heart out, then putting it back in upside-down. The day after Draco's dream, Draco was walking down to Potions alone (Crabbe and Goyle had eaten to much, and had needed to go to the hospital wing) when he was knocked over roughly. Papers flew, and an inkbottle broke. Draco landed hard on the stone floor. Someone landed behind him, just as hard. Draco twisted around, to tell them to watch where they were going, but his blue eyes met brown ones, and Draco melted in Hermione's gaze. Hermione stood up slowly, and pulled Draco to his feet. Hermione shoved a piece of paper into Draco's hand, and ran off. Confused, Draco stared after her. After she turned the corner, Draco shifted his gaze to the paper in his hand. He could make out Hermione's handwriting. Should he read it? Did he want to know what it said? Draco decided he did. Slowly, he unfolded the paper. Dear Draco, he read eagerly. I know that I told you it would never work. But I can't stop thinking about you. I need to see you again. Tonight, midnight. Outside the Divination room. Please be there. I love you, Hermione Draco read the note over again. And again. Every time, his eyes paused at the words I love you. That was exactly what he had written to Hermione three weeks ago. The Divination room, midnight. He'd be there. He would show Hermione that there was nothing for her to fear about him-that he had stopped cutting. The black and blue spots were still there, but Hermione wasn't going to see his upper arm anyways. In any case, he had to go. Hermione meant the world to him. That night, Draco was sitting in the Slytherin common room, waiting for people to leave. Eventually, they did. Draco got up to go. He slipped, unnoticed, out the common room door. He made his way toward the Divination room. He climbed the spiral stairs, and entered the small room below the Divination classroom. A voice squealed, "Draco!" and he felt arms fly around his neck. Lips meet his, and he pressed against them. He put his arms around Hermione's waist. She pulled away from their kiss to lay her head on his shoulder, whispering that she was sorry, that she never should have let him go, everything. That she loved him. Draco held Hermione close, the smell of her hair caught up in his nose, the taste of the kiss still fresh on his lips. "I love you, too, Hermione," he kept whispering to her, soothing her. She didn't cry, but was obvious she was upset. Draco held her for the longest time, and knew that he loved her, and that she loved him. What Draco didn't know, was that someone was watching them. Draco and Hermione stayed together until dawn, just talking, catching up on everything. "Draco?" Hermione asked softly. "Yes?" "Do you really love me?" her brown eyes penetrated his, cutting deep into his soul. But this time, cutting didn't hurt. "Yes. I love you, Hermione. And something tells me I always will." And again, Draco pressed his lips to Hermione's, the warm feeling, fuzzy mixed with excitement streaming through his body like it did every time they kissed. He ran his fingers through her hair, and the other arm slide around her waist. Hermione's arms went around Draco's neck. The two were engulfed, for the first time, in everything beautiful, joyous...right. The dark figure watching them grinned, an absolute evil grin. He had plans for the two. All he had to do was wait. A while after that, Draco and Hermione parted with one last kiss, the best they'd ever shared. Draco watched as Hermione disappeared down the spiral staircase. Then he saw nothing but blackness. Draco, painfully, opened his eyes. His head was pounding. He moved his hand over the back of his head...when he brought it back in front of his eyes, there was a streak of red across his palm. Blood. Draco, who had been laying down, sat up and opened his eyes wider, taking in his surroundings. Suddenly, he leaped off the bed he'd been laying on. Turning, he saw that it hadn't been a bed he had been laying on at all-it was a couch. But Draco knew that couch. And those wall hangings. And the carpet that gave under his feet. Draco was in his father's office, right outside Lucius Malfoy's bedroom. Draco plopped back down onto the couch, resting his head in his hands. The hand with blood on it felt sticky, and Draco pulled it away to find that the blood had stuck to his cheek, giving the illusion that Draco had grazed it against a Bludger or something. Draco tried to wipe it off, but was, over-all, unsuccessful. The door opened, and Draco looked up into eyes that looked exactly like his own- cold, hard steel, incapable of loving. No, Draco thought suddenly. I am capable of loving. I love her. Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room, his cold eyes sweeping over Draco. He began to pace in front of Draco, hands rubbing the back of his neck. Draco, uncomfortable still since the last encounter with his father, said, "Hello, Father. How are you?" Draco tried to keep cheer and lightness in his voice, but failed miserably. What came towards Lucius Malfoy was hard and hateful. Unfortunately, Draco picked exactly the words that Lucius Malfoy hadn't wanted to hear. Lucius Malfoy stopped pacing. He stared at Draco for a moment, then rushed at him from across the room. Draco, taken aback, fell backwards into the back of the couch. Lucius grabbed his shoulders and began to shake him, yelling. "No!" He screeched. "I'm not! My son, my very own son! Kissing a MUDBLOOD!" Every word was emphasized with a shake. Lucius said the word 'Mudblood' as if it were a dirty, dirty cuss-word. Draco's head rolled back and forth on his neck, not paying attention to his father as he shook him. It didn't matter what that monster said now, because Draco was in love. He knew that, and knew that someone was in love with him. For a few minutes, that helped Draco keep his head. However, it was only for a few minutes. Lucius kept yelling and shaking Draco. It was only a matter of time before Draco got sick of his 'father's' abuse. "Shut up!" Draco yelled at him. "Just shut up, will you!" Draco knocked his 'father's' hands off his shoulder. Lucius stared at him. "Do not yell at me, Draco. Do NOT yell at me." Lucius' own yells had dropped to a deadly whisper in a matter of seconds. "You have no right to yell at your father-" "Shut up. You are not a father. You are cold, cruel, uncaring, unloving, ugly, a monster-" "Do not speak to me that way!" Draco was surprised to hear Lucius's voice raise in anger and panic. Draco immediately understood his 'father's' tone. It was a tone that had never come from him-fear. "Your afraid!" Draco blurted. "I don't know why, but you're scared of something that has to do with me!" Once again Lucius Malfoy rushed at his son. "No, I'm not. I am just trying to keep this family line as...clean as possible. So you, as my son, must never, NEVER, see that girl again." "I'm not your son." Draco whispered. "I am not your son." Lucius Malfoy looked at him dismissively. Then he frowned. "What do you mean, your not my son? Of course you are, you-" "I am not your son!" Draco screamed. "I am your burden, your...accident, the thing you wanted least, but I am NOT YOUR SON!" Draco pushed at his 'father's' shoulders, in the attempt to stop the shaking, and finally succeeded. Lucius Malfoy took a few steps backwards, giving Draco room enough to get up and run. Draco went straight for the door, but heard the lock click into place before he even reached it. He wrapped his hands around the doorknob, jiggling it, trying to get the lock to fall. Almost, almost... Draco jumped away from the door. The knob had turned red-hot underneath his touch. Hurriedly, Draco searched his pockets for his wand, ready to blast through the wood. All of his pockets were empty. Draco whirled around. Lucius Malfoy was leaning against the mantelpiece above the fireplace. He had lighted a cigar, which didn't help. Disgusting, fouls things, Draco thought. But what really caught Draco's attention was the wand that Lucius was twirling in his hand. Lucius Malfoy had Draco's wand, rendering Draco powerless. Lucius looked back at Draco, an uncaring expression etched in his face. "Looking for this?" he asked, holding up the wand. "Draco, Draco, Draco. How naive. You don't seem" he reached for the poker next to the fire, "to understand the power I have over you." Draco watched Lucius carefully as Lucius talked, leaning on the mantelpiece. Lucius went on and on, about his power, about how weak Draco was. "I have a power greater than any of yours." He informed Lucius in a quiet yet deadly sounding voice. Lucius looked up, slightly interested. "Oh? And what would that be?" Draco looked him straight in the eye, steel-to-steel, glass to glass. Draco's voice was softer when he said, "Love." Lucius grinned a really horrible, evil grin. "Love! Love! You think love can get you out of here! Laughable." Suddenly the grin disappeared from Lucius' face, leaving a serious expression that anyone in his or her right mind would run from. Indeed, Draco did begin backing up, but all to soon he ran into the wall, for Lucius was now advancing on him, the fire- poker pointed at his Adam’s apple. Lucius closed in on Draco. He pointed the poker at Draco's neck, saying "I could kill you right now. You know that, don't you?". Draco lifted his head, stretching his neck so that is was smaller. Lucius rested the poker on Draco's Adam’s apple for a moment, before- -dragging it down Draco's neck, down his chest, ending around his belly button. It had been sharpened, also. A regular poker couldn't have gone through his shirt, leaving a scratch where it touched. Drops of blood came from the scratch, and would've stained Draco's shirt if the shirt had not ripped, and come away. Draco winced. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the blood run down his stomach, however little there was. The pain wasn't as much as there was when he cut-but he hadn't done that in three weeks. And pain is very easy to forget. Draco vaguely remembered Lucius Malfoy's evil grin right before he lunged. He was...completely evil. Draco realized, as the poker was dragged up and down again, that if he didn't do something, he was going to die...soon. Draco's eyes snapped open. He studied the face in front of him, as the pain made another trip up and down his chest. The smoke from the cigar in trailed in Draco's face, and he coughed. Thinking fast, Draco sent one hand down to the poker that was traveling up, forcing it away from his body. With the other, he reached out and snatched the cigar out of Lucius' mouth. He twirled it in his finger for a moment, then smashed the side still burning into Lucius' cheek. Lucius Malfoy's immediate reaction was to step backwards-which he did. But as Lucius stepped backwards, Draco pulled the poker out of Lucius' hand. In a second, Draco had the poker facing the other direction-at Lucius' neck instead of his own. Lucius gulped, and Draco saw uncertainty flash through his eyes. Draco stepped forward, following Lucius across the room. Lucius kept backing up. Or at least until he got to the rug, where he tripped and fell over. Now sprawled on the floor, he was even more powerless. "Draco, what do you think you are doing?" He asked harshly. "It's this Mudblood, isn't it? She's done something to you, my poor son. Already dirtied you-" "No! What do I have to do to get it through your head? I love her!" Draco stepped closer, resting the poker on his Adam’s apple, just like Lucius had done to him. "Good-bye, Father." Draco, suddenly, dropped the poker. He didn't see if it went through Lucius' neck or if it fell to the side, though-he immediately went for his wand. And as soon as he had that, he tossed a spell at the door to unlock it, as he dashed over to it. Draco threw the door open and ran out, running running running. Through the large manor, down to the kitchens. The blood smeared as Draco went through the air. The closer to the kitchens he got, though, the hotter he got, until sweat poured off him. Blood, which was already smeared, started running a new course. Draco burst into the kitchens. He knew what he was after, and it was currently chopping carrots on a stool. "Missie!" he gasped at her. "Please! I need you to take me back to Hogwarts!" Missie just stared at him. "What happened to Master Malf-" "Missie! Please! Don't ask! Just get me out of this god-forsaken house!" Missie nodded, and grabbed his hand. Draco heard a large crack, and after that, blackness ensued. Draco was tired, so tired. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like someone had put 100-pound weights on them. He became vaguely aware of the fact he was laying down...and he immediately bolted upright. He tried with all his might to open his eyes, and managed to get them open to the size of slits. He still couldn't see anything. Then soft soft hands were pressing down on his shoulders, forcing back onto his pillow. Pillow? There hadn't been a pillow in Lucius' office... "Oh, Draco..." a soft soft voice whispered, soft like the hands. Sobs choked the voice. Draco knew that voice... Hermione. Draco felt her hands on his chest, running the course of the poker. It hurt. He tried to push her hands away from the wounds, but couldn't lift his hands. "Please, Hermione," He whispered, as loudly as he could, which was barely loud enough to hear. "Oh, Draco...what happened?
