"We all have something to hide. Some dark place inside us we don't want the world to see. So we pretend everything's okay. Wrapping ourselves in rainbows. And maybe that's all for the best, because some of these places are darker than others."
— Jeff Lindsay
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When they arrived back at the flat, Hermione let go of Malfoy’s limp arm. It fell lifelessly by his side and swayed for a moment before his whole body went into complete stillness. His eyes were glassy and very far off with an empty look to them that had Hermione mildly concerned; she had the impression that if she were to run through the apartment naked doing the Macarena, he wouldn’t notice.
“I’ll get you some water.” She thought he’d refuse, or give her the look he always got whenever she did something too Gryffindor for his liking. But he just continued to stand there and did not say a word, or even react for that matter. Hermione nodded awkwardly to herself and turned for the kitchen.
She was beginning to suspect he was a zombie.
Hermione fumbled through the cupboards for a glass, all the while gnawing at her bottom lip as she tried to think of something to say to him so she wouldn’t have to endure the uncomfortable silence waiting for her, but being accused of murdering three people was not something to be taken lightly. But she did not want to go to bed and leave Malfoy up by himself. Not because she didn’t trust him, but because tonight had genuinely hurt him. She knew the far away look in his eyes was because he was remembering whatever it was Theodore had been talking about, and though Hermione was curious, she also was very glad she couldn’t see whatever it was he was reminiscing. Somehow, she didn’t think it involved daisies and butterflies.
When the glass was filled with tap water, she hesitantly went back to the lounge, practising under her breath a few words she could say: ‘I’m sure what Nott said didn’t really happen that way,’ or, ‘It was a war, we all made mistakes,’ and the classic, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
Though none sounded right.
She found Malfoy sitting in one of the armchairs when she returned, his head down and staring at his feet. And if he felt her gaze on him, which she was almost positive he did, he did not look up. Hermione tentatively placed the glass of water on the coffee table as if she was feeding a snake at a zoo and sat down.
“Malfoy,” she began, calculating each word before she spoke, “if you –”
That was when she heard a sniffle. He wasn’t crying, well she didn’t think he was because she couldn’t really see enough of his face, but he was on the verge of it. Hermione of course knew it would only be a matter of time before some form of suppressed emotion broke through, the full impact of Nott’s words really hitting him, or possibly he’d tried so hard to push whatever memory it was he had away and to have it suddenly sprung on him again hurt all the more. Or maybe he just hadn’t fully come to terms with what had happened. Perhaps it was all three.
She didn’t think he heard when she got up from her spot on the sofa and kneeled before him. His sniffles were quiet, but his chest was heaving with an effort to contain himself.
Hermione placed her hand very gently on his arm.
“Look at me,” she said, so quietly and in such a soft voice she almost did not recognise it as her own. But he did not listen, and she tried again. “Draco. Look at me.”
He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes.
“Crying does not mean that you are weak,” she said. “It’s what makes us human.”
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A Wonderful Fortuitous Love
Fanfiction"You see, Draco Malfoy, without your sarcastic replies to endure each morning and that arrogance only you could carry, I find myself somewhat missing you." Draco thought the biggest problem living for a year under the same roof as Hermione Granger w...
