Dramione Snippets

Let her go...

Draco Malfoy stood by the window, staring out at the dimming sky, his fingers clenched around the cold glass. The storm had passed, but it felt as if the storm in his heart was just beginning. The shadows of his past were never far, lingering like the Dark Mark on his arm. Every decision he'd made, every step he'd taken, had been influenced by it, and now—now he was caught in the cruelest of positions.

The door behind him creaked open, and the soft footsteps of his oldest friend echoed in the room.

"You know, if you keep staring at the sky like that, you'll miss the stars," Blaise Zabini said, his voice steady but laced with something heavier. Worry, maybe. Or maybe guilt. Blaise wasn't the type to show his emotions, but Draco had known him long enough to recognize the subtle changes in his posture, the shifts in his tone.

Draco didn't turn to face him. "I'm not in the mood for stargazing, Blaise."

"You haven't been for days," Blaise replied, his footsteps drawing closer. "What is it about her, Draco? The Mudblood. You've always hated her. The way she talks, the way she thinks she knows better than anyone else. But now... you're in love with her?"

Draco's grip tightened on the glass. The word "Mudblood" felt foreign on his tongue, even though it had been drilled into his mind for so many years. The way she'd looked at him, the first time they'd spoken after the war—there was no contempt in her eyes, no bitterness, only confusion and something else that had made his heart stutter.

"I never hated her," Draco muttered, his voice low, a tremor running through it. He couldn't believe he was saying this out loud. But it was true. The girl who had once been the symbol of everything he was supposed to despise had become his obsession. "I never hated her. Not like I was supposed to."

Blaise was silent for a moment, letting the words hang in the air. Then he stepped closer, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Listen to me, mate," Blaise began, his tone softer now, more serious. "She's the golden girl. The one who stood up against the Dark Lord. The one who saved us all. And you... you're a Death Eater, Draco. No amount of potions or spells will ever change that. No matter how much you want it to. You think she'll look at you like she looks at Potter or Weasley? You're wrong. She's not like that."

Draco's chest tightened, a familiar ache gnawing at him. Blaise was right. He couldn't pretend he didn't know what he was. The Dark Mark on his arm was a constant reminder. But Hermione... she made him feel like there was more to him. She didn't look at him like he was a monster, even when he couldn't look at himself in the mirror without seeing one.

"I don't care what I am," Draco whispered, finally turning to face Blaise. His eyes, usually cold and indifferent, were now filled with a raw desperation. "I love her, Blaise. I love her."

Blaise's face hardened, his eyes narrowing. "You don't get it, do you? If you really loved her, you'd let her go. She deserves someone who doesn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, someone who isn't still tainted by the darkness. She deserves someone who can give her the world, not drag her into it."

"I can change," Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to change. For her. I can be someone she can be proud of."

Blaise shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. You can't just erase everything you've done. You can't erase who you are. You want to protect her? The only way to do that is to stay away from her. Don't drag her into your mess. She's better off without you."

The words stung, but Draco knew they were true. He had spent his entire life pushing people away, building walls, lying to himself. The war had broken him in ways that would never fully heal, and Hermione, with her warmth, her stubbornness, her brilliance—it was all too much. She was too much for him. She deserved better.

He sank into the armchair by the fire, his hands running through his hair in frustration. The room felt suffocating, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him.

"She doesn't know," Draco said, his voice cracking. "She doesn't know how I feel about her. I'm terrified that if I tell her... she'll hate me."

Blaise sat down beside him, his expression softened, though the sadness in his eyes was undeniable. "That's the risk you take when you love someone, Draco. You put yourself out there, even knowing they might never feel the same. But you have to ask yourself—do you want to risk destroying her, too? Because if you go down this road, there's no coming back. Not for her. Not for you."

Draco stared into the fire, the flames flickering and dancing as if mocking him. He could feel the weight of his choice pressing against him, suffocating him. The future he dreamed of, the future with Hermione—so close, yet so far.

"But what if I don't want to let her go?" Draco's voice was barely a whisper. "What if she's the only thing that's ever felt real to me?"

Blaise's silence stretched on, thick with unspoken understanding. Then he sighed, his voice almost gentle. "Sometimes love means letting go, Draco. Sometimes it's the hardest thing you'll ever do."

And in that moment, Draco Malfoy realized the truth. The pain of loving her was nothing compared to the pain of losing her. The hardest thing he would ever do was the thing he had already decided to do. Let her go.

Draco closed his eyes, his heart breaking as he whispered to the empty room, "I'll let her go."