Merry Christmas Mr. Malfoy (Book 1)

Chapter 14 : Lost for Words ( Part 1)

"No," she replied softly. "I…it was wrong of me…Oh Gods, I'm so…"

"It's not what you think," he snapped, the lie evident in his eyes, in the protective stance he took.

"What…what do you mean?" She lowered her hand, watching him in astonishment and perplexity.

The tension almost eased in the room, swiftly replaced with awkwardness as his cheeks mottled red, a sharp contrast to his pale golden hair. He shoved his hands into his pockets, intending to appear more relaxed and at ease than he actually felt.

"It…I only care because you're…you're an acquaintance. A friend…and it's not fun when friends get hurt," he admitted quietly as his conscience screamed at him for the blatant lie.

A faint colour returned to her cheeks as she was sucked into the lie, believing every spoken word now that his eyes no longer told a different story. "Oh…Oh! Yes…yes, I completely understand. I care a lot about Ron and Harry, even Ron's family, but I'm not in a special relationship with any of them," she half-stammered, trying to get the right foothold on the conversation.

Draco slowly nodded, turning his head to the side, refusing to let her look him directly in the eye. He couldn't let her see the naked pain, the raw agony that was slowly eating away at him.

She had laughed at him…

He had admitted, while not in the best of fashions, that he cared about her, and she had the gall to laugh at him. It was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced.

"It's platonic," he said, acting more flustered than hurt to continue his façade. "It's…it's a friend-care."

She nodded, fumbling to find something to do with her hands as guilt continued to shake her. "Ye…yeah, I understand," she replied quietly. "A…a feeling you get for a friend. I mean…I know we're not best of friends, but, well, after all this time together, I suppose we could be friends."

At one point in time, he would be curious as to why that one damn word made his heart bleed. Now, after she laughed in his face and called him her friend, he understood exactly why his heart was being shredded into pieces.

He had come to the conclusion, only an hour earlier, that he cared deeply for Hermione Granger, as more than a friend. There was something about her, something about the way she smiled, the way she walked, and the way she spoke that screamed at him. It made him feel so unbelievably cherished every time she grinned in his direction. His heart fluttered anxiously every time he thought of her smiling, glowing face. His stomach wrenched pleasantly every second he remembered the way she laughed when they had played in the snow.

There was something about Hermione Granger, all right, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He cared about her; he had realized. He cared deeply about her and did not want to let anything destroy her smiling face. He wanted to protect her from the world's harm, to hold her in his arms and keep her safe for the rest of eternity. He wanted to go back in time and save her from his Aunt's torture, to stand up sooner against his family and enemies and prevent Hermione's agony.

He wanted to love and cherish her, to caress her cheek without worry, to laugh with her without growing flustered, and he wanted to tell her that he cared without negative feedback or consequences.

She had laughed at him.

He would have fallen to his knees at that point; the pain was so powerful. He wanted to scream and tear the room to shreds, to yell at him and let he know just how he felt about her.

He wanted to kiss her thoroughly until she was sobbing with need.

Then he would see who was laughing.