Crash and Burn
The second she slammed the door in his face, he knew that something was up. He had seen the flash of robes in the crack, knew that she did not own a single pair of dark, forest green robes, and he knew that he had to find a way to figure out just what was going on.
Annoyed that she had pushed him away, worried about her safety, he forced himself to slowly walk towards his room, easing the door open without making a single sound. He couldn't alert her to his current plans.
He had to keep fighting the urge to run, the desperate, aching need inside of him to sprint back to the door and bang repeatedly against it until it opened and allowed him to protect her.
He had to be slow, however. He had to be quiet, to not alert anyone of his presence or intention.
In spite of his rapidly beating heart, he tiptoed his way to the door leading to their shared bathroom, hoping that Hermione was too distracted to silence her bathroom door. He knew, from one particular occasion, that she had a tendency to forget locking it when changing.
It had been an accident; he had reminded her on several occasions. He could still remember her screaming at him, claiming that he was some pervert when all he had wanted was to ask if she had seen his Potion's book.
Although, he had to admit that she view of her naked back had been more than worth the pain of the curses she had thrown at him.
Shaking his head, forcing his thoughts back to the task as hand, he reached out to slowly open the door, praying to unseen forces that hers wasn't wide open.
Grinding his back teeth as the door creaked just the slightest; he took a deep breath before swinging it open. A small flood of relief washed through him when he saw the sight of her closed door and he made his way into the bathroom, grateful that tiles did not creak or groan.
He gently pressed his body against the door, continuously praying that he could hear whatever was going on in the room, adding further hopes that what was going on did not harm Hermione in any way or form.
"Everything! Christmas is ruined and it's all because you decided to stay behind!"
Fucking Potter…Draco almost growled at the sound of the green-eyed twit's voice, resisting the urge to throw himself in the room and on top of the brunet so he could pound the shit out of him.
How dare that conceited prick pin all of the blame on Hermione? Did he not realize that Ron was the one overreacting? Ron was so undeniably smitten by Hermione that the redheaded git allowed it to consume him.
The damn Weasel was being overdramatic and was in desperate need of a wake up call.
If only he were here now…Draco would give him a wake up call that he would never forget…
Tucking his lower lip between his teeth, he pressed his ear against the door, fighting off the urges to destroy Harry Potter as he listened to the brunet rant and rave to Hermione. How dare he come in and say things like that? Oh, sure, maybe he was 'wording it differently' now, but in the end, it all meant the same, right?
The bastard was blaming every little thing on Hermione and Hermione alone.
No, it wasn't Mrs. Weasley's fault for being an overreacting bitch. Nope, most definitely not Ginny's fault for being a stupid, annoying chit…although he had to figure that maybe the Weaslette was on her Bitch Week, so maybe she had some kind of an excuse for the exaggeration of her usual emotions and behaviour…
And it was obviously not Hermione's parents' fault for showing up without their daughter, assuming everything without actually knowing a thing.
'What do Muggles say about assuming again?' Draco wondered, absentmindedly tapping on his chin while searching for the thought. 'Ah, yes, if you assume you only make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'.' He chortled quietly, quickly stifling the sound in fear of being discovered.
Ah…Ron. Stupid, pathetic, weak-minded, Ronald Weasley…Honestly, that redhead had less brain cells than a bloody chicken with its head cut off. Babbling and crying, eh? Sulking in his room? Sounds more like dramatics than anything else to Draco. Although, Draco had never been passionately in love before, so maybe it was rather normal, given that the Weasel brood were all in possession of rather volatile temperaments.
It was as though the whole pack was constantly PMSing.
Draco's silent chuckling was broken by Harry's sudden outburst.
"They think you're shagging Draco Malfoy!"
Well… the thought was rather pleasant but quite untrue, although rather close to what they had done just mere minutes ago.
The chuckling returned as Draco considered what might have happened if Potty had appeared downstairs instead of in Hermione's room, only a few minutes earlier. That would have made an interesting conversation starter, to say the least.
But then, he would've interrupted their time and Draco might have never known the pleasant sensation of having Hermione come in his arms.
Swallowing as his throat constricted, body tensing with the return of his aching need, he closed his eyes and willed himself to focus on what was being said in the room beyond. Oh, thank Merlin that the delightful Hermione always forgot to charm and lock the door leading to the bathroom.
He once considered teaching her a lesson she'd never forget, but that would mean she would actually start locking and silencing the door, which would be bad for the voyeuristic Draco.
Although…if their relationship did en up progressing to sex, he figured that maybe he could wait until she was wanking and teach her a lesson she would never forget…And, if it went well, she would certainly never lock or silence the doors ever again!
'Draco Malfoy, you are bloody brilliant!' he mentally cried, lips curled into a triumphant, broad grin.
"Ron loves you."
Draco nearly choked on his saliva at the outburst, pressing his head as close to the door as possible, straining to hear the slightest reaction from Hermione.
So, the Weasel did love Hermione? Well, that was just too bad because Hermione was too smart to fall for an idiot like the redhead. The simple thought of Hermione actually falling for Weasel was enough to make Draco see red. It threatened to cause his blood to boil and rage was ready to consume his body.
If Hermione were to actually love the Weasel back, Draco was prepared to kill and be killed in order to make her see the true side of her idiot friend.
Ronald Weasley was not good enough to deserve Hermione's friendship and love.
He jerked his head away from the door, the meaning behind his words causing his entire body to quake with sudden fear.
Did that…did that mean that Draco thought he deserved her love and friendship? That he, Draco Malfoy, was deserving of her heart?
It was silly notion, love. Something that clearly clouded ones senses and made them forget about everything important. Certainly, he had fathomed the idea that there was a particular chemistry, some kind of attraction between himself and Hermione. But never had he actually dabbled with the idea that one of them might love the other.
Did it mean something? Did this sudden thought…sudden idea…mean that he might be literally falling for the quick-witted woman in the next room?
It was true, her mere presence made him far more comfortable and content, and her touch and scent always seemed to consume his very senses. Touching her, holding her in his arms made him feel a way no other woman had ever made him feel before. Hell, the slightest thought of losing her terrified him more than his father used to.
Maybe…maybe he was…
"Don't rush me."
The irked remark tugged him out of dangerous waters, pulling him away before he could conclude to something that he was outright petrified of concluding.
Malfoys do not fall in love with Muggle-Borns, reformed or not. It didn't matter if Hermione had a spectacular personality, was as stubborn as an ox, was the brightest witch in the past century, or that she was relatively attractive. It just wasn't part of their genetic make-up to fall for plain Janes.
Right?
Even that argument sounded pathetic to his ears, he thought with a sigh, pressing back against the door to listen in.
His sweet, his wonderful, his amazing Hermione was making a very good deal with Harry right now. Damn, some days he couldn't believe how smart she was.
Wait a second…'his' Hermione? Since when did he start calling her 'his'?
Several parts of his mind reacted as once, creating some kind of maelstrom in his brain. One part laughed at the image of how Hermione would react to being called 'his Hermione'. Another screamed at him for making such a horrendous mistake. She could not possibly be his because he wasn't supposed to have her. Another part was quite amused, pleased and slightly aroused at the idea of calling Hermione 'his,' not in a way that objectified her, but in a fashion that attached her to him and only to him, as though they belonged to each other.
She would be his and he would be hers.
Grinning at the thought, he willed himself to push all other conflicting emotions aside to dissect later, continuously trying in vain to remain entire focused on the task of listening in on Harry and Hermione's discussion.
Curling his lip in annoyance, he tried his hardest to not barge into the room and smack Potter across the face. Fuck Potty and his hidden intellect. Fuck him for picking out some kind of benefit in their deal. Fuck him for thinking that Hermione was in the wrong!
Draco knew…Draco knew that Hermione didn't have to explain herself to her friends. He knew that she was only going along in order to get rid of Harry and, temporarily, remove one dispute from her life. Friends, Draco thought, shouldn't have to demand explanations from other friends when somebody did something out of the ordinary. Hermione did something different, something for herself, and everyone was acting as though she had deliberately hurt her friends for selfish reasons.
'Get the fuck out and leave her alone!' he screamed in his mind, glaring at the door as though it would penetrate the wood and burrow itself in Harry's forehead. Right now, he wished that the expression 'glaring daggers' were true, because he would yank out one of those daggers mid air, charge into the room, and slit the damn Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Fucking-Die-No-Matter-What-You-Did's throat.
Then the fucker would really die and Hermione could be left in peace. No more Potty to bitch at her, no more Weasel to verbally abuse her, nobody to pester, bother, and hurt her anymore.
Finally, she would be able to smile freely with him without fear of retaliation. She could walk down the halls with head held high, spirits free, and she would not have to hide anything from her so-called friends.
She would be able to kiss him without worrying every ten seconds.
He grinned at that thought, imagining the looks on their faces if Potty and Weasel were to catch them lip-locking. Oh, he could just see it now. They would walk up behind her so she wouldn't see them, but Draco would. He would wink at them and make her moan with pleasure right in front of their nosey faces.
Oh yeah, he would show them how a real man treated his woman. He would make them pay for treating her the way they did. He would make sure that they never mistreated another woman for the rest of their lives.
For now, however, he could do nothing but stand behind the door and listen.
"I suggest you take and seat and don't interrupt me; if you do, it'll only take me longer to say what I have to say."
Draco found his body slowly sliding to the floor, leaning against the door in an attempt to hear every single spoken word. He sat comfortably, waiting in silence for Hermione to continue, aching to hear the damning words that would forever mark Harry and Ron as horrendous friends. He wanted to hear the words from her mouth, wanted to hear her say that she had chosen to stay with him out of free will, that nothing had forced her to stay, that her reason for staying was because she enjoyed his company.
Apprehension slowly made its way through his body, heart pulsing wildly as he continued to wait for her words to fill the room.
What if she had lied to him? What if she had just gotten close to him to get dirt on him and use it against him? What if it had been a dare and this whole scheme was being made up, as though they knew that he was right outside the door, listening to their every word?
There were far too many what ifs, and the majority of them were negative. He didn't want to dwell on those possibilities; he didn't want to go over the chance of them being true; he wanted to keep believing that she had stayed with him to be with him.
He wanted so badly to hear her say those kind words that a dim part of him whispered that he would be devastated if she said otherwise.
"My initial reason for staying behind was because I felt bad."
His heart immediately plummeted to his toes and he felt a pain like no other begin to swarm through his body. She felt bad? She pitied him? Her original reason for staying behind was because she felt bad for him?
Gods…Gods that hurt…that hurt like nothing else had ever hurt before. But there was still that dim glimmer of hope, that little silver lining that whispered her first words 'My initial reason.' That meant that it had been her first reason, which means that there was another, more definitive, more powerful reason why she decided to stay behind with him.
What was it?
'Please…please don't let this whole vacation, this whole time with her, be some lie,' he thought. He had dealt with so many liars, so many two-faced 'friends' in the past. Now, just when he thought he had someone who was his friend without any benefits, he knew that it would hurt beyond imagination if he discovered that she had had an alternate reason for staying with him.
He listened to her explain their discussion; listened as she told that scar head about his lack of Christmases, lack of sentimental gifts, and he felt some anger mounting. How could she go about telling these people his secrets? What gave her the right to go gallivanting about, announcing his every thought and wish to the entire world? She hadn't asked for his permission.
That little witch…he had gifted her with the information under the impression that she would keep it to herself. Well, he knew better now.
His gut twisted painfully as the thought filtered through his mind. A part of him wished that she had never told Potter those things, wished that she could have remained silent and faithful to Draco.
Another part of him, that smaller, older, crueller part, was content that she was slowly burning the bridge between them. It would make things easier on them; make it a lot easier for him to push her away when the time came to it.
But did he really want to push her away? Did he have to?
Was he ready to turn back and embrace the darker side just because he feared a relationship with a Muggle-Born?
No…no…not at all…
In fact, he loved his relationship with her so much that it pained him to hear her says those words to Potter. It hurt to know that he would no longer be able to trust her with such secrets.
He had hoped, prayed, that he had finally found someone whom he could trust, and now…she decimated it with a single sentence.
"It was almost like charity."
He went blind with pain. It was an agony like no other, an unstoppable, overwhelming pain that consumed him from the inside out. It bled out of his heart, surging through his veins to reach out and drown his nerve endings. He couldn't hear anything except for the roar of blood in his ears, couldn't feel anything except for the mind numbing pain that coursed through his body.
He…he was nothing but a charity case to her…
She didn't give a damn about him…she didn't care about what he wanted, didn't really want to know his dreams or aspirations. She just felt bad, guilty about having her own jolly Christmas, and wanted to make herself feel better.
He was just some charity cause, like giving to the homeless or donating to cancer. He was pitiful and unwanted. Just another useless person she wanted to make a little bit better.
It all fit now, her choice in men, Krum, the dimwitted in dire need of someone with brains, McLaggen, the brute in need of a feminine touch, Weasel, the only one who was pathetically useless in every single thing and in dire need of someone to give him direction and instruction.
Now him, Draco Malfoy, the boy who was left unloved, in need of some kind of love, fake or true.
So everything…everything had been a lie from the very beginning. Nobody, according to her and her Saintly friends, would ever come to love a guy like him. Especially not the perfect Hermione Granger.
Everything was a lie…
The way she writhed under his touch, the way she cried and slept in his arms, her laughter as they shopped, her insistence that they spend more time together, and, most importantly, the way she kissed him.
He now knew that she writhed in pain from his touch, unable to stand the feeling of his hands on her skin. Her tears had been real, tears of pain at the reminder that she was stuck with him for the next few weeks. Perhaps she had really slept in his arms, but had she slept well and enjoyed it? He knew that she had laughed at him and not with him, and she had forced herself to spend their time together.
He was a charity case, remember? He was someone she had to repair, even though he hardly felt broken before this. She had to spend time with him in order to change and fix him. No wonder she got so agitated and angry whenever they had spent more than two days avoiding each other. It wasn't because she wanted to spend time with him, it was because she needed to in order to change him before the end of Christmas break.
Had she made some sort of deal with someone? Some kind of bet? She could 'fix' Draco Malfoy by the end of the Christmas break or she would have to run through the Great Hall naked during breakfast?
What was she going to get if she did 'fix' him?
Anger began to flood him as the pain slowly washed away. She wanted to fix him, eh? She wanted to change him from the snarky, cruel prat that was Malfoy, into the refined, kind, joyful Draco.
She felt bad, didn't she? She felt bad that he'd never had a 'real Christmas,' eh? She wanted to give him the Christmas everybody wanted to experience, right? That stupid little bitch was just easing her guilt. She didn't care about him. She didn't give a damn about what he thought or how he would feel once the façade was dropped. She didn't give a flying fuck about his feelings.
She just felt 'bad' and wanted to erase the feeling. Well, he would show that little bitch a thing or two about 'feeling bad.' Wait until Potter left – he didn't want to show his emotions to the Scarhead – and then he would come out and show her the true definition of regret and guilt.
That bitch was going to pay for this. She'd lied to him, made him believe that she had really wanted to try and establish a relationship with him. She made him tell her his secrets, gotten past his security with warm touches and embraces, and she made him utterly vulnerable with her false, delectable kisses.
She was like everyone else; she never once saw the changes he made, never saw past the way he used to be, and never once opened her mind to the possibility that he might be a far better person now. She hated him and used him; she never meant a single word he had said.
Was that why she had hesitated when he had asked her out? She never truly intended for their relationship to extend beyond this Christmas charity event. This was why she always had to be near him. Always had to try and instigate some conversation that slowly broke through his shield. She had to get close to feel less guilty. She had to 'fix' him or live with the regret for the rest of her life.
She didn't actually give a damn about him or his feelings.
It was all about pity and getting rid of her sudden burst of sympathy and guilt as fast as possible.
It didn't matter how he felt once it was over. It didn't matter if he wanted to continue the friendship, to try and make it long-term.
It was a charity event.
He threw himself away from the door, away from her spiteful, poisonous words that tore his heart asunder. He prowled the room, paced it like an injured, caged animal. He wanted to tear everything apart, to shred every single thing in the vicinity, to break down the door and scream at the witch until his throat was raw and bloody.
Scream at her until he could scream no more.
He wanted to send her a million Howlers, to let her know that she was nothing but a selfish bitch, let her know that he would fucking fine without her.
He'd been doing fine since before she stepped her nosey body into his life. He'd doing perfectly fine.
He barely managed to silence the room before grabbing the nearest object and throwing it at the nearest wall. The mirror cracked, shattered pieces falling into the sink as the shampoo bottle exploded against the reflective surface.
His image was marred, his reflection blotted by the pink substance, fractured by the cracks and holes. It resembled, he noted masochistically, his very soul at this moment. Her touch marred him, cracked him, and covered some areas in her false love, tearing others apart with her vicious words.
He didn't want to stop, he wanted to keep throwing things at that mirror until it became nothing but dust, but he still held some semblance of control. He knew that it would make him feel better; the violence threatening to overwhelm his body would be calmed.
But it would only be for a short period of time. Once he saw her face, the second he was within reach of her, the violence would be back tenfold and he feared just what he might do.
He just might kill her.
He…he couldn't do that. The logical side, the cool, calculative, emotionless part of his mind shouted that he should never risk going to Azkaban. He might want her dead, but he would not be able to deal with the consequences.
Another part…smaller now, slowly diminishing, finding a little crevice behind his heart to hide, whispered that he still cared about her, despite her heartless words.
His nails dug into his skull and he clenched his eyes shut. He still cared about her even after she admitted that she cared more about a dung beetle than him. He actually still gave a fuck about her.
Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck…he needed to get his body under control. He was allowing himself to be consuming by the warring emotions of wrath and despair. So far, wrath was winning and it was screaming for him to attack and destroy. He knew, deep down, that he was overreacting, knew that there was no reason for his emotions to grow so volatile, but for some reason, whenever Hermione Granger had been involved in the last few weeks, he had always been sensitive.
She had sunk her claws into him and was not going to let go easily.
Never…never before in his life had he been so furious. Never had he been so enraged, so ready to wreak havoc.
He slowed down his breathing, hoping that it would ease his pounding heart and, somehow, his rage. He needed to clear his mind as much as possible, to push away the emotions swirling in his mind, blinding him from everything logical. He needed to breathe and remind himself that he was a Malfoy, not some overly emotional pubescent girl.
He had to use his wits, his cunning, to make her pay. Violence would do no good, physical pain was something that went away far quicker than psychological. He would use his words, but in order for it to have any effect, he had to be in full control of his mind and body.
Violence could wait…despair would have to take a number…he had to be as emotionless as a rock, solid and cold.
Rubbing his eyes, he sat back on the edge of the bathtub, breathing heavily until he finally had full control of his body. As his lids slowly opened, he felt a flush of embarrassment cover his cheeks at the loss of control.
'Not again,' he silently told himself as he cleaned up the mess, 'I won't lose control again. I'll make her see; I'm far better off without her in my life. She'll see…'
He made his way back to the door, grateful that he had had enough wits to silence the room before his sudden, violent outburst. Removing the charm, he stood by the door, listening for the sounds of Potter's departure.
The second Scarhead was out of the room; he would go in there and make her pay.
Nobody made a charity case out of Draco Malfoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It didn't take long, either Potter could only wrangle so much time with her, or he cared even less about the girl than Draco had thought. All he knew was that, in a matter of minutes, he heard the telltale whoosh of the fire, and the second Potter finished saying his destination, the blond was opening the door.
She was on her bed, face in hands, clearly exhausted. That dim part hiding near his heart ached for her, begged him to go and console her. But he knew better…she lie to him, she would pretend to accept his compassion and use his kindness as a way to relieve her guilt.
No more…no more falling for her traps.
The door creaked, just a bit, but loud enough to attract her attention. He resist the urge to let his lips curl into a savage smirk as the look of horror etched in her face as she saw him standing there.
Let it begin…
"So…I'm just a charity event, aren't I?"
He watched the horror deepen, saw her fumble for words, clearly at a loss. Good…she knew that the gig was up. She had been found.
Hopefully she wouldn't make this harder on herself than it had to be.
"I…I don't know what you're talking about, Draco," she finally stammered out, moving to her feet.
He crossed his arms, leaning against the door casually. However, although everything about the stance screamed casualness, a savage, dominating aura oozed from him. He was wound up tight, ready for a fight, physical or verbal, and he was ready to bring the pain.
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about." This time he did smile, a cruel smirk that made her eyes shimmer with something close to fear. "I heard you, you know. Heard you tell Potter how bad you felt for me, how terribly upset you were at finding out that I'd never had a Christmas."
"Then," she leapt to her feet, fear fading from her eyes, "you know that I did this for a good reason, right? You said you heard everything, so why are you saying that you were a charity case? I never told Harry that I didn't have a choice."
"Remember, Granger, I heard everything. Even the unspoken words. You never had a choice, did you? I was a charity case; you felt bad, you wouldn't dare go on vacation with that guilt. I think I know you well enough. You pitied me." He spat out the word as though the very thought of it filled his mouth with a foul taste.
"I never…"
"You did. You only stayed behind because you felt bad for me and wanted to get rid of that bloody guilt."
Her hands clenched to fists, pain and panic slowly filling her veins as she listened to his cold, hateful words. "I never once felt guilty!" she cried. "I stayed behind because I wanted to!"
"Stop lying!" he shouted, eyes ablaze with fury. "Stop your fucking lying! I'm fed up of bloody gits like you lying to me every single fucking minute. I know the truth, Granger. I know that you never gave a single fuck about me. It was all about you. All about making yourself feel better. So what if I felt a little good in the process? So what if you gave me a decent memory? So what if you hurt me afterwards, rejecting my friendship once this ordeal was over? It's all collateral damage, isn't it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" she cried. "Stop this right now, it isn't funny. I never once said that I wouldn't be your friend."
He laughed a vicious laugh that chilled her to the bones and made her feel as though she had inhaled a bucket of ice water. The only time she had ever heard him laugh like that was before he had turned, back when he had thought that being a Death Eater was the grandest of all things.
"The only reason you never rejected it was because you had to stay close to me." He stood from the doorframe, hands clenched at his sides. "I figured it out, Granger. You had me fooled for some time, but I'll have to thank Potter for helping me finally see the light. All those times when I wanted to be as far from you as I could, every time something embarrassing made us want to steer clear from each other, you were always the one to bring us back together. I know why now…it's because your plan wouldn't work if we weren't together. You couldn't 'give' me the good memories if you couldn't spend time with me."
"I wanted to," she nearly yelled. "I never once forced myself to spend time with you."
"I told you to stop lying, you stupid bint! I have it figured out! The Christmas shopping, the decorating, the baking, accepting our 'date,' hell, even taking care of me! You never meant a single thing! Not one!" He jerked, as though he had intended to reach out and punch the nearest object. "You didn't give a fuck about me! I was just a fucking charity event. Fucking charity! You didn't even see me as a real person with feelings! Just some messed up bloke who had to be fixed!"
"It was never like that! Not once!" she shouted, desperately aching to reach out and throttle him. "Sure, maybe I felt bad; I always figured that you were some spoiled child who had had the world's most amazing Christmases. Maybe I did feel a bit guilty; but I spent Christmas with you because I wanted to, not because my guilt forced me to."
He slammed his fist into the wall, eyes a dark, stormy grey of rage. "Stop your fucking lies. I heard you!"
"I lied to Harry!" she cried in desperation, praying that he had not heard the spell they had performed. "I lied to him to make him feel better."
"Shut the fuck up!" He began to pace, fighting the urges to go over and smack her across the face. To shut those pretty, lying lips with his hand. But…but he never could. Never would lay a hand on her…deep inside, he knew that no matter how much she infuriated and hurt him, he would never be able to physically harm her.
Her lips sealed shut at the shaking anger in his voice. She had been prepared to go over to him, to grasp his arm and tell him that he has misheard, to lie and tell him that everything she had told Harry was false. But now…watching him try in vain to control his anger, she knew that her touch would only add fuel to the fire.
A part of her knew that he would never hurt her, but at this moment in time, she was not ready to take the chance.
"I told you to stop lying to me." His voice shook with the effort it took to not smash something. "I heard that damn spell; I know you had to speak the truth. I'm not that dumb, Granger."
It was only now that she realized he had started to call her Granger. The animosity between them rose as the friendship she had worked so hard to build began to crumble before her. She could do nothing to stop it…
She opened her mouth to speak, desperate to salvage as much as she could before their relationship was completely obliterated, but he silenced her with a deadly glare.
"Shut that lying mouth of yours before I make you shut it." He was telling the truth, the only problem was that, as she stood there, eyes glistening with unshed tears of pain, guilt, and anger, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do more, kiss her or smack her. He was so enraged, he should hate her for everything she had done to him, should not want anything to do with her anymore, but her agony was nearly his undoing.
'No more, I won't fall for her lies anymore. She caught me in her web once, I won't be caught as easily again,' he mentally reminded himself.
"You're just Hogwarts number one volunteer, aren't you?" he hissed, fighting to get an edge back into his anger. "You just go around; finding every single boy who needs fixing and you fix him. Krum, McLaggen and the Weasel…they all needed to be fixed in some way or another. And then, when you found out I wasn't perfect, I had scars of my own, you just had to try and fix me. You had to make me better, because if I didn't feel better, you would never get rid of that bloody guilt.
"You are so unbelievably selfish, Granger. Did you know that? So fucking selfish. Everyone thinks you're being stupid or selfless, oh, poor Granger, has to spend time with Draco because she feels bad for him! Fuck them. You only try to fix me because you want to feel better. You never gave a damn about me!"
"I did," she said softly, tears threatening to spill over. "I did give a damn about you."
"If you gave a bloody damn about me, you would've left me alone! You've done nothing but cause pain and trouble for me! You used me, Granger, fucking used me! I'm sick and tired of being used by so-called friends because they want to be on the good side with Voldemort or because they just want to blackmail me later on! I'm fed up with the bullshit!" He slammed his fist into the wall a second time for emphasis.
"Draco….I," she reached out, aching to touch him, needing to hold him and get rid of the tears in his eyes and pain in his heart. "I never…"
"Never what? Never intended for me to find out? Never thought the day would come that I might figure out exactly what you were up to?"
"I never meant to hurt you!" she cried out, eyes overflowing, tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "I…maybe it started as charity…but I never wanted to hurt you! I wanted to give you some good memories!"
"And then what? Once I had those memories, you would just walk away? Just like everyone else? Give me a few memories to look back on and let me spend the rest of my days alone? Thanks a lot! I'll look back and think 'How I wish that had never ended!' I'll hurt even more, because then I'll know that you never meant any of it. Every damn kiss, every touch, you didn't feel what I felt. You just did your duty as a volunteer, just like those idiots who let homeless and babies puke on them. You do it for the greater good of mankind. You do it so that you can sleep well at night, proud of yourself for making one person a little less sad or messed up. Fuck you, Granger, and your insipid, twisted, idealistic views. Not everyone wants to be fixed."
He moved to her door, resisting the urge to take everything on her dresser and break every little object.
"Draco…Draco," she pleaded. "Please…just listen to me."
"I've heard enough of your lies, Granger. I'm tired…tired of everyone pretending to be my friend." He unlocked and opened the door, sending one last furious look her way. "I was better off before you came into my life, so just get the fuck out of it."
With that, he slammed the door shut with such forced that several objects fell off of her dresser and crashed to the floor.
In less than a second, she followed the course of those objects, landing on her knees as she felt the most overwhelming pain and guilt she had ever experienced. Burying her face in her hands, feeling the most helpless she had ever felt, she sobbed.