156Author's Note: Hi, and welcome to Pen and Quill. A collection of short Dramione drabbles, some prompted and some not. Rated M, because who knows what will happen in here?
The prompt for this piece comes from the lovely HeartOfAspen: What are the three things he could never tell her?
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Three Things
There were three things Draco Malfoy could never tell Hermione Granger.
Things he would never tell anyone with any sort of intentionality – and Draco would have denied them if anyone ever thought to ask. Most days, he wouldn't even admit them to himself.
But nevertheless, when he was honest with himself – they contained more truth than anything else he knew.
The first thing was that Draco Malfoy thought Hermione Granger was beautiful. From her soft frame to the warmth of the chocolate in her gaze; from her free and unreserved smile to the wild and uncontrollable curls she wore.
He'd thought she was pretty – but then after the Yule Ball, during their fourth year, Draco had made peace with the fact that he was attracted to her and it had morphed into something else altogether.
He had started noticing the little things, like the way her lips curved with a secret when she watched her friends. Like the small furrow that came to her brow when she was focused, or how her eyes widened in joy when treacle tart was served for pudding in the Great Hall.
Draco liked the way she wore her uniform skirt, and how her posture was always a little slumped on one side from the weight of the books she carried in her bag. He would have laughed at the irony, given he had been raised with the most upright of posture.
She was beautiful even now, splayed on the floor of the drawing room of his family home. Her frame was thinner than he remembered, her cheeks hollow with deep bruises beneath her eyes. Granger's hair was dull and lank, her curls matted beyond help and – Draco cringed – mixing in the growing puddle of her own blood.
There was a tremble to his hand; a tension to his shoulders and a tightness about his gaze as he watched his lunatic of an aunt torture the poor girl.
A breath caught in Draco's gaze as he met the passive eyes of his mother's across the room. Narcissa blinked, once, and Draco steadied his stance.
The second thing was that Draco had always admired the strength of her character. Her wit and wisdom, her compassion, her bloody courage – the way she had come into a world with which she was entirely unfamiliar and had forged a path of her own.
She was unforgiving, unrepentant and unwavering in her convictions.
She was tenacious, in a world of people all too willing to bow down and change themselves to suit others. Granger stood as a bright light, in the darkness that had taken over Draco's world.
There was a spark to her that couldn't be dulled or defeated, and Draco had appreciated her for it, even as he scowled at her in classes. She was a Gryffindor and a Muggle-born and self-righteous to a fault – but Draco couldn't hate her for it, not anymore. Not despite the beliefs with which he had grown up.
Not in the face of his own slow moral demise.
Even now, Granger remained stoic and assertive in her strength and courage. She refused Bellatrix, knowing it would be her pain, her torture, and she gritted her teeth through the pain, even as tears broke, casting unwilling tracks down her grimy cheeks.
Draco clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on her as she screamed and panted and gasped, weary and worn, a sheen of sweat breaking across her temples and mingling with dirt and blood.
She was so fucking beautiful.
But she wouldn't break, and Draco was so damn proud of her.
And the third thing…
Well, the third thing was a different animal altogether.
The third thing was at once more abstract and more concrete than anything else Draco had ever known to be true. But true it was, and Draco had come to accept it in time.
It was the third thing he could never tell Hermione Granger, that set the thrum of magic in his veins; the stinging of his eyes; the firm grip as he slipped his wand into his hand.
Draco's heart pounded as he tensed, his entire body coiling like a spring, ready to move.
He saw it in his mother's gaze, as her lips pursed with a subtle shake of her head. But she could see it and she knew it –
Granger released an agonized scream as his aunt's blade tore through her skin, over and again, unrelenting, the pool of blood beneath her growing and seeping into the cracks between the floorboards.
That third and final thing was the pounding of his veins, the roar of blood in his ears, the red in his vision as he took a step forward, his hand steady as he raised his wand.
Moisture threatened the corners of his eyes as Granger cast a wild, pained glance around the room and met his gaze. She blinked, her lips parting, at whatever she found in his eyes and still Draco advanced.
It was Bellatrix's cruel laugh that was the final straw – the way she could laugh at causing such an exquisite creature such tremendous pain – and Draco wasn't even aware of the spell that flew from his wand and threw Bellatrix across the room with a crash.
"Go," Narcissa Malfoy whispered, her eyes wide, as Draco darted forward.
A great commotion occurred behind him, and all Draco knew was the feel of Granger's hand in his as he grabbed hold of her and spun into Apparition – and she was with him –
And she gasped a great sob when they landed; she was a mess and beautiful and Draco cast her a sidelong glance. There was a tremble to her hands as she held herself, her thin fingers clutching her sleeves.
"Malfoy –" she choked, her eyes meeting his.
Draco released a harsh breath as he gazed out from the mountaintop where they had landed.
He couldn't have let her die – she had to understand that –
There was a third thing Draco Malfoy could never tell Hermione Granger, and it raced through his heart and his life force with all the potency he could imagine as he stared at her incredulous, disbelieving, chocolate eyes.
But if she was alive… maybe one day he could show her.
