Magnetic Attraction - Chapter Five

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Chapter 5: Not Without A Fight

Never in his life had Draco Malfoy been more confused. He had no parents, no family, no friends, and no idea what to do next. St. Mungos had said that all of his parent’s money was now under his control, as well as all property they had owned. It was up to him to decide what he wanted to do now, with no father to restrain him. Since Voldemort was gone, he had no forced responsibilities in that area either. He could now do anything he wanted to, with the aid of the Malfoy name and figurative credit card, but now he had no idea what he actually wanted.

Of course add to that the pretty, snooty, bookworm best friend of the boy-who-just-wouldn’t-die, who also happened to be muggleborn, and he was in an even worse situation. Hermione sat across from him with a book titled Everything A Desperate Wizard Should Know and a huge scowl. Her brow furrowed and lips putting, the teenager couldn’t bare to admit that she was the best thing in his life as of that moment.

Draco propped his head on his palm, absorbing the silence and moment of temporary peace. Soon she would look up and hex him for staring at her, so he took his chance and observed the way his roommate looked at that moment, with her hair spilling out from its ponytail to fall into a curtain across her face. Every once and a while she would raise a hand to push it back behind her ear, but it would always fall back into place. As the spell wore off her hair was beginning to frizz again, but he didn’t replace it, instead wondering what it would be like to run his hands through that hair, and what she would do if he were to do it now.

Shifting his head onto his other palm, he pondered what would happen if Hermione actually ever told Weasely that she had feelings for him. It was doubtful that she would ever get up the courage, but the musing was still interesting. Although he refused to admit it, it was also fairly frightening. Weasely would be too dumb to think and realize how amazing she was, but say he did, say he left that Brown trollop, would he, Draco, be disappointed? Would he regret not leaping over the table and kissing her when he had the chance? Would he even notice?

Of course he would notice. It would plague him for years if he ever opened a door to see them snogging in a broom closet. But why? He asked himself. Why can’t I tease her and insult her? Why now? There was also the question of why he kissed her out on the lake, but he didn’t even want to start on that. He had tried making excuses, but he knew that he hadn’t done what he had because he was emotionally unstable, or because he was lost and confused. Excuses didn’t work, because he couldn’t deny that the only time he had ever felt sure of something was when she sat next to him on the bench, rain pouring down on them, her hand place gently on the back of his neck. He hadn’t been so comfortable and safe before in his life, and that small stubborn part of his brain mocked him for accepting that he wouldn’t get that back. It was the same part that insulted him for not catching the snitch before Potter. He didn’t want to think those were related.

That lock of hair fell into her eyes again and she shoved it back impatiently, not even looking up from her heavy book. Any other guy would have taken a hint and realized that they had no chance with a girl who refused to accept that she was stuck in immediate contact with him. But Draco was not just any guy, he was a stubborn, stuck up, prejudice Malfoy, and wouldn’t give up. There, it was decided.

But what now, how do I get her to forget about him? He wondered, watching as she continued nibbling on her lower lip.

“Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your eyes are, Hermione?” he cooed earnestly. Blast, not only am I jealous of Weasely but that sounded like him too! Ug, fix it Draco, fix it. She looked up, her face blank.

“Stop trying to seduce me to get back at the guys. Don’t flatter yourself, because you know it won’t work.” As she turned back to her book, a surge of anger welled through Draco, directed at Weasel and Potty. This girl had been looked over so many times because of them that she couldn’t even separate a compliment from a plan for revenge!

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you, I was trying to be nice,” he told her, his voice lacking its normal moneyed drawl. Hermione didn’t even look back up.

“What ever you say.” Oh this is pitiful. Draco Malfoy, prince of Slytherin, can’t even get Granger to look at him, that little voice teased. He refused to call that part of him his conscience.

“Is it so hard for you to believe that I’m not always a bad guy?” With an aggravated sigh, she turned her page.

“I’ve gone back and forth. Now if you’ll excuse me I want to finish this book before you drag me out to your quidditch practice.” Ah, quidditch would prove to be interesting. He couldn’t play for obvious reasons, but Zambini would be able to play for him. However, he was still team captain and couldn’t be replaced, as he’d said before. So the plan they had come up with was that she would sit quietly on the back of his broom with a deaf spell on, so that she couldn’t overhear any of his tactics and tell Harry, and in return he would let them eat dinner at Gryffindor table first. He knew she had gotten a raw deal, but he didn’t really care. And any normal person would rather fly than did with Potty and the dream team, so as far as he was concerned it was her problem.

He was already wearing his green and silver quidditch robes, nervous with anticipation. It wasn’t as if she could go into the boy’s locker room, and he would rather not have her stare at him while he fussed with his leather wrist guards, so he had magicked himself into his uniform while she had been rummaging around in his private library for a book that might help them. (A/N: Long sentence!) Draco wasn’t even pretending to work on his potions essay, since it was Friday night and he wouldn’t lower himself to that level of nerdyness. Instead he continued watching the studious girl before him, who was struggling to hide the rising level of panic within her.

“What is it now, Hermione?” he asked soothingly, pushing back his hair with his wrist.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not that good of an actress. Tell me what’s bothering you.” She sighed, sounding exhausted and stressed.

“As far as I can see there is no cure other than love.” Then out of no where she picked up the heavy book and chucked it straight across the room, where it hit the wall and slid to the floor with a satisfying thud.

“That was a nice throw, you should be a chaser,” he told her, his eyebrows raised. When she didn’t answer he added, “What about that friendship thing? Didn’t that book from the library mention something about a strong friendship?”

“Not surprisingly, the wonderful creators of elemental magic were not only annoying romantic but also small minded. The friendship thing would only work if we were both the same gender.” She scowled at the kitchen table they had been working at as he let out a small laugh. “This isn’t funny, Draco! We’re doomed!”

“Oh relax, Mya. We’re not dieing!” She looked up at him and smiled slightly.

“Mya? Where’d you get that?” She seemed caught up in a memory as he raised his hand to once again push back his hair.

“I don’t feel like calling you Hermione, it’s too long. And no way am I calling you Mione, that’s Weasel’s name for you. What, is Mya not good enough for you?” He tried to make his tone harsh, but it came out as more of a whine. She just smiled, looking at something over his left shoulder. Feeling completely paranoid, he turned around in his seat… but there was nothing there.

“No that’s… that’s just perfect.” It was then that Draco realized Hermione wasn’t just good at acting. She was writing a damn script and, like everyone else, was hiding a secret. (A/N: Cough cough.)

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“Damn it Crabbe, are you trying to kill us? Hit the bludger you moron!” Draco yelled furiously as another bludger zoomed passed their heads. Hermione’s grip around his stomach tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut, perfectly terrified. He couldn’t blame her, what with the two idiots using their beater’s clubs as swords, ignoring the two leather balls spinning around them. Goyle sped past them, as she whimpered onto Draco’s shoulder. Below them Blaise Zambini was too busy scowling at the rain seeping into his cloak that he didn’t notice the snitch fluttering by the goal posts. Draco, however, did.

“Come on Zambini, look alive! Watch the fucking snitch!” Jolted into life as if by lightening, the dark haired boy snapped his broom around and headed in the wrong direction. The rain picked up as a clap of thunder rang like a gong through the pitch. Hermione shivered, pressing her cheek into Draco’s back. Though she could not hear it, she could feel its vibration. He mumbled under his breath, “We’re doomed.” The first bolt of actual lightening struck the ground with a nasty crack, causing the jittery bookworm to let out a muffled scream.

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight, everyone just get inside,” he yelled finally, as the girl behind him burrowed her face in the crook of his neck.

“Finite incantantum,” he added quietly, just as another sinister rumble of thunder rumbled across the grounds. Hermione moved her head onto his shoulder, still shaking lightly.

“Are we going in now?” she breathed, her minty breath spreading across his cheek. Suppressing a shudder, he began to lower them slowly so as to not frighten her.

“Yeah yeah. Relax Mya, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She was too scared to respond. This wasn’t only petrifying and dangerous, but this dragged up memories. Ones that she didn’t want to relive. Not now and not ever.

But fortunately and unfortunately, however you wish to view it, she didn’t get a chance to ponder old memories because yet another lightening bolt sliced through the night sky. She gasped and somehow lost her grip on the teen in front of her, sliding sideways. Hermione screamed like a person under Crucio as she fell off the broom and plummeted downward and toward the mud below her, the pull of gravity stronger than that of the attraction. The sensation of the wind speeding past her didn’t leave her any option but to relive those memories that had been long since ignored, and she closed her eyes, remembering that day 2 years ago.

Just before she could land on her back, however, a pale hand grabbed her wrist, and when she reopened her eyes she saw a petrified looking boy with pearly skin and silver hair, not the warm face and brown hair of the boy who’s memory had been haunting her for years. He stared down at her, looking shocked and shaken but mostly confused as he lowered them the remaining five feet to the field, before setting her down on her feet and dropping his broom beside them. Then Draco wordlessly wrapped his arm around her and drew her into a tight hug. And for the first time in a very long time, Hermione cried, right onto his shoulder.

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She silently followed him through the darkened halls of Hogwarts back to their dorm, her head hung. Draco opened all the doors in their way for her and guided her up the steps with the care of a husband to his wife. He gently held her hand, pulling her around corners and corridors that all seemed to blend together in her eyes. She had come much too close to telling him tonight. She couldn’t share this with anyone, they just wouldn’t understand. The pleading look in her eyes as she pulled away from him on the quidditch pitch had told him she wouldn’t share, and he respectfully nodded and brought her back to school.

Now they ignored the great hall as they climbed up the steps to their dorm. Seeing the one good thing in his life plummet stories below him had lead Draco to see that this girl needed someone to lean on, just as he did. Apparently the other two thirds of the golden trio could not be trusted with what ever it was that this girl was hiding. He hoped that by leading Hermione back to her rooms, he was showing that he could be. Watching that girl scream in terror and clamp her eyes shut as she dropped like a stone hadn’t been the scary part of the evening for him, however. It had been the look of acceptance that had worked its way onto her face just before he had snatched her from her dreadful fate. She had given up fighting. She had let herself go. What on earth had happened to this war hero that made her willing to great death? Why had no one noticed this before?

Because she was a damn good actress, and it takes one to know one. Her friends didn’t comprehend the idea of split personalities. Useless Potter wore his heart on his sleeve and didn’t understand what it felt like to be pulled in two separate directions. And Weasely? He was just another redhead in a long line of broke ass blood-traitors. And yet now he himself was a blood-traitor. Here came a new era of acting and masks. It was respecting and protecting the Malfoy honor against being happy and understood by the one person who seemed most like and yet most different from him.

There were new plot lines and characters and new costumes to this tangled script he had found himself in. Of course now the tale of his life was more like an unfortunate romance that hardly existed than one of honor and arguing families. It was more like Hamlet now than Romeo and Juliet. Though either way, both characters died in the end.

But they wouldn’t die in the end, Draco wouldn’t let that happen. Hermione trusted him now, she’d saved her life, and this new Mya depended on him. He would lead her through corridors and catch her when she fell. He wouldn’t let that happen, he wouldn’t let her give up hope and accept death. If she did that, then she would lose the one beacon of light in his life. It sounded selfish, but it was really just survival. For both of them.

He wouldn’t give up without a fight.

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