Magnetic Attraction - Chapter Fourteen

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Chapter 14: A New Malfoy Resolve

There were no words to describe how confused Draco Malfoy was as he sat in the Quidditch stands after fleeing the Charms classroom. He lay back across the bench, staring up at the sky as if the rain clouds above him spelled out the answers he needed. He didn’t care that he was getting soaked, he hardly noticed as the drops were absorbed into his uniform, for he was too lost in his problems. What problems did he have, you ask? Do not doubt that Draco Malfoy had serious problems.

You see, the young Malfoy had issues with trust. Cursed by Malfoy breeding, he was haunted by intense paranoia, and hated more than anything to be vulnerable. And though he refused to admit it, he was at the moment very vulnerable. He had just publicly admitted that he was in love with a Muggleborn. And not just a Muggleborn, but a Gryffindor Muggleborn. Plus, not only a Gryffindor Muggleborn, but the best friend of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Had-Gotten-Lucky (BWHGL). That was three strikes against her, and three reasons why what he felt would be looked down upon.

Of course, the attraction disappearing also meant she loved him, but that was a very thin silver lining. If anyone got curious as to why the attraction had faded, they could easily look it up and see that he, Draco Malfoy, was in love with Hermione Granger.

Merlin, she loved him! He wanted to jump up and down! He wanted to scream it across Hogwarts grounds! He felt like proposing to her or doing something equally rash. But he wouldn’t, because there were so many other things to worry about. He was a Malfoy; he was under constant examination. The Daily Prophet would have a field day, meaning she would be in considerable danger. Making out occasionally was so much different from a public, loving relationship. Not to mention she was a famous war hero, the best friend of the BWHGL. Plus Potter and Weasley were just so damned protective. He was going to die. Oh Merlin, they were going to kill him. He snorted softly, but coughed and sat up as rain went up his nose. But he sobered up instantly.

His hand felt empty without hers.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough on his plate at the moment, he had to prepare for his mother’s funeral. Draco wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that Hermione wouldn’t be coming with him. Or maybe she would come, who knew? Brooding would get him nowhere; he had to go speak to her.

And get into dry clothes.

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Hermione glared at her bookcase. Nothing could distract her without somehow reminding her of him. Not Muggle teenage romance, not Shakespeare, not her textbooks, not anything. Frustrated that her extensive library had failed her, she pulled her magically-altered iPod off her bedside table and sorted through her play-lists. After rounds of complicated spells she had managed to eliminate the need for electricity from the gadget, and now it was fueled by her own raw magical energy. Hermione skipped over Coldplay, shivering at the memory of being out on the lake. No, she wouldn’t linger on him until he came to talk to her.

Ah ha, Evanescence would do nicely. She slipped on her headphones and cranked up “Bring Me to Life.” It was perfect, loud, morbid, and distracting, nothing like Draco. Well, he could be thought of as loud and morbid but- no! No Draco!

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors?

She settled back on her bed, propped up by pillows. Um… think about something else. Quidditch, boring goal hoops, Luna’s strange commentary, guys on broomsticks. Draco on a broomstick, his hair whipped back from his face as his muscular arms steer the- damn it.

Leading you down into my core, where I’ve become so numb.

Oh, the Yule Ball. Decorations, fake snow, fog charms, a DJ, dancing. Dancing with Draco as his arms wrap around her waist, her head leaning against his firm chest while he- crud.

Without a soul? My spirit sleeping somewhere cold, until you find it there and lead it back home.

Someone called through the portrait hole to her and she tore off her head set, thinking it was him. But when she swung open the painting she only found Ron, smiling hesitantly.

“Hey, Mione,” he greeted softly, shifting from foot to foot. She smiled. Now that was a distraction.

“Hullo, Ron.” She waved for him to follow her back to her room. She didn’t notice him scowl at the random bits of clothing Draco had scattered around the room. She sat back down on her bed beside her still playing iPod.

Wake me up inside, wake me up inside. Call my name and save me from the dark.

Ron pushed his hair off his forehead, frowning as he sat down at her desk and was faced by one of Draco’s leather notebooks, stamped with the Malfoy crest. She wondered how she had ever been attracted to Ron; he wasn’t anything really special. It went unsaid that he paled in comparison to Draco.

“So what’s up?” she asked, pulling his attention away from the innocent stationery, which he had been glaring daggers at.

“I just wanted to see how you were; you seemed out of sorts when you ran out of Charms earlier.” She twitched at the mention of Charms. They had made such a scene.

Bid my blood to run, before I come undone. Save me from the nothing I’ve become.

She chuckled as he looked around blankly, searching for the source of her loud music.

“I’m fine, just,” she leaned back into her pillows, giggling as she unearthed a pair of Draco’s trousers that had somehow fallen behind the bed. Ron glared at them in horror. “I just have a lot on my mind.” He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Like Malfoy.” She nodded vaguely. “Mione, what’s going on between you two?” She really would have laughed.

“I honestly don’t know,” she responded, sitting up to face him. He looked concerned, but in more of a ‘Are you insane?’ way than just a ‘Just tell me, I’ll play Doctor Weasley’. Knowing Ron would get pissed off but still let her talk, she decided to tell him parts of the truth, lowering the volume on her iPod so he could hear her, and the singing faded to a faint roar. “We weren’t anything serious, but you know…” Ron winced as she sighed. Obviously he knew Hermione enough to trust her judgment, but didn’t feel the need to agree. “It’s just so much more.”

“So much more how?” he asked, trying to sound interested and not revolted. She shrugged.

“He just makes me feel different. Like I’m special or something.” Ron’s eyebrows rose as he pretended to gag. “Oh stop it, I’m being serious!”

“Just as long as you know this is Malfoy, you’re lusting after. This is a pureblooded, bigoted, ex-Death Eater.”

“He’s not a Death Eater,” she interrupted. He looked back, smirking as if to challenge the idea. “He doesn’t have the mark.”

“And you know that how?” he questioned. She opened her mouth, but he added, “You know what? I don’t even want to know. But why is the git so special, how is he different from every other guy?”

“He just is, I don’t know. It just comes down to the fact that he makes me feel things no one else has.” Ron sighed in disgust and revulsion, and she scoffed. “Not like that, you plank, we haven’t done that yet.” He didn’t look much better, but didn’t protest.

“Prove it.” That didn’t sound nearly as sexy as it did when Draco said it.

“What? How?” He shrugged, though he was smirking all of a sudden. She looked at him with a mix of fear and hesitation.

“I dunno. Kiss me and see if I make you feel the same way.” Her jaw dropped as he got up to sit on the foot of her bed.

“Ron! No!”

“What, scared I’ll be better than your little Malferret?” Now powered by competition and the need to defend Draco’s honor, she did something she would learn to regret for a very long time. She waved him up and said,

“Fine, but no tongue and no unnecessary touching.” He nodded, completely nonchalant. Though her instincts were telling her that this was a very bad idea, Hermione pulled him by the hand up to sit next to her, eager to prove to herself that she was no longer lovesick for her best friend. That she had done better. Ron waited for instruction, his blue eyes wide in anticipation. “And can we agree not to tell anyone about this?” He rolled his eyes.

“Of course, if Lav found out…” Hermione sighed and interrupted.

“About me or Parvati?” He glared at her.

“Both, bookworm. Now shut up and kiss me!” Sending him a look that could freeze hell over, she scoffed under her breath, before leaning over and kissing him softly on the lips, waiting to feel something.

But there was nothing. No spark, no gasp, no jaw dropping clarity. It wasn’t anything special, which only further proved what she already knew. Draco was the only guy for her, 100. This was just awkward. Ron placed his hand on her knee, leaning further into her, but she furrowed her brow and pushed him away. He blinked at her and jutted his chin out, inquiring for her evaluation.

“Did that totally suck?” she asked brutally, as she wiped her mouth on her hand. He laughed as he stood up, smoothing down his shirt.

“You obviously prefer white fur to red hair,” he joked warmly, smiling contently. “Good luck with the prick, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She nodded and waved him out of the room, before turning up her iPod again, not realizing she had just doomed herself to two months of solitude.

Save me from the nothing I’ve become. Bring me to life. I’ve been living a lie, there’s nothing inside. Bring me to life.

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“Okay Draco, this should be easy. Just go in there and tell her you love her. Say it slowly, ‘Hermione, I love you.’ See, that was easy! Just do it,” Draco schooled himself as he stood outside the portrait hole, tapping his foot. Wet, messy, and completely nervous, it was safe to say that never in his life had a Malfoy looked worse. But he really didn’t care. “You already know she loved you, just go in there and kiss her. Yes, perfect. Kiss her, and then say it. ‘Hermione, I really love you.’” Taking a deep breath, he entered the room, shivering slightly. Draco walked to Hermione’s door, but someone speaking stopped him in his tracks. Pressing his eye against the frame, he saw it was his Hermione, of course, sitting with Weasley.

“And can we agree not to tell anyone about this?” Draco frowned as the redhead scooted further up the bed. What was going on? The eager look of a horny boy was spread across the Weasel’s face, something only a fellow boy could notice, and Draco did notice.

“Of course, if Lav found out…”

“About me or Parvati?” Those were two names he would never put together. What did Ron, Parvati, Lavender, and Hermione have in common? But it clicked with Weasley’s next order.

“Both bookworm, now shut up and kiss me.” Draco’s jaw dropped. She did. His girlfriend…

And Ron Weasley.

Feeling numb, he went back to his room and sunk onto his bed, curling up into a ball even though he was still in his wet clothes. Empty without something to wrap himself around, he pulled one of his pillows toward him, and clung to it hopelessly, as his world slowly began to fall apart.

What should he do? Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply, ignoring the image of his Hermione with that pauper. He fell asleep immediately, and didn’t dream.

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It was still raining. Though no longer drenching anyone outside from head to toe, the rain still fell, setting the tone for Narcissa Malfoy’s funeral. Draco held the front right corner of his mother’s black coffin, with a tiny rain droplet on the tip of his perky nose. He did not cry. Everything was still numb.

They set it down on a pedestal to the side of the Malfoy mausoleum, next to the already dusty coffin of Lucius Malfoy. Draco glared at it accusingly. All he could think about during the eulogies and the final goodbyes was that Lucius was the reason. You’re the reason.

People patted him on the back as they left; whispering condolences and wishing him well. The Daily Prophet even snapped a picture when they thought that he wasn’t looking. It didn’t matter. Dumbledore left too, leaving Draco alone in the shadowed building, alone with the family who had deserted him, who had left him to represent the aged morals that made his relationship with Hermione impossible.

“I took your advice, Mother,” he said quietly, looking down at the closed casket. “I opened up to someone.” The silence was unforgiving and offered no help, only bit his ankles with the chill. “I opened up to someone, but it wasn’t enough.” He glared at his pointy dress shoes, as if the steel tips were to blame for his misery. “It wasn’t enough, Mother, I don’t know why!” Draco’s first tear slid down his cheek, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. “She chose a Weasley over me! I thought she loved me!” He sat down, leaning his back against the side of the coffin. “And the sad thing is I still love her, even now! A Mudblood, Mother, a Mudblood broke my heart. You and Father must be so proud. I can hear him rolling over right now.” He laughed humorlessly, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’re supposed to be here, to tell me what to fucking do!” When no dawning realization to his problems came, he put his head in his hands, remembering his parents.

‘We’re better than these people, Draco, look at them,’ Lucius said as he pointed to the Muggles with the tip of his serpent-topped cane. ‘We’re better than almost everyone, and we must lead them, and look in control and powerful at all times. You must always remember that at school, and beat that Potter boy!’

When Draco Malfoy returned to Hogwarts it was with a stoic expression and a new resolve.

He’d put that Mudblood Granger back in her place.

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