Magnetic Attraction - Chapter Seventeen

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Chapter 17: Not Meant To Be

Draco was not comfortable in the slightest. Pansy had her back against his front, and her head was leaning against his shoulder, but although this was the way he and Hermione had slept, he couldn’t nod off. She wasn’t Hermione, meaning she wasn’t good enough. He was loath to admit it, but this wasn’t working. The only thing keeping him from asking Pansy to leave was the fact that she was already asleep. He knew better than to wake her up.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing to Merlin that he would fall asleep. The longer he was faced with the truth that Pansy wasn’t good enough, the harder it was to hate Hermione. And he did, hate Hermione that was. He hated that he was still thinking of her, that she was so irreplaceable. More than anything, he wanted to rewind the past two weeks, to go back to that uncomplicated state where only purebloods mattered and she was just Mudblood Granger, below him. He wished he could be so mindless again. Ignorance was bliss, as they said.

But even ignorance was out of the question now. There was another thing he wanted, more than to return to his state of naiveté. He just wished he could have come back to the Head Dorms half an hour earlier, having never known Hermione still had feelings for Weasley. He wanted above all to be with her now, his arms wrapped around her torso as she drifted off into an untroubled sleep. Was that too much to ask?

Yes, he thought sadly, it was too much to ask. There was too much against them. Everything was against them. And there hadn’t been any ‘them’ in the first place. He just hadn’t seen it until the day the attraction had broken. All there had been was her need for attention and a warm body, and his emotional instability caused by his mother’s death.

But what about the attraction? His mind ventured softly, the thorn in his side. Draco closed his eyes, shifting so that his forehead rested against Pansy’s shoulder. Whatever happened to ‘false love won’t fool magic’?

It was a glitch, something wrong with the charms, he reminded himself, drawing up the memory of Hermione’s shocked face, illuminated by purple light from the snap of the magic. The two thoughts conflicted, and he grunted quietly in annoyance. Well, maybe not, but she doesn’t love me now, and that’s what matters.

His other half disagreed, but did not push the subject further. There was no need to respond anyway, for Draco had opened a floodgate of remembrance involving the girl he had given up on. At first it was just the moments from the past two weeks, Hermione gazing up at him in fear as he yelled at her in the infirmary, Hermione, terrified, staring up at him with wide eyes as he insulted her after Narcissa’s funeral, Hermione, scared, when she saw him after waking up on the previous Saturday morning. Then more came, from sixth year as she glared daggers at him when they met briefly outside the Room of Requirement, only an hour before Dumbledore’s death. In fifth year, when he had held her and some of the DA members prisoner in Umbridge’s office. Then fourth year, when he had attempted to curse Potter and Imposter-Moody had turned him into a ferret, she had been there. She had disapproved of Moody’s method, but had laughed all the same. Third year, when she had been absolutely furious with him after the hippogriff incident. Second year, the look of absolute hurt and mixed hatred in her eyes because of his very first ‘Mudblood’ comment. First year, when they were all still young and hardly knew each other, but he had scoffed at her Muggle clothing and thrust his nose up in the air in response to her curious questions. All he could recount was her fear, her loathing, or her disappointment in him.

It wasn’t meant to be, a more familiar voice purred, one that had been with him for years. It trampled his younger Potter conscience easily, sinking its talons into his mind to remind him of who he was. Lucius’ never-ending presence. It was a nice fantasy, but it will always remain just that, a dream. Think of who she is, son, and who we are. A Mudblood and a pureblood prince would never last. Leave her with Weasley, where she belongs. We must lead people like them, and look in control and powerful at all times. You remember that, Draco.

He sighed, unable to accept it. He would give himself this one night, he decided, this single night to indulge in what had been. There had been smiles, too, through the years; little brief smiles shared during class, before the war had started. Awkward moments when they bumped into each other, alone, in the halls or in the library. And these past few weeks, oh it had been wonderful, too. The kisses, the companionship, the understanding. She had always known what he needed and how to help him. That day on the lake… he couldn’t even say how picturesque it had been. How amazing she had looked afterwards, stunned and breathless, with her face glistening and hair slick and straight, all thanks to the rain. He sighed.

His eyes flew open as he heard something remarkably familiar. In fact, he had been thinking so much about Hermione that at first he thought he was just imagining it. The opening sentence of a song that haunted him even in his half sleep.

He said I’m gonna buy this place and burn it down,

I’m gonna put it six feet underground.

Pansy stirred but thankfully didn’t wake up. He willed the music away, horrified by the realization that it was not, in fact, coming from inside his head. That could only mean one thing, Hermione was back. This was a mixed blessing. He really didn’t want to have to face her, especially now that he had figured out that she couldn’t be replaced. Normally he wouldn’t have to face her until morning anyway, but judging by the music she was blasting, she was looking for a confrontation.

He said I’m gonna buy this place and watch it fall,

Stand here beside me, baby, in the crumbling walls.

Thanking fate that Pansy was a heavy sleeper, he gently rolled her back onto her side of the bed, before reluctantly easing out from under the covers. It didn’t even occur to him that Hermione wouldn’t exactly be pleased by the fact that he was in his underwear, and he groggily pulled a plain black robe off his desk. Draco threw it around his shoulders without bothering to close it, and quietly opened the door of his bedroom.

Oh I’m gonna buy this place and start a fire.

Stand here until I fill all your heart’s desires.

Because I’m gonna buy this place and see it burn,

And do back all the things it did to you in return.

Hermione was sitting down, looking extremely pleased as she gestured with both hands. His heart skipped a beat as he saw her, even though he had been expecting to see her. She was wearing simple pajamas with a large bathrobe she must have borrowed from Potter or Weasley. This mere thought made him burn with jealousy, but the feeling quickly dissipated. Across from her was Ginny Weasley, looking confused and awkward as she stood beside an armchair. Clearing his throat, he stepped out of his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Both the girls looked up, Weasley seeming sheepish and annoyed, while Hermione came off as simply surprised and pleasant. In her lap was the cursed iPod and headphones, vibrating from the force of the song. Draco scowled, walking forward to lean against the opposite end of the sofa Hermione was reclining on.

“May I ask why you’re waking up the entire castle with your mediocre Muggle music, Granger?” he forced himself to snarl, tired enough to use immature alliteration. And that damned song was forcing him to relive moments that made it very hard to hate her.

He said, ‘Oh I’m gonna buy a gun and start a war,

If you can tell me something worth fighting for.

Oh I’m gonna buy this place, that’s what I said.

Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head.’

“We’re throwing around ideas for the Yule Ball, it’s not very far away, after all,” she answered happily, giving him the unwelcome impression that she was absolutely unbothered by their argument the previous night. Startled, he shifted anxiously, before snapping,

“What, at this hour?” She looked at him, her expression clearly saying, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’ Weasley coughed, sinking down into the armchair by the fire, no doubt preparing for the showdown that was sure to follow. Draco looked down his nose at her. She blinked in return, before placidly asking, her voice posing no direct threat,

“Sorry, did we wake up your date?” His face flushed as he realized Pansy had left her robe on the sofa. The one she was sitting on, to be exact. Bugger.

And honey,

All the movements you’re starting to make.

See me crumble and fall on my face,

And I know the mistakes that I’ve made,

See it all disappear without a trace.

“Pansy just needed a place to stay the night-,” he adlibbed feebly, failing miserably at his attempt to cover his tracks. Hermione nodded as if she were a friend listening to his life story, that is completely interested.

“Yeah, uh, totally. Don’t worry, you no longer need to explain your love life to me, Malfoy,” she said calmly. He winced, but she continued. “After all, it never really had anything to do with me, did it? It was all just an act.” Her words stung, more so than any loss against Potter in Quidditch. Her brisk, quick evaluation and judgement of their brief relationship crushed his heart completely. But then again, what had he been expecting?

Some regret on her part would have been nice.

“Regardless, would you turn that shit down?”

And they call as they beckon you on,

They say start as you need to go on,

Start as you need to go on.

“No, I don’t think I can do that,” she drawled, smirking. “We’re selecting a soundtrack, and since that classifies as work, and I’ve silenced the entire tower, the only person being bothered is you.” She tapped her finger against her chin thoughtfully, and added as a second thought, “And Pansy, of course.” He sneered, irked by her brazen attitude. How dare she dismiss him so easily? He was a Malfoy, pureblooded and respected inside the wizarding community!

“Granger,” he hissed, his tone deadly. She shrunk away from him against the armrest. “Either you turn that off, or I’ll do it for you.” Weasley’s eyes widened as Hermione’s did the opposite. It occurred to him that the worst thing he could have done was to pick a fight with her in front of her friend, but it was too late now. Straightening his posture, he stood up taller, folding his arms across his chest.

“What are you going to do, Malfoy, throw The Princess Diaries at me?” she challenged, unbothered. His jaw dropped. How did that girl somehow know everything?

He said I’m gonna buy this place and see it go,

Stand here baby, watch the orange glow.

“I’m not afraid of a know-it-all Mudblood,” he responded. Weasley gasped. Hermione gritted her teeth. He’d finally struck a nerve. Then, out of nowhere, she growled and grabbed a book off the floor from beside her feet. Quick as a cat, she flung it at his head, narrowly missing her target. Stunned, he looked behind him to see that her projectile had been her most prized possession. Hogwarts: A History lay open upside down, its pages folded against the carpet. Draco looked back up to see her completely furious.

“Isn’t that a creative insult. Really stung, you totally called my bluff, Malfoy,” she growled sarcastically, her expression returning to that of bland relaxation. Once again, she had eluded him.

Some’ll laugh and some just sit and cry,

But you just sit down there and you wonder why.

“I think it stung more than you want to admit, Granger,” was his pathetic retort. But it was sadly true. Anyway, he needed sleep, and arguing with this girl would not help him. “Just turn it down, please. Since I asked nicely.” She rolled her eyes at his bitter tone, but finally did as she was told. However, instead of thanking her, he merely left the room, snatching Pansy’s robe back in the process.

So I’m gonna buy a gun and start a war,

If you can tell me something worth fighting for,

And I’m gonna buy this place, that’s what I said.

Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head.

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