We All Have Our Ways Of Coping
Written by - ellamalfoy8
One Shot
DM/HG AU. 'He was looking for the nameless, amorphous security that she was, and now here it was, explaining his lively smirks and bizarre confidence. He knew long before she did, maybe.'
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He was seriously annoying her now
He was seriously annoying her now. So much that she couldn’t focus on her bloody essay and she did not like to be distracted. Not at all. No, when Hermione Granger focuses, she focuses, and seeing as she couldn’t focus in Gryffindor Tower with Ron being his Ron self and retelling his capture of Dolohov over and over again, the story changing each time, she had come to the library. Damn it, she was suppose to be able to concentrate here, it was the library, for Merlin’s sake! You got work done here, it was what the Hogwarts library was for. But noooo, Draco bloody Malfoy was too good for the rules, wasn’t he? He skated his way out of Azkaban, and now he was too good to be quiet in the library.
“So I said to him, ‘If you have a problem, Boot, why don’t you take it up with me tonight in a duel? Unless you’re scared that you’ll be defeated by a real wizard?’” Cackles filled the air following the sneered bragging of the object of her annoyance. She gritted her teeth, turning her page hurriedly. The loud rip alerted her that she was on edge. No, she was not on edge, he couldn’t bother her. She quickly cast a spell to knit the fibers of the old yellow paper back together, fearing the reaction a torn book would arouse in Madame Pince.
‘Given that the Vipertooth is native to Peru and that the wizarding world has successfully concealed its existence from Muggles, in fact, the only other reasonable possibilities for the Vipertooth's native habitat are the western desert, the central mountainous region, and the eastern rainforests,’ She read again, doing her best to simply block out Malfoy’s voice. It was quite difficult and she found herself reading the same sentence over and over again. Her patience was nonexistent these days because of Ron and his inability to tell a normal story without embellishing details along the edges the whole time. Come on, would anybody with a brain believe that he had backhanded Dolohov, leading him to drop his wand? Well, actually that wasn’t quite as accurate as she wished it were. Lavender had believed it. That trollop believed anything Ron fed to her. Honestly, she had no dignity, that girl.
“The little dolt started flexing his bicep, which was useless seeing as it’s about as muscular as a baby flobber worm.” More snickering came from behind her. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming. ‘Given that the Vipertooth is native to Peru and that the wizarding world has successfully concealed its existence from Muggles, in fact, the only other reasonable possibilities for the Vipertooth's native habitat are the western desert, the central mountainous region, and the eastern rainforests.’ “I mean really, did he think he could actually intimidate me? Then he snarled at me and pulled out his wand, before dropping it because his palms were so sweaty!” ‘Given that the Vipertooth is native to Peru and that the wizarding world has successfully concealed its existence from Muggles, in fact, the only other reasonable possibilities for the Vipertooth's native habitat are the western desert, the central mountainous region, and the eastern rainforests.’ She found her fingers twitching, and occupied them by cracking her knuckles one at a time, relishing the pop it made and thinking of how wonderful it would be to just flex her fingers around Malfoy’s scrawny little neck. Surely it wouldn’t be hard, he was just a flimsy little squirt. Snap. Silence restored in the library with one short snap.
“I laughed in his face. Thinking he could mess with a Malfoy, honestly! Ravenclaws are seriously lacking when it comes to confidence, always hiding behind their books and O grades. Like they’re anything compared to Slytherin,” he paused to scoff. “And they know it too. They know they’re lower than us, most of them at least.” ‘Given that the Vipertooth is native to Peru and that the wizarding world has successfully concealed its existence from Muggles, in fact, the only other reasonable possibilities for the Vipertooth's native habitat are the western desert, the central mountainous region, and the eastern rainforests.’ She counted slowly to ten, breathing in through her nose and then out through her mouth, as she envisioned the blond jerking sporadically on the floor. She could do it too, knew just the curse to send him convulsing in pain. You can take the girl out of the war, but you can’t take the war out of the girl. Oh, could she do it! ‘Given that the Vipertooth is native to Peru and that the wizarding world has successfully concealed its existence from Muggles, in fact, the only other reasonable possibilities for the Vipertooth's native habitat are the western desert, the central mountainous region, and the eastern rainforests.’
“It’s the ones who deny it that get to me, the ones who deny it. Like that Weasley,” he hissed, “Poor and scruffy, but prancing around like he’s some kind of hero. And Potter, always saving the day and passing out in classes when he’s out of the lime light for too long. But the worst of them all is Granger. Ugh, nothing beats an arrogant mudblood, dragging around the whole fucking library like she’s entitled to the same luxuries as the rest of us.” 8, 9, 10. She wouldn’t snap. She wouldn’t snap. Oh god did she want to, but she wouldn’t snap. It wasn’t worth it. No no, it wasn’t worth it. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her fingers flex, flex around air. Flex around his neck, feel her nails dig into his skin, feel the vibrations in his veins as he tried in vain to breathe. Merlin, how she wanted to. How she wanted to.
“Wouldn’t you love to just kick her and watch her sprawl on the floor, confused and embarrassed? On the floor, right where she belongs, her robes covered in dust. Then maybe she’d go work in the kitchens along side the house elves, her equals.” He was just a stupid bigot, just a stupid bigot who was still smarting that she had won Head and he hadn’t, that was all. He was just trying to make himself feel better, pretend that he wasn’t bothered that his side of the war had lost, that his father was dead, that his last name which he clung so dearly to was mud, ironically. That all he had were a few Slytherins still loyal to listen to his whining and simper at his excellence. That. Was. All. He was not better than her. No, he was below her. He should kneel at her feet, he should. He should clean the dirt off her shoes, well, there wasn’t any dirt on her shoes, she polished them each night so that she looked her best in classes, but still. It was the concept of the thing.
“And she knows it too, deep down inside her pitiful, sub par body. She knows she doesn’t belong here, that she’s not a witch. She just a mudblood. Just a repugnant, vile, vulnerable little mudblood.” Snap. She stood up, the feet of her chair making an awfully loud screech on the wooden floor, and clenched her fists, one hand in her pocket gripping her wand, the other by her side. Furious, she flung her chair back under the desk, drawing the eyes of many surrounding students, including the piercing silver glare of a certain Slytherin. Determination fueled her with confidence, her steps even and loud as she approached him and his small posse. It was just Zabini, whose mother had died in the war, murdered by Voldemort himself, Daphne Greengrass, who had no one else to turn to, and Goyle, Crabbe having been killed in the final battle. No one else, not even Pansy Parkinson, would lower themselves to be seen in the company of the four disgraced Slytherins, but they carried on as if they were still in charge of the world. Malfoy smirked coolly at her as she stopped to stand at the other side of his table, between Zabini and Greengrass, and face him.
“You are an arrogant git, Malfoy, how dare you!” she hissed, still mindful of the librarian, who was taking stock in the Restricted Section. Zabini scooted his chair away from her, his lip curled, as Greengrass made a big show out of plucking a strand of the Gryffindor’s fly away hair off her shoulder. Malfoy blinked, his smirk never breaking, as he flicked an imaginary piece of dust off the sleeve of his tight sweater.
“How dare I what, Granger, have a normal conversation with a few friends in the library?” he asked dryly, staring up at her with a tone of light dislike, making Goyle snigger. Oh boy did she just want to reach out and grab his tie, to tighten it until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe at all, not at all. Her grip on her wand clenched tighter until she could almost imagine that it was his neck, that he was crumbling.
“You’re insufferable,” she responded, unable to think of something clever because of the bubbling desperation to do something rash growing inside her, creeping up her throat. How tempting. How very tempting. Malfoy relaxed in his chair, latching his fingers lazily behind his head. He cast a quick glance at Zabini as if to say, ‘Would you look at this girl?’ before retorting snidely,
“I do believe you’re the resident seventh year insufferable know-it-all, not me.” Yup, she was losing control of her patience now, thoughts of Ron mixing with the hatred of the pureblood in front of her, mixing with the stress of the end of the war and Ginny, oh Ginny was gone now, wasn’t she? As dead as a nice, sweet, young girl could possibly be. What about Harry, a shell of himself now, so lost in a world that had no use for him any more, and this boy, this coward was pushing her, pushing against her sanity and she wouldn’t fucking take it anymore. Snap. She drew her wand quickly, leaning over the table with one hand braced against the edge so she could press the end to the hollow of his throat, drawing gasps from those watching, which was everyone now. No one made any sudden movements, no, in fear their Head Girl would lose it and blow them all to pieces. Goyle looked to his leader for directions, unsure if he should stand up and take the twig of a girl down, but Malfoy shook his head faintly, watching Hermione carefully, observantly. One wrong move and she’d kill him, she knew it, she had decided it. Scapegoat, maybe, but it was a relief. Done. She didn’t care. She didn’t care.
“Take it back,” she growled, jabbing his Adam’s apple sharply, though he didn’t flinch or cough, just stared at her fiercely. “Take it fucking back.” Oh dear, she swore, she swore, did you hear her? Murmurs swept down the rows of desks and through the shelves and out the halls and through the castle, the news spreading that Hermione Granger had finally lost it. Her blood was pulsing through her ears, adrenalin making its presence known as she narrowed her eyes, not breaking contact. Silver and hazel fused together.
“I’d. Rather. Die,” he sneered, his face curling into a frightful grimace of revulsion that mirrored her own. That was it, she was going to kill him. Publicly. And get away with it, because she was Hermione Granger, and he was just Draco Malfoy.
“Miss Granger!” shouted a sharp, prissy voice, though neither student made any move as Madame Pince strode out from the shelves, completely shocked. “Lower your wand! Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!” No movement. “NOW! Lower your wand!” Hermione’s right eye twitched as she slowly lowered her wand to her side, still not looking away. Reach out and grab his neck, squeeze it, just to hear him cough and crumble at her feet. She didn’t back up, and Malfoy slowly stood, tendons pulling in his arms to show sinewy muscles under the wool of his sleeves. He leaned over the table, his hands also grasping the edge of the table outside of hers, his face only inches from hers, before leaning even further to whisper, his lips centimeters from her ear, too quiet for anyone else to hear,
“Wizards’ Duel. Astronomy Tower. Midnight. No seconds.” She could feel his breath against her skin, warm and moist, much too close for any comfort. Her throat went dry and her heart speed up as she realized just how serious he was. He lingered close to her, heat radiating from his chest so that she could feel it, before drawing away, only a few inches so that he could look into her eyes again. Fire, that was what they looked like, molten silver fire that could easily eat her alive. Erasing any emotion from her face, she whispered back,
“Fine,” before sweeping off, not even going to collect her books from her desk. He stayed standing, watching her leave, his face still indignant and annoyed. Only when the library doors slam behind her did he settle back down and continue his work, leaving everyone wondering what had happened.
--
Her heart was beating insanely fast, her head pulsing madly, as she stood at the base of the spiral stairs that would lead her up to the Astronomy Tower. Every shatter of her heart was matched by a round of rebellious thunder from the outside storm, making her jump with surprise every so often if taken off guard. She was not as fool-hearty and furious as she had been earlier in the library, and the risk she was facing was now quite clear. She had agreed to a wizards duel with a Death Eater who had walked free, and though she was a damn good dueler, Malfoy didn’t ever play fair. The idea that he had cheated her as he had cheated Harry back in first year had crossed her mind, and only the belief that he had more pride in himself now prevented her from just turning around and marching back to the dorm she shared with the Head Boy.
No, a better possibility was that he was in there, wand poised, ready to strike her off guard. That was why she dawdled at the entrance, halfway through the stone arch, sending anxious glances up the stone steps as far as she could. There was no doubt that he was up there anyway, there was a weak glow of light at the top landing, as far away as it was, and she just knew it was from a weak candle. Gulping, she licked her lips and looked back down at her polished shoes, slipping out her wand. With one last glance at her wristwatch, which read simply 12:00, she hesitantly lowered her foot onto the first step.
Climbing the staircase seemed to take forever, and she counted steps as she rose, passing numerous stained glass windows that circled the slim tower. She was sure she would be late, but didn’t allow herself to run up to meet Malfoy. She could be late, he could wait, stupid git. She wouldn’t rush for him, oh no. But when she reached the landing and leaned against the wall where he would be unable to see her, her watch only read 12:01. And her watch was spelled to never break, unless smashed by something. She couldn’t recall falling. It was accurate. Hermione leant the back of her head against the wall, sucking in a deep breath, before raising her wand again and whipping around into the room at the top of the tower.
The room was empty, long shadows cast by the rows of desks playing across the walls as the candle placed in the middle of the room flickered back and forth from the wind. A chill, natural and caused by the cold, rippled up her back, and she looked curiously, defensively, around, to find the door leading out to the balcony open a crack, rain splattering through it to its best ability. The world outside the door was blackness, and the windows betrayed no occupant. Never lowering her wand, Hermione crossed the room, weaving between desks, and nudged the door open further with her foot. Lightening flashed across the sky, lighting up the tower classroom, and she shrunk away from the sudden white. Terrified out of her wits, she huddled through the doorway, bracing against the wind.
She had been expecting him to be there, so she really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him leaning against the guardrail, looking out over the grounds, with rain giving his hair a slick shine as it slid down each pearly strand. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, a few meters on the right, with every curve or point of his face outlined against the crackling light. His hands were spread out on top of the stone wall, with his wand held down under the fingers of his right hand, too loose for him to arm himself swiftly, yet not completely unprotected. Hermione’s own wand was extended in front of her still, leveled on a spot on his shoulder, but she lowered it uneasily, his vulnerable state unnerving her. Yet as soon as it was by her side, his voice interrupted the thunder echoing in her ears.
“What makes you so sure you’re safe?” His voice was cutting, mocking. She started, tightening her grip on her wand and raising it again as he slowly began to turn around, leaning his elbows against the railing with his wand still held loosely in his hand. She backed up against the wall, wanting a considerable distance between herself and the sopping wet Slytherin staring at her as if she were a child. Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re not in duel stance,” she responded sharply, “I have the advantage. I could curse you before you could even blink, let alone raise your wand.” He smirked, still relaxed and not at all impressed. Malfoy took his time to respond, a flash of lightening revealing a glint in his eye that was different from the hatred normally held there. She swallowed air.
“But I’m more skilled in Legimency than you are at Occlumancy. You don’t need a wand to win a duel,” he commented without a hint of malice. She realized he was amused almost, and knew that he was saying fact. She had been unable to block Mad Eye when he had struggled to teach her and Ronald Occlumancy the previous year, the only thing she had ever failed to learn and couldn’t find help in a book to make herself better. How Malfoy knew this was not something she wanted to know. “Hell, Granger, did you really believe that I would want to stand here across from you as you rattle off spell after spell to harm me? You’re like a fucking encyclopedia when it comes to that stuff, I wouldn’t compare.” Instantly her guard strengthened tenfold, Malfoy would never admit to being less talented than her in any way other than to give her a false sense of security. Well, it wouldn’t work. Not tonight, not ever.
“So you’d just attack my mind until I was too weak to fight you off physically?” she snapped, jittery and annoyed. It was cold out there, rain was wetting down her hair and it was fizzing now; she could practically feel the extra weight of it on her neck. He shook his head, looking up at the sky as another fork of white sped its way down to earth like pale fingers grabbing at the grass. She flinched, she had never liked storms. There was too much distraction, and she could never finish her essays in rain. And now, the storm and Malfoy’s slick appearance would make it impossible for her to seal her mind from him if he dried to read it.
“Not attack your mind, never attack it,” he answered, pausing to examine his nails. Who knew why, as he looked like he had fallen into the lake anyway. “Just cuddle it, sort through it for a while until it tells me just what I need to destroy you,” his purr was sending an icy feeling down her back, adding to the water to make her shiver. It was a threat, but came across sounding like a seduction. Oh it had been so long since anyone had made her feel like that. Wait, what? No. Stop it, Hermione. She was lonely and examining things that weren’t there. Just as she always had. “Destroy you permanently, as I had always dreamed of but couldn’t figure out how.”
“You can’t destroy me, Malfoy, you’re not perceptive enough,” she protested, though now she wasn’t so sure. All she had wanted for weeks was that urge to just (snap) make him pay, to just (snap) reach out and watch him as he begged for mercy. All she had felt for weeks was that fury (snap) and irritation (snap) and that scared her. That was all she had felt. Other than the loneliness and sadness and pain. Oh the pain. She could never forget. Her face began to fall as she realized it, the truth, undeniable. Her hatred of Malfoy was keeping her from being like Harry, a zombie struggling to forget when all there was to do was remember. Ron had Lavender to keep him alive, had love to keep in alive. She had that fury, that (snap) urge to keep her alive.
“Oh I think I’ll do my best Granger,” was his soft remark, as gentle as the small ripple at the edge of her mind when he took a step forward, his wand tucked into his pocket. The ripple grew to a slight push, an ask for entry, and Hermione did the best she could to force it away, flattening her back against the wet stone wall of the tower, grounding herself, refusing to give her mind away. How dare he- he just think that he could- well she wouldn’t let…
Her eyes drifted closed, and though she didn’t black out she wasn’t aware of much, other than the push against the uninvited guest to her thoughts. No- not that, don’t…
Leisurely, the presence, dark but velvety, began to draw up memories, happy ones, of her and her family. Her eighth birthday, a normal memory of her muggle life, with the chocolate cake and the shiny pink bike in the driveway and the rainbow tassels attached to the ends of the handles, flashed before her eyes, making her smile. The presence smiled with her. Her mother, playing the grand piano that her Uncle had at his vacation house in Rome, the melody of some long lost tune, familiar and comforting as it passed through her ears as if it were yesterday.
Then the trio, Harry smiling in first year as he flew for the first time, Ron laughing innocently in fifth year at something his brothers had done, Ginny in her fifth year as she told Hermione about her afternoon with Harry by the lake.
But then the presence grew more impatient with all of the happiness, nudging the rare pleasant memories aside to search for those she would rather not share. No- no give that back you can’t see that I don’t want…
Someone was leaning against her, damp weight pressing against her front as lips traveled down her neck, weakening the shabby defense she had been able to rouse. As she sighed into the night, the steam from her breath sliced by raindrops, the presence tugged upon the corner of one more recent, Harry begging with her, pleading with her to just kill him, please Mione, please, I can’t live like this anymore, not without her. She could still feel the tears streaming down her cheeks, the salty taste lingering on her lips, so familiar. Ron sitting in the common room, Lavender’s sleeping face resting atop his lap as he whispered softly to her, she loves me, Mione, she told me, but I’m not sure if I want her or just to not sleep alone at night, to feel someone next to me, to be needed. Herself crying and screaming at the top of the North Tower after Ron had tracked her down and told her Harry was in the hospital wing recovering from a flying accident that was too obscure to be an accident at all. Malfoy smirking to himself during classes, always smirking, she would know, she was always watching him. Herself, curled up in her empty, queen-sized bed in the Head Dorms, lying awake at night, just thinking of him, his pale face, every scar on his arms that he couldn’t find a way to hide, wondering if he was suffering, if he was just like her, wondering if he wanted someone to hold at night when it was cold and dark and storming just like she did.
The presence fell from her mind, leaving behind the mess of the thoughts and memories that had been disrupted, but the person pressing against her did not disappear. The lips traveling across her shoulder were still there, nibbling and sucking with more urgency, the hands on her hips still clutching onto her as if she would disappear too. Suddenly her arms were around his neck, not (snap) clutching but just winding around for stability as she leant the back of her head against the wall, moaning as the urge to hurt, to inflict pain, just disappeared, ebbing away as something else took its place. Something just as primal.
His lips caught hers with the same urgency, and she kissed him back, tongue probing his mouth. His tongue met hers, tangled with it, as his hands began sneaking around to grab her ass and hoist her up the wall, her legs moving to straddle his waist when he began to pull her away from the wall altogether. She clung to him desperately as he backed her through the door and into the classroom, out of the rain but not out of the cold. Warm, she wanted to get warm. Malfoy lowered her onto a desk, clambering up above her to rest on his knees between her legs, and continued kissing, unable to slow down. Frantically, she clawed at his arms, unable to refuse any more urges after so many months of the sadness, the fury, the cold. She didn’t want to feel cold anymore, to feel as if her blood stopped running when she buried Ginny, as if she buried herself in the dirt beside her friend. She didn’t want to think about death anymore, to worry about Harry’s sanity and Ron’s codependency and her own unavoidable misery and realization that she was alone.
Malfoy pressed down against her, his breathing sharp and ragged in her ear. She could not see anything other than the dark ceiling of the classroom, lightning sending sporadic flashes of white across her pupils. He bit her neck, fingers grabbing at her hip, lifting her up against him. She rocked against him, not even sure what she was doing anymore, just aware that it made the thoughts go away. Here was another person, wanting to be close to her, and that was all she’d really been looking for. Malfoy shuddered, rain dripping down his back and pooling on the desk below them, and she tasted sweat on her lips, feeling somewhere between scalding and freezing. It didn’t make sense and she wanted to kill him and wring his scrawny little neck. She wanted him closer, wanted him against her, wanted him to rub against her like that again.
He sat up to shrug off his robe and she pulled his drenched white shirt over his head, her vision hazy. Once the shirt and robe sat in a damp pile on the floor, he kissed her again, softer but still fast, still urgent and desperate. He was just as lost as she, orphaned by the war and the hatred of the world. He was looking for the nameless, amorphous security that she was, and now here it was, explaining his lively smirks and bizarre confidence. He knew long before she did, maybe. She didn’t care. She found it. He made quick work of her shirt, depositing it on the ground by his own. His fingers were quick but gentle, and she knew somehow that he wouldn’t hurt her, just as she had before. That is the safest she had felt in months now, maybe years, before the war, before magic itself. He lay her down on the desk and cupped her breast, pausing his kisses to stare into her eyes, making sure that whatever this is, it’s ok with her. It was, and she pulled his lips down to hers again, wrapping her arms around his bare torso to keep him tight against her. Hermione closed her eyes.
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