A Little Piece of Sincerity
By: Provocative Envy
OOO
A glance; a whisper; a fleeting touch from her glorious fingertips, and I’m lost. Watching her graceless dancing is indistinguishable from spending a lifetime in my own sweet nirvana. Her inelegance is appallingly gorgeous; her coarse manners grotesquely beautiful. Her eloquence seeks a reminder for its liquid poetry: a gasp released from between those lips says a hundred different things. Her wary disposition is merely enhanced by my own wonderment. In a whirl of dry regret I realize too late her perfection. Yet in a fit of fastidious irony it was her all too obvious flaws that were the spark of my comprehension.
OOO
Draco let a grimace of distaste float across his face as he read what was so gloriously written on the parchment that had been stuck in a library book. He recognized the handwriting as that of the faceless character he’d unknowingly impersonated; his own deceit was haunting him mercilessly and he was powerless to stop it.
It had been four agonizing days since he’d last spoken to her. Four excruciating days since he’d held her in his arms and known true, complete, sincere joy. Four days since he’d tossed aside his last shot at redemption and refused to look back.
He thought about the way she’d been molded against him, her small frame fitting so perfectly against his own. He thought about how her lips had been so invitingly pink, glistening as she wet them with her tongue, preparing to speak. He thought about how her eyes had been wide and unprecedented, her sinfully long lashes brushing against her silky cheeks as her eyelids fluttered shut. He thought about what she’d said, and what he’d said, and what he’d wanted to say.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
All of his pretentious pragmatism was spiraling away from him, only to be replaced by the kind of ridiculous idealism he’d never let himself be consumed with. He wanted to laugh at his pointless attempts to thwart his destiny, to mask his feelings with affected practicality. He had wasted so much time; precious, precious, time.
Tossing aside the paper that he held limply with one hand, he jumped to his feet and ran from the library. He sprinted to the empty corridor that led to the Astronomy Tower, ascending the steps with such speed that he nearly tripped.
When he reached the room at the top, he found it depressingly vacant.
Sighing, he sat down to wait. He knew she’d come. She had to come.
He just hoped she’d talk.
OOO
Hermione was rifling through the pages of a book in the library when a folded slip of parchment fell out. Without hesitating, she read the words she knew to be written by Dean Thomas, her lungs almost bursting as she fought to breathe. How she wished she could have done the sensible thing and fallen in love with a fellow Gryffindor.
But she’d been deluded by Malfoy and his deceit, been lured to her own destruction by her worst enemy. And now she was so superbly trapped she could almost smile at it. But only almost.
She thought about what she was reading, the stupefaction that was so genuinely illustrated throughout the text. She thought about how Malfoy had told her that he couldn’t possibly be what she needed. She thought about the way his normally expressive gray eyes had been shuttered, how his smirk had been suspiciously absent as he’d taunted her. She thought about what he’d said, and what she’d said, and what she’d wanted to say.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
She understood his reluctance to give up what he believed in. She, too, was afraid to forsake the acceptance of her peers to fall in love with a Slytherin.
But love was too rare, too tenuous and too fragile to be taken for granted so easily. He represented everything she hated and fought against, everything she’d once vowed to dispel from the world; he was her antichrist and she loved him for it.
He was so magnificently flawed, so perfectly imperfect in his catastrophic resentment and callousness. He’d hurt her so much in the past, had mangled her already broken heart so that it was almost unrecognizable; but she’d let herself be angry for too long. It was far more painful to hate him when she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from falling at his feet and begging him to love her.
She closed the book she held in her hand and dropped it, walking from the library and heading towards the Astronomy Tower.
OOO
He heard her coming before he saw her. She was gulping in air as she traversed the steps, and he gave a sigh of relief as he realized who was coming. He found he had no idea what to say to her when she stopped in the archway, however.
A tense silence reigned over the room, filled with inherent secrets and a multitude of doubt. She was the first to break it:
“Have you ever really thought about how different we are?” she asked, startling him.
“Yes. That’s part of the reason I’m so terrified of you,” he replied honestly.
“And I was so convinced I was the only scared one,” she told him, arching her eyebrows.
“You? You’re frightened of me? Apparently I’ve misjudged all of your reactions to me in the past six years.”
“Well, even you, dense as you are, have to be aware of the fact that it’s good sense to be petrified of someone who can induce such emptiness,” she answered him distantly.
“About that. I…have treated you abominably recently.”
She was quiet, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t she crossed her arms over her chest and leveled him with a bemused stare.
“What? That’s it? No dramatic apology, no momentous declaration of love? You’re just going to admit you’re wrong and not even fight for me?” she demanded.
“It’s not like you’d believe me, if I said anything even remotely meaningful, so I suppose I’ll just take what I can get,” he shot back cruelly.
“A rough estimate of what you can get is--” she stopped, blinking. Shaking her head, she tilted it back, biting her lip and snorting. “So this is it, isn’t it? We’re just going to do this all over again, the fighting and the crying and the yelling…”
He had been so prepared to strike back with a cunning retort that he was floored by her soft observation.
“Listen,” he finally responded, training his gaze on the wall behind her, “I didn’t just want to say that to you. I wanted to tell you so much more, but I need to know something.”
“What? What do you need to know?”
“Are you willing to give it all up, Granger?”
“What are you talking about?” she inquired, an ominous chill creeping up her spine.
“I’m talking about everything. The delightful popularity you revel in, the never-ending respect of your friends, the stunning opportunities you could have as Potter’s sidekick. Your standards and your morals and your future. Would you give it up?”
She gaped at him, unprepared for such a question.
“I…I don’t know,” she mumbled.
“Not good enough, Granger,” he said.
“Oh, who are we kidding? We don’t even call each other by our first names! How is it that two people can fancy themselves in love when their close bond is exemplified by the startling intimacy found in their surnames?” she burst out, wanting to fall onto the ground in hysterics. She felt laughter bubble up inside of her.
“I’d give it up for you, Granger. All of it,” he told her in a low voice. After a pause, he continued, “I mean, Hermione.”
He brushed past her and left, her name echoing throughout the chamber as she felt her heart beating so fast she was sure it would burst through her chest. Several minutes later, a solitary tear glided down her cheek.
“I would too, Draco. I would too,” she whispered into the darkness.
OOO
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