Stronger Chapter Eleven

Stronger

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We were running, laughing, in love: a burst of air escaped me as she stumbled over her feet and fell. The icy moisture coating the grass was our only welcome as we landed in a tangled heap; a strand of her hair found its way onto my cheek as she curved her arms around my shoulders.

“Draco,” she whispered, straddling my waist and brushing her lips against my ear.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me…” she stopped, taking a fortifying gulp of oxygen and shifting slightly.

“Pansy?”

“Promise me you’ll never let me go.”

I stared into the sky for a moment before formulating a reply. I was terrified of saying the wrong thing, terrified that whatever I said might be misconstrued as insincere; I wanted her to know that she was perfect, that we were perfect. I wanted her to know that she made everything bleak seem tolerable, that she made everything wonderful seem better; I wanted her to know that she brightened my days, that her smile and her eyes and her face frequented my sleepless nights.

I wanted her to know everything, but was so incredibly frightened of scaring her away that I merely nodded, my chin brushing against her neck.

“Draco?”

“Don’t worry, Pansy.”

She was silent, mulling over my words.

“I’m not worried. I’m…happy,” she responded, sounding wholly surprised.

I rolled over, covering her body with my own.

“Pansy,” I murmured into her mouth, my breath mingling with hers.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me…” I trailed off, uncertain how to phrase my request.

“Draco?”

“Promise me you’ll never change. Promise me you’ll never be any different than you are right now, this very second. Promise me,” I implored softly, painfully aware that I was making an impossible demand.

“You know I can’t,” she told me.

“Please, Pansy. Promise me.”

“I…” she seemed unable to complete the sentence, her eyebrows scrunched together as she regarded me with some confusion.

“Please.”

“I promise,” she finally said, trailing her hand down the line of my jaw and pulling me closer. “I promise.”

OOO

I woke up with a blinding headache and a noxious heartache; I’d dreamed a memory and wanted nothing more than to grab the nearest pillow and scream out my frustration.

I quickly got myself dressed and fled my dormitory, wispy visions of Pansy in her nightgown and a cloak, beckoning to me with an impish grin to follow her outside, haunting me. I wandered through the hallways, hands stuffed in my pockets as I traversed staircases and ignored the questioning glares sent my way by those who I’d tormented at some point.

I was so lost in myself that I didn’t even notice the two figures standing in front of the Owlery.

“Hey, Malfoy, what happened to your face? Have another run-in with a first year?” Potter shouted at me, his and Weasley’s insolent laughter ringing in my ears.

“No, but I did have a run-in with someone whose intellect matched that of a first year,” I said through my teeth, willing myself not to break down.

“All that aside, I certainly would have paid to see you get your pale little arse kicked,” Potter smirked.

“How unfortunate that your…sidekick couldn’t have afforded the admission, then,” I shot back.

The redhead lurched forward, a determined, menacing expression on his face.

“Oh, come now, Weasley. You did this yesterday,” I yawned, feigning boredom.

He continued to come at me, though, his fist raised and his eyes flashing fire; a second before he drew back to launch a punch, Granger intervened.

“Ron! No! What are you doing?” she demanded angrily, shoving past Potter to grab Weasley’s shoulder.

“Hitting him?” he answered stupidly, glancing from me to her.

“Listen,” she said under her breath, glaring at him, “you’re lucky you got away with yesterday. Don’t pick a fistfight in the middle of a hallway. He got what he deserved and will probably be nursing bruises for the next year. Let. It. Go.”

“But—Hermione, you don’t understand, he--”

“Fine! Go ahead! Hit him! But don’t expect me to explain your indiscretion to McGonnagal when she comes around that corner in a few seconds,” she said, clearly exasperated.

Sure enough, a minute went by and the Transfiguration professor appeared, her spectacles resting on her nose and her shrewd eyes taking in the scene before her. She nodded at each of them in turn before continuing down the corridor and stepping into her office.

Potter and Weasley were staring at Granger with identical expressions of total reverence etched onto their faces. I snorted, pushing past the three of them and entering the tower that housed the school’s owls.

I couldn’t stand the way they worshipped her, couldn’t stand the way she was always right. If I’d been stronger, if I’d been less of a coward, I wouldn’t have stormed away; if I’d been more of a fighter I wouldn’t have run away from them.

“Malfoy?” her voice interrupted my loathsome thoughts, and I whipped my head around to see her standing in the doorway.

“What, are you going to have a go at me now, Granger?” I asked, laughing humorlessly.

“No. But I’m not heartless, and those bruises you have clearly need medical attention. You should see Madam Pomfrey,” she explained to me, businesslike.

“My, my, Granger, are you concerned about my wellbeing? Are you, dare I say it, anxious that I might be in pain?” I asked mockingly, bitter that she pitied me enough to suggest a visit to the hospital wing.

“Pain? You know nothing about pain,” she hissed, her entire body stiffening.

“Oh, but I beg to differ. You see, I know more about pain than you could ever imagine. The kind that makes everything else, everything happy, everything good, pale in comparison. The kind that sucks out every last ounce of dignity and makes you desperate to die. The kind that can’t be induced with a curse. Tell me you know what that’s like, Granger. I dare you.”

She wasn’t looking at me when I finished speaking; her eyes were trained on the wall behind me, her jaw clenched and her countenance stony.

“You had a choice, Malfoy. You were in control. You knew what you were doing, you knew what you were getting into. You knew that you were as much a part of that curse I was hit--”

“Will you stop mentioning that? Bloody hell, I get it! We all get it, Granger! You were wronged, drastically, that day, and clearly no one’s going to get to hear the last of it, least of all me,” I interrupted loudly.

She looked at me oddly.

“You’re different,” she finally told me.

“Oh, no, I’m still the same cold, unfeeling bastard I was the past six years, Granger. I’d lift up my sleeve and prove it to you, but I’m not entirely sure it wouldn’t traumatize you,” I jeered, satisfied when she flinched at the venom in my voice.

“I will savor the moment you realize you’re wrong, Malfoy. Savor it,” she spat out, turning on her heel to leave.

“Wrong about what, Granger? Wrong about what?” I yelled after her.

But there was no response; I somehow knew there never would be.

OOO