Stronger Chapter Fourteen

Stronger

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In that split-second before she turned away, I was in agony. There was something achingly eternal, achingly condemning, achingly vital about her statement; it was imperative to me, inexplicably so, that she explain herself. It wasn’t anything like curiosity: it went deeper than need, further than mere desire.

I wanted to know everything she knew, to see everything she saw. I wanted to look at myself without the aid of a mirror and I wanted her to be my spyglass. I wanted to probe into the complexity of her mind and make her understand that I wasn’t who she believed me to be. I wanted her to realize that maybe, just maybe, there was a real person lurking beneath my shabby exterior.

“Granger,” I called out hoarsely.

She stopped her retreat but didn’t look back.

“Granger,” I said again, this time more sure of myself.

“Haven’t you had enough, Malfoy?” she demanded haughtily, spinning around and radiating disgust.

“I--” I was suddenly aware that I had no idea what I was supposed to say. I didn’t want to apologize, exactly; I wanted her to make everything go away, to rescue me from myself.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I told her quietly, hoping that I sounded the tiniest bit dignified.

“I know,” she replied slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. “You’re worse. We went over this less than a minute ago. If I recall, you made off as if you were going to cry. It was suitably pitiable, but oddly satisfying.”

“No, that’s not—I mean, that isn’t what I meant.”

A beat of silence and then:

“Would you care to explain that appallingly cryptic comment?” she asked me sweetly, impatience rolling off her tongue like water off a window.

I didn’t respond all at once, my eyes raking over her body as she let her hands rest loosely on her hips. I noted the faint tremble she was trying very hard to conceal behind her façade of indifference, of anger; it dawned on me that she was nervous.

But, really, anxiety on her part had no place in this conversation. She was the judgmental one, wasn’t she? The one who was confident and bright and totally certain of her direction in life. It didn’t make sense that she would be worried.

It didn’t make sense that she would care.

“Sometimes,” I said softly, “people hear what they want to. They purposely misinterpret things because it’s easier than facing the truth.”

“And sometimes people misjudge themselves because it’s easier than facing the truth,” she retorted sharply.

“I don’t get you, Granger!” I burst out, clutching my head and then jamming my elbow down as I swore.

“Don’t get what, Malfoy?” she asked coldly, watching me with an eyebrow raised.

“You talk in riddles. Nothing’s ever as straightforward as it seems with you, is it? One minute I’m victimizing myself, the very next I deserve to die. Make up your mind!” I shouted.

She didn’t say anything for several moments, her expression thoughtful as she regarded the wall behind my left shoulder.

“I can’t,” she finally answered plainly, meeting my gaze with a startling sort of intimacy.

“Wha-what do you mean?” I stammered, stunned into near-silence.

“I always savor my emotional breakdowns,” she explained dreamily, seemingly without reason. “I lay in my bed, counting how many breaths it takes to fall asleep, and I feel human. I feel reality pressing down on me and I don’t crave release. I wake up with my eyes glued shut from all the crying I didn’t do and know I’m beautiful in all my imperfection.”

She blinked suddenly, as if snapping to attention.

“That’s why I can’t make up my mind. Sometimes you’re hateful, sometimes your misunderstood, but you’re always, always incomplete.”

And then she shrugged, as if her words held little meaning: oh, but she couldn’t know how fast I felt the world spinning beneath my feet.

I hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, yet everything had changed.

“Why, Granger,” I laughed morosely, “are you calling me beautiful?”

That tension, that thick, heartbreakingly poignant tension that had been between us for as long as I could remember, had disappeared; she bit her lip as she suppressed a giggle, and in a second I saw everything as if I was far away, so far away, as if I was objectivity personified and her and I were nothing but specimens to be studied.

There I stood, clinging to my insecurities like a drowning man to a raft: compared to me, she was almost regal. We were surrounded by dusty bookshelves and ancient tomes full of spells a thousand times more powerful than either of us; I was staring at her, waiting for her. She was smiling somewhat secretively, and her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was flowing in curling chestnut tendrils all down her back.

I wanted to think that smile was meant for me.

“I…” she trailed off before clearing her throat. “I’m calling you flawed.”

“What’s the difference?” I joked, my weak attempt at humor hanging limpidly in the air between us.

“The difference is that…the difference is that…” she fumbled over her answer as I took a step forward; as I took a step towards her and away from my destiny.

“Even without your imperfections you’d be beautiful, Granger. Didn’t I ever tell you that?” I was another step closer to her, even as she tried to back away, even as she tried to will herself to run.

“Didn’t,” I continued, my breath hitching in my throat as her fingers fluttered near my ribs, “you ever wonder?”

“Wonder about what?” she gasped, her eyelashes scraping the delicate skin beneath her brows as her eyes widened at my nearness.

“Didn’t you ever wonder what would happen…”

“Yes?”

“…if I touched you?”

I reached out, the pad of my thumb caressing a circle over her bottom lip, and I felt her shudder, felt her tremble, all through my own body; my control was ebbing away, taking with it my common sense, my restraint, my sense of self. I was entrapping myself in chaos and it didn’t matter; all I cared about was making sure she fell into disenchantment as fast as I did.

And then my mouth met hers in a tantalizing crush and I didn’t care about anything at all.

OOO