Stronger Chapter Nine

Stronger

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

Author’s Note: Well. So sorry for the lack of updates in the past week or so. Last Thursday I turned twenty and was whisked away to Cancun for the weekend. For any of you who read A Little Piece of Sincerity, you’re aware that I was dumped by my boyfriend of nearly three years right in the middle of writing it. I was extremely upset and went through the normal phases of alternately believing in and hating the concept of love. However, my sense of romanticism is back with a vengeance. I rarely, if ever, write about my personal life, but I feel I should offer an explanation for any traces of giddiness that can be found in this chapter. You see, a few weeks ago I started casually dating one of my friends who I met years and years ago at a concert; I sort of did it to pass the time and whatnot, but that was all until he turned up in my bedroom at four in the morning, packed for me, and carried me to his car to take me to Mexico. For several hours I was convinced I was dreaming, and even though I actually don’t like Mexico all that much, I just need to expound upon the important part: this boy is wonderful. I’m gushing, I know, but this all has a point, I promise. While chapter six seven was the pivotal chapter for the story itself, this chapter is the pivotal chapter for the romance. And the whole reason I went on about how in love I am is because my own happiness has spurred me to finally write the beginnings of love for Draco. It’s probable I would have procrastinated further and put him through another ten chapters of angst before letting him have a heartbreaking epiphany in the middle of an empty hallway.

OOO

CHAPTER NINE

“God, Draco, what’s with you lately? You’re so…distant,” Pansy complained, her sweaty palm wrapped around my limp, lifeless hand.

“I’m just tired,” I replied automatically, letting her steer me towards the empty Charms hallway.

“No,” she said sharply, “you’re not.”

“Fine. I’m not. Whatever.”

“Draco,” she murmured, suddenly looking anxious, “just tell me what’s wrong. I’m worried about you.”

I stared at her, saddened by her pronouncement: if she had meant it, if she had bothered to sound genuinely concerned, I would have told her. I would have fallen to my knees and sobbed out all my frustration, all my doubts, all my fears. I would have begged her to comfort me, begged her to help me; I would have asked her for advice, for guidance.

Instead, I slid my fingers from her grasp and took a step backwards.

“Oh? Exactly why are you worried about me, Pansy? Perhaps it’s the dark circles under me eyes—or, wait, no, maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t spoken in a week—but, no, I don’t think that’s it either. I wonder what it could possibly be?” I mused, an edge to my voice that I’d never adopted with her.

For a fleeting second, she looked frightened.

“Maybe it’s because I love you, Draco,” she burst out, feigning exasperation.

I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, for a full minute.

I’d waited for so long to hear those words; so long that I couldn’t remember why I’d wanted her to say them in the first place. I knew that I should have felt triumphant, should have been satisfied that she’d finally broken down and granted me my greatest wish.

But the circumstances, the timing, it was all so painfully wrong.

“Do you mean that?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered, clearly relieved that I was going to abandon my momentary aggression.

“No. No, you don’t,” I told her, shaking my head and snorting.

“Draco, what are you talking about? Of course I love you,” she said slowly, evidently alarmed.

“Will you stop lying to me, Pansy? Just do me that one favor,” I shouted angrily.

“I don’t--”

“Of course you don’t know what I’m talking about. Of course you’re going to pretend I’m a raving lunatic who’s making false accusations against your honor. But for just a few minutes, let’s be honest, alright? You never loved me,” I spat out cruelly.

“But, Draco, yes I--”

“No, Pansy! No! You loved this.” I lifted up my sleeve and pointed to the Mark.

“You’ve only had that a few weeks, how can you--”

“How can I? How can I insinuate the truth? You’re right. How dare I say something and mean it.”

“I have no idea what--”

“Oh, yes you do. You knew I was going to get it, eventually, didn’t you? You knew that I wanted it, craved it, even? You knew that once I got it I couldn’t take it back, knew that once I was sentenced to this life of indecision and servitude I couldn’t run away. You knew it and you didn’t tell me and it’s all your fault,” I yelled petulantly.

“There’s no reason to blame me because you’re a coward,” she informed me coldly, arching her brow and smirking.

“There is every reason to blame you, Pansy. I loved you and you knew that and you…” I trailed off, laughing faintly. “And you…you just tossed it back…you just…acted like it was all so cute and…and meaningless. You…” I glanced up at the ceiling, shutting my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over.

“You enjoyed what they were doing last week. You liked it. You jeered with them and killed with them and you…you were in your element. I just…I don’t…I didn’t even know you, Pansy.”

“Grow up, Draco. You’re right about one thing, though: you can’t take it back.”

She walked around me and turned the corner.

“But I want to,” I mumbled. “Oh, God, do I want to.”

I sighed and turned, heading in the opposite direction of Pansy.

When I reached the corner, I froze.

Hermione Granger stood there, her hand over her mouth, gaping at me.

“Granger--” I began, irritated and disturbed.

“You…I always thought…Shouldn’t be surprised, but…Oh, my God,” she whispered, backing up and hitting the wall.

“Listen, whatever you think you--”

“So,” she interrupted, abruptly straightening, “were you in that circle last week? Was it your dad or your dad’s best friend who put that curse on me?’

“Granger I had nothing to do--”

“Of course you had nothing to do with it. Let’s see what Dumbledore thinks about that theory,” she suggested furiously.

“Granger. I didn’t do any of that. I spent the whole day hiding in an alley with a worthless Squib who was more opinionated than you,” I explained desperately.

“Did you have a mask on that day?” she inquired indifferently.

I hesitated.

“Yes, but that doesn’t--”

“See this?” She pulled down the collar of her robes a bit, exposing a dark purple bruise on her collarbone. “And this?” Up went her sleeve. “Oh, and this one?” Her neck. “And all these?” Ankle. Elbow. Back.

“Granger, I saw what they--”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“I didn’t do anything, Granger, you have to--”

“You’re all the same,” she seethed. “Once you put on that mask, you’re literally indistinguishable from each other. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t you, personally, who performed an Unforgivable on me. It might as well have been you.”

Silence reigned in the corridor. She was gasping for air as she fought to control herself; I didn’t so much as blink.

“I know. It’s just like Pansy said, isn’t it? I can’t take it back.”

I stumbled past her.

“I should have just stuck with tormenting the first years, then. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for my father’s lifestyle.”

She didn’t call out a retort as I left her; but when I reached the safety of my dormitory, I broke down.

I curled up and forced my eyes closed, terrified that if I opened them I’d see the tender proof of my vilification: like a gristly outline of all my weaknesses, her bruises were haunting.

It might as well have been me.

OOO