Stronger Chapter Thirteen

Stronger

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Maybe I’m doing this because words are indestructible, I wrote onto the creamy roll of parchment on the library table. Maybe I’m doing this because whatever I put down in ink will be here forever, for longer than I’ll be here. Maybe it’s because it’s final and once it’s there I can’t take it back. I can’t change my mind. Or maybe it’s just because I need to make sure that this hopefulness, this unprecedented optimism, won’t go away; I need to make it permanent.

I can’t forget last night, can’t forget her words, spoken aloud with so much certainty, I continued, biting my lip and cringing at my stupidity. I have to remember that she, the know-it-all, only spoke facts: she had the temerity to tell me the least likely and most welcome thing anyone ever could have imagined. Therefore it had to be true, didn’t it? It couldn’t be something made-up, something calming but ostensibly false. It was true. And if I write it down, surely that makes it real. Real and true. That’s everything I’ve ever wanted, isn’t it? Isn’t it?

I let the tip of my quill stay suspended over the surface of the paper, the ink drying and crusting as it waited impatiently for me to continue my warbled thoughts. I’d never done this before; I’d never kept a journal, recorded emotions and ideas and dreams into a notebook. It had seemed to be the kind of thing sentimental ten year old girls did, the kind of melodramatic muggle activity I was so often funning.

I stared down at the messy lines of script I’d filled up the parchment with: disgusted with this shameless display of weakness, I shoved it away, flicking my quill along with it. A very feminine “Oh!” of surprise caused me to lift my head.

“Granger?”

“Yes,” she snapped, rubbing at the small scratch on her palm.

“What are you doing here?” I asked nervously, my eyes involuntarily wandering to the evidence of my helplessness, which was lying innocently an inch away from her fingertips. Close enough for both of us to touch, to just reach out and take…

“What do you think, Malfoy? I’m studying. You know, reading books. Taking notes. The kinds of things required to pass in this mausoleum if your father can’t pay your way through,” she said angrily.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” I commented lightly, willing her to walk away.

“No,” she explained, eyes flashing, “someone didn’t get to wake up today. Someone was sitting outside by the lake all night. Someone was kept up by the illogical arguments of someone else’s problems. Someone--”

“I didn’t exactly threaten you with bodily harm to be down there last night, Granger,” I hissed, finally tearing my gaze off my ramblings and glaring at her.

“No, but you did act like a human being for once and make me curious enough to stay!” she shot back, her voice rising.

“It’s not my fault you’re screwed up enough to want to go cry by the lake in the middle of the night!” I fumed, shoving my chair backwards and getting to my feet.

“Why you hypocritical, inconsiderate, idiotic, self-centered--”

“Careful, Granger. You’re going to run out of adjectives soon,” I smirked, hoping she couldn’t feel the heat radiating off my cheeks.

“You went down there to sob about the misfortune of being born a privileged pureblood! So what gives you the right to say anything--”

“But I don’t walk around and pretend I’m all normal and wholesome! I at least know I have--”

“Oh, come on! You’re worse than anyone here! Talking and acting and wanting everyone to believe you’re better than them! I wonder if Voldemort knows you run around wishing you never--”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Granger,” I whispered evenly.

She blinked, as if she’d been unaware we were nearly shouting the middle of the library. I could feel my pulse racing, my jaw clenched painfully as I fought to maintain a semblance of composure.

“Why not?” she finally demanded. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

I was quiet.

“Isn’t it?” she repeated with far less conviction.

“See, that’s the problem with you Gryffindors. You’re all so noble and brave and good. You’d rather commit murder than tell a lie,” I responded coolly.

“What the devil are you going on about?” she burst out.

“Sometimes, Granger, honesty isn’t a virtue. Sometimes, one could even say it’s a hindrance,” I explained distantly, my hands balled into incomprehensible fists.

She pursed her lips.

“What are you really trying to hide, Malfoy?”

I halted my retort, shutting my eyes and gripping the edge of the table as I leaned forward. The floor felt like it was spinning beneath me, the lights above swirling, even if I couldn’t see them.

“If I say it out loud it makes it real, Granger.”

She didn’t move, just watched me from under the cover of her lashes.

“Real,” she murmured, sounding dazed.

“Real,” I affirmed.

“So, if I don’t say it out loud it’s not real that you watched me be tortured?”

I swallowed uncomfortably.

“You need to get over that, Granger. My life hasn’t been all that perfect either,” I told her coldly.

“Your problems aren’t real, Malfoy!” she yelled, forgetting that there were people surrounding us.

I was stunned into silence.

“You’re so fixated on things no one else can see, hear, care about. Stop trying to get people to pity you, when it’s your mistakes you have to deal with. No one else’s. Blame other people all you want, but it’s your fault. Everything. It’s all your fault,” she spat.

I flinched at her assessment.

“So it’s my fault, you’re saying, that you’re so bitter you can’t even yell at me, your sworn enemy, without sounding pathetic?” I taunted.

“It’s better to sound pathetic than be pathetic,” she said tightly.

“Ah, such an ambiguous implication. Practice what you preach, Granger: say what you mean,” I suggested.

“So you’re willing to sacrifice your ego just to get one up on me?” she inquired mildly.

“Believe me, Granger. There’s nothing left of it to shred. So go on. Tell me how very much you hate me, and how very much you resent me. Go on,” I prompted, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Well? What is it? I thought you had years’ worth of insults to throw at me. Here’s your chance. Let it all out. Come on,” I urged cruelly. “What are you waiting for, Granger? Do it! Tell me what a selfish loser I am, tell me what an over privileged moron I must be. Well? Come on! I’m waiting!”

“You know,” she eventually said, “I think I’ve talked to you more in the past few weeks than I have in the rest of our lives combined.”

“What’s your point?”

“You were right when you said I had a lot to say to you. And I’ve been waiting for this kind of opportunity for years. But I’ve realized something.”

“Pray tell, what is that?” I asked sarcastically; she couldn’t have known my heart was beating so furiously I was frightened.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she told me simply.

And then, just when I was sure someone was seeing past my mask of indifference, she looked me in the eye.

“You’re worse.”

OOO