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Chosen	By : TillieJupiter Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters of Harry Potter belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this wor

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
“Quiet down, quiet down,” Draco scolded impatiently, as if talking to children.
It was Wednesday afternoon and the Prefects had a meeting to go over schedules and concerns, especially with the beginning of a new semester. They were only three days into the new term and there were already issues with students being out after curfew—specifically Slytherin. Older students, emboldened by their age, were becoming more hostile to the rules and to anyone that confronted them. It also appeared that as the years had gone on, and they inched closer to the impending war, the tensions were palpable within the attitudes of the Slytherin students—it appeared as if they knew something no one else did. Draco knew that the sentiments from the students’ parents, who likely had ties to Death Eaters, proudly spouted during Christmas dinner probably only created even more arrogance; which, unfortunately for Draco, meant he would have to work harder to keep them in line.
“Now, the only reason we’re having this meeting is so that you worthless sods don’t forget your duties,” Draco said. He stood at the head of the classroom next to Hermione; there seemed to even more tension between the opposite Heads as they lead the group. The rest of the Prefects sat in the desks, waiting impatiently to leave for lunch.
“What, you think we’re barmy?” Ron chuckled.
“Of course I do, Weasley—especially you,” Draco spat.
Hermione had to admit that Ron walked right into that one, but she realized she couldn’t let Draco completely set the tone for the meeting. “Now, now,” she scolded, meeting eyes with Ron to try and suppress any masculine rivalry Ron planned to unleash. “We just want to make sure that everyone is ready to get back to their duties for the week. We don’t want any gaps in patrolling because someone forgot,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “Also, we’d like to hear any of your concerns. I know that we all just got back, but these meetings are also here to provide you with support,” Hermione said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I-I have a concern,” came a meek voice to Hermione’s left. It was a younger Prefect from Ravenclaw named Fern Gildabash.
“Go on, Fern,” Hermione smiled to provide comfort to the shy girl.
“Well,” she said as she stood up—her small frame mirrored her small stature and voice. “I-I’m finding that some students have been rather hostile lately when found after curfew.”
“Three guesses who,” Ron said sarcastically.
“Shut it, Weasley,” Pansy snarled. When the attention was on her, she stood up in defiance. “I know you’re all thinkin’ it’s Slytherin, but it’s not our fault. We just can’t help it when someone like Fern confronts us; she’s just asking for trouble.”
Fern slunk back down to her seat, hanging her head. As Hermione watched this, she stood up taller in her defiance. “You’re right, we all are thinking it’s Slytherin. I myself have had some nasty run-ins this past semester–” Hermione began with her nose upturned.
“Of course you have! You think Slytherin’s just going to take a Mudblood Head Girl?!” Pansy shot back.
Instantly, Hermione felt the rush of air as Draco shot up next to her. He had been leaning rather slouched against the podium, displaying his lack of enthusiasm for being there. He seemed to lean forward in a menacing pose as if he was about to pounce. “That’s enough!” he demanded. Pansy glared at Draco, but remained silent as she sat back down. She didn’t take her brown eyes off of him as she seemed to hex him with her thoughts. Hermione looked at Draco in astonishment. “I’m not here to babysit some bitching children!” he howled. “Fern!” he called as he looked at her. She immediately looked up, and her blue eyes look frightened as she met his. “Who patrols with you?”
“W-Will,” Fern said softly.
“Will,” Draco said as he looked towards the 6th year. Will immediately sat stiff in his chair. “You will patrol near Slytherin from now on, okay?” Will nodded his head vigorously. “Now, if you have any complaints about any Slytherin students, come to me,” he demanded of the Prefects. His aggression seemed to make everyone uncomfortable, as most of them stared off into different directions, hoping not to catch the ire of the Head Boy. “Bloody hell,” Draco grunted as he held his head in his hand as if in pain. “Before you all give me a splitting headache, is there anything else?” Before anyone could respond, Draco continued. “Good! We’re done, then! You’re dismissed.”
Quickly the Prefects got up and started to leave to go to lunch. Ron watched Draco for a moment with a furrowed brow as Draco held his head in his hands. He appeared to be in a lot of pain. But soon Ron was being dragged out by the rest of the Prefects in the doorway.
“Don’t forget your patrol times! The schedule is posted near Professor Dumbledore’s office for reference!” Hermione called as the students filtered out when the meeting unexpectedly was cut short. “Damnit Malfoy, you can’t just–” she began to protest hotly as the last students left. She had allowed Draco to completely run the meeting and even cut it short before anything was accomplished.
“Bloody hell,” Draco interrupted, as pressed his fingers against his temples as he began slouch over.
“Malfoy?” Hermione questioned as she turned and leaned her head down to try and look at his face. “Malfoy? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked again as the last of the Prefects left the room.
“Fuck!” Draco cried as he sprung out of his painful repose. He ran out of the classroom and down the hall to the nearest boy’s bathroom.
“Draco!” Hermione called as she ran after him.
The other Prefects were already walking in the other direction towards the Great Hall when Ron turned around and saw Hermione run after Draco. “Did she just call him ‘Draco’?” Ron whispered to himself.
When Draco went into the boy’s bathroom, Hermione stood still for a moment at its entrance, wondering if she should go in, but quickly made the decision to follow him. The memory of shattering mirror rang through her mind as the scene unfolded; that she, as Head Girl, was responsible for pacifying any situations that may result in breaking of rules—particularly Hogwarts property, again.
“Draco! What’s wrong?” Hermione asked urgently when she came upon Draco at one of the sinks. He was covered in water after he had splashed some from the running faucet onto his face. His skin was as white as a ghost as he stared into the mirror, a look of horror on his face. It reminded Hermione of that night many weeks ago.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried, grabbing his hair with hands and pulling at it as he buried his head into the crooks of his arms.
“Oh my God,” Hermione said desperately as she put a tentative hand on his back to comfort him. She started to fear that she was about to be plunged into the same nightmare she had experienced with the Head Boy months back.
“No!” he cried as he recoiled from her touch. “I’m alright!” he called as he pulled his face from his arms to look at her. “I’m alright,” he said resolutely, as his breathing began to calm. His gray eyes, that seemed to portray more of the Draco that Hermione had recently been introduced to, bore into her with resolve.
Hermione searched his eyes, feeling drawn in by them, as if he had reopened the door into his soul. Her heart was pounding again as they looked at each other, and again she was feeling exhilaration mixed with terror that he brought out of her in these quasi-intimate moments. “Ar-are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said softly, as he seemed to completely calm. He looked at the girl once again, for more than a mere moment, as he tried to convey that he was telling the truth. It was then that he saw her eyes, and felt his breath hitch in his throat. Immediately, he turned towards the mirror again to glare at his own reflection in disgust—she made him so weak, and he hated it.
Suddenly, Hermione heard the sound of footsteps behind her and spun around. At the entrance to the bathroom, Ron stood looking at them quizzically. “Ron,” Hermione said softly. Instantly, she felt a rush of anxiety run through her as Ron looked at her and Draco. Ron remained silent.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Great Hall, Weasley?” Draco spat as he turned around to glare at Ron. Again, Ron was silent, and his face exuded a mix of emotion that put Hermione on edge. His brow was furrowed as his blue eyes seemed to dance back and forth between Hermione and Draco. He looked as if he was doing a rather difficult puzzle problem in his head. Then, averting his eyes from Hermione’s gaze, Ron turned around and left them without a word.
“Fuck,” Hermione whispered harshly as Ron’s footsteps disappeared down the hall. Her face twisted with worry.
“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said as he dried his face with a towel. Somehow her liberal language made him feel even more comfortable speaking to her again; her use of language that was familiar to him made him feel like their conversation was simple, instead of deeply laced with innuendo and intrigue.
“Fuck,” Hermione cried again. “What if–” Hermione began.
“‘What if’ nothing. It’s not like he caught us snogging,” Draco said nonchalantly. When Hermione looked at him with her brow furrowed incredulously, Draco felt himself become sheepish. Though Ron being witness to the scene was not ideal, it at least distracted Hermione from asking any questions; she had yet to inquire about the cause of these occurrences, and so far Draco was content with her coming to her own conclusions. “Besides, Weasley’s an idiot,” Draco said as he looked in the mirror and fixed his hair.
“You know, Ron’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for,” Hermione defended as she glared at him.
“Well, you better hope not, or your lover boy there and Potter are going to figure it out,” Draco warned, pointing towards where Ron once stood. “Then what the fuck are we going to do?”
Hermione was taken aback by Draco’s frank analysis of their precarious situation and furrowed her brow as she regarded him. He seemed less guarded as he spoke to her, as if his words were less precise and tactful, demonstrating a candid nature of conversation; however, his words were heavy on her as he spoke truthfully of the dangers of their current circumstances. As his words ran through her head, Hermione began to analyze the situation from an outside perspective to see if Ron or anyone else had witnessed enough to come to any conclusions. Though in her panic it had seemed as if they would be found out, when she stopped to think rationally, she realized the proof wasn’t there for anyone to come to any conclusions. “They won’t. Nothing happened,” Hermione said resolutely, as she turned up her nose in her defiance.
“You’re right. Nothing happened,” Draco said as he suddenly loomed over her. His height and proximity were meant to be threatening. His words rang with denial of their circumstance, when Hermione simply spoke of their current situation with Ron as witness. She felt her heart sink a little at his words and the darkness in his eyes; she couldn’t just forget, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to forget, ever. Hermione’s eyes met his as she looked up at him, and she couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip anxiously—an anxiety brought on by their circumstances, the current situation, and his proximity.
Seeing her plump lip become prisoner to her teeth, memories of their intimate moments suddenly flooded back to him as he remembered what it felt like to ravish her mouth and nibble on her lip. Instantly, he felt his jaw grow tight as the voices in his head screamed to forget such memories. But there was no denying as he looked at her that neither of them could forget, and it plagued them; every time they looked at one another, instead of the memories of each other as enemies springing to their mind, the images of that night sprang forth behind their eyes.
“Nothing…” she whispered as her hot breath mingled with his as he loomed above her. But just as quick as he was face to face with her, he stepped back and walked away. In a blink of an eye, she felt herself relax as his heat and scent left her; she hated how his very proximity made her weak—in mind and body. As she watched him leave, her mind came back into focus as she realized there would be questions, and as much of a prat Draco was, his sentiment was the only one she should have—“nothing happened.” She felt stuck in her spot as she listened for his footsteps to disappear.
“That’s right…‘nothing’,” a high-pitched voice laughed from the window. Hermione’s head whipped around and she saw the shape of Moaning Myrtle lying in mid-air with her hand propped under her chin, as if watching a show.
“Myrtle,” Hermione said in surprise.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the spectral mocked. “Well, well, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Making strange bedfellows, Hermione?”
“He’s just Head Boy, and I’m Head Girl. Noth–” Hermione began.
“–‘Nothing happened’, right?” Myrtle laughed.
“Right,” Hermione said resolutely as she eyed the spectral. With narrowed eyes, Hermione analyzed if Moaning Myrtle was a threat to their secret.
Suddenly, Moaning Myrtle’s visage shot through the air and stopped in front of Hermione. The girl’s dark eyes peered from behind her glasses as if into Hermione’s soul. “Neither of you believe that, I can tell,” Myrtle said. “I’m actually a little jealous,” she said sighing. “Being dead is awfully lonely.”
“I’m sor–” Hermione began, but Myrtle cut her off again.
“However, it must be hard loving someone with so little time left…” Myrtle said as she drifted away, floating across the room.
The word “love” shot through Hermione, instantly making her nauseous, but as Myrtle finished her sentence, she became even more intrigued. “What do you mean?” Hermione asked as she furrowed her brow and pushing Myrtle’s sentiments of “love” aside.
“Oh, don’t you see it?” Myrtle asked innocently.
“See what?” Hermione asked.
“He’s being cursed,” Myrtle said with dark rue as she turned to smirk at Hermione.
“…cursed?” Hermione whispered as her eyes drifted off in thought, as her quintessential rationale and analysis took over.
“Didn’t you see his eyes? They were different. He was changing,” Myrtle explained darkly. “Some dark magic is being used against him. He won’t have much time now,” she explained as if she took pleasure in it. “Maybe when he’s dead, he’ll haunt the bathroom with me. There’s enough room for two; I can have the girls, and he can have the boys,” she said excitedly as she started to swirl around in the air. “And I won’t be lonely anymore,” she smiled devilishly as she stopped and looked towards the shocked Head Girl. “But that shouldn’t matter to you. ‘Nothing happened’.”
“Ron, what are you goin’ on about?” Harry asked impatiently as Ron dragged him away from the Great Hall by his arm, babbling incoherently. Harry had been enjoying a sandwich when Ron ran in and pulled him away, saying he had to talk to him immediately. Luckily, Harry had a chance to grab an apple nearby as he was yanked from his seat. He took a bite of his apple as Ron continued to drag him.
“Hermione called Malfoy ‘Draco’!” Ron finally articulated as he spun around when they made it to a more private hallway, away from the bustle of the Great Hall.
“She called him ‘Draco’?!” Harry asked incredulously after quickly swallowing the bite of his apple.
“Yes!” Ron said.
“When? Where? How?!” Harry asked desperately.
“It was after our Prefect’s meeting. Draco cut the meeting short saying he had a headache or something, and after I left I saw Malfoy and Hermione run towards the boy’s bathroom and Hermione called his name! His first name!”
“Why would she follow after him?” Harry wondered aloud. “Did you follow them?”
“Of course! You think I’m daft?” Ron said. “She actually went into the boy’s bathroom after him. It looked like she was consoling him, or something,” he explained with disgust.
“What did they say?” Harry asked.
“I didn’t catch any of their conversation,” Ron answered.
“What did you say?” Harry then asked.
“I couldn’t say anything! What was I supposed to say?!” Ron asked desperately. “I mean, what does it even mean? Are they friends now?!” Ron bellowed. As his voice reverberated off the stone walls, Harry motioned his hands for Ron to quiet down.
“How could you even think that?! Hermione would never be friends with Malfoy,” Harry whispered harshly.
“Maybe because she’s Head Girl she felt like she had to make sure he was okay?” Ron tried to rationalize.
“That’s ridiculous—she owes him nothing!” Harry said louder, to which Ron motioned for Harry to be quiet this time.
“I know, I know!” Ron said. “Then I don’t know what to think,” he admitted weakly.
“We should just ask,” Harry said as he turned around as if ready to find Hermione immediately and confront her.
“Wait!” Ron called desperately and grabbed Harry’s arm to stop him. “You barmy? We’d be lucky not to get hexed!”
“Oh yeah, by who? Hermione or ‘Draco’?!” Harry mocked.

As Draco sat at dinner, silently eating his stew as the other Slytherin students yammered on about inane subjects, his gray eyes glazed over in thought. But Pansy, who sat next to him, noticed his gaze seemed specific and tilted her head to try and determine where he was looking.
“Draco, what you lookin’ at?” Pansy asked as she stared off into the same direction.
As his eyes focused again, he realized his sights were set on the empty spot at the Gryffindor table—where Hermione always sat. “Nothing,” Draco mumbled as he shifted his vision down to the food in front of him.
Pansy furrowed her brow with suspicion, but the thought quickly left her mind. A salacious look appeared on her face as she leaned closer to Draco to whisper in his ear. “You know, it’s been a while since we…saw each other.” Draco didn’t seem to react to her words, so she continued. “We could, you know, meet up later.”
“Maybe…” Draco said nonchalantly as he put a spoonful of stew in his mouth. Though his answer did not confirm their plans, in the past Pansy was used to Draco’s noncommittal attitude—it was an answer he had given more than once.
“Well, you know where I am,” she whispered and then quickly licked his earlobe.
As Pansy went back to her frivolous babbling with the other students and Draco no longer felt any eyes on him, his vision snapped back to the empty place at the Gryffindor table. Casually, he wondered where Hermione was. Keenly analyzing the situation, he thought maybe she was keeping clear of Ron and Harry, who would probably ambush her with questions about what had happened earlier. Luckily, neither Ron nor Harry were particularly observant, so it was unlikely they had derived anything from the incident after the Prefect’s meeting that afternoon. To see her absent at dinner made him wonder if she was unsure of her ability to fend off their questions, to which he scoffed with annoyance before continuing his meal. A slight feeling of anxiety filled him as he realized that he might come in contact with the Head Girl again since she was probably hiding out in their dorm, away from the prying questions of her friends. Unfortunately, even if he wanted to study—or maybe even take Pansy up on her offer—he’d have to go back to their dorm first.
After dinner, Draco made his way back to the dorm to gather some books to study. On the way, he mentally prepared himself to see Hermione again—something he found himself having to do before all their encounters as of late. He needed to create an impenetrable wall against her, especially knowing that even the most casual contact made him weak against his basic impulses. No matter what his loins wanted, he knew she was one person he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—have. Every impure thought about the muddied girl sent him on a guilt spiral of loathing for himself. His indulgence in a dream for one night had made his reality a nightmare. But with each day, each encounter, each training with Snape, he felt himself becoming weaker in the face of upholding his father’s teachings and expectations as a Malfoy. His father’s voice was becoming quieter in his mind, and his own voice, which had been previously tortured into submission, was beginning to come through again. Especially as Snape called for him to fight, he came to realize the only fight he was winning was the fight to destroy himself, making him easy prey for the Dark Lord. But all Draco knew was to be a Malfoy, and everything else felt like he was a player going off-script. And in those moments, which only the tempting Head Girl seemed to bring out in him, he felt fear, but also exhilaration; however, he still couldn’t figure out if he felt exhilarated with the idea of breaking the rules, rebelling, or something else.
“Lucios lemos,” Draco stated to the portrait door when he came to it. As the door swung open, the familiar ambient hues of candle light and the roaring fire shone out of the Common Room. Stepping in, Draco’s eyes took a quick peek around the room and found that he was alone. He let out a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding, as the anxiety and anticipation of another moment with her left him. However, unbeknownst to him, a pair of hazel eyes watched him from above in a darkened doorway.
As he walked in and the door closed behind him, he made his way to his desk near the window to retrieve his books. Then the moonlight in the sky caught his eyes and he looked out onto the peaceful grounds of Hogwarts. Even with so much chaos in his own life, the nature of the world never changed—it always held a peace and calm that beckoned him. Leaning against the desk, he crossed his long arms over his chest in a position of relaxation as he looked out wistfully over the grounds. The serene silence of his solitude was only interrupted by the crackling of the fireplace behind him, and he basked in it. All day he had felt a pull to center himself, to seek seclusion, and quiet the voices within him. Every voice, be it his fathers or his own, created a constant slurry of confusion. Truly, he didn’t know what he was doing and was only going off of the script his father had written for him before he was even born.
“‘The Legibesiddelse curse,’” Hermione’s voice rang out from above.
Immediately, Draco jumped from his position and spun around to look towards the voice. But it wasn’t the voice that shocked him, but the words that she said. Instantly, panic ripped through him like a bolt of lightning. “What did you say?!” he choked out.
Hermione began to slowly descend the stairs with a book in hand—the same book the page he had left for her earlier in the year had come from. “‘The Ligibesiddelse curse: This dark magic can only be used by the most skilled and powerful wizard or witch’,” Hermione read from the book. “‘When practiced, and a victim is weak, one can transfer their soul to the target to retain their body and lifetime for their own. With this curse, one can extend their life by obtaining a new vessel for the soul.’”
Draco stood in shock, which was written all over his features. He felt a sense of déjà vu as he relived the first time she confronted him with his secrets; however, this time, he immediately felt fear—but not only for himself. This secret was never meant to be found out, and could only bring danger, possibly death, for both parties. He felt his mouth become dry as his heart began to hammer in his chest from her words.
She walked up to him slowly with the book in hand, the oversized sleeves of the sweater she was wearing spilling onto her palms where she held the book. As she stopped, feet from him, she loudly snapped the book closed which made Draco jump in his adrenalin-filled state. Seeing him become startled from the action, Hermione’s neutral look broke as if she had just realized the gravity of Draco’s revelation. Suddenly, her confidence fell, and her eyes went to the floor for a moment as she began to bite her lip. But seconds later, he hazel eyes, again determined, flicked up to meet his.
“This,” she said holding the book she had been reading, “this curse is what’s been happening to you. He,” she said, referring to Voldemort, “has been cursing you.” Her voice seemed eerily neutral as she spoke, and for once Draco could not get a read on her—he was not sure what she was going to do next. It was apparent that she had spent the evening researching, and successfully. He offhandedly wondered what had tipped her off to begin her search, but quickly pushed his wonder aside as unimportant in this moment.
Draco was silent, his jaw clasped tightly. His eyes were wide as his mind screamed in its scheming to figure out what to do next. Again he was faced with another secret he was not prepared to have revealed, except this time, it had the possibility of putting his life at risk; if another of the “golden trio” like Harry had figured this out, he was sure that the threat of Azkaban could do little to stop Harry from killing him. No matter why Draco was chosen as a vessel for the Dark Lord, he was still a threat undeserving of pity.
He could feel his heart pounding and the adrenaline coursing through is veins, making him weak. He had to act quickly, but felt paralyzed. He knew he should stop her—hurt her—as he would with any enemy that threatened him, especially with revealing his darkest secret. As she looked at him, her face giving no indication of her next action, every image of her his mind secretly cherished flashed behind his eyes. As these images flashed before him, it was as if a barrier of memories stood between him and the Head Girl that kept him from striking her as he would any other foe. His inability to act violently, which he was innately skilled at, shocked him. Even in the face of immediate danger from possible imprisonment and death if she were to reveal his secret to others, he could not fight. Have I given up completely on my life? he wondered furiously.
As his pulse banged in his ears he began to realize that he had happened upon one of the most pivotal moments in his young life. He had to make a choice, and ultimately it determined both his and Hermione’s fate. This secret was one he had to protect, at all costs. Protect? he thought, and a memory sprang forward and a voice that was not his nor his father’s came through—it was Snape’s: You can protect them. Suddenly, it became clear what he had to do, and he felt a pain rip through his heart at the realization. There was no choice—he lost either way. With a heavy sigh, he began to slip his hand stealthily in his pocket, as he closed his eyes and prepared himself to meet his destiny. His fingers came in contact with his wand as he prepared the spell in his mind.
“I don’t think so,” Hermione said suddenly as she pointed her wand in Draco’s face. She had deftly pulled the wand from the elastic waistband in her leggings behind her voluminous sweater; she was even cunning in her choice of wardrobe that made her appear unarmed. She flicked her wand towards his pocket. “Give me your wand—handle first,” she instructed.
Draco’s eyes snapped open in shock as the tip of her wand pointed threateningly towards him. “Are you fucking serious?” he said incredulously.
“I’m fucking serious!” she bellowed suddenly. Her hazel eyes lit up with fire as she glared at him trying to demonstrate as much intimidation as she could. “Give it to me. Now!” she demanded.
His gray eyes were dark as he glared at her. Her neutrality, and her slight flicker of sympathy, had hid her true determination; she was controlling this situation, and she was suspicious of him from the get-go. His deep grimace darkened as he weighed the options in his mind. For a moment, it looked as if he wasn’t going to comply, but then he began to slowly reach into his pocket and flip the wand around to grip at the assaulting end. Hermione’s eyes watched the movements of disarming intently as he pulled it from his pocket, and her fiery eyes met his as he extended it towards her. For a moment, she analyzed his face and his eyes, trying to derive any deception in his actions. Throwing the book she held in her hand to the side with a thud, she extended her other hand out to grip his wand. At that moment, her eyes left his to watch the exchange. It was then that Draco made his move.
Suddenly, Draco lunged his body at her and tackled her to the rug-clad ground. In her shock, as her body hit the firm surface, she lost grip of his wand which he forcefully pulled away from her. Pinning her underneath him, his left arm pinned her right arm to her chest and between them pointing her wand towards her own chin. With his right arm, he held down her left, that she had extended to grab his wand. He used the force of his elbow and forearm to hold the free limb down painfully. For a few moments she struggled beneath him, but when the tip of Draco’s wand pressed against her cheek from the arm that held down hers, she stopped struggling. Her breathing then became ragged with fear as her unfocused eyes tried to see the wand that threatened her. Draco’s eyes bore into her as a deep, pained grimace carved into his features. Suddenly, her teary eyes met his.
“Draco,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
Instantly, the look in her eyes—something he’d never seen before—shook Draco to his core. It was as if the vulnerable wet ebbs of fear shot daggers straight into his heart. It physically hurt him to see that her eyes, which were always so strong, and were now so weak. He had never seen such fear or vulnerability in her eyes before—or in anyone’s but his own—and wished to see the eyes he remembered and dreamed. As her eyes filled with more tears, and began to fall down the side of her face, Draco felt the pain in his heart and soul begin to ebb at him. With a tight jaw, he willed to fight off the tears that sprang to his eyes.
“I-I can’t look at you,” he said through tight teeth. His face was contorted in so much pain as her round, wet eyes bore him.
“Draco, please, look at me!” Hermione pleaded as she cried. Her breathing had become erratic as the fear bellowed off of her. She had lost control—of everything. Before him, she began to break.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out as he continued to avert his eyes and fought back tears. Then, taking his free left hand, he brought it to her face and began to cover her eyes.
“No, no, stop! Draco! Stop!” she sobbed as she threw her head back and forth to keep him from covering her eyes. “Please stop!” she cried desperately as her tears covered his palms.
He held his body and hand steadfast to continue to hold her down, but her struggles broke him even more. His own painful tears began to fall down his face when she no longer witness to it. He turned his head back to look at her feeling now with her broken eyes shielded he could gain strength to continue on. She took in big gulps of breath in the darkness behind his palm. He could feel her hot tears fall down his fingers in a constant stream. With her eyes no longer witness, he took in deep breaths to try and regain control of himself. But as he looked upon her face, even without her breaking soul speaking through her eyes, the anguish and fear that still filled her features tortured him. No matter what he did to try cover her, he couldn’t suppress who she was in his mind to make his task any easier. The pain he felt in that moment was more than he had ever felt in his entire life, and his tears flowed freely from his sad and tormented eyes. No amount of personal anguish could equal the hatred he felt towards himself and for what he was doing to her. But the words Snape had spoken that sealed their destiny repeated through his head as a mantra: You can protect them. Taking another breath, he began to form the words.
“Stop!!!” she cried desperately, her fearful voice ringing off the walls.
Immediately, Draco’s hand moved from her eyes to her mouth for fear that someone might hear her. It was then her eyes met his eyes again, and she saw the tears streaking down his face that matched her own. Her broken eyes mirrored his. “I-I have to protect you!” he cried, as if trying to convince her.
“No!” she mumbled underneath his hand as she shook her head frantically.
Her left arm again began to move and he pressed his right elbow down against it harder. A look of pain crossed over her face from the force he bore down on her smaller limbs. He straightened his wand out to point directly at her instead against her face. Her fearful eyes again went to the tip of the wand with a wide gaze.
“Please,” she whimpered in a muffled cry as she stared at the end of the weapon.
“I have to,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he cried.
Both a mess with tears, with broken souls mirrored in their eyes, they looked into each other. Though from the outside it appeared Draco was the perpetrator and her the victim, they knew within they were both victims. In that moment, two completely different people felt their worlds and their souls collide. It was fear that brought them together, as it always had. In his hate for himself, he hated her. She had been everything he had thought was weak, but she had always shown herself to be anything but. For fear that she showed his beliefs—his father’s teachings, his existence, everything—was a lie, he hated her. But deep down, he feared the truth: that he didn’t hate her at all. To prove this, he knew he had no choice; to protect her he had to make her forget.
Suddenly, Hermione’s eyes seemed to widen with realization. Her eyes frantically shifted back and forth as if she was analyzing every flicker of emotion in his eyes, his soul. It was then she went quiet and closed her eyes as if to calm herself. Opening her eyes, she spoke again. “I-I won’t scream,” her muffled voice said behind palm as her eyes asked him to uncover her mouth. For a moment, he wavered, but decided to take his hand from her mouth. To her word, she did not scream. It was then she closed her eyes, the last tears in her eyes spilling out.
Draco felt the last pain stab through his soul as it appeared she accepted her fate. Taking a deep, quivering breath and closing his own eyes, he tried to draw in his last bit of strength to say the word. There was no going back—their destiny was sealed. With his left hand now free, he found himself pressing his wet palm against her wet cheek—he wanted to touch her in their last moments. “Obliv–” he began whispering.
At his touch, her vulnerable eyes shot open, and they no longer showed fear. A deep sadness shown in her eyes as she looked up at him, but beyond that sadness displayed the strength he envied. “I forgive you.”

Chapter Note(s):
Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.
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