Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Ugly	By : From56to62 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 15643 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or make any money writting this.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: The song for this is “Exit Music” by Radiohead.
God, I love it. Listened to it on repeat while writing this. Sorry
about the delay. Summer. You know. And in regards to the last
chapter: I can't outright say if that was the last time Draco will
cut himself, but trust me, I'm not going to drag out his suffering
forever.

P.S. I've been waiting forever to write this
chapter. W00t.

P.P.S It's really long :) I just separated some of it into the
next chap.

------------------------------------------------

His first conscious thought: there is sun shinning on his face. He
can see it, even from behind the darkness of his closed eyelids. The
bright early morning sun is filtering through the stain glass window
of the bathroom in vibrant shades of red, fuchsia, green and blue
right onto his pale, unsuspecting face.

Draco blinks three times, squints and pulls himself upright from
the cold tiles. Annoyed, he brings an arm up to block the blinding
light and abruptly hisses through his teeth in pain. Ah. Yes. His
arms.

Detachedly, he looks down and admires the damage. The skin from
his wrists to his elbows, on both arms, looks like he's climbed
through razor wire. What's more, the cuts and the blood he didn't
care to wipe off have dried in long lines and streaks, acting as a
binding agent between the torn skin. With every movement, the dry
blood cracks open painfully.

Gingerly, mindful of his movements, he stands from the floor. With
this action, the room spins mildly around him, but he's still able to
take into account the splatters of blood that morbidly paint the
tiles. Cringing, Draco decides he'll deal with that later. Then, with
quick deliberation he moves towards the large claw footed tub and
shower. He hasn't indulged in this particularly odd habit since
Granger found him in here weeks ago. Yet it is more of a functional
need this time, he rationalizes; the blood isn't going to wash itself
off.

Draco undresses quickly, steps into the porcelain tub and per
routine, turns on only one of the taps. The water comes spiting out
instantly, raining down on his blond head. Exhausted, he lowers
himself into a sitting position. It stings painfully, the water,
burning his already hyper-sensitive nerves in the open wounds. He is
aware of the amount of pain, yet reaching forward to turn down the
temperature seems too much of an effort. He can't bring himself to
move.

Sitting in the tub, staring blankly into nowhere, Draco finds
himself doing the one thing he most wishes not to. He starts to
think. And once he starts, he can't stop. He thinks of the owl in his
room the night before. Of the note, and the elegant scrawl. Of his
father, the Dark Mark and his freedom. Of Hermione Granger, who is
still sleeping soundly in her warm bed, tucked safely away from the
likes of Lucius Malfoy. But how long will that last, Draco wonders,
how long will she go undamaged while he selfishly draws her –
pure and warm and golden – ever closer to the all consuming
black fires of the Death Eaters and his own dark, miserable life.

Thinking over his actions now, Draco wants nothing more than to
drown himself in the swirling water beneath him. At a young age, he'd recognized in himself some
impulsive and selfish tendencies. At the time, he'd blamed his
parents for it. They'd given him everything and anything he'd
ever wanted, the moment he'd thrown a fit for it. Yet in time, he'd
learned that it was simply his nature; that he could not rest until
he'd gotten what he wanted. And he'd wanted Granger – to taste
her, to touch her, to make her his own, so he'd impulsively done just
that. He'd never once thought about what he was doing, or what the
consequences would be.

With the newfound weight of his careless actions pushing down on
his shoulders, Draco drags himself up from the tub and stands on the
plush emerald bathmat. She deserves better, he thinks with cold
resignation as the water drips from the tips of his blond bangs, she
deserves a happy, carefree life. A life with Potty and Weasel and
family and sunshine and – god forbid – a brood of little
red-headed babies.

And with this last rather disturbing visual, Draco has made his
choice. In a small part of his mind he wonders why this decision
doesn't hurt. Because it's the right thing to do, his mind
whispers back, because you know you don't deserve her. Or
maybe, he thinks, it is because there is nothing left of him to hurt.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It doesn't take Hermione very long to realize something. Draco
Malfoy is ignoring her.

She had realized this fact two days earlier when instead of subtly
brushing against her arm in the crowded hall in the rush between
classes – which he has a slightly annoying and endearing habit
of doing – he'd walked right on by without even sparing her a
look. And then, instead of meeting her in the Head Common room after
rounds like they'd planned, he'd never showed.

But by far, the icing on the cake is this; not only does he ignore
her, but since Tuesday morning, Draco Malfoy has been walking around
Hogwarts like the prodigal son. Like he'd never become quiet and
withdrawn at the beginning of seventh year and virtually snubbed his
fellow Slytherins. Like he'd never stopped walking around school with
Crabbe and Goyle, terrorizing the younger years. Like he hadn't spent
the last several weeks snogging her brains out.

Suddenly, much to Hermione's horror, it is like he had never left
his position of Slytherin Prince and Lucius Malfoy's spoiled son.
What's worse, glad to have their leader back, the fellow Slytherins
flock to him. Once again, Crabbe and Goyle have become his constant
shadow. Pansy Parkinson has become his perpetual arm candy. The sheer
way she hangs off of him sickens Hermione, and not, she convinces
herself, from jealousy.

In all the weeks they'd spent together she hadn't realized how
entirely different Draco had been acting this year until he'd
suddenly returned to his old behavior. And seeing him now, walking
around Hogwarts like a cocky prat – like he once again owned
the place – is something she had not been prepared to deal
with.

At first, when it became dreadfully clear that he would have
nothing more to do with her, she became acutely panicked. Her first
thought had been of pranks, and jokes, and Slytherin cruelty. With
their history, it hadn't been completely out of the question to think
that he had only been using her for some kind of sick game. But as
soon as the thought came to her, she brushed it aside. It just didn't
ring true; if it had all been a simple prank he would not have
hesitated to brag about it to his fellow Slytherins. And there had
been no horribly embarrassing whispers circulating Hogwarts yet.
Also, and most importantly, someone could not fake the emotions she'd
seen in his eyes.

By Wednesday afternoon, Hermione has moved passed her initial fear
and into a new territory of emotion - anger. How dare he!
she thinks furiously, how dare he pretend like nothing had
happened between them! Sure, he has problems, but to treat her like
this – like she no longer exists – is completely
unacceptable. Confusion, annoyance and anger are simmering under her
skin like a boiling cauldron. Why was he acting this way? What had
happened in the last few days to make him change? The questions alone
are enough to drive her mad!

Finding it simply impossible not to take action against such
absurd behavior, on Friday evening, Hermione has made her decision;
she is going to get answers out of him if it is the last thing she
does.

Sometime in that same hour, following a sort of impromptu plan,
Hermione Granger finds herself hidden behind a rather ridiculously
large stack of books in the Hogwarts Library. She's taken up watch at
one of the tables in the far corner, her pile of texts arranged
around her like a shield. A spying shield. A
stupid-Malfoy-prat-spying shield.

She tilts her head around the edge of 'The Basics of Charms'
and her amber eyes narrow
across the room as a group of Slytherins laugh uproariously over
something that's been said. Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, Vincent
Crabbe, Pansy Parkinson and, of course, Draco Malfoy are seated fifty
or so feet away, earning the brunt of Hermione's piercing gaze.

From her vantage point Draco seems to look like nothing more than
a carefree and average Seventh year, albeit a rather good looking
one. If she didn't know him so well, she might be fooled also. Yet,
because she had spent so many long hours watching his expression,
waiting for the moment when something she said would bring real
happiness to his eyes, she can see the minute differences. She can
hear the forced tone of his laugh, see the fake mirth in his eyes.

But that is not all she sees. There is the casual way he keeps his
arms crossed over his chest, as if guarding himself. The almost
imperceivable wince when Pansy roughly tucks her arm into his.
Hermione frowns worriedly, knowing exactly what that small wince
means.

Somewhere between that frown and another troubled thought, she
stands from the table. With courage she never knew she possessed she
finds herself walking straight towards their table. Inhaling deeply
through her nose, Hermione squares her shoulders and gathers herself
together. She's walking directly into Slytherin territory, into the
line of fire; it's not a very pleasant thought.

As she nears the table, one by one, the
Slytherins take notice of her and their chatter dissipates into an
awkwardly stunned silence. Yet that is not completely true, because
Blaise Zabini is watching her with a large amount of excitement and
curiosity.

When she stops and is standing in front
of them, Pansy is the first to say something. “Look who we have
here, little muddy Granger,” the girl sneers, a nasty
smile on her fat pug face. Crabbe and Goyle snicker, something like a
low grunting sound.

Though her fists clench, she completely
ignores Pansy and the others at the table, her gaze turning to the
object of her ire. Her eyes find his face, skim over the familiar
blond fringe, around the edge of his sharp jawline, over the planes
of his face and then finally settle on his gray eyes, her gaze
locking into his with a jolt. For a moment she feels like the world
is melting away around them, the walls and sounds falling back until
there is only the two of them in the room. And then, from the corner
of her eye, she watches the edge of his mouth pull up in a smirk. A
mocking smile, with absolutely no humor or familiarity in it.

And she wants to scream at him, shake
the answers out of him, shake that bored, mildly curious look off his
handsome smirking face. Is that all I get! She wants to scream, is that all I get after all these weeks. Mildly curious?!

With utmost reserve, lest she burst out
of her own skin, she asks politely, “Malfoy, could I talk to
you for a moment?”

He has the nerve to shrug
indifferently. “Sure.”

It is almost as if she is watching a
movie of herself as Draco pushes back his chair, stands, and steps
away from the table. He motions for her to lead the way, and
detachedly, she walks back towards her own table with Draco on her
heals. She makes her way to where she knows there is a rather
secluded corner of the library and they find themselves behind a tall
shelf of books. Draco turns to her, his eyebrows raised in faint
interest.

Seeing him now, in front of her, she
instantly losses all resolve to do what she'd planned. “I--...”

When she doesn't continue, his expression turns to annoyance.
“Spit it out Granger, I don't have all day.”

Hermione inhales deeply, and though she knows he's watching her,
she closes her eyes briefly in an effort to collect her thoughts.

“Is this it?” she asks, trying for nonchalance, though
her heart beats noisily in her ears.

Now he doesn't look only annoyed, but confused also. “Is
what it?”

“Is this who you really are?” She motions towards him
with a flutter of her hand. “Is this the real Draco Malfoy?”

And there it is, gone so fast she almost misses it; a glimmer of
emotion behind his steel gray eyes. Something akin to fear.

“What are you getting at?” he asks warily.

“I simply want to know if this is the real you,” she
says, and is intensely proud of the controlled tone of her voice,
“because it seems to me that you were acting like a completely
different person only four days ago. And I'm going to assume it's not
completely out of the question to say that, four days ago, we were
something very close to friends. And as far as I know, friends don't
suddenly start ignoring each other. So, if we weren't at least
friends, what have the last few weeks been to you?

“A temporary lapse of judgment,” he says and smiles at
her, patronizingly, and though she knows he's trying to be
condescending she can see something else hidden behind his gaze “But
don't worry, it won't happen again.”

And though this is it, her biggest fear being voiced, she squares
her shoulders in resolution. “I don't believe that for a
second.”

Many emotions pass over his face at her words, before finally
settling on anger. “Don't be so fucking stupid, Granger,”
he says, “you're a smart girl, you must realize that you were
nothing but a distraction, an interesting way to keep me occupied
when I was bored.”

She shakes her head. “No. You're lying”

Draco growls in the back of his throat and runs his hands through
his hair in frustration, causing it to stand up at odd, endearing
angles. He heaves a great sigh, and his hands fall back to his sides
and when he looks back down at her all the anger is suddenly gone.
It's been replace by such an overwhelming sense of fatigue, of such
tiredness in his eyes that she instantly feels sorry for rilling him
up.

He sighs heavily again and runs a hand over his face, before
looking her directly in the eye. “You don't mean anything to
me, Granger.” he says slowly, enunciating every syllable “It's
over. I want nothing to do with you. You're just a mudblood.”

The minute the words leave his mouth it feels like every organ in
her body has sunk and slithered into the grown below her. She wants
to say something, anything, but her mind is eerily blank of thoughts.
And then, a moment later, she realizes he is walking away, already
several feet back towards the open area of the library and she
stumbles hurriedly towards him.

“Draco-” she grabs a hold of his sleeve and he turns,
tearing it from her grasp.

“Don't. Just leave me alone.”

And she watches, feet glued to the worn carpet, voice caught
somewhere in the back of her throat, as he turns and walks away.

--------------------------------

End of chapter nine.

A/N: I wrote out a general chapter outline the other day and I'm
thinking this fics gonna be somewhere around 20 chaps, give or take.
I'm warning you now that there's going to be a lull in my writing in
between the 11^th and 15^th chapters, because
that is the main 'meat' of it all, and I already have most of the end
parts (chapters 15 to 20) written, so I'm going to be antsy about
getting there.

Anyway, the best chapters next. I'm pumped.

Review please!?! I'll give you a cookie!
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Ugly