Silent Reading
Written for Dramione Halloween Exchange. By far, not my best work.
Title: Silent Reading
Author: freefall2108
Rating: PG-13 to a Very Light R
Warnings: Major Character Death
Summary: Hermione always had been a sensible sort of girl and she always had done pretty much the opposite of what he wanted. So predictably, she chose Harry. Word Count: 1,447 [according to Word]
To save your world you asked this man to die,
Would this man, could he see you now, ask why?
-W.H. Auden
They don’t talk. It’s a silent rule, written somewhere in the air.
But that’s alright.
They’re both very good at reading each other.
---
They had started back in the midst of the war, meeting underneath the shadows, desperate for something to grasp, to hold onto. Their need coated their skin, it permeated the night as they made love underneath the stars, the cold murals on his ceiling, the shabby tiling on hers. They had a something back then, when the day to day was uncertain, thrilling and bloody. They had something that meant more than what they could give. But now, now, all that’s gone and all that’s left is a shell of something more, something that could’ve been, and something that was.
That was the beginning.
---
He speaks first. Thanks.
Then, he leaves.
---
The problem with getting involved with Hermione Granger was that no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake her from him.
He couldn’t shake her slight smile when he opened the door, or the squeeze of her hand underneath the covers or the tussling of her hair in the morning.
Draco was addicted.
He even considered making the situation more… permanent. Something that meant more to her.
He brushed the hair from her brow, brown and not outstanding in the least, soft and pliant under his touch (like her skin, her lips, her everything).
He kissed her forehead before pulling on his robes.
Hermione Granger shouldn’t mean anything to him.
She can’t mean anything to him.
---
Back then, when they were studying for O.W.L.’s, her world consisted of white lines drawn on black boards. It was pretty and easy.
It was something she believed in.
This is how the world is, how it should be, how it should remain.
Malfoy fit in her world, back then.
But back then, she had been naïve and untouched by those who had been tainted. Pure.
Back then, the war was a distant future she knew was coming, yet she had pretended as if it wouldn’t come and graze down all that was worthy, gold and white in her world.
Now, her world had re-arranged itself, yet he fit in. Perfectly.
He was her saviour, her lifeline. He was her one connection to a someplace that existed just out of reach of the war.
Everything in her world now was harsh and real, yet retaining an innocence that was entirely hers.
She didn’t know if it would be her downfall or her salvation, her innocence.
---
He knows it’s too much to hope for, even though they’ve been doing this for seven months now.
She comes to him, or he goes to her, religiously. Like clockwork -even better, really.
Now, they lie, curled up in each other, happy to stay a night with no sex involved, just conversation that flows.
He took it as a sign. He was growing on her, he was sure.
But he knew it was too much to hope for.
He was going to die, she was going to be the one to kill him and that was how the stories go.
Love just wouldn’t fit in that neat little equation.
---
She wasn’t desperately in love with him. Definitely not, desperately, heart-achingly in love with him.
Their agreement read, no love.
He never would love her and that was OK.
She didn’t love him.
She couldn’t.
---
They would be here tonight, the Order.
He had told Hermione, who relayed the information to her superiors. She hadn’t given up her source like the good little girl she was.
Draco excuses himself from the table, presumably to go for a short bathroom break. It wouldn’t be strange; he had been downing glass after glass of Butterbeer tonight.
He got out of there just as the red cloaked figure landed and blasted the ballroom into pieces.
---
He doesn’t say anything that tells her that he’s all hers, every part of him and then some. But he doesn’t need to before she gets him and now that’s how her world’s drawn, how it goes.
Now, that’s what right.
So she knows the moment he changes his mind, about the war, about them, about his life, her life and everything else in between.
He’s still an impossible prat, but now he’s hers, he’s a double agent, he’s right.
Hermione reads Draco like one of her acclaimed books, yet she never knew what would happen.
She could never have guessed what would have happened because he was hers.
---
He doesn’t know what she wants from him anymore.
He’s joined her cause, he’s married her (secretly and not officially, but they’re married and that’s what matters anyway) and he’s given her all of himself. It doesn’t occur to him that maybe, just maybe, all Hermione Granger needed this time around wasn’t a whirlwind romance. Just maybe all she needed was a little more love.
Suddenly, Draco’s Mark burns, harsh and demanding against his skin.
He kisses his wife goodbye as he gets out of their bed. She whispers a faint farewell as he clicks shut the door behind him, not knowing whether or not he’ll come back this time.
She tries not to worry, turns on her side and rubs her stomach absentmindedly.
He doesn’t want to be a father, so naturally she doesn’t tell him.
---
The battle is all around his ears and for once he’s glad she stayed home as he told her. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate if she was here.
He fights his former comrades well, with barely a scratch on him when he arrives by Harry’s side.
But that’s where all the fight leaves him.
---
Hermione knew that coming here, to the battlefield, two months pregnant wasn’t a good idea.
But Draco was out there and so was pretty much the rest of her world. She had to help them. No one knew she was pregnant anyway, so what difference did it make?
Plenty, it seemed.
Voldemort had her by her neck in under ten minutes.
She struggles against his hand, but it’s useless. Sort of like her coming here in the first place.
She sees Harry first, and then Draco, both are obviously angry, shocked. Draco’s face, however is unreadable and it frightens her a great deal more than it should’ve.
She tries to tell him to go, to leave dammit, because he can read her, like she can read him (usually), but all he does is lift up his wand -ready to fire a curse to save her.
But he doesn’t.
Instead both he and Harry are tied in bonds and Voldemort is laughing, glee drafted over his face.
“Well, well, well, Mudblood. You seem to have quite a collection of heroes at your disposal, don’t you,” Voldemort drawls, tracing her jaw, twirling a curl around a finger.
Suddenly, he yanks on her hair, hard.
“You lost me a lieutenant. It’s about time you lost something too, you whore.”
She can feel the monster’s breathe on her face and she almost loses it. But she can’t, she won’t. Voldemort gives out a chuckle, low and seductive. Dangerous.
“I’ll be nice, mudblood, since you’re going to die anyway.”
She holds her breath.
“Pick one, Hermione. Your hero or your lover? Who would you kill for?”
Her heart stops.
---
He shouts for her to save him, because he knows she won’t ever listen to him, never. She’s silent, her eyes swaying from between Harry and him, her breath coming short.
God dammit, woman, choose Harry. He’ll save you, I can’t.
Hermione always had been a sensible sort of girl and she always had done pretty much the opposite of what he wanted.
So predictably, she chose Harry.
---
Voldemort’s wand is trained on Harry, his snake-like eyes watching Hermione.
She takes one step forward, then another until she reaches him, close enough to touch.
But she doesn’t. She can’t touch him, not when she’s going to kill him to save a world she isn’t sure she believes in anymore.
She lifts her wand, the tip against his chest.
His face is unreadable; at least she thinks it is. She’s crying too much to see him properly.
I’m sorry, slips out just before the green claims him.
That’s when her hope shatters, that’s when she breaks, and that’s when she stops believing.
---
Four hours, 27 minutes and 39 seconds after Harry Potter defeats Lord Voldemort, Hermione Granger wipes away the dirt from her husband’s face.
At 8.03PM, the 28th of May 1998, Hermione Granger gets the last message her husband left for her.
Don’t be.
They could always read each other.