“"You got it, Draco. Despite everything it took, and how hard it was, you pushed your boulder off the mountain.“ It’s not likely that he has a clue what she’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. "You aren’t your father’s son. You’ve earned every inch of your redemption. I’m… I’m really proudofyouforthat.” He’s staring at her, but she doesn’t know the look on his face. It scares her, and makes her want to cry, hug him and take a cautious step away at the same time. She looks him in the eye long enough to let him know that she’s serious, and swallows thickly. She means every word of it, and she should have told him sooner. Maybe it matters to hear it from her, or maybe it doesn’t mean a thing, but he should know. He’s earned the right to hear it.” (the fallout - everythursday)
“Come with me,” she whispers so low that she does not think he hears her, but it does not matter — she knows that he has spent too long fighting against life to know how to stop.
His hair is slicked back with perspiration and his desire to fully see the world around him, and it a stark reminder of their youth. Of him, and Hogwarts, and when she had first encountered him with his hair like that. There are moments, huge lapses of time, that hang between that faded twelve year image and the one she sees so defined and hard in front of her. She feels time, heavy and cruel inside her chest, swelling up along her skin until she feels bruised by it. He was a horrible little boy, who became this man in front of her now. And while he stands there as a single speck among the hordes of war and loss, she sees him in sharp, bold lines against a backdrop of faint colors and other people’s lives. Because while Draco Malfoy is nothing to the world, he…he is everything to her. -The Fallout
DRAMIONE APPRECTIAION WEEK: day 3 - favorite scene
“Merlin forbid I have a handicap,” she replied, allowing him to essentially drag her across the ice. “Everyone has a weakness.”
Draco faltered at that comment but managed to keep them both steady as he mulled over her words. In the back of his brain, he had half-expected that her influence over him would wither once he had escaped her isolated dorm, but watching her now; specks of snow trapped between the strands of her hair, a blossom-blush warming her features, and trusting him like it was the easiest thing in the world, she was just as alluring out here as she was in their room.
He’d expected to revert back to his old ways
To be swarmed by his previous opinions
To hate her again, as he should.
She had somehow become his weakness.
“I think I’ve got it now,” Hermione said, her voice rich with concentration. “Let go of one of my hands-
"Forgive me,” Draco blurted suddenly, halting them where they were and grasping her upper arms. His breathing became laboured as he watched the shock swirl in her Autumn-shaded eyes, and he resisted that ever-present urge to kiss her slightly parted lips as he waited for her response. “Forgive me,” he repeated, quieter this time.
For everything I have ever done, and everything I will inevitably do to hurt you in the future.
Blame it on that sentimental rush that Christmas apparently inflicted on the unsuspecting, or the acceptance that his attraction to her existed beyond the walls of her dorm, or even that he wanted to repay her for reminding him how the wind felt, but he needed this one moment of clarity before they returned to the castle. She was the only aspect in his dark existence that was close to pure and good, and he wanted to savour her before he, or the realities of War, destroyed this dose of peace.
“I think I forgave you weeks ago,” she told him with a sad smile, leaning up to snatch his lips and seal her promise. She felt tears slip past her lashes as she broke their kiss and rested her forehead against his, clenching her eyes shut to conceal the true level of her affection. “Merry Christmas, Draco.”
“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “D’ you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around … they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” […] ‘Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,’ sneered Malfoy.
“"Dammit, Draco, what else was I supposed to do?” She could taste tears at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t win, can I? What can I do?”
“NO! When are you going to get it into your head? I. Am. Leaving! And there is nothing you can do about it! Why can’t you just accept that?”“
"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” He blurted heedlessly, his face crumpling up in complete agony, and Hermione fell into awestruck silence.
He leaned forward and gripped the table, and she thought he might be crying, but he was hunched over and his fringe was shielding his eyes. She could see his shoulders trembling though, like his body was trying to manage, and her absent gaze dropped down to the straining veins sticking out of his arms, and then to his death-white knuckles. He was breathing heavily; she could hear him sucking in each harsh breathe between his gritted teeth, and when he swallowed, it was more of a stifled choking sound, like the noise a near-death animal would make, and it tore right through her.
All of energy seemed to gush out of him, and he sank down to the floor, crumbling, exhausted, and deflated. Hermione was moving then, oblivious to the glass shards stabbing at the soles of her feet before she knelt down in front of him and tried to hold his face in her hands. He yanked his head away but she persisted, clutching his face firmly enough that she thought his sharp cheekbones might slit her thumbs. Bringing her face close to his, she sought his eyes, frowning when she realised they were pink, his lashes damp, lips tight, and jaw clenched so much she worried he might chip his teeth.
“I know,” she told him gently. “I know you do, and I love you–”
“Remember the museum, when I said I’d lost everything? He began, his fists clenched hard at his sides like he was trying not to touch her again. "I said that because I have. Because you’ve ripped everything I’ve ever known right out from under my feet like it was so easy for you. And I can’t…hate you for it.”
Now it was she who took a step closer to him, wanting to sooth the tremor in his jaw, the quiet desperation that the position of his body told of. “It wasn’t easy for me.”
He turned on her, grabbing her wrists and pushing her back until her bum pressed against the desk and he pressed against her. But she was not afraid. “Oh yeah?” He murmured harshly, squeezing her wrists hard enough to cause the bones to grind together unpleasantly. Hermione winced. “Well, it certainly looked it. You tore everything apart, Granger, and then you smiled at us like it was nothing.”
And then she was crying again. “But it wasn’t! I knew how much it would be hurting you all, but I had to do it!”
“Really? Why did you ‘have’ to do it, you sanctimonious bitch? Who was forcing you?”
“I did it because it’s the right thing to do!” This she said in a broken voice, and something in her heart shattered with his face crushed just as hers had done and he dropped his head so that it was almost touching her, his grip on her wrists loosening.
She saw that his face was wet, and he finally allowed his forehead to rest on her shoulder. “ M e r l i n , G r a n g e r . H a v e m e r c y , w i l l y o u ? E v e r y t i m e y o u s p e a k y o u u n d o m e . ”
And then he was kissing her, broken, silly little girl and all.
He waits on silence, because he knows she doesn’t mean the literal destination. She doesn’t mean the Burrow, the birthday dinner, the crazy dining table shoved full of red hair. She means the casualty list, her dead friends, her need to draw her wand at a flicker of shadows. She means moving on, and healing up, and learning how to live without war. She means him, and her, and the stone in her bark. She means the survivors, and her parents, and the entire world. She means the future. That big, rushing, open space of time, and wounds, and possibilities. She means about not wasting it, about life, about choices, about freedom. She means after the fallout.
DRAMIONE APPRECTIAION WEEK: day 1 - favorite quote
It was Hermione.
But she didn’t look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow - or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling - rather nervously, it was true - but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; Harry couldn’t understand how he hadn’t spotted it before.
“Hi, Harry!” she said. “Hi, Parvati!"
Parvati was gazing at Hermione in unflattering disbelief. She wasn’t the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum’s fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn’t seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her.