T R A I N E D T O S I N | dramione

Ten

One afternoon, the wind seemed harsher than usual, the sky covered with heavy clouds which casted bleak shadows across the manor grounds. She gazed, head in hands, out of the window. She had done the same thing every day for two weeks and each day was the same. But as she watched the wind batter the bushes and trees, she caught sight of a blonde haired boy heading for the bench at the end of the path. Hermione lifted her chin off her palm and pressed her forehead lightly against the window pane.

The wind played with his hair as it was tossed around messily. Draco sat with his legs spread wide and his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. He brought one hand to his face, curving around his mouth and the other lay behind it. His face glowed orange momentarily as grey smoke spiralled out from behind his hands. He dropped one hand back to his knee as he used the other to pinch the cigarette between his lips and remove it. He exhaled and the smoke billowed out of his nose.

Hermione tilted her head as she watched.

He lifted the stick back to his mouth as he inhaled again. The smoke lingered around him as he toyed with the cigarette between his fingers, watching it slowly burn, collecting ash at the tip before he exhaled again and coating his hands in momental grey.

Soon he flicked the cigarette from between his fingers and it landed softly in the gravel, still smoking. He reached both of his hands into his pockets as he began to retreat back to the manor. Hermione's stomach dropped. Draco was looking directly at her and she backed quickly away from the window and out of sight. She breathed heavily, biting her lip as her legs grew unstable and she stumbled over to her bed. She lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling.

Hermione wondered about The Order, they couldn't have been expecting Voldemort's attack unless she was just failed to be informed. They hadn't discussed much on the war if it was to happen, though when they did, Hermione often left with one less friend than when she went in. Everyone in The Order had the same belief, that love and kindness and good was enough to conquer evil. But it wasn't. They lived in fairytales where no matter the circumstance, good prevailed. Hermione though, she thought realistically and the reality of war was that they would need to fight back just as they were fought against. With dark magic.

Anytime she would bring it up at the meetings, she would be looked at like a mad women. She would never forget Harry's expression when she had first introduced the option of using the dark arts. He looked at her with such disgust and distaste she almost cringed. He didn't speak to her for days after that. Ginny though, she understood Hermione's reasoning and would've almost agreed with her considering Tom almost murdered her in her first year but she still sided with her family, who sided with The Order.

Personally, she thought them all to be delusional. They were setting themselves up for failure, doomed to lose the war before it had even started.

Hermione headed for the bathroom, discarding her clothes messily on the floor and stepping into the shower. After about fifteen minutes, Hermione unlatched the glass pane and tiptoed across the cold floor. She wrapped her dripping body in a towel, tucking it in at the corner and she shivered as she left the steam filled room. She began to walk towards the wardrobe when she heard the door click and it was pushed open. Draco walked in and she froze. He pushed the door shut and turned around, observing the room when he saw her. His breath hitched in throat, almost choking on the heavy air. His hand threatened to drop the tray.

Draco's eyes raked down her body slowly, the towel was just long enough to cover her and he swallowed hard. It was tightly pressed against her skin, caressing each curve and his mind raced with the images of her before. Of her at Hogwarts. Of their interactions. He cleared his throat before walking over to the bed and setting down the tray carefully.