Overture {Dramione}

Down Once More

Forgive me, please forgive me
I did it all for you, and all for nothing (Farewell my fallen idol and false friend)
We had such hopes (Too late for turning back)
And now those hopes are shattered (Too late for prayers and useless pity)

----

She couldn't get her mind off of him. Not Him, but him. Malfoy, who had dug himself far far into her psyche that she found it almost impossible to extract him.

It was just easy to think about Malfoy as opposed to Him. She knew what Malfoy looked like, what he smelled like. The long curve of his jaw. The veins that corded his forearms and hands. That's all it was, she told herself. Over and over. That's all it was.

When she met Him, when she knew His name, how He smelled, what He looked like: she could replace the fantasy of Malfoy.

Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.

She just needed to get through the trial.

The weekend had been a continuous effort to stay focused. She repeated mantras of positive affirmations, studied her notes three times over, wrote down each individual ingredient of wolfsbane and their desired effects.

And yet, in between each thought, was him.

Malfoy in glasses, his brow furrowed over the thick frames. Malfoy removing his coat jacket, sliding it from his broad shoulders and rolling up his perfectly pressed sleeves. His full lips, his long lashes, the warm callous of his hands.

It made her heart race, it made her womb clench, it made her dizzy. But most of all, it made her guilty.

Here she was, tied to someone through links of gold around her neck. He, who had worked so hard to help her. He, who had promised himself to her ardently.

And then Malfoy, who had let her use him for his money, his connections, his knowledge without question. Wonderful, selfless Malfoy who had offered himself to her. And she had turned him away.

She couldn't properly sleep. For the first time, she had begun to doubt herself. Doubt Him. Who knows when or even if the mysterious phantom would reveal himself. In his most recent notes, filled with subtle tones of affection and promises, never did he even hint at a possible encounter.

And God, poor Malfoy. Had she led him to believe there was something there? Had she let touches linger too long? Shared one too many late nights together in his office?

She was the worst kind of woman. And by Monday morning, she was tugging on the clothes she had picked for the trial, a fitted skirt suit, wondering how she would face Malfoy.

What would he say? What would she?

A pecking sound gave from her window and her stomach lurched, feeling more guilty than excited for what was undoubtedly an encouraging note from Him.

The owl released the letter before flying back to where he came from, Hermione no longer starring after it; wondering where he would lead her to.

Granger,

Joan of Arc was a true female warrior: brave and strong and just. It was a vision of the Archangel Michael that pushed her to join the French resistance. And though everyone doubted her, Michael did not. Her efforts ended the Siege of Orleans in just nine days, something that was taking men entirely too long.