LIAR

tipping point

Hermione's pulse raced as Draco's footsteps faded down the corridor. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. Was this some sort of twisted joke? Or was he actually telling the truth? She felt her heart hammer in her chest as the weight of his words settled around her.

"I'm not like him."

The phrase echoed in her mind like a broken record. But how could she trust him? How could she trust anything he said, after everything that had happened between them? He had always been a Slytherin—cold, calculating, and ruthless—and no matter how different he seemed lately, how could she be sure that he wasn't playing some game?

She stepped forward without thinking, the words bubbling up before she could stop them.

"Malfoy, wait!"

Draco froze, but he didn't turn around. His shoulders tensed as if he were trying to fight the urge to acknowledge her. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath.

"Please," she said, more softly now, taking a few steps closer to him. Her voice wavered with uncertainty, but she couldn't let this go. Not when she had just heard him say something so... raw. So unlike the Draco she thought she knew.

He turned slowly, his face hard, though his eyes flickered with something that resembled unease. For a brief moment, his mask slipped, and she saw a hint of the boy he had once been—lost, conflicted, and burdened by something he couldn't control.

"What do you want, Granger?" His voice was tight, clipped.

"I—" Hermione began, her heart racing. She wasn't sure what she was hoping to achieve by calling out to him, but she couldn't just let him walk away again, not after everything he had said. "I don't understand," she admitted, stepping closer, but still keeping a cautious distance. "You say you're not like them, but... how can I believe you?"

Draco's jaw clenched, and his gaze darted to the floor, a brief flicker of guilt passing across his face. "You think I want this?" he muttered bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You think I want to be caught up in all this? My father—he—he's made it clear what he expects of me. I don't have a choice."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "But you do have a choice. You could choose not to follow him. You could choose to fight against it."

His eyes shot up to meet hers, and there was a flash of something—desperation, maybe—beneath the surface. "It's not that simple, Granger," Draco said, his voice low and raw. "You think I haven't tried? You think I haven't done everything I can to distance myself from him? But I'm not strong enough to stand up to my father. Not like you're suggesting." His eyes burned into hers, his vulnerability more visible than it had ever been before. "I wish I could be. But I'm not."

Hermione's heart twisted in her chest. She had always known Draco had been caught between his upbringing and his true desires, but hearing it from him—seeing the pain in his eyes—it was a revelation. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, he took a step back, as though he realized how much he had said, how much he had exposed.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Draco muttered, his tone closing off again. He turned quickly, like he was ready to disappear into the shadows. "I just... don't get involved, Granger. It's better for you that way."

"No!" Hermione called out, her voice more urgent now. "Don't—please don't walk away from me."

Draco paused but didn't turn around. His back was to her, and his shoulders seemed to sag slightly under the weight of some invisible burden.

"You don't know what you're asking me to do," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I'm already too far gone. My family—everything I've been trained to be, it's too much to just... undo. I don't belong in your world."

Hermione shook her head, her heart pounding. "That's not true," she said, her voice stronger now. She couldn't let him believe that. Not when she knew, deep down, that there was more to him than the image he had been forced to project. "You do belong here. You just have to choose to stop being a part of all that. You can change, Draco."

For the first time, Draco turned to look at her, his eyes conflicted, his mask slipping just enough for her to see the conflict raging beneath the surface. There was something there, something unspoken, in his eyes. A battle he was losing. A decision he was terrified to make.

But before he could speak, a familiar voice interrupted them, sharp and cutting.

"There you are."

Hermione and Draco both turned to find Blaise Zabini standing at the far end of the corridor, his expression unreadable but his posture tense. His eyes flicked from Draco to Hermione, and then back to Draco, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

"What are you doing here, Blaise?" Draco snapped, his voice sharp, though Hermione could see the unease behind it.

Blaise stepped forward, his gaze flicking between them again. "I could ask you the same thing. You know your father's waiting for you, don't you?"

Draco's eyes darkened, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. Hermione could feel the tension between them, thick and oppressive. Blaise's gaze shifted back to Hermione, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, Granger," Blaise said smoothly, his tone mocking, "don't you have somewhere else to be? Or is this a new hobby of yours—playing therapist to lost little Malfoys?"

Hermione shot Blaise a glare, but before she could retort, Draco spoke, his voice tight, yet laced with a warning.

"Blaise, just drop it," Draco said sharply, stepping toward his friend, his eyes narrowing.

Blaise didn't back down, his gaze lingering on Draco for a long moment before turning to Hermione. "Just make sure you don't get caught up in this mess, Granger," he said in a low, almost knowing tone. "It'll only drag you down."

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving Hermione and Draco standing in silence once more.

Draco's eyes lingered on the spot where Blaise had disappeared, the tension in his body palpable. He sighed heavily and turned back to Hermione, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Granger," Draco muttered, almost to himself. "But whatever it is, I don't think it's going to end well."

"I don't care, Draco," Hermione said softly, her voice quiet but determined. "I won't stop until I know you're okay."

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded—almost imperceptibly—before turning and walking down the corridor, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Hermione alone with her racing thoughts.

For the first time, she didn't know whether she was helping him—or if, perhaps, she was only making things worse.