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Linked by Philyra912
 Books » Harry Potter Rated: T, English, Romance, Draco M., Hermione G., Words: 61k+, Favs: 4k+, Follows: 920, Published: Jun 18, 2005 Updated: Jan 5, 2006
 2,542 Chapter 8: A Tragic and Terrible Beauty
Disclaimer: I can't think of anything to say. It's 2 in the morning, I just saw War of the Worlds, and there's a thunderstorm outside that sounds like the big tripod machines that kill everybody. I'm scared. My muses are scared, and are hiding under the bed. I think I might join them if the lightning doesn't stop flashing right outside my window.
A/N: This chapter got very intense very fast, and I had no idea it was going to happen. It had a mind of its own, I swear. I finished writing it and felt completely emotionally drained. I really debated about keeping it in, because even when I've let this story get more intense during the memory parts, I don't think it's gotten quite this dark. Also, I'm afraid that this memory makes Draco seem a lot more messed up than I originally intended. I'm wondering if we're going to have to do some serious psychological healing to get this boy to fall in love with Hermione, and that really wasn't in my game plan. Then I decided to post it anyway. I put a lot of emotional energy into this, and it seemed like a waste of all that if I didn't put it in. Also, this chapter came so easily and was so vivid in my mind, I'm taking it as a sign. Brace yourselves, and on to the chapter!
Chapter 7: A Tragic and Terrible Beauty
Hermione sat in silent contemplation for a long while, watching Malfoy finish his toast with an aristocratic elegance that rather annoyed her. She was still having trouble accepting the extraordinary piece of news that Malfoy had so nonchalantly revealed. She wasn't used to other people knowing more than she did, and she wasn't taking it as well as she might have hoped.
"Don't feel so dejected," Malfoy said suddenly, dabbing the corner of his mouth delicately with a napkin. His trademark smirk was firmly in place. "You are a sore loser, aren't you?" He was baiting her, and she knew it, just as she knew that he was getting immense enjoyment from provoking her and watching her reaction, but that didn't stop her from swelling with fury.
"I most certainly am not!" she exclaimed indignantly. "And I wasn't aware that we were competing, Malfoy." He laughed softly, but it was a cold laugh, and there was no humor in it. He leaned toward her, and his voice was deceptively soft. Only his eyes, which she had once thought to be icy and unreadable, belied the sneering arrogance and vindictive desire to hurt her which pulsed off of him and clouded her senses.
"And they say you're a clever witch. We're always competing, Granger." He leaned back, eyes so sharp and jagged-edged that they stung her. "And yet, no matter the outcome, I will always be a Malfoy, and you will always be a second-class Muggle-born excuse for a witch." His smirk turned somewhat sardonic. "How quaintly ironic that that just yesterday you were feeling sorry for me."
It had been a long time since she had allowed Malfoy's taunts and insults to cause her any real pain. She supposed the last two days had brought down her guard, because she suddenly found her eyes stinging with tears, long-buried self-doubt tearing at her heart. If she had not been swallowed up by painful feelings she thought she had left behind in her insecure childhood, she might have noticed the tremor of surprise, the foreign flash of guilt, that jolted through Malfoy, making his quicksilver eyes widen ever so slightly.
The worst thing Hermione could imagine in that moment was allowing Malfoy to see her cry. She stood quickly and began to walk away, but in her haste, she stumbled. Instinct made her snatch at the first thing she could reach to break her fall; in this case, Malfoy's shoulder. The world spun and whirled, and as she struggled for breath, she wished desperately that she'd just let herself hit the ground. She shut her eyes, telling herself over and over that, when she opened them, she would be in her own time, sprawled on the floor of the Great Hall and impossibly grateful to be exactly where she was.
