Her Sweet, Decadent Smile

☘ Chapter 9 ☘

"I was sixteen years old. In that time, how many thousands of smiles had been aimed at me?

So why did this one feel like the first?"

They had apparated in front of the gates of the enormous Malfoy Manor. Hermione found herself being dragged along the long pathway towards his large estate. His grip on her was like an iron fist, as if he was anxious that if he loosened, she would drift too far away for him to reach.

His long legs took lengthy strides, giving her minimal time to observe the sinister surroundings. The outside was no longer a garden that once held flowers and plant sculptures when she had first been here. It was now a forest studded with tall trees that cloaked the grounds with darkness. Thrice, she had tripped on her feet due to his quick pace and thrice he had slowed down, steadying her gently and breaking her fall.

He always did that; act so inconsiderate and wicked one moment, protective and affectionate the next.

Hermione suddenly remembered her odd conversations with Luna, how the clever girl had insisted that Draco Malfoy indeed knew how to love.

He just had a different way of showing it.

'Different,' when it came to Draco, meant using any means necessary: his power, influence and cunning— a Slytherin through and through.

Different meant becoming a brilliant mastermind behind carefully planned schemes to ensure her surrender. He had known all the details and loopholes and made sure he'd sealed them tight too, ensuring that there would be no means of escape. He had used her insecurities, her conscience, and the people she cared about against her. He had lulled her into a false sense of security, if only for a while.

After that, he'd retaliated with a vengeance.

Despite all this, Hermione still didn't want to believe Luna's absurd theory—that Draco Malfoy had wasted so much of his time and effort, scheming and setting up such ingenious traps—just because he loved her.

Luna had had a hidden message beneath her words. Something only Hermione could ever understand.

From the very beginning he had lived in a place where love was seen as a flaw, a secret to be buried deep within one's heart and never to be spoken of again. His parents, though they had loved him dearly, loved Voldemort to a greater extent. Draco had been forced to conceal every feeling, that in the end he was left with a hollow shell and nothing more.

Luna had reminded her that Draco was not Voldemort. Draco's 'different' way of showing his feelings was spiteful and cruel simply because it was the only way he'd known how…

Draco hadn't rang the doorbell. They merely stood in the exquisite front porch hand in hand, staring at the front doors. She tried to ignore the shivers running down her spine as his thumb massaged her hand lightly, tracing little circles in her skin. After several minutes of awkward silence, she finally looked up at him in annoyance.

"Aren't you going to ring that?"

He looked like a stunning statue, one that might have been displayed in an art gallery. He was flawless and refined in his impressive stillness.

He didn't answer.

His lack of response raised her suspicions. Immediately, her thoughts turned to all the possible tragic situations she might encounter once he opened the doors. She thought of seeing dead bodies, Death Eaters, Voldemort himself. She even imagined Draco's parents back from the dead, waiting to meet her and then invite her over for dinner. The disturbing mental image was enough to make her queasy. If she had to wait a second longer, she would undeniably go bonkers.