Silencio

Chapter 12

Draco watched Hermione go with cold detachment.

Don't bother, he wanted to say. It won't change anything. It's enough that she knows.

But it did matter. They still had to do damage control. So he stayed quiet and blessed the recurrence of his ability to shut down all feelings. If he had ever needed it, now was the time.

He had revealed his need and the danger to Hermione and it was all for nothing. His lips had barely touched hers before it was all over.

All over. Forever.

No, he mustn't think about that now. He would have plenty of time to lament his loss later, but now it was all about getting that stupid little Weasley bitch to keep her mouth shut.

Merlin, how he hated her.

He had a few ideas about how he could forcibly erase the memory from her mind, but he was well aware that Hermione would never let him. She might even hate him for even suggesting it. He considered doing it anyway, as he was well aware of the risk the mere presence of the knowledge presented, but at the thought of all the things that could go wrong, Draco dropped the idea. By using a spell, he could render the chit brain-dead or worse. It wasn't because he cared if her brain stopped functioning—she was a Weasley after all and it hardly made a difference—but because of the pain it would cause Hermione, and how much she would despise him for it. Soon she would be hurting and despising him anyway, but at least she would still have her friend.

He fucking hated caring about her. He hated caring about her feelings. He hated the way she could turn those big brown eyes on him and make him feel like an absolute cad when he was only telling the truth. He hated that he was almost certain that he'd made her cry yesterday. He hated that he was completely certain that he would make her cry again. Possibly today.

He wished he could just go back to hating her.

Ah, but you never hated her quite as much as you should, did you?

Draco had to admit that he hadn't. He had always lived a very sheltered existence and Hermione had been one of the first Muggleborn he had ever met, as far as he knew. He would probably not even have noticed her at first if she hadn't been hanging around that annoying, self-righteous Potter. It wasn't that he'd been attracted to her, he had been too young to even contemplate that, but he just hadn't felt the same level of contempt for her as he did for Saint Potter and the Weasel, even after he found out about her birth. He had made up for it in insults as best he could, but it just hadn't seemed to work. She just wasn't what he'd expected from everything he'd ever heard about Mudbloods.

Still, it was a long way from not quite hating someone to... to...

Draco's volatile feelings threatened to resurface, and he blocked out the thought. He didn't have time for that now. He had to stay composed so he could do what needed to be done.

As calmly as he could, he waited.

When Hermione finally came back, she was looking shaken and her eyes were red-rimmed. It apparently hadn't gone so well.

"Will she talk?" Draco asked, dimly aware that his voice was cool and distant.

Hermione glanced at him and then swallowed. "No... no, she won't," she said shakily. He could tell she wasn't telling him everything.

"Then what?" he asked.

Hermione looked as if she might cry, and he hadn't even started yet. What the fuck had that pathetic little excuse for a witch been saying to her? He felt anger swelling in him and he tamped it down.