t h i r t y - t h r e e
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“How are you, mate?” Blaise walked into the empty common room as he sat down next to his friend on the ground in front of the fireplace. “Well?” He pressed, looking over at his silent friend.
“I’m fine,” Draco muttered under his breath as his cold, arctic grey marbles melted into the warm fire in front of him.
Blaise searched the whole place to see that no one was with them. Good. He let out a deep sigh as he stared at his friend. “What the hell is going on between you and Parkinson?” He asked in a low whisper, staring his friend down with bitter, angry eyes.
“Why do you care?” Draco asked, finally ripping his eyes off of the fire and looking at his friend. “Why the hell should you care about what’s going on between us?”
Draco’s harsh words burned Zabini, making him slightly lean back with betrayal. “You’re asking me why I care. I’m your friend, that’s why. Look, I know you may think you’re an extraordinary liar and that you can hide away in that damn stiff mask of yours but I see right through you. I’ve known you long enough to know what you’re actually feeling and when you’re in troub—“
“I don’t need your help, Zabini. You keep thinking you’re just a saint, don’t you? You helped your friend and you’ve become friends with Ginny Weasley and the others and now you think you can just save the whole damn world—“
“No, but I sure as hell will try to save you,”
“I don’t need any saving, Zabini. I perfectly happy with where I am right now—“
“Stop lying to yourself,”
“I’m not lying to anyone and especially not myself. I got bored of her, that’s that.”
Blaise let out a deep sigh as he got up from the ground, glaring at his friend. “You’re horrible at lying and trying to convince others, you know that? Maybe you’re not even worth saving. You’re just a cold, bitter snake who loves to hurt the people you love. You already lost your parents . . . and you lost the person who loved you because of Parkinson. I never thought you’d sink that low, but I was clearly wrong.” He shook his head and retreated back to the dormitory.
Draco watched as his friend left, firmly pressing his lips together into a thin line. “I don’t need help . . . I don’t need any saving, either. I just . . . I need . . .” His voice trailed off as his heart ached. Hermione, he needed Hermione. He threw away Blaise’s words out of his head and stalked upstairs for a nice hot shower.
---
He had wrapped a towel around his torso and walked over the foggy mirror, wiping the glass with his hands. His blurry figure was now more visible as he rested both of his palms on the bathroom counter. Draco continued to stare at his reflection from the mirror with a dull expression on his face. He was full of anger, grief, hatred . . . he was heartbroken. He slowly placed his hand over his heart and let it drop quickly back to his side. Blaise’s words started running across his mind—scattering itself in every corner so that it was impossible for him to not think about it. He let out a frustrated sigh as his mind made flashes back to the look of betrayal and hurt on Hermione’s face and her big red, puffy eyes during Potions. He groaned, lividly slamming his fist into the mirror in front of him powerfully as he let out a scream. “AHHHHH!” He yelled out angrily as tears of grief and regret filled his eyes, almost immediately fogging up his vision. He let her go. He could’ve ignored Pansy but he did it. He felt his whole body shake with rage and agony, blinking away a single tear. He wiped the other tears with his free hand before they could abandon his eyes. It was then; he had finally felt the warm, crimson red blood trickling down his hand but still, he ignored the pain. The pain in his hand was nothing compared to what he felt in his heart . . . or at least what was left of his heart. He lost the first woman he ever loved, Hermione . . . and he wasn’t going to get her back.
---
The next day, Draco sat down with Pansy during breakfast, like always since he was obligated to—and froze when he saw Hermione looking ghastly. Her usual rosy cheeks were pale, her charming, bright caramel orbs had lost its color drastically, and she walked sluggishly with her friends—her head was hanging low, which was unlike herself. She always walked tall and confidently, but not today. He looked away with guilt as he stared down at his unappetizing food. He had realized that there was a distinct nuance about the way people looked at her. What was going on?
He suddenly felt a hard kick in his shins from under the table, breaking his thoughts as he shot the person in front of him a look—Zabini. “What?” He asked furiously as he groaned.
“Was it you?” Zabini asked as he eyed Draco suspiciously.
“What?”
“No, it couldn’t have been you . . . it was Parkinson.” Zabini muttered to himself, leaving Draco to stare at a blank paper. He realized his friend was lost and confused, so he sighed. “Your little girlfriend here told everyone . . . about the two of you during winter break. Everyone thinks she’s a . . . well, not what she’s usually called.” Zabini refrained from saying the word that everyone seemed to be tossing around and sighed again, closing his eyes. He opened them back up to see Pansy glaring at him. “Do you have a problem?”
“They aren’t getting back together again, so I don’t know why you’re still here . . . trying.” Pansy leaned in towards Zabini over the table as she smirked at him.
“I’m just here to watch the show . . . watch when your brilliant plan crumbles.” Zabini smirked right back as he bit his carrot.
“That’s not possible, I have Draco wrapped around my finger—“
“And that’s why I said that I was going to enjoy watching your plan crumble into the dust. See, we have brilliant plan, as well and it doesn’t require much work. I don’t want to give anything away, so just carry on.”
“You’re lying,”
“Am I, Parkinson?” Blaise questioned as he raised an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders.
Pansy gritted her teeth as she stared at him long and hard because she knew that he was a good liar, he was almost as good as Draco. “Yes,” She finally answered quietly under her breath and groaned in frustration. “Shut up, Zabini. You don’t even have the right to sit here after what you did over the break—fraternizing with the enemies.” She said in a hushed tone, glaring at him with anger.
“What year are you from? The war ended, the disputes between the houses are over. The blood and the names don’t matter anymore. In fact, I have every right to sit here. You’re the problem,” He said and got up as he stretched a bit, looking down at Draco who was staring off into space—or someone in particular. “I’m going to go now, seeing your face makes me want to puke up my breakfast and well, I don’t want that.” He excused himself with a smug grin as he walked off and over to Ginny’s table.