An Abject Hope


The beauty of her eyes was skewed and smeared. And I hated anything and everything that caused these disgraceful tears. Her lips curved upwards in an ironic smile; taunting me with the unattainable knowledge that lay behind it. I smile ruefully in return. But her eyes do not dwell on my face, nor any part of me. It is I that looked at her while she never cast a second glance at me.

She sits at her table picking at her food with a distant look upon her face. The unshed tears that mar her eyes go unnoticed by her friends. Her so called friends, that don't even notice the pain that is so evident in everything she does. That's when it happens. The moment I receive insight into Hermione Granger's life that neither of her friends could ever dream of.

The black owl starts it's slow descent from the window on top. It is unusual to receive owls by dinner time but not unheard of. Needless to say I receive a few questioning looks from the professors, but as usual I ignore them. And they know better to question me about my affairs. They've learned their lessons long ago. A Malfoy name, though severely blackened by Lucius' imprisonment, is still more formidable than most. I turn my gaze back to the aged parchment grasped between my pale hands. The letter is written in a haste, as evident by its terse address, but still in an elegant scrawl that I know only my father could produce. The green seal on the back is of the Malfoy crest and my hands tremble with anticipation as I have not heard from him in months, but perhaps not with the excitement that my younger self would have received the same letter.


I have heard that you are well from my well placed connections within your pathetic excuse for a school. But this is not the nature of my query. It is to ask of you a simple question. I do not expect you to answer it immediately, for I know that you do not observe filthy muggles. However, there is one mudblood that I believe you should begin to pay attention to. That dirty Granger girl should have heard the news by now. Her parents were unfortunately murdered in one of the death eater raids that occurred last night. They were tortured beyond belief. Oh, the poor girl. Perhaps you should offer some words of sympathy. Very well Draco. Remember keep up appearances and never stain the family name.


Keep up appearances and never stain the family name. It's become sort of a mantra for me, after all it has been drilled into my head for the last 16 years of my futile existence. Even in his own letter my father has provided in explicit detail how to complete such a task. Although clearly expressing his disdain for muggles and mudbloods, he still manages to clear himself of any guilt involving the attack, in case the message is intercepted. Oh, my bloody father is brilliant. Only I can see the sarcasm seeping from every word onto the page, smearing the words with irony. Only I know the deep delight my father was trying to convey while explaining the attack on Hermione's parents. And only I know how deeply it disgusts me.

My gaze shifts upwards to the very object of my thoughts. Her untamable brown curls shield her eyes from my penetrating gaze. Her friends are deep in conversation and oblivious to the turmoil that brews within her mind. Her fingers trace the contours of the tablecloth as she squeezes her head in frustration. I can feel the heat of her sorrow and am surprised that no one else is burning. She turns her head towards her friends whispering some excuse or another. Both are too enthralled in their own self interest to notice the feebleness of her voice or the weakness of her excuse.

Her footsteps are small and calculated just like her person. And mine are proud and seemingly meaningful as I follow her. My expensive shoes sound like dropping bombs in the emptiness of the hallway and I discard them without a second thought. She's a bit ahead of me, her shadow dancing on the ceiling above in the torchlight. Her shadow ensures her of her existence and her parents lack thereof. My thoughts wander as I recall the contents of the letter. And a sardonic grin captured my usually apathetic face. My father, who usually was so astute in his information and manipulations, had failed to realized his own son's captivation with the said mudblood. But my father wouldn't expect such a things from his own creation. And that's what I am. I am keeping up appearances, but the only one who has tainted the family name is my father. From the second he stained his skin, he stained the name. The Malfoy ancestors would certainly frown at Lucius placing anyone before himself. I smile once again at the contradiction in my father's words.

Her stride becomes slower as her eyes reach the destination that her mind had not intended, but her traitorous footsteps had taken her. The stairs that led to the astronomy tower winded upward into a sea of uncertain darkness. But what in her life had not? So she began the dangerous ascent and I followed faithfully– like always.

She reaches the top and moves toward the ledge, me trailing. The moon gives her an ethereal glow, but the blood she sheds gives her mortality, something her parents could no longer fathom.

"I said man, can you help me out? Bring me back to love. Bring me back to life." She speaks the words into the darkness. And her body gives way, she sinks to her knees.

"Oh why should I care?" I speak the words to both myself and her cold dejected form.

"I said how, could you keep me out? Without a wish to share. So without a doubt.." I say the words not really sure why they formed in my mouth and not really sure if I had ever thought them. But as they hang in the air I believe in them and wait for an answer.

"Oh then why should I care?" I asked resignedly, but make no move to leave.

"We have been warned. It's a classic sign. It's a wicked mind, With an axe to grind." She says more to the stars than to me, who had caused her pain for so long.

"When is it our, our turn? So why should we care?"

"Yeah we have been warned. It's a classic sign. Why should we care?"

"If this is our last year, Oh then why should we care?"

"If this could be our last year. Then why should we care?"

The words were spoken with harsh conviction, and in the moment I have forgotten by whom. But at this moment I draw myself closer until we touch. Our forms melding together, and I bring her aching body close to mine. I bring her aching heart close to mine. And I meet her eyes in the intense stare that I have always dreamt of sharing with her. A signal that she knows that I exist.

I bring both of our bodies to the ground and I let her rest her head in my lap. I know that this momentary peace between us could very well be gone in the morning, but I bask in its pleasure despite its possible transience. My heart has forever longed for such a moment. And stupidly I let myself hope.

Something that a Malfoy has never done and is forbidden to even fathom. Yet I sit here, with Hermione Granger's head in my lap, filling my tattered heart with such a prohibited emotion.

I let my eyes droop and with the most sincerity I have ever shown, kiss the top of her forehead. My mind is content, my body wants more. But I tell myself that it will happen soon enough, for there will be many moments to come.

How foolish it was for a Malfoy to hope.

(A/N): Thsi story is not completed (neither is my other story-- but i'm lacking drive on that one), although it seems to have an air of finality to it. It's a bit angsty. But if its uttergarbage just tell me and its gone. Credits go to 'Doves' and their song 'Snowden'.. Although I had no intention of including itbut it happened to play on my ipod as I wrote this and I was like 'how oddly appropriate'.. Minor alteration on the lyrics though.. Please review and I'll continue.