A/N: One of my first Hermione/Draco fics. I think it has a couple of holes in it, but if you just overlook them... I know that Draco is probably OOC, especially towards the end, but I'm okay with that. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I can only wish that I am one day as successful as J.K. Rowling.

Reveal It All

He hadn't thought she'd understand. He hadn't expected it. But he hadn't expected her to take off like that either. He watched as she ran, disappearing around the corner, leaving him alone in the empty hallway, his marred forearm visible for the world to see.

He was trying to be honest. He wasn't good at it, and he didn't like the feeling of having his secrets spilled out for the world—and in this case, in every case, she was the world, or at least, the only one that mattered—to pore over and examine. But he was trying he was making an effort.

He didn't make an effort unless he cared.

But the black thing on his skin didn't care about that. The minute her eyes had seen it she'd closed down, shut off. He'd watched it, a visible, tangible transformation.

"Sonofabitch." She whispered, her eyes sparking and tearing at the same time. Her hand flew at his face, and his head snapped to the side, his cheek already flaming bright red. She didn't say another word, just ran, as if he were going to pull his wand and Avada her.

He pulled his sleeve down, covering the mark on his arm, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He stood in the corridor, shaking, his mind racing. She would tell Potter and Weasley, surely, and Dumbledore as well. But he didn't care. He hadn't wanted this, after all. That's what she didn't understand. He didn't want this, he never wanted it. He just hadn't been able to stop it.

It had happened before he knew what was happening; the last thing he remembered was eating dinner, the next thing he knew he was awake and his father was in front of him, telling him to wake up, thrusting him at Voldemort. He remembered screaming as Voldemort's wand pressed into his flesh and the dark poison grew on his arm. They threw him at his father, and there were no more memories after that. He woke in his bed at Hogwarts, as always, with this goddamned thing on his arm.

He pulled his robes tighter around himself. He was cold, even though it was nearly May and the days were warm. He was cold and shivering and weak. He hated being weak.

But he hated being without her even more.

He took a peek at the mark on his arm again. Then he shook his head. He wasn't losing her because of this. Not because of this fucking thing.

He set out to look for her, assuming that she wouldn't head to lunch. He tried the library first, knowing that it was her place of solitude. She wasn't there, and Madame Pince's glare quickly drove him out. He paused outside of the library to think. She was logical, and logic said to him that she would go somewhere that he: a) Wouldn't think of; or b) Couldn't get to.

Reaching that conclusion he came to another: he would need help. With a sigh he turned around and headed for the Great Hall. Most of the school would be there, and that would give him a chance to grab one of her friends on the way out, and convince them to help him find her.

Walking into the Great Hall he was stunned to find her there, sitting among her friends, with her head down and a full plate of untouched food sitting before her. He couldn't see her face through her curtain of brown hair, but from the worried looks Weaselette was giving her he knew that it wasn't good.

He paused in the doorway of the Great Hall, staring at her. As far as he saw it he had two options. He could walk over to his table, sit down, accept his fate, and lose her forever.

He took the second option.

Steeling himself, knowing that this was the end of the person that everyone knew, he walked over to her.

Potter and Weasley saw him coming and pulled their wands, rising to their feet in anticipation of a fight. He glanced at them but didn't draw his own wand. He wasn't going to fight with them. Not today.

"Hermione." At the sound of her name—or was it the sound of his voice?—she looked up. Her eyes were red, her mouth curled into an unhappy line. "I need to talk to you."

The entire Gryffindor table—it seemed like the entire world to him, but that was probably because she was involved—had gone entirely still. "I don't want to talk to you, Malfoy." She spat his name like a curse and it struck him hard. He felt like falling to the ground and curling up and just never getting up again.

He licked his lips. "Please, Hermione. Let me explain."

It seemed as though the entire Great Hall had gone silent, and, when the word please escaped from his lips everyone sucked in a breath and whispers broke out all over the place. But he didn't care.

She stared at him. "Explain what, Malfoy?"

He stared right back at her, his gray eyes soft and pleading, begging. "You know what, Hermione."

She stood, pushing angrily away from the table. "Stay away from me." She said, turning to stride away.

He wasn't going to let that happen. Not in this lifetime. He seized her arm and wrenched her around to face him. Her friends surged forwards, presumably to beat the crap out of him, but he didn't care. He stared into her eyes. Then he pressed his lips against hers, capturing them. She resisted, for the first few moments, before melting like butter against him. She always did.

His arms slipped around her waist, and hers around his shoulders and to the back of his neck, and up to run her fingers through his hair.

"What the hell?" Someone said in a strangled voice. She broke the kiss, pushing away from him, flailing and hitting him. He let her go, his eyes still upon her. He was aware of everyone around them, aware of the voices and the eyes and the wands pointed at him. But his eyes didn't leave her.

"Please, 'Mione, let me explain."

"Don't call me that, Malfoy! Don't call me that and don't look at me and don't talk to me and definitely don't touch me or come near me and—."

He was losing his grip, on reality, on life, and on his temper. He seized her again, grabbing her arms. "Let me explain!" He screamed at her. Silence fell over the Great Hall once more and she stared at him.

"Don't do this, Malfoy. Just, just leave me alone."

"No, Hermione Granger. I am not ever going to leave you alone. I love you, and you are fucking going to listen to my explanation as to why I have the fucking Dark Mark, even if I have to get down on my knees and beg, even if I have to tell the entire fucking school, okay?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide in her pale face, her lips parted in surprise. "Wh-what did you just say?" She stuttered.

He tightened his grip on her. "You are going to listen to my explanation—."

"Not. That. Part."

He licked his lips and swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I love you."

He could feel her shaking, and her legs gave out beneath her. He caught her, cradling her and supporting her weight, pulling her close to him. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at him. "Then why…?"

"I didn't know. I couldn't stop it. I can't remember much of it, just pain and Him and my father. I wouldn't have, Hermione. You know I wouldn't have."

She got her feet under her again, and latched onto him, burying her face in his chest and crying. He glanced out over her head, at the people all around them. There was complete silence. He held onto Hermione more tightly as he looked at the Weasel's reddening face, or Potter's look of complete shock, or even the Weaslette's triumphant expression.

He looked past the Gryffindors, towards his own table, where Pansy was being physically restrained by Blaise and Theodore. Her mouth was moving, so they'd obviously cast a silencing spell on her. Draco shot them both a look of gratitude, and they rolled their eyes in return. The rest of Slytherin, however, was seething, and from the way their eyes moved only the presence of the teachers kept them in line. He followed their gazes to said teachers.

His godfather, Snape, had his head in his hands, and looked as though he was in serious need of a drink. Dumbledore was openly beaming, while McGonagall's lips were pressed into a tight line that, if he wasn't mistaken, curled slightly upwards.

"Hermione." He whispered. "I love you, and I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, and this wasn't the way I wanted to tell you but…."

"I love you, Draco." She said, pulling away from him a bit but staying in his arms, tilting her head back so that she could look into his face. "I'm so sorry I ran."

He pressed his lips to hers again, soft and delicate and lovingly.

"What the hell?" Ron Weasley screamed, breaking into their moment. They turned their heads towards him. "What the hell?"

Draco stepped away from Hermione and looked around the hall. Then he pulled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark to everyone. "I, Draco Malfoy, am in love with Hermione Granger. And I'm not a Death Eater." He faced the Slytherin table, where Blaise and Theodore, his best friends, were inching away from the table. Most of the older Slytherins were staring at him with rage and hatred. "And to all of you, who will call me a traitor and a mudblood-lover…," he paused, his eyes narrowing. "Fuck you."

Then he spun on his heel, grabbed Hermione, and swept her up into a long, passionate kiss.

He didn't care what they thought, so long as he had his world right here in his arms.


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