Learning To Breathe
The letter was clutched in his shaking hand. Clutched so hard, that it was
crumpling without him even noticing. His hand was begining to sweat and
the edge of the parchment was cutting into his palm. He wanted to put it
down, to throw it out a window. To leave it behind and pretend it never
happened.
The words floated back into his brain. He read the letter only once and
yet the words clung to his brain. They stuck there as if they'd been super
glued. The words would not leave, even if the letter did.
The large tawny owl seemed to sense his overwhelming sadness and gently
nipped at his ear in an affectionate way before flying off.
Breathe, he told himself. It won't do you any good to pass out. Calm down.
Just breathe.
Before the letter came he was just sitting calmly eating his breakfast. It
was just like any other sunny day. The school year had just begun and
classes would be starting that very day. Before the letter came he was
tuned into his housemates' laughter, their constant chatter.
Now, he sat there still as a statue. He didn't hear what was going on
around him. Everything was silent. He knew that people were getting up to
leave, but he heard nothing. The letter had caused him to go deaf.
Deaf with shock.
Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she would not let them. She
would not let anyone see how upset she was. She wouldn't show the
weakness. She was not weak, she would not be weak. She refused.
The letter was sitting in her lap, both her hands clasping it at the top
edges. She didn't want to believe the words so carefull written on that
parchment. She didn't want to believe that in just a day her life could
have changed to drastically. In just a day her whole life had come
crumbling down around her.
She didn't know what to do. The chatter around her died. Or rather, she
stopped hearing it. She could feel people leaving the table, presumably to
get ready for class, but she made no move to follow them.
She let go of the letter suddenly like it had sent hot, sharp pokers into
her fingertips. She brought two shaking hands to her mouth and tried to
take deep breaths. But her mouth wouldn't move. It formed a perfect 'O'
and it seemed it might be stuck like that forever.
Her breath quickened as her heart beat faster. She was beginning to get a
bit hysterical.
Breathe, she told herself, come on just breathe. That's it, in and out.
Calm down. Just breathe.
More and more of her classmates left the hall. She just stared straight
ahead, hands over her mouth. The tears were brimming more rapidly now but
she blinked them back. They would not fall.
Her stomach churned threatenly. She hadn't gotten a chance to eat much
that morning, but it didn't matter. She knew she would throw up everything
until it was all up. The letter too. She would throw that down on her way
to the bathroom and she would pretend to forget about the horrible words.
When the Hall had completely cleared, he still sat there. The only
movement he saw was her getting up from the table and running out, hands
over her mouth. She looked very alarmed and she looked as scared as he
felt.
His thoughts pulled from her and drifted back to the letter. The words.
The horrible words. Words he didn't think he'd have to hear for a very
long time.
Draco,
I am so sorry. Your Father is gone. He went to the Muggle world to take
action on Voldemort's orders. The Muggle ministry...please men or police
men killed him after he had done his deed. I'm so sorry Draco. You may
come home immediately if you need to. I'll be arriving at Hogwarts in a
few hours.
I love you. Be strong.
Mother
Draco felt so sick. Sicker than ever before. He wanted nothing more than
to run as fast as he could. He wanted to get out. He needed to get out. He
couldn't breathe. His mouth felt thick. His throat felt tight. His head
bounded the words into his brain. Reminding him he couldn't escape. He had
to face this. He had to realize it. His father was dead. His father was
gone. Forever.
And he wasn't even sad. Anyone else in his position would be crying over
the loss. But he wasn't. He didn't love his father. His father was a
horrible person and just because he gave him life didn't mean he owed him
anything. He used to respect and admire his father, but he stopped a few
years ago when he finally saw the real Lucius Malfoy. The murder. The Death
Eater. The villian.
Draco wasn't sad, he was just in shock. Draco was shocked because he was
finally free.
After what seemed like hours, she sat up, bringing her head away from the
toliet. She wet a paper towel and pressed it to her hot forehead, letting
the coldness sweep over her. She felt drained. She felt empty. But she
still felt sick.
The letter was still in her hands. She hadn't let it go. She hadn't thrown
it like she'd wanted to.
As more and more came up that she didn't know had been there, the words
repeated into her throbbing head.
Hermione,
I will be arriving at Hogwarts in a few hours. Something horrible has
happened. I was in the basement doing laundry before going to work when I
heard an awful scream. The whole house erupted in green light and I flew
up the stairs. Your father, Hermione. He's gone. Someone in a black robe
killed him with a wand, I think. The police arrived very shortly after.
One of them said they'd been just nextdoor. They killed the man. They said
he had an odd tatoo on his forearm of a skull with a snake coming out of
its mouth. Isn't that You-Know-Who's sign? Hermione, know that this is
NOT your fault, no matter what you think. It's not. We can get through
this together.
I love you. Be strong and I'll be there as soon as I can.
Love,
Mum
She leaned her head back, trying to regain some strength. The tears finally
started pouring out at an alarming rate. Her father was gone. Forever.
She'd never see him again. He was killed. By a Death Eater. It was all
her fault.
Draco was still sitting in the same spot when Hermione entered the Great
Hall. She made a break for the glistening glass of pumpkin juice on the
Gryffindor table. She didn't notice him. She just knew she needed to drink
something. Her mouth tasted horrible.
He watched her as she drank the deep orange liquid. She set the goblet
down and sensed him watching her.
"Hi," his voice was not his own. It came out in a hoarse whisper.
Hermione looked puzzled as to why he was talking to her. And without
hatred in his voice. "Hi."
"I saw you run out," he said, still not really looking at her.
"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "I don't feel very well."
"Me either."
"Must be something we ate," said Hermione, looking around the room as she
stepped closer to his table. The tears were buidling, she could feel them.
She was suspended from reality right now, but soon she'd come back and the
tears would spill.
"Must be life," retored Draco. His chest tightened. "Or death rather."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "How'd you know?"
"Know what?" Draco asked her, finally bringing his gray eyes up to her
brown ones. His eyes, too, were glistening with tears. Not tears of
sadness, tears of worry. He was worried about what would happen. Would
Voldemort come after him?
"My father was killed this morning," she said quietly. She didn't know why
she said it, but it was something in his eyes. He looked so sad, as sad as
her.
Draco inhaled sharply, "So was mine."
They looked at each other for a few moments. That little silence brought
back the words to Hermione's brain.
She sank to the floor, tears running from her eyes, releasing her pain.
Draco stood up and went over to her, crouching down by her crumpled body.
"My father killed yours," he said simply, his voice choked with trying to
hold in the tears that wanted so badly to be free.
Hermione looked up at him. "Your father killed mine..and then he was
killed himself."
He wiped away a stray tear from her flushed cheeks, "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's mine."
"It's not yours," he said, rather loudly.
"Then it's your fathers."
"Yes. If he killed your Dad then he deserved to die," Draco whispered,
finally letting the tears fall down his pale cheeks.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, burrying her head in his warm
shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, letting his body melt into hers.
It felt really good to be held right then.
"I'm sorry too, Draco," she whispered to his shoulder.
Draco sighed heavily. "Don't be. Like I said, he desereved it. And I'm not
just saying that. It's true. He was a Death Eater. He would have killed my
mother and I without remorse."
"And you wouldn't?" She asked, no anger in her voice. Just sadness.
"No, I'm no Death Eater. I wouldn't kill people just because they weren't
like me."
Hermione let a small smile play on her lips. Was this really Draco Malfoy?
Showing true emotions?
Draco seemed to be thinking along the same lines for he pulled back rather
quickly. He wipped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes.
"He would have killed your mother, too," said Draco. "I'm sure of it."
"Me too," agreed Hermione. "And I'm sure he would have killed me as soon as
he got the chance."
Draco stared at her, eyes showing the hatred she knew all too well. But it
was a bit different because the hatred was not directed at her. "I
wouldn't have let him."
Hermione shook her head slowly, "Yes, you would have."
"No," he replied strongly, "I wouldn't have. We may be very
different...and we may not get along. But you don't deserve to die. No one
deserves to die like that."
Her breath caught in her throat and she had a strong desire to put her lips
to his. To let herself get lost in his gray eyes. To let her fingers roam
through his silvery blonde hair.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his head. He wanted
nothing more at that moment, then to put his lips to hers and never let go.
He wanted to stare into her brown eyes forever and to run his hands through
her bushy hair.
Slowly, he leaned down towards her, cupping her chin in his hands. He put
his lips on hers softly, gently. The pain slowly drifted from his body,
allowing him to break free of the sad thoughts and just concentrate on the
good.
Hermione forgot, even if for just a moment, that her father was no longer
alive. She forgot that Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin. She forgot that his
father had killed hers. She forgot she hated him. Because she began to
think he might not be so bad after all.
|
