Unrequited

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I could say that I’ll be always be here for you, but that would be a lie and quite a pointless thing to do. I could say that I’ll always have feelings for you, but I’ve got a life ahead of me…
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I didn’t see her for the rest of the trip. When I disembarked with the rest of the students, I scanned the crowd for her. I saw her clambering into a carriage along with Weasel and Potty. At the last second she turned around and shot me a look of total hate. It was reminiscent of the way we had been before our brief truce. I climbed into a carriage with Blaise and watched morosely as we lumbered along back to Hogwarts.

She wasn’t in our quarters although our suitcases were still there. Wait – no. My bags were there. Hers were nowhere to be found. Figures. I wasn’t necessarily keen on being around her right now, either.

A house-elf bustled in and unpacked my things with dispatch. I watched him dispassionately. Even though the air was frigid and the ground covered with a thick layer of snow, I felt the need to expend some energy. I snatched up my broom from where it lay forgotten in a corner by the door and went outside to the pitch.

From the moment I became airborne, my shoulders got lighter, neck less tense. The world dropped away and so did all of my problems. I flew so high I could just begin to make out the curve of the earth. And all the while burning with exhilaration at the joy of flight, I cursed myself for not wearing a heavier cloak.

The sneeze came out of nowhere and startled my concentration.

My palms loosened from around the broom handle and about ten seconds later, I was face down in a two-foot high pile of snow. Dammit.
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I couldn’t go back to our quarters. To be honest, I needed a break from all of this. What did I, an eighteen-year-old kid, know about being married and raising a baby? I was the responsible one, but I hadn’t been very responsible of late and the charm of recklessness was wearing thin. I went into the Gryffindor common room, heavy of heart and of feet.

My housemates were surprised to see me. Truth be told, I felt out of place. I had gotten used to having my own space, not being confronted with fifty curious faces. Going through the connecting door to my old room, I saw that it hadn’t been aired and drop cloths still covered the furniture. I opened up the windows and pulled out my wand. The dust and coverings were soon disposed of and the room sparkled. A house-elf came to put my things away and I asked her politely to remove my belongings from our shared quarters.

I could barely get the words past my lips, but I knew that I needed the time. Too many things had been let go in favor of my play marriage. I went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on face. The questions would begin and I needed to be clear-headed when I answered them.
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I think I lost my mind when I saw the bevy of house elves popping into our apartment and begin packing up Hermione’s things. I followed the obvious leader of elves into the bedroom where she directed the underlings as they reached into dresser drawers and the armoire and folded and packed up various bits of clothing.
“What in hell do you think you are doing?”

To the elf’s credit, she didn’t flinch. “Mistress asked us to bring her things to her, so that is what we are doing. No, no Boggle! That must be going into this trunk!”

I watched her scurry away to instruct the hapless Boggle in how ‘Mistress’ liked her things sorted. I pulled another elf to the side. This one was much more pliable.

“Where does ‘Mistress’ want her things taken?”

“To her quarters in Gr-gr-gryffindor T-tower, sir.”

“Oh, does she?” I left our apartment and went stalking to hers. I gave Artemis the password and the sullen moon goddess only looked at me with contempt.

“She’s changed it. And high bloody time, too.”

Her slight Grecian accent grated on my nerves. “What do you mean she’s changed it?”

“Just what I said. Apparently she doesn’t want to be bothered with you.”

I looked at her through a film of rage. “You open up right now before I slice your canvas to shreds.”

“You know what happens when you do that,” she scoffed triumphantly.

I did. The stones of the castle closed themselves over the portrait hole so that no intruder could get in. However, I knew that the password to the portrait next door hadn’t been changed. I turned to the Fat Lady and tersely gave it. She swung open with barely concealed irritation. The chatter inside the Gryffindor common room fell silent and picked back up with fervor. Weasel and Potty came to block my path.

“She doesn’t want to see you, Malfoy.”

“Potter, if you don’t get away from me, I will hex you into next Tuesday.” I was cold from my tumble into the snow and irritated by these two carbuncles in front of me.

Weasel smiled grimly. “Come on then, mate. Don’t keep us waiting.” He cracked his knuckles in what he thought was a menacing nature. I merely smirked.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I pulled my wand, but Weasley was surprisingly quick for someone so thick. He grabbed my wand hand and twisted my wrist so that I was forced to drop my wand. Taking advantage of the situation, Potter then landed a punch to my face that sent me staggering back.

“Fuck all Potter! You’ve broken my nose!” Blood gushed from my nostrils and through my fingers. I sent my booted foot into his gut and grinned when he went down like a cup of cold sick. Pain exploded in my back when I realized that the weasel punched me in the kidney. Through the mist of agony, I heard Hermione’s voice.

“Sweet Jesus. What have you done to him?”

“Given him nothing but the arse-kicking he so desperately deserved.”

She knelt down next to me and pried my hands away from my swollen nose. I saw her wince. “Christ. You ok, Draco?”

It was the first tone of tenderness I’d heard from her in days. I almost cried. I opened my mouth to speak but only a low moan of wretchedness came out as a fresh wave of pain crawled up my spine.

“Alright then.” I dimly heard her cast a Mobilicorpus and the next thing I knew was that I was being floated along gently to the Hospital Ward.

“Sweet Merlin! What happened to him?” That, apparently, was Madam Pomfrey.

“He got into a fight with Harry and Ron.”

“Potter and Weasley did this?”

“Yes.” Hermione’s voice was clipped and I knew then she was angry, but she was angry for me and not at me. The realization was gratifying. “I went into the Gryffindor common room when I heard the commotion and I saw Ron punch Draco in the back. Harry’s probably still squirming about on the floor.”

“Weasley back punched young Malfoy?” Disapproval was written all over the older witch’s tone.

“Yes. And he will pay.”

“Ooh. You sound quite vengeful there, wife.”

She smirked down at me hovering slightly above the bed. “No one is allowed to kick your arse but me.”

“You’d probably do a better job of it.”

“I have done a better job of it.”

I quirked my lips in a pain-filled approximation of a smile. My nose was still slightly out of joint. “You have at that.”

“Hold still young man,” the mediwitch commanded. I did. I could feel the knitting of my nose and the bleeding stopped. “Now let me see about your back.”

She rolled me over so that I was floating face down, newly healed nose almost in the cotton percale of the bed. The air was cool on my back as Pomfrey raised my shirt to get a good look at me. I heard Hermione’s gasp. I should’ve known that it wouldn’t have been pretty. Weasley got in a pretty good punch. I do owe him for that. And the fact I could possibly have been pissing blood off of it. A faintly warm sensation crawled over the skin of my back and before I knew it, I felt as good as new.

The women rolled me over again and Hermione took off the levitation charm. I sank into the mattress abruptly.

“All right, young Malfoy?”

I sat up gingerly and felt nothing. “Right as rain, Madame Pomfrey.”

“You can go back to your quarters, but I would like to see you tomorrow just to check you out.”

“I’ll come after luncheon.”

The older witch nodded her assent and went back into her office. I looked at Hermione closely before getting up from bed. We walked out in silence.

“You left.”

“I did.” She offered no other explanation.

“Why?”

“You really have to ask that?” She rounded on me so suddenly that her hair flew out behind her like a nimbus. “Could it possibly have been the fact that for the past week you’ve been an utter shit to me and then have the nerve to wander back our train car smelling like that whore Parkinson, her lipstick smeared all over you!”

“Granger…”

“And we’re back to surnames now, are we? They were right. I should have known better than to try to count on you. I knew it
wouldn’t work. And now I’m bloody well stuck.”

Her fury and recriminations lit a match to my own temper. “You’re the one who can’t admit her own feelings toward her own husband. You froze me out and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to find heat somewhere else.”

“So typical,” she sneered, “all you ever do is think with your dick.”

“Really? You haven’t been thinking with much of anything lately.”

I thought she was going to hit me. Instead she merely regarded me with a funny sort of look on her face. She shook her head. “You’re right. And unfortunately there’s a child involved.” She thoughtfully rubbed her belly.
“I thought we had something. Or at least the beginnings. So much for letting my heart rule my head.” She left me standing in the corridor with those sad, sad words hanging in the air.