Found Wanting

Found Wanting

Chapter 2: Snapping Dragon

"Hermione," Draco nodded back in cold politeness.

Relaxing slightly after realizing he wasn't going to immediately release his anger, Hermione motioned to the private office, used mostly for keeping the book cards in their filing cabinets.

Draco followed her, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather coat. His ensemble was entirely black, and Hermione knew it was not because it brought out the paleness of his intense eyes. Black was the color of the times - the color of death, of war. She remembered it well.

Once the door was closed and the blinds drawn, she faced him again.

"How did you find me?"

Delighting in ignoring her, Draco responded lightly, "How d'you like my new coat?" He gave a faint totally manly twirl to show off the garment. "Potter kept rattling on about it resembling some Matrix guy. No idea what he bloody well means, of course. Must be a Muggle thing," he raised an eyebrow, as if asking if he was correct in assuming so, in a patronizing way.

"Answer me, Draco." No sign of frustration. Show nothing to him. He's a shark when it comes to visible emotions. He plays on them, feeds on them, draws them forth or shuts them down.

Hands still invisible beneath the leather (his left one clutching his wand, she was sure), Draco's silver eyes gave off a faint hint of amusement.

"It's not horribly difficult to find someone who isn't actually hiding."

Hermione sighed in understanding, annoyed that he could still read her so accurately. "I knew you'd find me. You have got Dumbledore on your side, after all," she added, referring to the old man and his seemingly all-knowing nature.

"Oh, so I have Dumbledore on my side, and not you? Joined the Death Eaters, have you?" his eyes flashed indignantly. His comment was angry and pointless, but then, so was Draco at times.

"You know that's not what I meant," Hermione spoke quietly. She should have known he couldn't hold in his temper for too great an amount of time.

"No, Hermione - no one knows what you mean. Two bloody years! Hardly any correspondence at all! Did you just stop caring about us?"

Temporarily shocked that Draco had included himself in that sentence along with the word caring, she steeled herself and lied through her teeth. With a sudden cold resolution, Hermione met his eyes. "Yes."

Her dramatic statement was not met with a grief-filled questioning of her actions, sadly.

Without pausing a moment, Draco snorted with disbelief, "Liar." Looking into her cold gaze, he spoke, "Harry's dead. Practically threw himself on Voldemort's wand..."

Hermione gasped involuntarily as tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. "Liar!" she echoed fiercely. Harry oh no not Harry please not him I thought he'd win. Oh Harry -

Draco, slightly pleased upon seeing her angst, quelled his anger momentarily. "Yes, we both are."

Holding in a great sigh of relief, Hermione turned around quickly, sniffling away her unnecessary sorrow, to cast a silencing charm on the room as Draco took the moment to observe her appearance.

She was clad in dark blue jeans and a simple white top. She had always looked good in white, still did, despite the lack of innocence about her now. Her eyes were lined darkly, giving her a smoldering look, as her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail to stay away from her face while categorizing books and the likes.

Basically, she looked the exact same to Draco... despite the color changes in her clothes. Too bright for their world now. He wondered briefly if she even knew why she wore her makeup that way... so dark. Granger wasn't one for the sexy look, and he had read somewhere that women wear their makeup to represent their moods, and sometimes do so without realizing it. He was positive she wore it in response to her dark past.

And now, her dark future.

Fidgeting with her wand in her hands, having finished the spell, she now stood watching the Malfoy watch her. Not one to be outdone, she piercingly gazed at her old friend, scrutinizing all changes that had taken place in him.

Draco had let his hair grow to his prominent jaw, and his build seemed more lean than usual. His eyes seemed older, even as the rest of him remained young. She wondered concisely if her own eyes appeared that way... prematurely old. Why wouldn't they? She had seen nearly as much death and carnage as Draco himself.

"So why did you leave?" he asked, seating himself at the desk and pulling his right hand from his pocket to lay it casually on the shiny wooden surface.

Hermione resisted the urge to grin at his utter need to be near his wand. It wasn't that he had no trust in her - it was that he had grown to know her too well. And one thing he had come to know, was that at times, Hermione Granger could be slightly unpredictable. But only slightly. Other than the abandoning the people closest to her for no obvious reason besides repetitive death and war thing, she was completely predictable. Completely. Yeah.

"It gets old after a while... watching people die." She spoke quietly, staring submissively at the floor, knowing what she was saying was cold hearted. But, despite that, she had always felt that she could express those types of feelings with Draco... Those feelings that you have, but you won't dare tell anyone, because you know how wrong it is to have them.

"So you left them to die alone?" he asked, brow raised, knowing she wasn't being entirely truthful, but not lying, also.

Avoiding the question, Hermione asked one of her own. "Didn't you ever just want to leave?"

And to her surprise, he laughed heartily. "Of course!"

"Then why didn't you?"

Draco stopped laughing, tilting his head to the side. The dull light from the office glinted off his tendrils, giving him a near ethereal glow. "I'm not strong enough."

Hermione snorted. "Not strong enough to run away?"
Draco's eyes turned clearer, like ice melting in the winter sun, and he gazed at her as if trying to see into her mind. "No. Not strong enough to abandon my friends as they wait their turn to die."

"Fuck you," she spat upon reflex, tears once again threatening to spill from her eyes.

Draco chuckled at this. "Did you think I came by for a chat to catch up on good times? Not that there are any good times..." He trailed off, with a blankly amused smile showing his impeccable teeth. "You know what I came for."

As her anger fizzled out, she nodded slowly. Unsure as to whether or not Draco and the others knew about the man she thought to be Sirius, she withheld that information. "To take me back to that hell."

He chuckled again, his right hand now tapping rhythmically on the desk top, silver eyes boring into her. "That hell is where you belong. Not in this dingy little ignorant shit hole. You are a part of magic. Magic is a part of you. You don't belong here." His voice, although angry, seemed melodic, full of truth, the first real true thing she had heard in so long.

At the intensity of his words, Hermione sat, too scared and angry and still confused to acknowledge his being right.

Grinning, Draco spoke coldly, seemingly enjoying his next words. "How do you like that, Hermione Granger? I'm bringing you back to the hell you belong in."

Now he was just antagonizing her for shits and giggles.

Her brown eyes now blank as she flinched at his statement, she whispered. "I don't have to go back."

Draco, knowing that she was not merely uttering some sort of half whispered prayer, but an absolute vow of determination, was about to stand and roar, "I will bloody make you go back!" But, after years of watching the red-tempered Weasel, he knew of the ineffectiveness to take that sort of approach.

Instead, Draco unsheathed his wand and stood, walking towards the door. "I can kill her."

Taken aback, Hermione's eyes widened. "Who?"

"Her," he motioned past the exit. "That annoying brat that I talked to."

If he hadn't appeared so like an Angel of Death in his leather coat and pale features, Hermione would have laughed at his description of Celia.

"You wouldn't," she glared, even as she knew that he very much would. Although very indifferent towards Celia, Hermione couldn't stand the thought of an innocent being killed because of her stubbornness.

A moment too late, she realized that that was what Draco wanted her to realize. She may have attempted to abandon her friends, but she'd never stop caring about the innocents and the good in the world. Forever she would be a person who takes an extra step, reaches that extra inch to protect and serve and care.

Draco used to hate those who cared.

"Oh?" he spat the word out in a higher pitch than regular, once again almost sounding comical, but still appearing completely frightening. "And why wouldn't I? It's just one more casualty in the war, and to get back one of our best soldiers."

"I am not a soldier!" Hermione cried at this. "I am a murderer! It was just so damn easy taking people's lives, and I feared what would come of it - what I could become."

Although Hermione's eyes were shining with tears at this supposedly great revelation, Draco snickered. "What? You think you're going to become the next Dark Lord? Jesus, you're more foul for what you've done to your friends than for fighting for what you believe to be right, Hermione." He began full-on laughing now, eyes crinkled in mirth. Her attempts at deceiving him, at hiding from him the real reason of her departure were thoroughly amusing him. If he had been perhaps anyone but himself, he would have believed her.

Completely flabbergasted, she yelled. "I'm a murderer! Do you know what that is?"

Calming himself, Draco looked nonchalantly at a fingernail as he sat down on top of the desk, crossing his legs. "I've only been raised by one, Granger. Get with the program." He looked up to see her glaring, and decided that she wasn't going to drop the murdering issue so easily. "That's what war is - murder and killing. Soldier's just a pretty name for doing it... like 'Lady of the Night' for a whore." He seemed very pleased with this analogy. Then, almost thoughtfully, he added, "Sometimes I wonder how you ever got to be in Gryffindor at all. You're not as brave as all the rest."

Hermione bristled at this, pride stung, and Draco, hoping to get a glimpse of his old fiery friend, plowed forward. "You couldn't have been a Hufflepuff, either - that's for sure. They're loyal as hell."
The day had been cracking her delicate steadiness bit by bit, and this was the last piece to crumble. Out of pure, uncontrolled, frustrated anger, Hermione's eyes flashed near yellow, she pointed her wand at him and screamed, "I hate you!" The cry contained every emotion brought back to her from Draco and Sirius's renewed presences in her life. She once again, like Sirius had made her feel, felt as she had the day she left; numb, sick of crying and just wanting to get the hell away from any more of the horror.

Although no spell had been spoken, Hermione's cry of angst and the pointing of her wand sent Draco flying off of the desk into the wall behind him. He broke part of the drywall upon impact, leaving a fabulous Draco-shaped imprint, and landed on the floor, his own wand now clutched tightly.

"And I hate you!" he yelled back, all of the anger from her abandonment two years ago sent Hermione into the office window. The glass was thick, and therefore did not break, but cracked heavily upon her weight.

Outside, Celia did not notice, for she had taken another lunch break out of pure boredom, and was no longer in the building.

Draco stood first, knocking the chair out of his way to get to Hermione, who was just beginning to sit up. He calmly held a hand out to her, and without so much as a glare, she took the offer.

"But soon we'll love each other again, as always."

And as Hermione stood, she knew, as always, that he was right. Their relationship (once one had been established) was, and always would be, a sort of love/hate. They went from one extreme to another, and neither disliked it nor liked it. Neither wanted it to change. It was just how it was.

Harry had a similar relationship with Draco - they respected one another greatly, both for different reasons - but they still managed to have their moments. Draco was colder and more selfish, whereas Harry was kinder and generous. This often led to conflict.

Ron... well, Ron tolerated the cynical blond, mainly for Harry and Hermione's sake. He did his best to avoid Draco, considering they were fighting on the same side now, and Ron's cry of, "Death Eater boy!" was no longer as effective or entertaining as it used to be.

Last but not least in her opinion about Draco, was Ginny. After he had stopped calling her "Femme Weasel" and taunting her about her freckles in 6th year, she had began to admire the boy for his calm attitude and snippy remarks. And now, admiration had perhaps turned into a tad more. Ginny Weasley was head over heels for the Malfoy, and was positive it was not some silly little girl crush alike to the one she had on Harry. She was in love, and had no immediate intention of acting on it. Being in love meant that when someone died, someone else was too hurt to go on. It was too risky - better to stay unrequited than drowning in despair.

Draco moved to pull Hermione through the door, but she resisted with a small tug of her arm. He looked at her questioningly. He had, of course, expected to bring her to Grimmauld Place at once - willing or unwilling.

"I have something to do tonight." At his doubtful look, she gave more of an explanation whilst trying to remain as secretive as possible. "I might be able to bring something other than just myself into this war."

Draco raised both eyebrows. "And this would be what, exactly?"

Hermione only shook her head in response, denying him any further information on the enigmatic subject. "Can you get me a meeting with Dumbledore tonight?"

"You don't need a meeting, you know the man will be expecting you the moment you arrive." Doing his best to trust the woman before him, he nodded curtly, and gave her a look that clearly said, "If you don't show, I'm coming for you," before apparating. A slip of paper floated to the flow in a meandering way at the precise spot Draco had just been standing. It was a new password to the headquarters. Counting down the seconds till the paper's edges began crinkling brown with flame, Hermione felt her eyes sting with the weight of tears.

She was still unsure as to whether the others wanted her to return, or if it was merely they had more information than Draco was letting on, or was aware of. More than likely they just wanted Sirius back. But why couldn't they do it themselves, if they knew she had seen him? If they knew the two of them had spoken, maybe they assumed a sort of a trust had been already established. Maybe they planned on using her as a sort of bait, and they wanted to use her to lure him - no. She couldn't think anymore on the subject.

Calm down your mind Granger calm calm calm pensive prevail over your mind your own mind you have to fight with your own mind now isn't that odd? Stop that now calm calm calm stop thinking about all of this oh lord I can't do this stop stop calm easy breathe just breathe.

Even with her extensive mental exercises always at hand, Hermione was positive she was going to experience more anger and disappointment than she was sure she could withstand.

She had always assumed Draco would be the worst to encounter. He had put so much faith into her the last few years, whether he knew it or not. But his temper was nothing compared to the things she was sure to face next.

And now, as she looked at the clock in the messy office, she cursed, realizing that she had 13 minutes to get cleaned up from an argument with one friend and to get ready for her 'date' with an amnesiac who may be another friend's long-dead godfather.

Bloody fucking hell.