If We Were a Movie

If we were a movie, this would end happily. You know the kind of ending, where we ride into the sunset on the back of a white horse driven carriage. Where we drive away in a Mercedes car with freehanded words 'Just married' in white paint and cans clinking in the back. Where we kiss passionately for the first time, the words 'and they lived happily ever after', appearing as we fade to black.

You might scoff, but it's true. If we were a movie, then you would have haven already "accidentally" slipped up your words and said something sexy, followed by you blushing furiously and fleeing from the scene.

If we were a goddamned movie, then you would be engaged to my filthy enemy, who promises you the world, but secretly you know he'll never be as good as me. You'll be in the middle of the ceremony with him, and I'll stand up, protesting, and you'll never be happier; flying into my arms, kissing me. Apologizing and promising each other. And your filthy fiancé, well he'd get really pissed, and you'd discover him for the jerk he really is, and dump him right then and there.

Of course, this isn't a movie. It's not even a fantasy. No, it's reality. And I've discovered that I hate reality, almost as much as I hate myself for loving you.

Because, if we were a movie, our characters would hate each other from start to finish. You would be the damsel to your boyfriend - who happens to be the hero, and I would be the enemy. Because that's how different we are from one another.

Your hero boyfriend would kill me, with mercy of course, so that I apologize for everything I've done, especially to you - but it'll be too late, I still have to die.

In reality, I've fallen for you, hard. You, the one I should hate. It doesn't make any sense. Especially when people have all that bullshit about "opposites attract", because it's not bloody true.

You're nothing like me. We have abso-bloody-lutely nothing in common. Except that we hate each other. No, actually, scratch the first part - I can do that, because we aren't a movie. We're not opposites, especially not polar opposites, except for when it comes to blood, and at this point, if I add that to my list of why I can't love you, then I'll really have to do something about my feelings.

We're not opposites. We're so alike it's scary. We're too alike. Domineering, intelligent - though you can never keep up with my wit. And that's something too. You can never take my jokes, you're too serious. I'm serious too, but at least I know when to laugh, or at least, I think I do.

You tell me off, at least once a day. What's pathetic, is I usually do the things I do just to hear your voice, to know you're talking to me.

Pathetic, to the most extreme. I watch you, while you read, while you study. Shouldn't I have better things to do with my time?

My friends all say I've lost my mind, or at least, when we're a movie they do. In the movie where I somehow fall for you, even though I'm the bad guy. And you're with the side-kick. The hero is trying to protect you when you don't need protecting, and the side-kick is driving you insane, you just don't realize it.

My movie friends tell me I can't have you. Tell me that if I go for you, I'll be weak.

That should be reality.

But it's not. My friends are all Slytherins, purebloods, sarcastic, evil, sadistic men and women. So why would they, of all people, be supporting me to like you?

Here's where it gets interesting, they don't know it's you.

They think I'm in love with a Ravenclaw, after all, that's not so bad. They think you're a gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed, shy yet sexy little fifth year. But you're not. It's you, the Gryffindor, the girl who's more beautiful than anyone when you actually take a real look, brown eyes, and brown hair, like an every day 'plain Jane'. But you're anything but plain, and you're anything but a shy and sexy little fifth year.

My friends think your name is Heather, she's a half-blood, and that's also not SO bad. They pair us up in Charms, making sure we bump elbows as often as possible.

What I wouldn't give for you to be that girl.

Theodore tells me to 'use her and loose her', go back for more if it turns out I really want her. That would be Theodore in the movie too.

Blaise tells me to ask her out already, before I start looking like a bugger.

Crabbe and Goyle, they can't string two coherent sentences together to tell me what I should do; thank Merlin for that.

Pansy and Millicent, they're the worst of all. They've all but told this girl directly that I like her.

But I don't know a thing about Heather. Couldn't give a damn really. I just want you.

You don't see me as I see you. Or if you do, you put on your act well. Even patrolling the corridors together, when we're working together, I can't pick up anything from you but contempt.

True, I haven't told you my feelings. And my act - if you're putting one on - is just as good as yours, if not better. Because getting you riled up, is better than having you ignore me completely.

If we were a movie. I'd be all the angsty bits, but not in the beginning. In the beginning, I'd be the cocky guy who makes a bet with his best friend that he can turn the geekiest girl into the perfect prom queen by the end of the year. Who ends up in love with the girl, who finds out about the bet. But see, if you were a movie, you wouldn't be the girl who ends up with me anyway, even after realizing I love you. Because you're too stubborn.

I've often wondered how you'd react, to me telling you I loved you. I can picture it to be something quite like my friends' reaction if I told them. I reckon it would be them I tell first. If I didn't kiss you before that, I mean.

In our happy ending movie, you'd kiss me back, realizing you want me as much as I want you.

But do you know who you want in reality? You want that slug of a boy, that geek, that slime ball, that Ronald-Precious-Weasley. Can't you just see the headlines now? You two make me sick. Because you two, you're the definition of "opposites attract". And as I said before, that's complete nonsense, bullshit.

Don't believe me? Look around you. You don't see Harry Potter making out with Luna Lovegood. Snape with McGonagall. Hagrid with Trelawney. No, you don't see any of that. So why do I see you and Weasel?

Sure, you don't kiss all the time, especially in public. You're way to modest for that.

And that's part of my thrill. To let you see the whole world that you're missing. I would take you on journey's you couldn't even begin to imagine!

And I hate you, because I wish to show you such things. Because I wish to show you my world, and because I want you to share yours with me.

Because it's just simple ethics, even in the movies, our movies, when we are the movies, we don't end up together; unless we seriously twist the plot. Because Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger just don't mix. It's madness. It's insanity.

And some days, when I sit and watch you in the library, your nose buried in the book, I can see myself sitting next to you. I'd shut the book, and we'd just hold each other close. Whispering our deepest secrets and making promises.

And days like today, when the end of the term is fast approaching, and all you ever do anymore is sit in the library or patrol the corridor's, I can't help but wonder what will happen with us.

Even as I hiss your name, and all we do is glare, I still see a future with the two of us. But that's just my movie reel playing.

Because after I say your name, you narrow your eyes and hiss mine, "Malfoy." And you turn back to your book. You're in the library for now, but will no doubt be patrolling tonight. You ignore me, as if I've gone away, but I haven't. I'm still right here.

"Patrolling with me tonight, Granger?" I drawl.

You pull your eyes away from the book and sigh exasperated. "Yes, I'm patrolling tonight, Malfoy. I guess with you if you're patrolling too," your voice sounds like you have given up.

You surprise me, that's not how you usually talk to me. You sound like you don't care anymore, like you don't want to fight with me. And that's bad, because if we don't fight, then we don't talk, and if we don't talk, I lose my mind.

"Loosen up, Granger," I tell you.

"Go away," you mutter half-heartedly.

And that stings more than any insult. It makes my blood boil and rage, so much that I sit down next to you, and you stare at me, mouth open in surprise.

"Didn't you hear me?" you ask.

"I heard you," I say. "But I just don't care, Granger."

But now, that I'm sitting and talking, I don't know what to say. We stare at each other, your perfect brown eyes boring into mine.

"What is it that you want?" you say, setting down the book.

"Nothing, Granger," I say. "I want nothing." Nothing but you. I stand up, and walk away, saying, "See you tonight."

If we were a movie, you'd rush after me, and we'd end up snogging in the hallway. But it's not a movie, so I really have to wait till tonight to see you, and even then, you still won't want me.

When the time comes to patrol, I wait for you, right outside the Gryffindors oh so secret 'fat lady portrait'. You're trying to say good night to Ron, but he won't leave. I'd give him a good punch for you, that would make him go.

"Ron, please," you say. "I have to get to work."

"But, can't you -"

"Honestly, Ron," you say. To my surprise, you even sound dull talking to him.

What's gotten into you?

"Go to bed, I'll see you tomorrow," you say.

Finally, Ron agrees, and kisses you. Making me cringe at the sight. Awful. Awful. I hate him. He slips inside the portrait, out of sight, and you sigh. And as I'm about to come around the corner to greet you, I stop short when I hear your hold back a scream. Your eyes welling with tears. You're sobbing, and on the ground, crying uncontrollably.

You don't get up, and I hear you mutter, "Stupid, stupid, stupid! I hate this!"

I know I want to help you, hold you, kiss away those tears that I have know idea where they've come from. I give up on self-control; I give up on a lot of things, kind of like how you are now.

"Are you alright?" I ask. At this point in the movie, I'd call you by your first name, and you'd start at me, realizing I'd changed, and you'd learn in a few short instants, that I was in love with you.

Instead, in reality, I don't call you anything. Granger is too harsh, and Hermione is too sweet.

"Go away, Malfoy!" you hiss, quickly wiping away your tears, as if you wish I was anyone else.

"Really, are you okay?" I ask, concern filling my voice.

"Why do you care?" you sniff, starting to stand.

"I..."

There's a lot of thing's I could say, movie lines, lines to make you realize the reality of the situation. But I'm a Malfoy, and those lines can't exists between me and you. They just can't.

"I don't. You're just supposed to be working."

Harsh, I tell myself. Too harsh. Too rude.

You look at me, as if I'm the most horrid person you've ever met. Maybe I am.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," you curse. Cold, icy, curse words, coming from your mouth, at me. Now I know the world is coming to an end. And I know for sure, this is reality.

You sit back down, as if it takes too much energy to stand. You look so weak, so fragile. I find myself leaning near you, and your eyes are wide. And I realize too late, I'm not a movie. I'm actually putting my arm around you in comfort.

"Talk to me," I say. I hear myself say the words, but I can't believe they come out, especially so full of concern. "Tell me what's wrong."

"What are you doing?" you ask. Your tone fits how I feel. Feel shocked and confused and very concerned.

"I'm..." Again a pause for lines, and this time, I choose one from the list of impossibilities. "I'm apologizing to you."

I'm what? Excuse me? Earth to Draco! I believe you just said the word apologize in a sentence! Take it back! Now!

"A-a-polo - what?" you say, and you haven't moved my arm away from your shoulders, and you're still crying.

"I'm sorry," I say. "What's bothering you? Are you going to be alright?"

I feel you wrap your hands around me, your head gets buried into my chest, and you're crying, sobbing harder than ever. I know if I would have been anyone lending comfort to you, you still would have been crying on me. But that's besides the point.

"It's going to be alright," I whisper into your ear.

We sit there, for who knows how long, I holding you, whispering words I'm sure you can comprehend, and you falling apart, clinging to the only person there for you.

Finally, you stir again, pulling away, and groaning at yourself, for being so weak. "I'm sorry," you say.

"Don't be. You have nothing to apologize for," I say. "What's going on?"

You shake your head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," I say. "But I'm here for you..."

"Why are you doing this, Malfoy?" you ask me.

There's so many reason's why, the most honest one of which, the one I shouldn't say, is the one I find myself speaking. "I don't want to see you so hurt. I love you."

If we were a movie, you'd scurry away from me, saying, "What?"

Or you would push me away and tell me I'm mental.

But reality. Oh reality, it's where you do something much different, say something much different, and completely unexpected.

You look me in the eye, and you smile through your tears - a smile so rare on you now a days. You smile, and you say, "Ginny was right then."

I blink, once, twice, blink again. "Huh?"

"Not that it makes this any less weird," you continue as if it makes perfect sense.

"Ginny was right about what?"

You laugh, laughing through your sadness. "About you liking me. I didn't believe her, it seemed so preposterous, but I guess it makes sense. Why else would you put me though a living hell?"

I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or serious, so all I say is, "I'm sorry."

"A Malfoy, apologizing twice in one day," you say slowly. "That's got to be a record."

"Merlin, Granger," I groan. It trips me out that you're taking the news so calmly, but yet, you still haven't really addressed it. But I pretend that's not it. "Why were you crying?"

You close your eyes in pain of memories, trying to get them out. "My parents are in Saint Mungo's, they've lost their minds or their memories, the Dr.'s aren't really sure which."

I open my mouth to comfort you, but you press on. There's more to your heart breaking story.

"They say they'll never be right again, something's missing in them, taking away any possible means of getting them back to reality. Dumbledore called me into his office last week, and told me it was the - the Dark Lord, who did it to them, and that he's after me as well."

I watch you tremble slightly. I hold you near as you fall apart slowly, reliving it again.

"He's after Harry, and me, and Ron, and Dumbledore," you say horrified at the thought. "He wants to kill us all. Until there is nothing left standing in his way. And Dumbledore says it is only a matter of time, before he finds his way into Hogwarts. But we're safer here than anywhere else, so all we can do is wait. Wait for death."

"He's not going to get you," I whisper.

You start to cry again, holding onto me as if I'm your safety net, your protector. I kiss you, even through the tears, and you kiss me back. Hands encircling my neck. Your sweet honey suckle perfume I can smell so well. You pull away, and stare at me.

"Why am I letting you kiss me?" you ask.

You'd go into a rant if I didn't answer you quickly enough. Because that's you, verbose, always with something to say. That's what I love and hate about you.

"Because this is right," I whisper.

And you don't answer back in words, just lean up and kiss me.

If we were a movie, it would end exactly like this. Our hands entwined, with things unresolved, like Ron, and Voldemort, and us, because every story, no matter how complete it tries to make itself, still has holes.

We're just a story, that happens to have a lot of holes; we kiss, fully, and passionately, her face still drenched in tears that have soaked my black shirt; and footsteps being heard from around the corner, but we just can't bring ourselves to care, because at this moment, we're too caught up in our reality movie.

As we start to fade, and no words appear at the bottom of our screen, we pull apart, and turn to face the coming footsteps, faces determined, and our wills strong. If we were a movie, much like a comedy, that person would turn out to just be Filch. But this is reality, and we both know it's not, and everything fades to black.