Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

39 to draco

Dear Granger,

I feel that I vex you when I address you by your family. Do I still do?

Oh, bollocks. It might have lost it's effect as well as a lot of things. Per say you don't call me by my family name, maybe because I ask you to address me by my first name or maybe because you associate 'Malfoy' with blood prejudice and hate. But no matter. Both of which are a world away anyway when we are together.

Or so I wish.

Have you ever hated someone, Hermione?

Well, I did.

I thought I did when I first saw you.

Gryffindor robe and bushy hair in that sodding station that just didn't made sense. Why 9 and 3/4? What's with the quarter? What's in 9 and 1/2? A gateway to hell maybe.

And I thought, by God, she's going to be the end of me. She might just be the one to change me-- of course not yet at the that moment-- but, Salazar, she will do her damage-- and I will fight tooth and nail not to. I hate her. I hate that self-assured smile, that unbendable confidence, that air of self satisfaction. Some of us has to fake it, you know. How does she do that? Must be something stronger than magic.

I hated you so much that I started paying more attention to you perhaps more attention than what was necessary. Sometimes maybe more than my sworn enemy Harry Potter. Sometimes I even come his way just to get a rise out of you too since you are so fucking inseparable. It was juvenile of me, I know, but I loved every sodding moment of it!

Then there came the time that I actually started admiring you and I just can't turn away.

But we live in a world where someone like me is not for the likes of you. We don't deserve each other. Maybe we are both meant for great things, you and I, just that they are worlds apart from each other. Parallel and never to meet. No matter how much I hope and pray.

It might be so that you are sitting there perplexed by the sequence of events in this letter.

Well, then let me explain.

Hermione find herself taking a deep breath. The sun is now nearly at its peak, maybe just before noon, just before everyone starts worrying and looking for her. But before then its just her and him. Her fingers find the coolness of the platinum chain. The very same ones she saw around his neck that time in the bath.

Maybe this time she'll find the answers. If he can't talk then, then perhaps now. If it has one merit, death doesn't hold off in these things.

In another life, you and I are not meant to be.

Which is funny because if you put it like so then it doesn't sound all that much different from this life.

What made all the difference was me.

You were the same in this life and that one. Ethereal. (Would probably change this word when another adjective comes to mind)

And me, well, I was a coward (again find another adjective if time allows). But much more in that other world. Much, much more that I never ever gave you a helping hand even when I was available and was only inches from you and you were as close as you could to death. And what for? To remain good in the eyes of my bigot family?

I know it's wrong but I'm too scared to do anything or even contemplate it.

And so it went, you were married to another (you wouldn't have guessed who it was and I'd rather not say), divorced (because your husband is a cliche textbook prat) and then you died an untimely death.