Draco's instant silence is unnerving. I remember Mum always said that he used to go all silence like a dead man before he acted like he was fine or he didn't believe it. If I could choose which one I want to him to act, I want him to pretend that he's fine with the news.
Unfortunately, God doesn't hear my prayers.
"No," Draco finally says. He straightens up himself, groans a bit as he flexes his tense muscles from all the tiring practice.
"Excuse me?" I blurt out. I tell myself that I misheard what he said, though myself and I know exactly that I hear the right thing.
"I don't believe you," he says casually.
"It's true!" I say, louder than I actually mean. "You have to believe me. I'm not lying!"
Draco jerks his head around. I think of him being afraid, or more like ashamed, that anyone might hear our conversation. His act of looking warily at his teammates just confirms the suspicious thoughts I have towards him. I put my hand inside my pocket, where one of the many letters Mum wrote is there. Hermione Granger always wished to be an author, said that she was better at talking through her writings. I've planned on showing Draco the letter, but now I realise it's useless. He doesn't believe me at all. My plan has gone wrong.
"Keep your voice down," Draco says, sort of spiting it out as he looks at two of his teammates. I look away from him, hurt fills my heart.
Mum was right. It really is a bad idea.
He doesn't believe me and even attempts to call me a liar.
"Listen to me," he said suddenly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm so sorry about your mum, because she must have told you about…the thing we had years ago. And I'm sure, not knowing who's your father is, it must be harder on you. But that doesn't mean you can just show up out of the blue and lay something important like this to me."
He looks down, looking at his bloody watch once again, and it's anger that replaces the hurt in my heart. I recoile the remaining pride I have, standing as tall as his chin is. Amazement flickers in his eyes, along with fear and disbelief.
"Why would I lie about it?" I challenge him.
"Only you can answer that one, girl." He examines from top to toe, tilting his head to his side in an annoying angle. "How old are you, huh?"
"Fourteen," I say. He nods and I can see him doing the maths in his head. He loves counting, Mum said. He counts everything his eyes set on.
"After the War," he says. "Not bad at all."
I frown. "What's not bad at all?"
"The timing. To make her story plausible."
I open and close my mouth. "Her story
?" I say, barely containing the overwhelming anger. "You think my mum, Hermione Granger, would stoop so low to lie about something as humiliating as this? You think she'd ask me to tell you that she's dead
?" I scoff. "Now I know why she left you, Malfoy
. You're unbelievable."
It gets him. I know it does. His jaw clenches once again and I can see his veins under his skin. All the kind smiles are gone from his face, replaced by a cold and hard look. This must be the Draco Malfoy I read in history books. Not the Draco Malfoy I read in magazines.
"She left me," he grits. "She fucking
left me when I needed her the most. It's plain as day to see that you adored her like fuck, but newsflash, baby girl, Hermione Granger would
stoop that low – even if that means hiding the baby that's possibly
"She did that for you, you egoistical bas-"
I never get to finish the sentence because he has Silenced me. I'm throwing daggers at him, waving my middle finger in front of his face. Draco sighs heavily as he takes of the spell from me. He looks at me tiredly and for once, I see the man he's becoming to be, not some boyish bloke who's popular for flirting with girls he meets. I can see a man, who looks beaten down, like he's gone to hell and back again.
"Tell you this way," Draco says. "We take baby steps, okay? But for now, I really
need to go." He stops for awhile, maybe thinking the right words to say next. "Where do you live?" he manages.
"I live with Mr and Mrs Potter in the-"
"Grimmauld Place number 12," he says impatiently. "You're living with Potty and Weaslett, huh? How have you been here?"
"Harry and Ginny
," I say, feeling enraged by the nickname he gives. "Picked me back from Paris two years ago, right after Mum's death. So, I think that means I've been here for two years."
"Do they know about…" he trails off. I know he means the lies I made. Denial jerk.
"No," I say, crossing my fingers behind my back.
"It was between you and your mum, then."
"Pretty much. She'd promised herself to not tell anyone about it."
"Until she's dead."
I clench my jaw in a way he just did. "She wasn't even going to tell me then. She told me that my father was some fallen hero in the War. She said that after he died, she Apparated to Paris. I got more suspicious when she was so adamant to avoid coming back here if she could. The only reason she'd be avoiding the place she was born and grew at was only because she didn't want to relieve some memories."
"And you started to not believer her because?"
"The lists are long and I believe you're too busy to hear them out."
He ignores my sarcastic comment. "So, when you finally got her to spit out the truth, did she tell you why she did?"
I stare at him for a moment, feeling very much like looking into my own male-version in the mirror, and then say, "Because she said that you would never treat me better than you had done to her."
Draco smirks faintly. "Do you know that she was called Know-It-All back in Hogwarts?"
I nod. "Yes, that was something she always said before I went to bed."
As he slid into his car, he said something that seemed like he was saying that more to himself. "Well, she still knows everything, doesn't she?"
With that, he starts the engine, closes the door, and drives away.
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