Begin Again - Dramione

Should or Shouldn't

Draco's POV

"The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world's existence. All these half-tones of the soul's consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are." ― Fernando Pessoa

In my eight years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there wasn't ever a year that we lived through peacefully and without any sort of drama. The last seven years were mostly eventful, thanks to the Dark Lord. His various ways of showing up at the most unexpected times, disrupting quidditch games, tournaments, even examinations at times was phenomenal, had to hand it to him. But somehow, that was at least justifiable. He was a mad man, hell bent on killing Potter to attain immortality and power.

What baffled me was the huge fiasco I had just witnessed a mere two hours ago. Weasley had managed to fuck up not only his own, but the entire school's night with this drunken antics. For some time now, I'd been noticing his borderline madness but I'd figured it out to be an after-effect of the war. It wasn't like I was any different. I'd been depending on sleeping potions for sleep as well. And I knew Hermione took some weird muggle pills for her anxiety. I'd witnessed her swallow some during the hours we spent together.

But more than that, what had really stunned me into this state of trauma was the ring. I took it out of my pocket, still not fully able to believe it. Bringing it up in front of my face, I peered at the emerald stone. I couldn't be mistaken; it was the same ring I'd given to Pansy. A million questions churned in my mind: How had Ron gotten hold of this? If the ring was here, did that mean Pansy was here somewhere? If yes, then why hadn't she shown up yet? Was she hiding? How long had she been here for? What did Ron have to do with her?

"Bloody hell" I groaned, as pain shot through my temples. I put the ring back in my cloak pocket and picked up the glass of whiskey on the coffee table, downing it in one go. My eyes scrunched shut as the liquid burned down my throat. I was slowly, yet surely losing my mind. The fire roared in the fireplace, the soft sound of the clock behind me a constant reminder of the fact that it was late. Rubbing my eyes tiredly, I sighed again. If sleep deprivation didn't kill me, this curiosity sure would.

The faint clicking of the door sounded from behind me and I turned to watch as Hermione slowly came into view. She looked worse than I felt. All the happiness and excitement from before the Ball had now evaporated, leaving behind a tense, bewildering mystery that demanded immediate attention. Yet somehow, as I watched her lower herself onto the couch next to me, looking so frail and lifeless-I couldn't bring myself to worry her more than she already was.

She had changed into her pajamas and her hair was back to the semi-tamed bushy mane she always had. My eyes took in her distress. Her face spoke of the hurt and shock she was feeling, her eyes brimming with tears-yet she sat before me, trying to hold her own. In that moment, I wondered why I hadn't noticed this before. She was an open book, her feelings written clearly on her face, her very presence screaming at me. Had she always tried to pretend to be strong? Why was she even trying? I wondered, watching her slowly break down internally again.

I decided to break the silence. "Hey there," I began, turning to sit across from her. She jerked out of whatever miserable monologue she had been having in her head and looked at me.

"Hey Draco," she managed a small tired smile. I smiled back.

"How are you feeling?" I asked,

"Real truth or fake truth?" she questioned back, with a rueful smile.