:::A Dark Responsibility:::
Draco lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. The taste of Hermione Granger was still on his lips, wonderful, warm, and sweet. His mind kept replaying the way her soft mouth had moved with his, innocently following where he led. The high of being close to her, of touching her, was slowly starting to wear off, and the comedown was leaving him pining for more.
Kissing her had been powerful… perfect.
And stupid.
At the end of the month, he would be a full-fledged Death Eater. He would be Marked and Joined to the First Circle—the elite ring reserved only for the Master's most loyal followers and trusted friends. He would be the embodiment of everything Granger had fought against her entire life. And she would be the embodiment of everything he should despise.
He sighed. He should have been angry with himself, with his weakness. He should have been furious. He knew what the future held, knew that it didn't,couldn't, hold Hermione. He should never have kissed her—he knew that, knew better.
But how could he be sorry? How, when he wanted to do it again? And again… and again, and again…
Draco shifted restlessly. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in years, not since he had realized his fate, realized that there was no escaping it. And now the price was higher than it had ever been before, because now there was Hermione to think about, to protect.
Frustrated, he sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He'd always known who he would have to be, what he would have to become. The thought had always been torture, but it had never killed him before now. How would he live, how could he? He'd always remember that one kiss… that one girl. He'd always think of her, dream of her.
But that's all he could do. Dream.
Draco rose from the bed, began to pace. God, what he wouldn't give for a way out, a way back. But there was nothing to do. None of his options ended the way he needed them to—which was just another way of saying he didn't have any options at all.
Needing some sort of relief from the growing emptiness, he opened the balcony door and stepped out into the cool night air. The moonlit sky looked the same as it always did, but for some reason, he hadn't tired of its beauty. It reminded him of her: consistent, but never boring; familiar and distinct; intense, but somehow calming; safe. The vista in front of him housed memories, new and overpowering, memories that bonded them to one another. They had both looked out from this very place and shared their first moment, built their first connection. And it was on the jagged cliffs below that everything had changed forever.
He looked away from the dark image of the lake, his eyes shifting to Hermione's door. Her curtain was drawn, shielding her from his view. Was she awake, he wondered? Or was she asleep, dreaming peacefully? All of a sudden, he had to know. He needed to see her, if only to have a glimpse of her as she slept…
He moved the short distance to the door, reaching out for the handle. He would check on her—just for a moment. And then he would go back to his own room, back to the cold, lonely silence.
He turned the gold handle, silently opening the door and peering in. Hermione lay beneath the covers, her back facing him. Alright, Malfoy. You've done it. You've checked on her and she's fine. Now close the door and walk away… But his legs were already carrying him into the room, ignoring his mind's commands.
Draco rounded the bed, bringing Hermione's face into view. She looked peaceful, like a slumbering princess in a tower, waiting silently for her prince. Unable to help himself, he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand out to pet the soft curls away from her face.
