Chapter 37: Enchantment is written in the stars (1)
I wasn't sure if I deserved Draco Malfoy.
There was a strange sense of vulnerability in him, the kind I'd never seen before. Every time he stroked through my hair, he held me a little tighter than before, as though he was telling me not to leave him all by himself.
My arms were dangling on my sides as my heart screamed to give him the warmest embrace and tell him how I'd always stay by his side.
But I couldn't bring myself to it.
"You should get some rest," I said quietly.
He let me loose. Standing still in front of me and staring right into my eyes, I couldn't read the complicated sentiments behind that icy grey. Was he upset at my reaction? He must be. Why wouldn't he? I was puzzled by my action as well.
"Walk with me," He said, and I nodded.
It had gotten ink blue outside. Instead of turn into drizzles, the rain was pouring harder than ever with the sound of wind blowing through the leaves echoing all around.
I had never been this clueless about where I should go from here.
"You are overthinking," He whispered while we walked toward his bed, with his arm around my shoulders, "I'd advise against it."
I didn't respond. I was tired, tired of thinking, tired of not knowing, and tired of the endless crying. My mind couldn't help but kept swirling around on that thought:
Is love truly enough? Can it defeat all the odds?
The tendency to romantic situations solely because of the rose-colored lenses called love while ignoring the reality is daring.
"Parkinson, out," He said demandingly as I helped him getting into his bed.
"Draco, why are you so stubborn?" Parkinson said out of frustration and despair, "Why can't you see she is up to no good? She's not good enough for you."
"Out," He said harshly.
"But..."
"Out!" He raised his voice, "Do not make me repeat it again."
Pansy Parkinson stood there in silence for a few seconds before she sighed: "Oh dear, you are digging a grave for yourself."
Malfoy turned away, decided to ignore her.
Seeing him determined not to acknowledge her, she finally began to walk away, but not without glaring at me first. She walked up to me, leaned over and whispered menacingly.
"Granger," She said with a pause after each word, "You better get it together. I will not watch you hurt him anymore than the damage you've already done."
"Are you threatening me?" I said flatly and coldly, disregarded her intimidating tone.
"No," She sneered, "It's nothing more than a friendly warning."
"You are leaving," I looked straight ahead at the stone wall, "Have a goodnight."
Pansy Parkinson scorned as she left, and I was startled by my apathy. As all kinds of emotions flooded my mind, and instead of experiencing any predominant senses, it turned hazy and swirled into impassiveness.
I wasn't the only one that was surprised by my emotionlessness. When I turned around to sit on the edge of the bed, Malfoy looked worried.
"Hey," He reached to squeeze my hand, which was freezing from the rain, "You should go take a shower and put on some dry clothes. You are doomed to get sick if you don't."
"I should," I said as I held his hand with both of mine like what Parkinson was doing earlier as if I'd get some vengeances out of it, "But you want me to be here with you."
It wasn't a question. I could see it in his eyes that he had admitted to himself that I was stating a fact. Hiding half of his face in the oil lamp light shadows, he somehow appeared paler than ever.
Vulnerability. This was the true Draco Malfoy, the real face behind all the facade he created to hide the authentic and genuine version of himself. Perhaps it was because the medication Madam Pomfrey gave him, he didn't even put up a fight to deny how he felt at this moment.
He would never fully understand how much I appreciate him for taking down his masquerade. And I wasn't sure if I was able to do the same. He had always been by my side ever since he confessed his feelings for me. I wondered how much mental turbulent he went through to shovel away all his prejudices against me and my background, how he forced himself to be more open to me, and how he convinced himself that I would be the one bringing the sense of security he longed for and desperately needed.
What if Parkinson was right? What if I was, and never will be, good enough for him?
"Yes," He smiled gauntly, "However, I also don't want you to get sick. Now go dry yourself up and come back. Plus, you smell like a wet dog. I've been through enough today to get that layer added to my misfortune."
I chuckled lightly.
"Sure," I kissed the back of his hand, "But promise if you are tired, you should get some sleep and not wait for me to come back."
"I can always rest my eyes a little," He rose his eyebrows as I stood up.
"Certainly, you do," I kissed him gently on his forehead, "I'll see you later."
He nodded. While I was walking toward the door once again, leaving in a slightly better mood than the last time, he called out to me:
"You are going to come back tonight, right?"
I turned around and gave him a bittersweet smile.
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