Weak Spot
Hermione’s pulse pounded against her skull as she stepped out into the cool night air, her breath coming sharp and shallow. The echo of the slammed door still vibrated in her ears, but she barely noticed. The drizzle had picked up, misting her face as she scanned the street for Malfoy’s retreating figure.
She spotted him under the flickering streetlamp, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked like he was barely holding himself together.
Good.
“Malfoy,” she called, her voice cutting through the night like a blade. He didn’t stop walking. “Malfoy, stop being such a bloody coward and look at me.”
He did then, turning on his heel so fast that Hermione nearly skidded to a halt to keep from colliding into him. His face was stormy, his eyes burning with something violent. The light cast harsh shadows over his sharp features, emphasizing the tension in his jaw, the barely restrained fury in his expression.
“You just love doing this, don’t you?” he said, his voice low and laced with venom. “You love having something to be righteously angry about. You love playing the fucking martyr.”
Hermione scoffed. “And you love running. Running away from every confrontation, every conversation that forces you to actually look at yourself.” She stepped closer, her wet hair clinging to her face, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. “What, Malfoy? Do you think you can storm out of every single moment that makes you feel something?”
His lips curled into something cruel, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “At least I don’t make a hobby out of trying to tear people apart just to see what’s left underneath.”
Hermione’s fists clenched at her sides. “I’m not the one tearing people apart—you are. You can’t handle anyone seeing you for what you are.”
“And what am I, Granger?” Malfoy sneered, stepping into her space, the heat of him so close that she could feel it despite the cold. “Go on, tell me. Enlighten me with that brilliant mind of yours.”
Steadying herself, Hermione let years of pent-up resentment spill out in a rush. “I hate the way you walk around like you’re above everyone, like you don’t really feel anything unless you’re out there being selfish or acting like a moody prick. I hate how you act human for a minute, then do five hurtful things to ‘balance’ the one decent thing you ever did. You’re insufferable. You were the first person to show me what it meant to be called a ‘mudblood.’ I spent my entire childhood crawling—bleeding—trying to shake that label. I aced every test, followed every rule, did everything right. And year after year, you had no problem kicking my hands off the ledge and watching me fall back down.”
Malfoy’s face hardened, and he tried once more, his voice rising in anger, “You have no idea what I’ve been through—”
Her eyes narrowed, and she continued, her tone unwavering, “And then, just because YOU LOST the war, there you are—showing up to console me, drinking with me, acting like I’m not that twelve-year-old girl you once spat on and then, with the brush of the wind, doing a complete 180 to remind me how absolutely fucking stupid I am for doing anything other than setting out to make you miserable. That was my fucking goal for this year, did you know that? It wasn’t to be head girl or to pass my exams—no. It was to make you ever regret walking into this FUCKING house.” She panted for breath.
Malfoy gave her a lethal stare, and Hermione watched as every shred of will he had to hold himself back vanished—until, finally, he lost it on her.
Malfoy laughed—a sharp, ugly sound, jagged at the edges. His whole body vibrated with something dangerous, something dark and unchecked. “You want to scream at me, Granger? Fine. Fucking fine. But if you want the truth—if you want to really know me—then listen up, because I am done holding my fucking tongue.”
He took a slow, predatory step toward her, his face a storm of rage and something else —something hollowed out and rabid. His breath came out in sharp, uneven exhales, his fingers twitching at his sides.
“You think I don’t know what I am? You think I don’t wake up every single morning knowing exactly what you and everyone else in this fucking castle sees when they look at me?” His lips curled in a sneer. “You think I don’t feel the weight of it? The disgust, the pity , the fact that I will never be anything but the bastard who deserved worse than he got?”
Hermione’s pulse pounded, but she stood her ground.
Malfoy’s expression twisted. “You want to know what I really am, Granger? A fucking puppet. ” His voice was rising now, seething, venomous. “I was groomed for this. Bred for it. Do you understand that? I didn’t get a childhood—I got indoctrination. I got lectures on blood purity and blood duty before I could even read. I was told exactly who I was, what I was meant for. I was born into a fucking blood cult and you—” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, “you act like I ever had a choice. ”
Hermione’s throat felt tight, but she refused to look away.
“I didn’t get to be a person, Granger,” he went on, his voice laced with something bitter, something gut-wrenching. “I was a fucking symbol. A legacy. A future Death Eater before I could tie my own damn shoes. I was taught to rule Hogwarts before I even set foot inside this fucking school. And then—” His voice dropped, eyes burning, “—he came back.”
A sickening chill curled around Hermione’s spine.
“I was fifteen when he moved in,” Malfoy whispered, eyes locked onto hers, his breathing uneven. “Fifteen, Granger. And suddenly, my home wasn’t mine anymore. It was his .” He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “He sat at the head of my dinner table, slept in our rooms, used our fucking house like it was his personal graveyard. Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and wonder if tonight is the night you won’t wake up at all?”
Hermione’s stomach twisted violently, but Malfoy kept going.
“You talk about fear like you know it,” he sneered. “You don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to live in a house where every breath feels borrowed. Where every step too loud, every glance too long might cost you something. I did. I fucking did. I lived it every goddamn day.”
His voice turned lethal. “I watched them kill my father.” His hands clenched at his sides. “And I cried. Like a fucking weak, pathetic child. And do you know what they did to me for that? They taught me a lesson. ”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
“I screamed,” he continued, voice raw. “I begged. And no one fucking cared. ” He let out a humorless, breathless laugh. “Because a Malfoy wasn’t supposed to beg , wasn’t supposed to cry . I was supposed to be strong, supposed to be proud. ” His lips curled. “And then they taught me again — over and over and over —until I stopped crying, until I stopped fighting, until I was exactly what they fucking wanted me to be.”
His jaw clenched so tightly she could hear his teeth grind.
“I took my Mark at sixteen,” he whispered, voice shaking. “And I thought— I thought —maybe, if I did everything right, if I proved myself, they would leave my mother alone.” His breath hitched. “They didn’t.”
Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest.
“They hurt her anyway .” His hands curled into fists, his whole body rigid. “They tortured her. For hours. And I stood there—because if I moved, if I flinched, if I did anything , they would kill her. Or worse. So I watched.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper now. “I watched .”
Hermione’s hands trembled.
“And then the Manor.” His voice dropped even lower, dangerous. “You think I don’t remember? You think I don’t hear your screams in my head every fucking time I close my eyes?” His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. “I knew it was you. I knew, and I said nothing. I let them take you. I let them hurt you. Because I was too much of a fucking coward to stop them.”
Hermione’s entire body locked up.
“You think I forgot? You think I don’t see it every time I look at you?” His voice was rising again, raw, venomous. “Every fucking second of it is burned into my skull.” He let out a sharp, humorless breath. “But you weren’t the only one.”
Hermione’s breath stuttered.
“Astoria,” he whispered, voice like a blade to the throat. “She got caught sneaking food, sneaking medicine, sneaking hope . And they made an example of her.” His eyes were burning now, his whole body vibrating with tension. “They broke her.” His voice faltered, his breath ragged. “And I—I watched .”
Something twisted, sharp and sick, deep inside Hermione’s chest.
“I did everything I could,” Malfoy went on, his voice shaking. “I did everything to keep the Slytherins safe. I took their punishments, I took their lashes, I lied, I stole, I bled for them. And it didn’t matter .” His breath hitched, sharp and painful. “Nothing I did ever mattered .”
Hermione’s hands were shaking now.
“Because in the end,” Malfoy whispered, voice barely there, “I’m still Draco Malfoy. Still a fucking Death Eater. Still the boy who deserved worse .” He let out a breathless, broken laugh. “It didn’t matter how much I suffered. How much I paid. Because no one ever fucking cared. ”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then, Malfoy exhaled sharply, looking at her with something cold, something hollowed-out and lethal .
“So yeah, Granger.” His voice was flat. Empty. “You win. You get to hate me. You get to scream at me in the middle of the fucking street and tell me what a piece of shit I am. But don’t you ever—” His eyes locked onto hers, burning. “ Don’t you ever fucking tell me I didn’t suffer .”
Hermione let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck you , Malfoy.”
Malfoy’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing dangerously, but she didn’t care .
“You’re really— really —going to use my torture to prove your suffering? Are you actually serious?” Her voice shook with rage, her fingers curling into fists. “Do you hear yourself? Do you even realize what the fuck you just said? You watched me get tortured. You stood there , you did nothing , and now you’re going to stand in front of me and act like that was hard for you?”
Malfoy’s face twisted. “I had no choice , Granger—”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo , Malfoy.” She let out a sharp, venomous breath. “You didn’t have a choice ? You poor, tragic little prince.” She scoffed. “You always had a choice. Maybe not a good one, maybe not an easy one, but don’t you dare stand here and act like you didn’t make the one that let you live comfortably while the rest of us fucking bled for it.”
Malfoy’s eyes darkened, his entire body stiffening. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I don’t?” Hermione snapped, stepping forward, voice razor-sharp. “I don’t know what it’s like to have my life stolen from me? To have everything I was ripped away before I ever even got a chance to be anything else?” She shook her head, her breath shaking. “I obliviated my parents.”
Malfoy froze, his whole body tensing.
“I erased myself from their lives, Malfoy.” Her voice was quieter now, but not softer. Harsher. “I made them forget me. Wiped out every memory of their only child because if I didn’t, they’d be killed. ” She let out a sharp, humorless breath. “And the worst part? I didn’t even get to fucking say goodbye. ”
Malfoy’s fingers twitched at his sides, but he said nothing.
“I spent months on the run,” she continued, voice shaking with rage. “I spent months sleeping in forests, starving, hiding, knowing that at any moment, I could die. Do you know what it’s like to live like that? To never feel safe, to never know if tonight is the night they catch you ?”
Malfoy’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Hermione let out another breathless laugh, sharp and cutting. “And then they did catch me.”
Malfoy’s throat bobbed, but he still said nothing.
“They dragged me to your fucking house .” Her voice turned razor-sharp. “They tortured me on your fucking floor . And you—” her voice broke into something venomous, something lethal, “—you just stood there .”
His hands curled into fists.
“You want to talk about choices , Malfoy?” Hermione let out a humorless breath, tilting her head. “ You made yours. You let them do it. You let Bellatrix carve into my skin while I screamed , and you did nothing. ”
Malfoy took a slow, sharp breath, his whole body vibrating with tension.
“I remember your face,” she continued, voice shaking with something raw. “I remember how you wouldn’t even look at me . Like I wasn’t even human .”
Malfoy’s nostrils flared, his fingers twitching.
Hermione let out a cold, bitter laugh. “And now— now —you have the fucking audacity to stand in front of me and try to tell me that you were the one who suffered?” She took a step closer, her voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re fucking special ? You think you’re the only one who lost something? That you’re the only one who paid for this war?”
Malfoy’s breath came out in sharp, uneven exhales, his eyes flickering with something dangerous.
“Do you know how many people died , Malfoy?” Hermione pressed. “Do you know how many people suffered while you sat in your fucking ivory tower , pretending you were a fucking victim ?”
“ Shut up, Granger. ” Malfoy’s voice was low, lethal .
Hermione didn’t. “No, I don’t fucking think I will .” Her eyes burned. “You think you had it bad? Try fighting in the war, Malfoy. Try watching your friends die in front of you. Try watching fucking children get murdered in the halls of the school you once thought was a game.”
Malfoy moved . He closed the distance between them in one sharp step, his breath coming out harsh and ragged. “You think I don’t fucking know ?” His voice was shaking, but not from fear. From rage .
Hermione tilted her chin up, glaring up at him like she was daring him to lash out. “You stood on the wrong fucking side, Malfoy. You chose that side. So no, I don’t think you fucking know .”
Malfoy snapped . “I didn’t fucking choose anything, you stupid, sanctimonious bitch .”
Hermione didn’t even flinch . “Oh, you’re really gonna call me names now? How fucking predictable .”
Malfoy laughed —harsh, humorless, dangerous . “You think because you fought in the war, because you survived , that you get to act like you’re on some fucking moral high ground ?”
Hermione’s nails dug into her palms. “I don’t have to act , Malfoy. I am better than you.”
Malfoy’s smirk twisted into something darker. “Yeah? You sure about that, Granger?” His voice dropped into something slow, lethal. “Because right now, you sound just like me.”
Hermione stilled .
Malfoy tilted his head, watching her carefully, his smirk widening at the flicker of hesitation that crossed her face. “What’s the matter? Don’t like the idea that maybe, just maybe , we’re not so different?”
Hermione’s jaw clenched.
Malfoy leaned in just enough to drop his voice into something near a whisper. “Tell me, Granger—when you wake up in the middle of the night, shaking , when you can still hear their screams in your head, when you look in the mirror and don’t even fucking recognize yourself anymore…” His smirk widened, dangerous . “Do you still think you’re better than me?”
Hermione’s heart slammed against her ribs.
For the first time since the argument started, she had nothing to say.
Malfoy’s smirk didn’t drop. But the look in his eyes was hollow. Dead .
And Hermione—Hermione wanted to break him open.
She wanted to rip through whatever armor he had left and make him feel what she felt. Make him understand what it was like to be torn apart and not have the luxury of hiding behind a fucking smirk.
And so she did the only thing she could. She went for the jugular .
“You wish I was like you,” she whispered, voice low and shaking with rage.
Malfoy stilled .
“You wish I was just as miserable. Just as fucking weak ,” she continued, stepping toward him, refusing to let him get the last word. “You wish I was just as pathetic as you, because then you wouldn’t have to face the fact that I survived it all and I’m still better than you .”
His entire expression shattered .
The smirk dropped. His lips parted slightly, his breath catching, and for a single, fleeting moment—she won . She saw it. The real him. The one hiding beneath all the arrogance, all the cruelty, all the venom.
And then—he laughed.
A hollow, dark laugh that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with something bitter and broken and absolutely deranged .
“You think you won ?” His voice was quiet, but lethal, filled with something sick and twisted and absolutely gone .
Hermione’s stomach twisted .
Malfoy took a step toward her this time, closing the distance she had created, tilting his head slightly as if studying her. Sizing her up . “You really think that because you’re standing here, breathing, spitting in my face, it makes you stronger than me?” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—something darker. “No, Granger. It makes you delusional .”
Hermione’s breath hitched, but she refused to step back.
“Do you ever wonder, late at night, why you’re still so fucking angry?” His voice dropped into something venomous. “Why you can’t let it go ? Why you had to follow me out here?”
Hermione’s pulse pounded.
Malfoy’s smirk sharpened, his eyes flickering over her face, drinking in every crack, every flicker of doubt. “It’s because deep down, you know that the war didn’t fucking end for you. Just like it didn’t for me.”
Hermione clenched her jaw, but he saw the way her breath stuttered. He saw everything .
“You survived, Granger. So fucking what? ” His voice was ice. “You still lost just like I did. You still wake up screaming. You still flinch when someone moves too fast. You still can’t walk through the halls of that castle without seeing their faces.” His smirk turned cruel. “Tell me, Granger, do you ever think about how many people you couldn’t save?”
Her stomach dropped .
“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you’d just died instead? If it would’ve been easier? If it would’ve been—” He let out a soft, venomous laugh. “— quieter ?”
Hermione snapped .
Her hand collided with his face before she even realized what she was doing.
The crack of her palm meeting his cheek echoed down the empty streets of Hogsmeade.
Malfoy staggered back, his head snapping to the side, and for a split second, there was nothing .
And then—slowly—Malfoy turned his head back to her, his cheek burning red, his expression unreadable.
Hermione’s chest heaved . Her entire body shook with adrenaline, with rage, with something hot and painful and feral .
Malfoy exhaled sharply, bringing a hand to his jaw. Then he let out a slow, bitter chuckle, rubbing his palm over the spot where she had hit him. “Did that make you feel better , Granger?” His voice was low, cold, but there was something dangerous in the way he was looking at her now.
Hermione refused to look away. “Did you deserve it, Malfoy?”
His smirk returned, but there was nothing behind it. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone thought so.”
Hermione hated how that sentence sent a chill down her spine.
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, both of them burning , both of them vibrating with something toxic and sick and poisonous .
Then, finally, Malfoy stepped back.
"You’re a fucking piece of work, Granger," he muttered, voice low and acidic.
Hermione laughed—sharp, bitter, cruel. “Oh, I’m the piece of work?” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “That’s rich, Malfoy. You’re—what? Some tragic fucking martyr now?” Her voice dripped with disdain. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to forgive you? Feel sorry for you?”
Malfoy’s expression twitched—just slightly—but she saw it.
And it only fueled her rage.
“You think your pain justifies everything, don’t you?” she snapped. “You think it makes you untouchable. That you get to be the victim and the villain at the same time. That you can wallow in self-pity and then lash out at everyone else like you’re the only person who’s ever fucking suffered.”
Malfoy’s fists clenched.
“Well, I’ve got news for you, Malfoy,” Hermione spat. “You’re not the only one who lost everything. You’re not the only one who’s broken. But at least I don’t use it as a fucking excuse to be the worst person in every goddamn room I walk into.”
Malfoy’s smirk sharpened. And that was when she realized—he was about to ruin her.
"Oh, is that what you think?" he drawled, voice mocking.
Hermione didn’t hesitate. "Yes."
Malfoy laughed—not a real laugh, but something twisted, something ugly. His eyes burned.
"Yeah?" he sneered, taking a step closer. "Then tell me, Granger—when was the last time you were actually better than me?"
Hermione’s breath hitched.
Malfoy tilted his head, looking her up and down like she was something pathetic.
"Because it sure as fuck wasn’t last year, was it?" His voice was soft, taunting. "It sure as fuck isn’t this year, either."
Hermione’s stomach twisted.
Malfoy kept going, because he knew he had her now.
"Where was perfect little Granger when she spent a year running and lying and stealing? Where was your straight and narrow path while you were breaking into the Ministry? While you were Obliviating people?" His smirk widened. "You love to scream at me about my choices, but you sure as fuck didn’t have a problem making a few questionable ones yourself."
Hermione’s chest was heaving.
Malfoy let out a soft, mocking tsk."You weren’t the fucking golden girl during the war, Granger. You weren’t perfect. You weren’t righteous." His smirk turned cruel. "Hell, from where I was standing, you weren’t even good."
Hermione felt something sharp in her ribs—his words cutting somewhere deep, somewhere she didn’t want to acknowledge.
But Malfoy wasn’t done.
"And you haven’t been better than me since," he pressed. "Not once. Not when you’re drinking with me. Not when you’re cursing me out. Not when you’re screaming at me in the middle of the fucking street like a goddamn lunatic." He let out a breathless chuckle. "But sure, Granger. Keep telling yourself you’re better than me."
His smirk dropped completely then, and he leaned in, voice lowering to something cold. Deadly.
"Because from where I’m standing, the only difference between us is that I know I’m a lost cause. You? You still lie to yourself and pretend you’re not."
Silence crashed down between them.
The streetlamp flickered, throwing shadows over Malfoy’s face.
And Hermione had nothing to say.
Because the worst part?
The worst fucking part?
She didn’t know if he was wrong.
Hermione shook her head, exhaling hard, the weight of everything settling on her all at once. “You can say whatever the hell you want about me,” she continued, her voice quieter now, but no less lethal . “Call me self-righteous. Call me a sanctimonious bitch if it makes you feel better. But at least—” she inhaled sharply, “—at least I fucking try .”
Malfoy’s throat bobbed, his expression unreadable.
And that—that was the worst part. Because Hermione didn’t even care anymore.
The rage—the exhaustion—it all crashed into her at once.
She let out a bitter breath, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off the weight of the conversation itself. And then—her voice softened, just slightly.
Hermione exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “But you?” she let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “You’re the most obnoxious, ungrateful person I ever had the misfortune of meeting.” Her voice hardened, finality laced in every word.
Malfoy stilled.
She muttered, voice almost to herself. “I’m done.”
And it was the finality in her tone that made Malfoy’s attempted retort die in his throat.
The streetlamp flickered, casting long, jagged shadows over his sharp features. His breath was uneven, the sharp rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he had even heard her.
And Hermione—standing there, heart pounding, eyes ablaze with unyielding determination —knew that nothing between them would ever be the same again.