Well met.
This is the companion piece to my other fic, 'Used.'
This one was written first though, and then someone suggested I write the other one.
If you don't want to read both of them, though, it's cool. You'll get the idea.
It would be cool if you did read the other one, though.
It would make me happy.
Dear Draco,
Hermione Granger and I are alike. We both stand at the shoulder of a leader, we both dominate in academics, and we're both tired of fighting a war that doesn't belong to either of us.
She the Muggleborn, I the disposable resource.
This war had divided our loyalties. If we had attended Hogwarts perhaps twenty years previously, the world might have been the clean, defined, black-and-white, good vs evil environment that epics are made of.
But no. Fate threw some complications at us, and we had no choice but to adapt to them as best we could.
We have a savior who is not quite golden, and a villain with a tortured past.
A serpent lurks behind Potter's eyes, darkening their emerald to a pine, reminiscent of dark forests and slow deaths.
The Dark Lord is nothing more than an unloved child. In another life, he might have turned out to be an influential politician, or a Healer, or worked in the Department of Mysteries.
He could have been good.
And Potter could have grown up with his parents, become the leader of the next generation of Marauders, and made Filch dance in his palm to detect the wrongdoings.
I might have been just another Slytherin basking in Draco Malfoy's brilliance. I might have been Head Boy, with no taint of Dark on my soul, merely competing with Hermione Granger for the top of our class, rather than conspiring with her.
Oh, that girl is brilliant. There are times when I think she could be the most dangerous magical being in existence, given a few years. If it was between a Hermione Granger in her prime or the Dark Lord, I'd wager on Hermione, bar none.
She'd make one hell of a weapon.
We have different reasons for doing this, but you'll understand. My soul is already tainted, evidenced by this brand on my arm. I'm damned whatever I do, so I'll go out in a manner of my own choosing, rather than on Voldemort's whim.
She is afraid of herself. Potter is becoming more and more unstable, and if he got the notion to harness her in his war, he would be unstoppable. She would become nothing more than a pawn, a weapon to be fired at the enemy on command.
Even if Potter didn't get to her, if for some reason Voldemort won, she'd be hunted down and killed for her impure blood anyway.
We're both damned. Different circumstances, certainly, but damned all the same.
I know you'll have mixed emotions upon reading this, and I'm sorry if you face punishment for it.
Just be happy for us. And if that is impossible, at least be happy for me.
Our deaths will be noticed. She is Potter's right hand, and I am yours.
At least we're free.
Your friend,
Blaise
Gah.
So much emo-y sugariness that I want to burn Romeo and Juliet for prompting this.
But then I'd owe my old school the $62 for a replacement book.
Anyway, thanks for reading.
Reviews? Please?