Insane
He feels sick.
Turning his eyes away from the scene in front of him, he bites down hard on his lower lip, ripping away the soft pink flesh. His insides are churning away, and he feels like he might heave all over the clean marble floor that the house elves just finished scrubbing. His heart is racing, and he barely notices the half-moon imprints that his fingernails have dug into the soft, white palms of his hands.
Nothing can compare to the pain and torment she is feeling right now.
No, no, no. He cannot be thinking this way, she's nothing.
Nothing to the world, nothing to him.
Just a silly Mudblood to stupid to realise what she had to do.
He wants to vomit. Spew, spew, spew. He stifles a laugh at the irony of it. This time last year he was teasing her about her silly campaign, trying yet again to stifle her opinionated nature and idealistic thoughts. Now, how the tables have turned! She no longer burns brightly, she is no more. They've beaten her down until she cannot take it anymore, and it somehow disgusts him and pleases him at the same time. Like a through bred horse, he will break her until she is no more.
No more!
Is he going insane? He thinks that he is lucid, but really, in all honesty, how can he compare his mental health with the rest of his household? His mother is on edge with her nerves, his father has withdrawn into himself, and his aunt has always been crazy. He doesn't have anyone he can draw a parallel with.
She releases an ear-piercing scream as his aunt approaches her once more, and he watches the scene with gray eyes unblinking as his aunt cuts into the soft flesh of Hermione's arm. God, can't she shut up, he thinks as he clamps his palms over his ears once more, closing his eyes in an attempt to escape. Can't she see what she's doing to him?
She can't see, she is blind. Blind, blind, blind. Ignorant to the world and changing politics around her, unwilling to admit defeat. He could have saved her, if she had only realised in time. Voldemort wouldn't have killed her if she had just shut up for once and realised what she had to do in order to survive. She was the best witch of their time, if only she had taken the hand he had offered her in his dreams and shut up!
The sounds of her scream decrease in pitch, and by the time he eases his eyes open to look, there is no one there save a house elf. He barks an order at the timid figure, whom is beginning to gather cleaning products to vanish the remains of his aunt's torture, and chuckles at the irony of the situation. The elves where what she fought for, yet here they all are, cleaning up after her split blood and echoing screams.
Is he insane?
Because the lingering remains of her blood on the marble floor, (Mudbloods bleed red, did you know?) suddenly look delicious.
He bursts into laughter, the sound echoing around the empty room as a harsh cackle.
Insane, what a stupid thought!