Achilles' Heel
WARNING: I'm very Anti-Hermione, even more Anti-Hermione/Draco, so just for the record, this ain't no sappy love story with confessions of undying love. Glorious Hermione-Bashing here. *Waves Anti-Hermione banner*
NB: I own nothing but the plot. Flames only keep me warm in winter. Hermione's POV
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I've lost track of the time as I sit here on the floor of this dusty broom-cupboard. My knees are drawn to my chest as I rest my head upon them, soaking through the material with tears that seem to have no end. Why are you crying, Hermione? Asks the little voice in my head. They were just words. He never laid a finger on you…
"I know that." I mutter irritably, then slap my cheek for doing something as stupid as talking to myself. But you are stupid, Hermione. Says the voice again. Do you not remember his words of wisdom? And I find myself digging into the freshest parts of my brain to retrieve a fresh and very painful memory…
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"Pssst!" I turned my head, struggling under my heavy load of books as per usual. Nothing. I frowned, turning to continue on my way to the Library when I heard it again.
"Pssst!" I could feel my frown deeper.
"Who's there?" I demanded, putting on my most authorative voice. "Whoever you are, show yourself immediately." My fingers stroked across my always perfectly shining Prefect's badge. Nobody appeared. "I'm warning you. I happen to be a Prefect, and unless you show your face to me immediately, I shall find you and report you to your House Prefects."
"Now, now, Granger." I felt myself automatically stiffen at the sound of a familiar, ice-cold drawl. "You have no need to be acting all huffy. Besides, seeing as I happen to be a Prefect myself, reporting me to myself would prove itself to be a most…abnormal thing to do."
"Malfoy?" I scanned the near-darkness around me, trying to spot his silhouette. Tracing his voice would be impossible, seeing as it had seemed to come from all around me.
"The one and only, Granger." Said a voice beside me, and I let out a small scream, dropping my books. He chuckled malevolently, then shot out a thin arm and grabbed me by the neck as he turned and shoved me into the broom closet where – I assumed – he had been hiding himself beforehand.
"What the?" I found myself sputtering. "Malfoy? What's going on? What the hell do you think you're doing here?" My eyes were becoming used to the darkness, so I could see his face, and for once, his trademark smirk had vanished. It had been replaced with a stone-cold glare, and lips pressed tightly together. His hand remained around my neck.
"I'm here, Granger, because I decided it was about time that you and I had a little private talk."
"Why should I have to waste my time talking to you of all people, Malfoy?" I found myself snarling. I yelped when his hand tightened around my neck, threatening to cut off my air supply. I could see his eyes narrow.
"Because it's about time that you were told what you fear the most. The truth. Believe me, Granger, I'm not the only person in this school who has been wanting to have this kind of talk with you, but I am the only one that will not give you a softened or watered-down version of what so many of us have been dying to tell you." He paused, supposedly for breath and dramatic effect, while I turned up my nose at him as best as I could, considering that he still had me by the neck.
"The truth? And what would that be, Malfoy? Do you have a crush on me or something stupid like that? Did you bring in here to rape me or something?" I retorted, trying to shake my bushy hair out of my face. His reaction was one of revulsion, and he recoiled from me as if I were covered in Flobberworm slime. Then he laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh.
"A crush on you? Granger, before I actually start to tell you what's on my mind and the minds of many other students, let me just verify this: If you and I were the last people on Earth and the human race depended on us to re-populate the world, I would still subject myself to Cruciatus a thousand times over than have to touch you in a way that would be considered even remotely sexual."
"Well, why am I here then, Malfoy?" I demanded, growing irritable. "The Library shuts in an hour and, quite frankly, I would rather be spending my time there than in this broom-cupboard with you of all people. So could you just please just hurry up and tell me whatever it is you have to say?" I stood there, waiting for him to speak, and was faced with silence. Just as I was about to open my mouth and tell him to hurry up, the grip around my neck tightened dramatically and I was shoved hard against the back wall of the broom-cupboard with a considerable amount of force.
"Now listen to me, Granger, and listen good because I'm not going to repeat because you weren't listening." He hissed, his face only inches away from mine.
"You. Are. Nothing." He said each word slowly and deliberately to allow them to sink in. "You are nothing, Granger, and you will never be somebody, no matter how hard you try to delude yourself. You try and fool everybody into thinking that you're a deep and meaningful intellectual because you memorise book after book. You fill your mind with borrowed facts and you repeat them over and over to people who really don't care just so you can make yourself feel a little superior and forget that in the eyes of so many of us, you are nothing. You are nothing but a stupid, snotty Mudblood." He paused again, seeming to relish in every single word.
"You're not smart, you never were smart, Granger, all you do is memorise what you find written down in the hopes that it will make you seem a little more intelligent, because you're so scared that nobody will notice you exist unless you blurt out other people's information as your own ad nauseam, because you know that you have nothing else going for you, don't you?" Malfoy paused to take a breath, and I could see him quite well in the dark by now. His normally slicked back hair had fallen into his face and eyes, giving him an almost maniacal appearance. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with each breath, silvery eyes glazed over with hatred and sadistic pleasure.
"You have to talk, Granger, because deep down, you know that you would have nothing unless you did. I mean, look at yourself. Bushy hair, acne, bad teeth, stick figure, and let's not forget that nagging, nasally voice for you. I'm surprised Potter and the Weasel can stand to be around you with that voice. Personally, I believe they only keep you around as a spare when they don't have Yule Ball dates, and they probably feel that they owe you for what Weasel said about you in the First Year." I opened my mouth to ask him how he had heard that, and he silenced me with a hand over my mouth.
"Yes, I heard about what they said. People talk, Granger, especially People such as Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown, who have friends and allies in other houses. Now, what was it that Weasel said?" Draco paused to tilt his head mock-thoughtfully. "Oh, yes. Now I remember how it went. As I was told, what he said went along the lines of that it was a wonder that anyone could stand you, which you heard and went off crying like a little baby. And after you left he added that you had no friends, which was true." I cringed, remembering how much the off-hand comments of an angry, young Ron Weasley had cut me to the core. Malfoy laughed that cold, inhospitable laugh of his.
"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Granger?" He said mock-soothingly. "Even now, you can count the people that you think are your friends on one hand, can't you? Personally, I think they must feel obligated to have you as a friend. I know I would if I were in their situation. All you ever seem to do is try and make yourself feel and seem superior to them, and I know that you use Potter's supposed friendship to elevate your status from nothing to the Mudblood that is friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived. I know for a fact that none of the girls in your year like you at all. They talk about you, Granger. They all think you're arrogant, ugly and more superficial than Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil put together, and they at least acknowledge their superficiality, which is what makes them that little bit better than you will ever be. When the Dark Lord finally wipes you off this planet, do you really think that anybody here will weep for you? I reckon Potter and Weasley will be glad to see the last of you. I reckon there might even be a party in the Gryffindor common-room to celebrate your demise. It really is a mystery to me how anybody can stand to be around a person like you." Finally, he stepped back and let go of my neck, wiping his hand on the wall with an expression of disgust on his face.
"Like I said, Granger, it was about time someone told you the truth." He paused to smirk. "And I'm glad that that someone happened to be me. Good night." He opened the broom-cupboard door and stepped out, beginning to leave. Then he popped his head back around the entrance.
"Oh, and Granger, remember what I said at the beginning. You aren't somebody, no matter how hard you try to delude yourself. You were, are, and shall always be nothing." And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone. For a moment, I just stood in my place, allowing every single word of his to sink into my brain before slumping to the floor and allowing tears to fall in miniscule rivers down my cheeks…
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The tears continue to fall and I don't bother to wipe them away. I feel as if Malfoy has opened me up, exposed my soul, my very being, then torn it away from me and spat on it. Why are you crying, Hermione? Asks the little voice again, a hint of a sneer in it. Are you crying because you couldn't handle the truth when you finally heard it?
THE END