M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D
By: ElmoruthPotterfan6
A/N: I know that Hermione getting carved into was only in the movie, but it really stuck with me. It really emphasized the burning hate of muggle-borns. We also see Draco's conflict of what is being done to what is right better in the movie than the book, I believe. I also believe that Draco is actually a lost boy, lead astray by his parents (more or less his father in the mix of false beliefs and fear). I wanted to show that Draco actually has a heart.
And that's all I got to say on that.
Hermione Granger had a peculiar scar across her forearm. It was faint in a faint white, but forever a reminder. It spelled an unforgivable name: Mudblood. Draco shuttered as her screams reverberated in his memory. The pit of his stomach dropped in shame. He often wondered if it often hurt her, physically, emotionally.
She was sleeping on the Head's Common Room, sprawled on the love couch with a book spread across her chest. It rose and fell slowly with her breathing; her breath was even and soothing. Her left forearm was draped over her eyes, scar displayed upward.
Draco sat on the floor with his legs under the coffee table he was using as a desk. He looked at his Potions book with no avail. Normally he could understand potions, but lately…he had been distracted. Thoughts danced in and out of his mind during classes, making days pass quickly. His grades were slipping, his duties were neglected. He was quickly falling apart. Slowly some action, from him or professor, would need to be taken. It wouldn't be long before feeling 'sick' wasn't going to cover it. The truth was he just couldn't sleep.
Draco sat his book on the table and rubbed his temples. He tilted his head and rested it on the seat of the overstuffed chair. What was wrong with him? He growled lowly in his throat. Hermione stirred. He turned his head sharply towards her direction. She quickly fell back asleep. The book slightly askew. Her scar oddly bright. She had folded the sleeves of her school shirt above the elbows. Normally she kept her scar hidden. Draco was sure that, besides a handful of people, no one knew of such a thing. He related. He never showed anybody the ugly Mark on his own forearm. Even with his shirt sleeve down, he felt its presence. It was like a weight etched on his skin.
He pressed his hands against his eyes until he saw red. He was so exhausted beyond belief. The only thing he hadn't tried was a Sleeping Potion. For such a potion, he would need supplies from Snape's cupboard; he wasn't going to risk getting caught. Draco was already drawing Snape's attention.
"Mr. Malfoy, a word after class," said Snape that day before the end of class bell rang. Draco packed up his things in his bag, receiving many snickers from fellow classmates. ("What did you do this time?")
He didn't wait to be asked to take a seat in the first row; he did so anyway.
"Draco, I've received some complaints that your work has been slipping."
He looked his godfather in the eye, "I've turned everything in on time."
Snape strode in front of his desk. "That is not the matter in question. What the matter is that your work is sloppy and careless with simple errors. Draco, what I want to know is what's going on that you can't focus?"
Draco sighed and placed two fingers on the bridge of his nose.
"I've been feeling under the weather lately," he mumbled.
"Have you been taking potions for it?"
"No, I've been trying to do my work, though it's been tough, and don't have time to make some potions. If I could sleep,-"
Without a word, Snape set a circular vial in front of Draco. In it was a potion of a soft purple. It swirled almost dreamlike in the glass. The glass itself was about the size of a fist. Draco looked at it and felt irritation to the inanimate object. He didn't want to take it. He felt like a grown man. He seen a lot of things these pass years. He didn't need help from a stupid, large bottle
"It's a large vial, so don't take it all. If you do, you would overdose and die. Take no more than a small sip to aid you to sleep."
Draco nodded once and pocketed the bottle quickly. Without being dismissed, he got up and walked away. The elder didn't reprimand him. He had a feeling that Snape's suspicions wouldn't ease.
Draco skipped dinner. He didn't feel like eating. He put all his energy into finishing his transfiguration essay. It wasn't the best, but it pleased him. He did the same to his charms essay. Since he wasn't paying attention in today's potion lesson, he decided to brush up on it in the book. By that time, Hermione was back from dinner and was sitting on the love seat couch, making a few finishing touches on her charms essay. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her roll up her sleeves and piled her things neatly. After she was done, she picked a book out of her schoolbag, lay down, and started to read. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.
He turned his head and watched her sleep, slightly jealous. It was not fair to him that she was able to sleep, and he not. He moved his legs from under the table and bent one to rest his arm on. On his arm he laid his head. How is it that she slept and he couldn't? How it is that he heard her scream every night, and, in the morning, she was bright as day while his face show the strain?
While he lay in bed at night, he hears her scream in pain. A nightmare. Peace won't come to either of them. Often the screams so loud that he wonders if he should see if she was ok. He never does. The screaming continues.
He inched closer to her. She wasn't screaming now. Maybe, for once, she was having a pleasant dream with nothing to harm her. His eyes grew itchy from the lack of blinking. He rubbed his face on the side of his arm. Maybe tonight he would drink Snape's potion. Maybe tonight he'd drink it all. Maybe tonight he'd be able to find some peace.
Bit by bit, he found that his legs were pressing on the couch. He watched her almost fondly. Draco glanced at her scar. He wanted to touch it. To feel it. To see if it hurt her. His face was close to hers now. Her breath hitched as if she could sense how close they were. He wanted answers. He wanted to know.
He waited until she woke up. He waited, never moving an inch. She didn't notice him at first, her eyes lazily scanning the ceiling. When she did, she jumped, nearly whacking Draco smartly on the nose. He kept his position as she propped herself on her right arm
"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to push herself backwards away from him.
"Shh," he merely said, disregarding her reaction. With his Quidditch reflexes, he grabbed her left, scar baring arm.
"Let go of m—"
He held a firm hand on her mouth. He put no pressure against her, just giving her the gesture that she should be quiet. Slightly fearful, she was. He let go. With a light touch, he traced the grotesque letters with this forefinger. M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D. Gooseflesh arose on her arms. He traced it again. M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D. The pit of his stomach dropped. He knew as a first hand witness that her blood was not tainted with blood. As a matter of fact her blood was red, pure, with no dirt. He pricked himself with a knife on purpose, staring at wonder as the same color pooled out of him as well.
"I hear you screaming," he whispered, looking at her arm. She raised her eyebrows in question. She didn't understand. Draco tried to elaborate more.
"At night. I hear you screaming at night." For a minute, she was still confused. Then, her face relaxed in understanding.
"I can't sleep," he whispered, hardly breathing it aloud.
She didn't speak. He brushed his finger once more on the letters (M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D) before he slowly got to his feet. He went to his Head's room without a word. She watched him leave.
Draco placed the bottle on his nightstand and sat on his bed. Without taking it, he pulled off his shoes, socks, tie, vest, shirt, and slacks before he slid into bed in his boxer shorts. He liked to feel the cool, crisp sheets before his body heat warmed it. It sent sleepy chills to his nerves.
He stared at the ceiling in an almost dream-like trance that only left him more tired than he started.
It was roughly an hour before he heard the screams. He squeezed his eyes shut. He willed it to stop. But he knew there would be no stopping once they started. His conscience was heavy. He should have done something to stop her from screaming that night she was sprawled on the Manor floor, his aunt Bellatrix carving those hateful letters into her frail form. He didn't move, tied between being punished or helping. She continued to scream, pleading for Aunt Bellatrix to stop, that she didn't know anything.
A tear ran down Draco's face as he tried to even his breathing. He reached out a hand to his nightstand and pushed the blasted potion away. It smashed on the floor. He didn't want it. This was his own doing. He felt guilty that he didn't do anything. He was a coward. There was something that the Malfoy family couldn't tolerate was a coward.
The screams grew louder as he joined with his own. It was a first. He never screamed alongside the screams from his memory. He found that he couldn't stop.
It was quickly draining him of energy, but there was no way that he could stop his own screaming or the one's in his head. Slowly they dimmed to almost a whisper, tears staining his face, sweat pooling on his brow.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Draco, are you ok? I heard you screaming."
He closed his eyes. He was growing ill. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I never stopped her from hurting you. It's killing me inside."
She leaned forward and he looked at her. She was wearing her pajamas. She crawled along side him. She took his head in her hands and whispered, "I forgive you, Draco Malfoy. There was nothing you could have done."
"Yes, I could."
"No, you couldn't have. You could have been killed if you helped me. You were on the front line of danger being so close to a paranoid old man. You were so very brave. You may be no killer, but you are killing yourself. Sleep," she brushed away the tears and sweat and made to leave.
"Please," he whispered, "You make the screaming stop. Don't leave me."
She crawled under the sheets and wrapped her arms around him as if she wouldn't have it any other way. Her head was on his shoulder. Quietly, she hummed a song which Draco did not know, nor did he care. His heart was happy. His head was quiet. He had her in his arms.
M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D and the serpent extending out of a skull's mouth were loosely intertwined.
A/N: I hope it was okay. Once I figured out an end point, I couldn't stop typing until 3:50 a.m.