And if I could pay them in how much I care
It wouldn't get them anywhere
-Breathe Electric, Stay With Me
She is all flyaway hair and annoying high-pitched sound and intelligence, but not the good kind of intelligence; the bad kind; the know-it-all kind, the kind that makes you want to just strangle her, just..
. . . wrap your hands around her throat and squeeze.
She is too eager; that annoys you, you want to destroy her, immediately when meeting her, you just think it; you have to break her down, make her seem like she is nothing. Because she doesn't think that, and she needs to, she's just another face in the crowd.
She doesn't understand that and you hate that.
Oh, how you hate that.
She is so innocent, unaware of the dangers of the real world; she chews on her banana muffins with a bright smile, all buck teeth and bushy, chestnut hair; and sometimes you wonder how she can even keep it in a ponytail at times, it looks like it will just bounce back.
It's an unnatural ability, how she makes you hate her, so so much. She reminds you of you, because once you were innocent, like that, too. You don't want her to hurt, like you did. You don't want her to become one of them. You don't want her to become you, and so you insult her repeatedly, make fun of her buck teeth, make your Slytherins laugh at her and ask how someone could possibly have such an out of control bird's nest on a head.
Because then she will cry and she will hate you, and that is good, because you know they suspect you, it is always you, never Quirrell or anyone else, always you, because you're evil, aren't you?
If only they knew. It's good, though, that they hate you. They won't go down the same path as you. But your Slytherins.. they will. But at least you can save her.
000
If I was innocent, would you take the blame for me?
-Since October, Guilty
In her second year, her teeth are the same, her hair is the same. Everything about her is the same, but maybe she has grown taller; you do not notice.
It angers you, how much she looks like the same first year. You know it is petty and it is not expected for a student to grow and change over only one summer, but it still annoys you.
You know this year will be different, you do not know how or why, but you simply know; and you still call her an insufferable know-it-all and no matter how hard you try not to feel the guilt eating at your cold, frozen heart, you do. Because you know after class as she rushes out, she is crying, but you ignore her friend's glares and you pretend you are Dumbledore for a moment and that it is for the Greater Good, and then you do not feel so guilty anymore until you see her again the next day.
You stare one day at her, as she is lying in the infirmary, petrified, and you wonder: If you had done something different, would it have saved her from this fate? But then, you hear approaching footsteps and you leave but when you are back in your dungeons, grading idiotic students' essays, you feel more guilt.
It is her fault, you argue to yourself, to the part who feels guilty; it is her fault for making you feel this way, it is her fault for getting petrified, and it is her fault for being her. It is not yours.. never. Albus told you to look over Potter, not Granger. So why do you feel so bad?
000
You keep on talking but you make no sense at all.
-Nero ft. Alana, Guilt
It is her third year; and she has changed. She still has the teeth but she does not smile often with them, making it less obvious; she has actual curves now and people are starting to notice and you almost feel protective, but you ignore that feeling and pretend it is something you ate. Probably Albus's lemon drops - you always knew they were no good.
She does not have bushy hair any longer, it is more curly, more beautiful with a sheen to it, and she is almost not such a know-it-all - almost. Just almost.
She has saved Sirius Black with these insufferable friends of hers, and she has been protected - by you - from a mad werewolf. But still, what does she do? She curses you. She knocks you back into the wall and afterwards, she comes to your office, upset and almost crying, apologizing and babbling. You do not forgive her and you throw something at her and she runs off, and the next day, she comes back, apologizing, again.
You glare but you do not speak and she thinks you forgave her. Maybe you did. You will refuse it, at all costs.
But she is just as annoying, still. You still make her cry and you know it. Sometimes, you will feel her hurt, wide, teary gaze on you, just as the class rushes out, her friends leaving her behind. They aren't good friends, not real ones. Not yet. Not just yet.
You ignore it, keep your head down, you think to yourself, because if you look up you will get caught in these eyes and you feel guiltier than ever before, and then she walks away and how you are so relieved.
Other times, she will rush in - whether it be in the middle of the day or just after the class rushes out, or sometimes even in the night and she will babble and cry and she does not make any sense.
But you do not talk, and once she has vented she leaves and you stare the wall as she does so, and the quill in your hand is thrown at the wall with a cry of rage. Why does she do this to you?
She makes sense, you know - in class, when she is the only one who raises her hand and you are forced to call on her, she makes sense, but at the same time she sounds like the perfect little know-it-all and you hate that, you hate how smart she is because she isn't smart in a good way. Her intelligence is the horrible kind, the kind you don't like. The know-it-all kind.
She babbles on and on until you finally bark, making her eyes tear up, "Shut. Up. Miss. Granger." you say and you know she expects it but it's like the words are always forced out of her, she sounds like she's reading from a book, every time. Never a different version - it is exact, word for word.
She annoys you.
Mostly because she makes you feel guilty, and you aren't meant to feel guilty.
000
She stands at the shoreline
With hands in the air
-Rise Against, Help Is On The Way
Sometimes, you watch her, pretending you have nothing better to do out of the high windows, making sure you can see her perfectly but she cannot see you; that is good, it would not do at all if she saw you.
She stands at the shoreline without her friends for once at the Black Lake, watching the Giant Squid; hands outstretched in the air and swaying them back and forth as if she is at a Muggle concert - feet bare, shoes next to her, wiggling her toes in the water. You don't smile.
She has changed evermore this year; her teeth are fixed; they do not remind you of First Year Know-It-All Hermione Granger any longer.
She is still a foolish girl, though; pitying house-elves and believing that they can win the war with a snap of their fingers; so innocent. So naive.
So interesting.
You hate when that thought passes your mind, but you cannot ignore it; she is very interesting. And pretty, this year. She is pretty, and you notice - who cannot? And as the Yule Ball comes, you almost smile - just almost but you do not and nobody notices the faint twitch of your face as you hold it back when she comes down, hair pulled up prettily, dress fitting her perfectly.
A brief thought passes you mind, and you mentally cringe at yourself:
Like a princess.
You watch her subtly throughout the night, she is all smiles, hanging off of her date, Viktor Krum. He does not deserve her, you think, and it appears Ron Weasley agrees, glaring at them jealously.
You almost snort; jealousy is a petty emotion. You have learned that, but it never stopped you from doing the same thing the redheaded boy was doing right now when Lily hung off James arm-
No. Nononono. You would not think of that.
And then you turn away just for a moment to speak to Albus, and then you return her gaze to her and she is crying. You blink; her moods have changed so quickly, from happy and free-spirited to angry and crying. You know it is Weasley's fault; the redhead looks almost appalled, not at himself but at her as she yells and he is able to hear, "You ruined everything, Ron!"
Her best friends hurry up the stairs and out of the sight and she lands on the stairs, crying, massaging her foot. You slowly walk over her and pass her, but not without handing her a cloth; it is a shame, really. Her mascara is running. You hurry up, too, out of the stairs and out of sight.
000
Under the circumstances
I've been shockingly nice
-Portal 2, GLaDOS
It is not a good year, at least, for you. You do not like the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, you do not like her at all. She wears this hideous shade of pink and her whole office is full of kittens; they are almost eerie and they almost make you want to leave, but you do not. They stare at you eerily, lashes over-long and eyes wide and baby-like on their furry faces.
Oh, how it is eerie. But you pretend not to notice and you shove the thoughts of she is insane and what is she doing out of your head when she stands up absently, still talking to you in her sugary sweet voice and goes to pet the kittens on the wall, as if they were real. They aren't. They aren't real, and that is what is the most eerie. Perhaps she isn't sane. You smirk and pretend everything's alright when she reveals her method of punishment to you. You are awed and it is not in the good way when she forces you to write across a paper and the ink comes red and the blood drops across the back of your hand as the words sink into your hand.
You know you should have written your name, instead, but no, you had to write the thing that immediately came into your head. Hermione Granger. You hide the words from her and hurry out of the office and she smiles eerily behind you and your annoying conscience hums, "DUN DUN DUN."
The next day the scars are not there, the words are faded and gone, and you are grateful for that; the next day, you snarl as Hermione Granger answers a question in her usual know-it-all way and you give her no points and the next day even after that, you do not have the energy to be cruel and you do not respond as she answers a question and she smiles brightly, thinking you're actually being nice to her for once. You do not give her points, though, and her face falls.
You do not notice, and the day after that you are back to your old self.
She does not cry, though. Not any more. She stopped, at the beginning of the year.
That is good. You do not feel so guilty anymore. At the sight of these tears welling up in her eyes, you always felt like a bad man.
000
I look in the mirror and put on a happy face
But nobody sees it
And I don't believe it
-Jordan Pruitt, When I Pretend
The next year, it is bad. Oh, it is so, so, so bad. You are tortured and when you come back, Albus does not worry about you, he never does but it seems more obvious than ever before. Albus only asks what happened, and if you only tell him nothing then he is disappointed in you.
You hate him. You hate him, so much, and yet, you can't exactly dislike him.
Maybe. Sometimes. Just a little.
And she is still there, making you angrier than ever, and you know this year will be bad even at the beginning of said year.
Between the torture and Albus' want for the greater good to come through, so bad that he will give up the use of one hand to try to make it work. It doesn't work and you sneer but inside you are worried, it is like a cold hand is gripping your heart as you kneel over his hand and give him potions when he is slumped in his chair, eyes blank and fluttering weakly and you pretend to be angry, to not care, but when your words come out in such a way, it is hard to put up such an act.
You do not have the time to watch her, like you always had.
Sometimes you think of her face after a torturing and it will make your pain lessen, but you pretend that it is just the potion kicking in.
You know it's not, but you pretend that it always helps to pretend.
Pretend, pretend, pretend. When did pretending become such a large part of your life? You wonder.
You are evil, you are a bad man but you pretend that it is all for the Greater Good like Albus does, sometimes. Not all of the time; just sometimes. It never works. You fall asleep with nightmares and the back of a once bushy-haired head.
You watch, your wand frozen and your arm shaking horribly as he falls off of the edge of the tower as if in slow motion, his eyes forgiving, begging.. light. Albus Dumbledore.
The green light is reflected in his eyes.
Your heart is beating fast and hard as you hurry down and when you catch a last glimpse of that familiar face, not so bushy-haired or buck-toothed anymore, tears streaking down her skin and anger on her face, you are sorry.
000
Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me want to die
-Buckcherry, Sorry
You're a bad man, you're evil and you're relieved when your Dark Lord - no, never your Dark Lord, you were a spy through and through and that makes the pain in your heart - and your neck - and every part of your body - just a little better.
When you see Hermione Granger and Harry Potter's shocked faces, though, when they come out as you are lying, dying on the floor, you see it in her eyes - she wishes she had a bezoar. Not for anyone else, not for Weasley or Potter or any other Weasley if they were in this situation, but for a bad, bad, BAD man.
You snort mentally at the idea and for once, the annoying voice in your head is silent; perhaps a side-effect of dying? Of being poisoned, bitten by a very venomous, very dangerous snake?
You hurt, very badly. Everyone says your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but you don't think that is true. Not for you. All you see is the ceiling of the Shrieking Shack and their worried faces.
Worried? For me? How ironic. You think, but you do not laugh like you want to.
"T-Take.." You groan, and even to yourself you sound oh-so weak. You don't like it very much.
"T-Take.. it..."
Potter, for once, seems to understand you, and the silvery string of memories stick to the boy's wand and you watch as your memories are taken from you.
But you are not dying, not yet. And while you are still alive, despite Potter's shocked and confused face, despite his quiet protests of her name, she kisses you; the bad, bad man.
Her lips are soft, moving gently against yours and you do not have the energy to kiss back, but that is okay, she does not seem to mind. Her lips are nothing like you imagined; then again, you never imagined dying on the floor of a shack, bitten by the venomous snake of your Lord, being kissed by your own student, either.
They are not forceful, but you feel her breath on your face as she gently slips her hand underneath your back and kisses you just a little harder. You only wish you had the strength to kiss back and finally, you understand as the world fades around you into darkness.