Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter world nor any character in it including, but not limited to: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini.
Warning: Language and Character Death
Dedication: This is to anyone who's ever felt like they're the poison. It just makes you stronger.
You look down on your long, pale fingers, only just beginning to comprehend what you've been told your whole life. You watch as the crystal bottle, full of a deep green liquid, dances between your fingertips in an odd, rhythmic fashion. You find an odd symbolism in the elixir of death. You are both poison.
In the dead of night, you feel a hand take yours, squeezing with the gentle pressure you have come to love, but have never been able to articulate. You have been too drunk, really. You realize with a jolt, that the engagement ring you had given her three years ago is no longer resting on her finger.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispers, lips brushing against your cheek for the last time. "You're ruining me." This kills you more than her leaving. You've ruined her. You are the poison that has driven the happy smile from her innocent face. You are the poison that has etched faint worry lines around her eyes.
"Bye, Astoria," you whisper back, not even turning as she gets out of your bed, leaving the ring full of empty promises on the bedside table. If only you had just married her.''
You watch your fingers rub against the cork stopper, threatening to break the seal. You have been a poison since the day you were born. You drove away Astoria who had never done anything but love you. You had taken the best years of her life and just couldn't marry her.
"You've gotten awfully pious," you throw in Blaise's direction, inexplicably mad that it is now his hand that Pansy clings to. "You telling me to clean up is just so droll," you intone sarcastically, malice marring your handsome features. You glare at Pansy, wondering when she betrayed you too. Her eyes are cast downward, silently acknowledging that she too thinks you are a corruption.
"You ruin everything you touch, Draco," he tells you. "You drove away Astoria, you ruined your chance at a career. You're too busy feeling sorry for yourself!" he shouts. "No one gives a fuck who you were in a war. Grow up."
You throw a punch hard enough to result in the snick of bone beneath your fist. Pansy screams. "She might be your wife, but I had her first," you hiss, driving that final wedge between you and your former friends. "She was nothing good to speak of." This petty comment sends Pansy into quiet tears and you feel ashamed. You should tell them you're drunk. You are, after all. But you're dead. You're already dead.
You think of the redemption you almost found. You think of the way Granger looked at you. She looked at you as if you were something worthwhile. You always knew you weren't, but in those moments when her lips were on hers and your eyes were open, watching perfection, you wondered if maybe you weren't so bad after all. You know now that she was the only one that could have saved you from the depths into which you have fallen. The war has destroyed your spark. She kindled that fire. But just like everything else, you drove her away.
You feel her lips touch your cheek in such a different way than Astoria. You feel so vulnerable that you shudder slightly. She wants to be public. She doesn't care who you were.
"Things have changed, Draco," she whispers, touching the ugly tattoo on your forearm with feather light caresses. "I know that you're hurting, but I-"
You shake your head, pushing her away from you. She doesn't deserve this. You have poisoned her too, haven't you? She thinks she cares for you. She doesn't know that you're not just hurting, you're bordering on something much darker. She doesn't deserve to have to baby sit you for the rest of your life, because you're so close to letting go of the past, grabbing her, and never letting go.
"I love you," she whispers the unforgivable, and you know that you can drive her away forever. So, you do. You do the one thing in your life that you feel might be respectable.
"It was just a bit of fun, Granger." You use her last name, severing all familiarity.
Your hands break the wax seal, pulling out the stopper. You take another moment to look at the spidery veins on the back of your hands, made more prominent by the numbing drug you have come to welcome. There is enough here. You remember when you cherished your life above everyone. Now…now you are nothing but a poison, a parasite that needs to be pushed from society before you incapacitate another. You are capable of nothing but destruction.
So you put the bottle to your lips and swallow, feeling the cool liquid seep down your throat and your eyes almost immediately slide shut. Your lips move, forming words that no one will ever hear. "I'm sorry." The words that might have saved you before, might have really changed what you had done, but...it is done.
Cunning And Ambition