Blissful Pain
By: Cygna Apodis
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize in the Harry Potter books.
I, Draco Malfoy, will not be pitied. I do not feel sympathy for anybody; therefore I do not expect any from anyone. I would not let such weakness hinder my rise to power. I would not let it impede my dreams and ambitions.
But did I really not show such vulnerability? No. It was at that time I let my mask fall. The time I took off my hard, cold iron mask when I saw her tear-stained face. The mudblood had been crying. He had hurt her again, as he did so many times before. And this time, she chose a deserted corner to hide and let her tears flow. She sat there, hugging her legs and hiding her face behind them. I, passing by, saw her. I do not know how it happened or why it did. It was as if something took over me. I wouldn't say it was pity for then it would mean I was admitting I had such. I went over to her and handed her a handkerchief.
I did not know what she was thinking but I remember her reactions all too well. Her beautiful, tear-filled cinnamon eyes looked at me in wonder and confusion, while a hand reached for the cloth I had offered her. She did not speak, but merely let her head fall again and sobbed. I, on the other hand, did not leave. I should have ridiculed her, but no, I did not. I even stayed with her that night until she fell asleep. And then I carried her to my room. I had been so pathetic. Thank goodness no one saw me! It would have been hell!
The next day, she woke up early. None of the other student had awoken yet. She gave me a pathetically apologetic look, murmured a small "Thank You" then went to her dormitory. Once she had left, I came to my senses. I needed to get my mask on, and fast. But it wasn't the same again. The memory had been imprinted inside my head.
The following weeks passed by. Nobody had ever known of that night. It was as if it had never happened. The only thing different was the awkward feeling I get whenever I see her and the shortcomings of invectives we pass to each other. Of course, I never run out of insults to throw at Potter and Weasley but to her it was different.
But that night kept haunting me, kept haunting us. One day, while passing by the place of that fateful day, I saw her, although it was different from before. She was not crying but was looking distantly outside the window. I stopped and looked at her. She must have sensed it for she turned to me and returned my gaze. My mask had loosened again. Pathetic fool! How could a mudblood have this much effect on me? I punched the wall in frustration, only to receive bloody knuckles in return. I watched as the warm blood oozed from the open wound. The pain was bliss.
Hermione looked at me in pity. I will not be pitied! I turned to leave when she reached for my hand and touched it. She took something out of her pocket. I knew the cloth she took out. I recognized the ""D. M." embroidered on it. It was the handkerchief I gave her that night. She still had it. She took my hand and wrapped the wound with it.
"I was meaning to return it to you," she whispered, "but I never got the chance. I hope you don't mind now that it's stained with blood. Thank you for lending it to me." Then she turned around and left.
I didn't expect her to return it. I didn't even know she still had it. She had been keeping it all this time. I stared at her retreating back. I regret letting my mask fall for the second time. I despise her. But mostly, I despise myself for my weakness.
I hate being confused. Why does my heart beat so fast whenever I see her? The awkwardness I felt had gotten worse. I couldn't look at her without remembering those days, those days of vulnerability. The wound had fully healed now however, it was as if she never took her hand off mine. The cloth had been washed but her fragrance had never left it and my blood had always kept it warm. I never intend to use it but I always keep it with me. I always thought of throwing it away but something always held me back. I was confused although the answer had been so simple.
Then I realized it. I knew why. I found it out on that day. But it was too late. I could not tell my heart to stop. We had met there again one afternoon. The sun was setting and she was looking outside the window again, lost in her world like before. Again, she turned to me when I looked at her. Again, she looked into my eyes.
"I wonder if you feel it too," she said. Somehow, I knew what she was talking about. It was the same thing I had been thinking when I saw her staring at the setting sun. And I knew what it was I was feeling. What it was we were feeling. I regret ever letting my mask fall. But it was too late for regret. The feeling had been consuming me too long without me even knowing it. I smiled in resignation. No matter how much I want the feeling to go away it wouldn't. It would stay there like a parasite I couldn't kill. A parasite that was feeding on all that I was. All I could do was give-in to it and live with it.
Hermione sighed and turned back to the window, probably thinking my smile was that of mockery. I was giving her sadness and at the same time I was giving myself grief. I went to her and looked outside the window as she was. The sun reminded me of blood and the blood reminded me of that day and that day reminder me of her, my weakness.
I realized she was staring at me and I turned to her. Although I could not shake off this feeling, I could not stay with her. I could not give-in to it completely. I should not give-in to it completely. There are too many obstacles, too many risks. But those things could not stop me to have something to remember her by, to have one kiss. It's all I ask to keep for my anguished heart.
Her eyes reflected the red of the setting sun. I was captivated by it. I bent over and felt her soft lips on mine. We were oblivious to everything around us. Everything had seemed to stop. We were lost in that kiss. The kiss we had put everything into. The first kiss we were determined to make our last. Finally, we broke-off. I could see the hurt in Hermione's eyes, the hurt which must have reflected my own.
We stared at each other's eyes as if searching each other's souls. Hermione sighed. I understood. Together our love would only grow. Apart, it would intensify. It was pain inevitable for us both.
Suddenly, we heard screams and blasts from the Great Hall.
"What's happening?" Hermione asked, her head instinctively turning to the origin of the noise.
"I don't know," I answered.
Hermione held my hand tightly and I held hers. Suddenly, a flash of green light appeared from behind me and I watched as Hermione fell. It was as if everything had slowed down. I caught her limp body in my arms.
"The Dark Lord wants you to join us," said a drawling voice from behind me. I recognized that voice. It was my father, Lucius.
"What are you doing here?" I said blankly.
"Don't you think, boy? The Dark Lord has finally decided to take over this place. And you are one of the few chosen to survive. If you accept his offer take up your wand and fight with us. If you don't, I have no choice but to kill you myself. Now make your decision."
I bowed my head and gently laid Hermione's body on the floor. I took out my wand and raised it in salute.
"Good," I heard him say. He turned around and, taking the opportunity I pointed my wand at him.
"Crucio," a hard voice said-another Death Eater. Pain spread through my whole body. I opened my mouth to let out a yell of agony but it wouldn't come out. The pain was overwhelming. But it was nothing compared to what my heart was feeling. I saw Lucius turn around and come near me. Finally, the pain disappeared.
"Very good, Draco, I taught you well. But not well enough, I see," he added slapping me hard in the face. The pain was bliss. It reminded me of reality. I could never get lost in fantasy like other fools do because I experience pain. I experience it every day of my life.
I saw Hermione's lifeless body. I stared into her eyes. It seemed to give me strength. In a one last ditch of effort, I reached for my wand and pointed it at him. I saw his face twist in surprise and confusion. He didn't expect me to fight back after what had been done.
"Avada Kedavra," I heard myself say. Though I had never performed the curse before, it had been perfect. I watched as my father fell the same way Hermione did. But I didn't see him hit the floor for I too was falling. In the last moment I saw the shadows of Death Eaters surrounding me. Then there was darkness. I never knew how the battle ended. All I knew was regret.
I regret the times I took off my mask because of her. I regret ever falling for her, without even knowing it. I regret not being able to save her. Most of all I regret not being able to tell her I loved her. And now that darkness engulfed me I wonder if ever I could stay with her in heaven. Or would I just watch her from hell? Either way I'd be glad. For I would see her again.
A/n: This is my second story but my first one that's like this. I mean, in Draco's point of view. Please tell me what you think about it. REVIEW! You could say whatever you want about it. Tell me if it's bad so that I could scratch it. If you were thinking me how Draco narrated the story if he died, then forget about it because I too don't know how. Anyway, would you be so kind as to recommend some names of house-elves for my other story entitled "The Portkey." If you are, please review it in that story, if it's not that much of a bother. Thank you so much. :) (To those who've already read it, the next chapter is already under way. I just need the house-elf names. It's one of the cutest parts of the story. You don't want to miss it. Maybe the other chapters, but not that one)
By: Cygna Apodis
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize in the Harry Potter books.
I, Draco Malfoy, will not be pitied. I do not feel sympathy for anybody; therefore I do not expect any from anyone. I would not let such weakness hinder my rise to power. I would not let it impede my dreams and ambitions.
But did I really not show such vulnerability? No. It was at that time I let my mask fall. The time I took off my hard, cold iron mask when I saw her tear-stained face. The mudblood had been crying. He had hurt her again, as he did so many times before. And this time, she chose a deserted corner to hide and let her tears flow. She sat there, hugging her legs and hiding her face behind them. I, passing by, saw her. I do not know how it happened or why it did. It was as if something took over me. I wouldn't say it was pity for then it would mean I was admitting I had such. I went over to her and handed her a handkerchief.
I did not know what she was thinking but I remember her reactions all too well. Her beautiful, tear-filled cinnamon eyes looked at me in wonder and confusion, while a hand reached for the cloth I had offered her. She did not speak, but merely let her head fall again and sobbed. I, on the other hand, did not leave. I should have ridiculed her, but no, I did not. I even stayed with her that night until she fell asleep. And then I carried her to my room. I had been so pathetic. Thank goodness no one saw me! It would have been hell!
The next day, she woke up early. None of the other student had awoken yet. She gave me a pathetically apologetic look, murmured a small "Thank You" then went to her dormitory. Once she had left, I came to my senses. I needed to get my mask on, and fast. But it wasn't the same again. The memory had been imprinted inside my head.
The following weeks passed by. Nobody had ever known of that night. It was as if it had never happened. The only thing different was the awkward feeling I get whenever I see her and the shortcomings of invectives we pass to each other. Of course, I never run out of insults to throw at Potter and Weasley but to her it was different.
But that night kept haunting me, kept haunting us. One day, while passing by the place of that fateful day, I saw her, although it was different from before. She was not crying but was looking distantly outside the window. I stopped and looked at her. She must have sensed it for she turned to me and returned my gaze. My mask had loosened again. Pathetic fool! How could a mudblood have this much effect on me? I punched the wall in frustration, only to receive bloody knuckles in return. I watched as the warm blood oozed from the open wound. The pain was bliss.
Hermione looked at me in pity. I will not be pitied! I turned to leave when she reached for my hand and touched it. She took something out of her pocket. I knew the cloth she took out. I recognized the ""D. M." embroidered on it. It was the handkerchief I gave her that night. She still had it. She took my hand and wrapped the wound with it.
"I was meaning to return it to you," she whispered, "but I never got the chance. I hope you don't mind now that it's stained with blood. Thank you for lending it to me." Then she turned around and left.
I didn't expect her to return it. I didn't even know she still had it. She had been keeping it all this time. I stared at her retreating back. I regret letting my mask fall for the second time. I despise her. But mostly, I despise myself for my weakness.
I hate being confused. Why does my heart beat so fast whenever I see her? The awkwardness I felt had gotten worse. I couldn't look at her without remembering those days, those days of vulnerability. The wound had fully healed now however, it was as if she never took her hand off mine. The cloth had been washed but her fragrance had never left it and my blood had always kept it warm. I never intend to use it but I always keep it with me. I always thought of throwing it away but something always held me back. I was confused although the answer had been so simple.
Then I realized it. I knew why. I found it out on that day. But it was too late. I could not tell my heart to stop. We had met there again one afternoon. The sun was setting and she was looking outside the window again, lost in her world like before. Again, she turned to me when I looked at her. Again, she looked into my eyes.
"I wonder if you feel it too," she said. Somehow, I knew what she was talking about. It was the same thing I had been thinking when I saw her staring at the setting sun. And I knew what it was I was feeling. What it was we were feeling. I regret ever letting my mask fall. But it was too late for regret. The feeling had been consuming me too long without me even knowing it. I smiled in resignation. No matter how much I want the feeling to go away it wouldn't. It would stay there like a parasite I couldn't kill. A parasite that was feeding on all that I was. All I could do was give-in to it and live with it.
Hermione sighed and turned back to the window, probably thinking my smile was that of mockery. I was giving her sadness and at the same time I was giving myself grief. I went to her and looked outside the window as she was. The sun reminded me of blood and the blood reminded me of that day and that day reminder me of her, my weakness.
I realized she was staring at me and I turned to her. Although I could not shake off this feeling, I could not stay with her. I could not give-in to it completely. I should not give-in to it completely. There are too many obstacles, too many risks. But those things could not stop me to have something to remember her by, to have one kiss. It's all I ask to keep for my anguished heart.
Her eyes reflected the red of the setting sun. I was captivated by it. I bent over and felt her soft lips on mine. We were oblivious to everything around us. Everything had seemed to stop. We were lost in that kiss. The kiss we had put everything into. The first kiss we were determined to make our last. Finally, we broke-off. I could see the hurt in Hermione's eyes, the hurt which must have reflected my own.
We stared at each other's eyes as if searching each other's souls. Hermione sighed. I understood. Together our love would only grow. Apart, it would intensify. It was pain inevitable for us both.
Suddenly, we heard screams and blasts from the Great Hall.
"What's happening?" Hermione asked, her head instinctively turning to the origin of the noise.
"I don't know," I answered.
Hermione held my hand tightly and I held hers. Suddenly, a flash of green light appeared from behind me and I watched as Hermione fell. It was as if everything had slowed down. I caught her limp body in my arms.
"The Dark Lord wants you to join us," said a drawling voice from behind me. I recognized that voice. It was my father, Lucius.
"What are you doing here?" I said blankly.
"Don't you think, boy? The Dark Lord has finally decided to take over this place. And you are one of the few chosen to survive. If you accept his offer take up your wand and fight with us. If you don't, I have no choice but to kill you myself. Now make your decision."
I bowed my head and gently laid Hermione's body on the floor. I took out my wand and raised it in salute.
"Good," I heard him say. He turned around and, taking the opportunity I pointed my wand at him.
"Crucio," a hard voice said-another Death Eater. Pain spread through my whole body. I opened my mouth to let out a yell of agony but it wouldn't come out. The pain was overwhelming. But it was nothing compared to what my heart was feeling. I saw Lucius turn around and come near me. Finally, the pain disappeared.
"Very good, Draco, I taught you well. But not well enough, I see," he added slapping me hard in the face. The pain was bliss. It reminded me of reality. I could never get lost in fantasy like other fools do because I experience pain. I experience it every day of my life.
I saw Hermione's lifeless body. I stared into her eyes. It seemed to give me strength. In a one last ditch of effort, I reached for my wand and pointed it at him. I saw his face twist in surprise and confusion. He didn't expect me to fight back after what had been done.
"Avada Kedavra," I heard myself say. Though I had never performed the curse before, it had been perfect. I watched as my father fell the same way Hermione did. But I didn't see him hit the floor for I too was falling. In the last moment I saw the shadows of Death Eaters surrounding me. Then there was darkness. I never knew how the battle ended. All I knew was regret.
I regret the times I took off my mask because of her. I regret ever falling for her, without even knowing it. I regret not being able to save her. Most of all I regret not being able to tell her I loved her. And now that darkness engulfed me I wonder if ever I could stay with her in heaven. Or would I just watch her from hell? Either way I'd be glad. For I would see her again.
A/n: This is my second story but my first one that's like this. I mean, in Draco's point of view. Please tell me what you think about it. REVIEW! You could say whatever you want about it. Tell me if it's bad so that I could scratch it. If you were thinking me how Draco narrated the story if he died, then forget about it because I too don't know how. Anyway, would you be so kind as to recommend some names of house-elves for my other story entitled "The Portkey." If you are, please review it in that story, if it's not that much of a bother. Thank you so much. :) (To those who've already read it, the next chapter is already under way. I just need the house-elf names. It's one of the cutest parts of the story. You don't want to miss it. Maybe the other chapters, but not that one)