Chapter 21

Loathsome Little Cockroach

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and followed Harry and Ron through the courtyard, which was considerably more eerie today than ever before, she threw a death glare at the executioner, all clad in black with a mask revealing empty eyes and rotten teeth, sitting on a stone bench, he sharpened his scythe, the image was more menacing than she'd ever imagined it would be, but then she imagined this type of scene in the hills surrounding Azkaban, an insane murderer waiting in his cell for the blow that he would never wake from. Not on the school grounds. Not when the victim of such horror was anything but violent. Dangerous, perhaps. But in no way a killer similar to Sirius Black.

She stormed down the wooden walkway that adjoined a small darkened porch, her heart was pounding with so much force she thought it might break through her ribs, blood thumping in her head, her knuckles ached to hit something, to break something. If he was allowed to destroy something, why not her? She suppressed a feral growl, fists clenched so tight her fingernails dug into her skin, far too irate to feel anything, let alone the slight sting her nails caused her palms, Hermione tried not to think about him, becoming more angry with every passing second.

"I can't believe they're going to kill Buckbeak!" she said, indignantly, her rage not just evident in her eyes but in the way she moved, like a predator ready to tear its prey to pieces, "It's just too horrible."

"It just got worse." Ron replied, pulling a face, as they exited the porch.

Standing there, by a stone pillar, binoculars pressed to his face, was none other than the very person she wanted to rip to shreds. His name tasted vile on her tongue even if she hadn't spoken it, she refused to do so anyway, fearing her rage may eat her alive if she did. Hermione was ignorant of the concerned look Harry and Ron exchanged, she'd been oblivious to most everything after hearing Buckbeak's execution would be at nightfall today.

"-Father said I can keep the Hippogriff's head..." she heard the twisted humour in his tone and, before she realised what she was doing, she half-ran down the few steps and down the grassy bank towards the three boys. Well, if that's what you could call them. Personally, she felt 'monsters' was a more apt term.

"Look who's here." Crabbe was first to notice her, causing Draco to turn, a grin on his face, she had never wanted his absence as much as she did right then,

"Ah, come to see the show?" he asked, happily, arms open wide, like he were royalty expecting her to bow!

"You!" she spat furiously as he took a step towards her, she pulled her wand from out of her jean pocket, "You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!"

Draco backed up to the pillar, the tip of her wand pressed to his neck, he closed his eyes, winching and whimpering pitifully,

"Hermione, no!" Ron protested half-heartedly, "He's not worth it!"

She stared at Draco, her breathing ragged, her jaw set, her nostrils flaring, her eyes glaring at the blonde boy whose face was contorted with fear, despite feeling murderous, despite wanting to be rid of him, she knew she couldn't, she couldn't live with his existence tainting the ground and everything else beneath him, but she doubted she could live without it either, or whether it would be called living at all.

Look at what she'd become because of him...and that was merely because he'd tossed her aside like an old, broken chess piece rather than treated her properly like the friend he'd claimed her to be.

No, Hermione Granger didn't want to live in a world without Draco Malfoy, but that didn't mean that right now she didn't want to hex him, her pity and mercy for him was long gone.

But as it was, Ron was right, it would probably only make things worse, the last thing anyone needed was Lucius Malfoy demanding to know why his horrid son had been cursed by a mudblood, no doubt he'd find a way to play the story to his advantage. A talent he'd clearly passed on to Draco.

She begrudgingly lowered her wand.

His eyes opened and he looked down to find her wand no longer trained on him, she turned away from him in disgust, feeling sick to her stomach staring into those eyes that she'd once thought were so lovely, a thought crossed her mind, but only when she heard his laughter did she act on it. Hermione spun round, satisfied at hearing the crack her fist made when it connected with Draco's face. Effectively, from the sounds of it, breaking his nose.

"Malfoy, are you okay?" Crabbe asked, him and Goyle helping the blonde to stand, Draco's mouth hung open, he reached up to touch his nose, finding blood,

"Let's go!" Goyle said, as the three ran up the hill, Draco glanced back at Hermione, the look on his face a clear indication that it hurt –a lot.

"Not a word of this to anyone, understood?" he managed as they exited through the walkway past the porch.

Hermione stood there for a moment, completely numb, she couldn't believe what she'd done, suddenly she was overcome with a feeling of power and relief, she turned to Harry and Ron, who were both smiling at her,

"That felt good." she admitted sheepishly, feeling awkward under their pleased gazes,

"Not good. Brilliant." Ron said,

"It was wicked." Harry put in, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She smiled back, finding his touch to be rather comforting, especially with what they were about to face.

And all because Draco had to be an attention-seeking, good-for-nothing, spoilt little git with no backbone! She couldn't fathom why she had spent all summer feeling miserable because they'd fallen out, she couldn't fathom why she had bothered to care for him when he'd actually go as far to get an innocent creature killed knowing it would hurt her or why, at one point, she'd preferred Draco's presence to anyone else's.

Hermione followed Harry and Ron down the hill towards Hagrid's hut, where Buckbeak was chained up outside, she almost wanted Draco to come back and taunt them further so she could hit him again!

Of all the things he'd done to them, this was by far the worst.

Draco sat on the hospital bed as Madame Pomfrey tended to his broken nose, for once he remained silent as she worked her magic -excuse the pun- only winching when it really hurt, he didn't know whether it was the potion she'd given him or if he was still in shock from what had happened, but either way he felt pinned in place, he couldn't move, he couldn't feel anything, what he had felt up on that hill was replaced with emptiness. He supposed this was what it was like to fall victim to a Dementor, he'd read that they sucked the happiness out of you, forced you to feel only pain. Granger could do that too. Except she was worse than any Dementor he'd ever seen. Because, unlike them, she took everything, good and bad, leaving him feeling hollow and almost ethereal, like a ghost, like he was already dead.

He didn't answer when Madame Pomfrey asked him what happened, Crabbe and Goyle said nothing, knowing full well he'd kill them if they did, and he continued to ignore the woman as she prattled on, ranting about how he always managed to upset someone enough to cause himself an injury or something like that, he would grunt occasionally in both agreement and disagreement at her words, but although he heard everything she was saying, very little of it made sense, it was as though the words left her lips and entered his head all muddled. Not that he had the will to care what she had to say anyway.

"Malfoy!" Goyle nudged him, Draco snapped out of his trance, lazily turning his head to stare at the nurse and his two followers, as he liked to call them,

"What?" he asked, apathetically,

"You may leave now, Mr. Malfoy." Madame Pomfrey said in her no-nonsense tone, "Come back tomorrow and I'll have something for the pain but otherwise...I'll need what little of the wing I have left."

He noted that only three of the beds were occupied. Including his.

"Oh." he mumbled, slipping off the bed "Yeah."

Draco grabbed his jacket and made his way to leave the room, Crabbe and Goyle gaped at him, eyes bulging in disbelief,

"Er...Mr. Malfoy, are you certain you're alright?" Madame Pomfrey said, tentatively, he turned to look at her, the door half opened as he stared at her with dead eyes.

He had never understood what dead eyes were until nearly an hour ago when he caught sight of his reflection in the glass cabinet that held all the Quidditch trophies. They weren't glazed like they usually were in class when he found something tedious or dim like they were when he was too tired to care about much, they were dead eyes, his mischievous gleam gone, his arrogant glint gone, his evil shine gone, leaving his entire face almost unrecognisable to even himself, it made all his physically attractive features seem insignificant and dull.

The reflection had scared him, it was bad seeing that kind of look on someone else's face -as he assumed anyone would have had a look like that had something dreadful happened to them- but to see in on his own face after something so diminutive, it was pretty pathetic...and terrifying.

"Yeah." he replied, eventually,

"Well, it's just you usually make quite a fuss and you've been awfully quiet this whole time." her voice held a serrated motherly edge as it always did,

"So?" Draco didn't miss the confused and concerned looks pass between Crabbe and Goyle,

"How about you stay here for the night?" Madame Pomfrey put across as she prepared a bed for him,

"Yeah." Goyle said, "You're not acting like yourself."

"Lookin' pale too." Crabbe nodded profusely.

He was always pale.

"No. It's alright. I think I've had enough of these hospital walls for one year."

The three stared at him, gobsmacked, he was taking this far too well, which was how they knew something was off,

"Well, then, suit yourself." the nurse caved in and busied herself again, while Crabbe and Goyle hurriedly crossed the space between them, Goyle gently slammed close the half-open door and cornered Draco in the very same movement, eyes searching his face as though waiting for Draco to suddenly realise what a great opportunity he had.

"You're not going to let her get away with that, are you?" Goyle voiced the thought that was evident on his face probably before the taste of the words even graced his tongue.

Draco knew very well how easily he could have gotten back at Granger, he would simply have to complain a little here and there about the pain that stupid, volatile, mudblood had caused him, claiming she was both emotionally and mentally unstable, and his father would see to it that she was expelled. The thought was all too tempting. Like a fudge cake topped with cream, with a thick drizzle of chocolate sauce, was tempting to Crabbe. The problem was though, just like with the cake, the result would make him sick. It would mean hurting her, loads more than he already had and he honestly didn't think he could do that, though whether it was because she would hate him more or because he would hate himself more, he didn't know.

"Yeah." Crabbe agreed, "At least hex her or something."

"I'm not going to hex her." Draco rolled his head in sluggish exasperation, he was too tired to even bother putting more bite to his words,

"Oh, right, you want us to hex her." Crabbe corrected himself,

"No." the blonde said quietly, "Nobody's going to hex Granger."

"Then what are we going to do?" Goyle asked, turning to the fatter boy, "Beat her up?"

"What?" anger finally creeped into his voice and the feeling was more than welcome, "No, I don't want you beating her up either! Christ's sake, Goyle! Just leave it, alright?"

"But, Malfoy-" Crabbe began,

"Piss off!" Draco growled, thoroughly fed up, as he opened the door again and stalked down the corridor, at first he had decided to go to his common room and maybe read a book or something to take his mind off things, but then he realised Parkinson would likely be there. So he headed elsewhere instead.

Draco hadn't realised the other day just what he was getting himself in for by using Parkinson in a frail attempt to make Granger jealous, he hadn't known how deep that rabbit hole was, he ought to have thought it through, of course Parkinson would now think that he liked her in the way she did him, he didn't, that he fancied her, he didn't, that one day he'd loved her. He wouldn't. There was only one girl he wanted. The ache in his nose, the blood stains on his fingertips, the feeling in his gut. All of it was a reminder that he could never have her. Mainly because she'd made it quite clear she loathed his very existence.

He plopped down on the Astronomy Tower, running a hand through his hair, tousling it, a trait he'd picked up from Zabini, her words etched into his skull, her dark eyes so full of hate, not the jaded sort that people often said but rarely meant, this was real hate, the sort of hate that tore nations apart, that drove people to kill.

She had only backed off because she knew it would cause trouble for the school if she'd hexed him and his father found out. Granger had the pleasure of meeting Lucius Malfoy before, she hadn't exactly taken kindly to him then. Not that he blamed her. His father was a bastard.

Draco had milked it of his own accord to get attention, he was going to stop but his father had convinced him otherwise, bribing him with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup, he'd also realised afterwards that he wouldn't have to do much work for a few weeks, meaning he wouldn't come second to Granger in class as he didn't participate and henceforth his father would have no excuse to beat him with his cane as he usually did.

Draco hadn't meant to get Beaky –or whatever it was called- executed, he had merely intended to make people notice him as the victim instead of the bully, to get Granger's sympathy, to give the bruises left by his father time to heal. But all he had done was get some overgrown pigeon put to death.

He hoped it was worth it.