This is a repost of my older series of song-fic drabbles that I had lost inspiration for back in 2015. I got caught up in some copyright lyric problems that I feel like may have stunted the growth of that series. So, I am reposting and continuing it here for your viewing pleasure. As well as updating a couple of the chapters, catching some grammatical and spelling errors along the way.
Draco stormed into his room and threw himself down onto his bed in frustration. He had just had another infuriating encounter with Her- with Granger and needed desperately to cool down a little bit. Sighing, he pushed himself back against the bedpost. He soon began to slip into a rather dark place.
-O-
Draco realized once again, how utterly alone in this world he was. Sure, he had friends, but it's not like he had anyone he could really talk to. Not that he would if he did. Nott and Zabini were his best mates, and they barely even knew him. Nott would understand, of course. Nott's own father pledged his allegiance alongside Draco's father. However, Draco did not want to risk throwing Theo's life underneath the proverbial bus. Blaise, on the other hand, would never understand. Sure, he's a blood purist like the rest of the lot, but he is not an extremist. It's my fault, I suppose, he thought, I could have let them in within the past five years, but I never did. I never let anyone in. I let my insufferable father harden me like the walls of this school. Now I'm alone in my bedroom with no one to turn to. He threw up his tightly guarded walls, never letting anyone in. Never letting anyone knowing. Anytime someone did attempt to talk to this cold, distant man, he just ignored them or walked off. Unless it was Granger. She was different.
Subconsciously, he rubbed at the more-than-tattoo on his arm that always seemed to lightly burn while simultaneously surging with power. A scar on his body that he had no option but to take. There was a war looming overhead, and he felt as if the weight of it was on his shoulders. He couldn't even befriend the one person he wanted so desperately to talk to. She wouldn't give me the time of day now. I'm just a filthy Death Eater. I'm one of them. he thought. She would never want to talk to me. She's too good for that. Too good for me.
He longed to be able to talk to her. To hear her voice that once grated on his nerves, but now made his pulse rush. Sure, she was a mud- … A muggleborn and he was always taught to despise their kind... but she was different. She was intelligent, more so than him. Probably one of the only people besides Nott and Zabini that could compete on his level of intellect.
So instead of pushing her away and ignoring her, he would insult her. He couldn't help himself, but he wanted so badly to talk to her. The only way he could was by insulting her. He cringed at that thought. She probably hated him for it.
I'm a cold-hearted man, he began to think. The only person he loved was his mother. He didn't, no, couldn't, let anyone in. He didn't want to lose them when it came down to time for the war. Because of this, he could feel his hatred for himself growing. Why couldn't he just tell Nott, or Zabini!? Why did it have to be the filthy mudblood that he adored the most? Fuck. He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into his pillow.
-O-
At this point in Draco's life, he couldn't stand himself. He was despicable. Not only did he insult most people, he also ignored all his friends, pushed them away, was roped into this impending war, was branded as a Death Eater, and was set out to kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore, of all people! Probably one of the greatest wizards of this age, a wizard that everyone loves, and he had to kill him. A sixteen-year-old boy should not be given a task so huge. Not only that, but he must figure out how to repair the shitty Vanishing Cabinet in order to do so. If he doesn't do this, he'll be murdered. Neither of those options were desirable.
That was another reason why he didn't dare try and talk to Hermione. If she could ever possibly ignore his Death Eater-ness, there would be no way she would forgive him once she figured out that he was the one who murdered Dumbledore. She would hate him with a fury that was known to no other. He couldn't bare that. He could barely stand her hatred towards him now. Hate, though, was still an extreme emotion. He would prefer her to feel something towards him rather than nothing, even if that something was hate.
He sighed again. This was all because of his stupid, prestigious, prejudiced family. Yeah, they were rich and that worked in his favor many a time. However, because of this he couldn't befriend Hermione. He didn't have a choice in his pureblood mentality. He didn't have a choice but to hate her. It is a sweet plague that follows me, he thought. He sometimes thought that maybe, if he had been born into a normal family, then he could have befriended Hermione and wouldn't have to be a Death Eater. They were pointless thoughts though.
-O-
Draco could feel his heart breaking more and more every day. Every time he said something horrible to Hermione, crack, there was another hairline fracture in his hardened- heart. Every time his father would slap him for not being good enough, crack. Every time he thought about having to murder Dumbledore, crack. One day it would just fall apart. One day there would be more cracks than glass and it wouldn't be able to hold itself together anymore. It physically pained him, as well as emotionally.
Draco felt his breath hitch. Fuck, I can't cry, I'm a big boy. I'm Draco Malfoy, and Malfoy's do not cry. There was no point in arguing with himself. He felt the tears start to fall down his porcelain face. He could feel his lungs giving out as his sobs grew bigger and bigger. He could feel the wetness of his pillow. He could feel several things, so how come he felt so numb?
He heard himself sob the word "Hermione" into the pillow, without really realizing it. His soul ached for her, without really knowing her.
-O-
Draco knew the war was inevitable. Voldemort was growing stronger with every single day, and he was ready to take over. He shuddered at that thought, a world where Voldemort reigned. It couldn't be a good thing, although several people he knew seemed to think it would be better. Either way, he thought, I'm going to be living in a hell.'
It was going to be a bloody war, he knew that. There would be multiple deaths, maybe even his. He was okay with that. That saddened him. The fact that he was okay with just dying in the war was seriously more depressing to him than anything else. He used to think so highly of himself, and over the last five years, that had been destroyed.
Despite all of the horrors that will be brought by the war though, all he could hope was the Hermione would be okay. Of course, she'll be okay, she's a part of the Golden Trio, and as long as they manage to beat Voldemort, she'll be okay. She has to be okay. He didn't know what he would do if she ended up killed in battle. If he lived and she didn't, he wouldn't be able to stand it. She deserves to survive this far more than he does. She has a purpose, a reason, he simply didn't. Not a good purpose and reason, anyway.
-O-
Draco began to think, again, of all the horrible things he's said and done to Hermione over the past years. He wanted to apologize to her for all of it. To clear their slate before it was broken beyond repair. He knew he never would be able to, though. He wouldn't even know where to begin. She was muggle-born, muddy, a mudblood. He was a pureblood, clean, prestigious. He had been taught since birth that he was to shun her kind.
I have no thoughts of my own, he realized. They were all replicates of his parents, of societies... Of Voldemort's. It was as if he had no eyes of his own, so he had no perspective on the world.
In his unimportant opinion, Hermione was beautiful and perfectly imperfect. She wasn't a mudblood that he had grown to hate, she was someone who deserved to be loved and cherished and held to the highest standard. she was someone who should be treated with pureblood standards.
She was someone that was untouchable by the likes of him.
-O-
Draco turned back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He felt empty, drained, void of thought. It was only for a second, though, before the hurt and shame came back to him. It was as if his pain was an ocean, crashing and receding on the shore to the steady rhythm of the moon and sun. He was deeply hurt by the thought of never being able to be with Hermione. Even after the war, if they were both to survive, he would be hated, and she would be loved. She could have any guy she wanted, and it would never be him. She would probably spit on him just like the rest of the wizarding world would. "Looking up at the stars, I know quite well, That, for all they care, I can go to hell..." He muttered into his pillow. He would probably have to move to muggle London just out of shame. All he knew was he loved Hermione Granger. He wished she felt the same.
-O-
He was back to feeling alone. It was like a cycle. Alone, self-loathing, tears, hate for family and the war, want for Hermione, alone. It was never ending.
He loved and he was alone.
After spending another good hour arguing, torturing, and all-around hating himself, he finally just fell asleep, wishing that Dear Hermione Granger was in his arms instead of his pillow.
First, the song throughout this chapter is called Flesh and Bones by Keaton Henson, if you haven't heard of it, check it out! It's great.
The quote is a couple lines from the poem The More Loving One by W. H. Auden. "Looking up at the stars, I know quite well, / That, for all they care, I can go to hell, / But on Earth indifference is the least, / we have to dread from man or beast." - that's the stanza it's from.
Secondly, as always, if you find that there are any grammatical errors, or spelling errors, please point it out to me, that would be greatly appreciated. Also, feel free to give criticism, just no flames. I'm also open to just "Hey, this was a really good chapter!" But you know, it's just whatever. Anyway, I hope you sleep well tonight/have a good day today! I'm going to bed for now.