He felt a little sick, this mud- this girl, was feeling him up. Touching
his arms and then his neck, he almost admitted to himself that he was
rather enjoying himself but Hermione stopped before he could and almost
doesn't count. He wondered why, and then she continued to his face and
touched his nose. Suddenly the brown haired girl jerked violently and Draco
dropped her. She could have never just gotten away, he was much stronger
than he looked, but there was no way he was going to fight her. Then
Hermione looked at him and started to scream.
"Jesus Granger, stop bloody screaming," Draco said. He knew good and well why she was acting this way and he didn't blame her. He held out his hand to her but she didn't take it. Draco didn't expect her to and he really didn't want her to. He didn't want to touch her but he would have to touch if he was to play his father's game and win.
She looked up at him with dilated pupils in her hazel eyes, "Did you attack me?"
Draco had had a lie good and ready; he was just as graceful in body as he was graceful in tongue. He could talk a penny into becoming a nickel, just as dangerous with his mouth as with his wand. "Well," he began, but he could already see in Hermione's eyes that she knew the truth. He braced himself form attack of insults and readied himself for the attack of her wand.
"Son of a-"
It was the one thing he wasn't capable of keeping cool about. She had died for him, his angel, and his mother. She had cried angelic tears of sorrow and yet happiness for him. Sorrow that Lucius was hitting her and could not change, happiness at the fact that it was her and not her son that was receiving this attack.
He couldn't take it; he shouldn't have to take it. Would anyone call Harry Potter's mum a bitch? Hadn't his mother done the same thing as Harry's? Save her son? Did the fact that she was a Malfoy make it meaningless? All the rage that he had been feeling for the past month built up inside, oh but that wasn't it. The hatred was added to it, the innate hatred of her being a mudblood, a Gryffindor, a friend of Harry Potter's. Rage wasn't a good enough word for it, it was something so different. It was intoxicating, the power that came with the rage, it was scary, it was the amount of rage he felt, was it possible to feel this without combusting, it was hatred, it was rage, and the human race had found no word for it yet. It was rage, hatred, vehemence, ferocity, fury, wrath, and ire. Did they have a word for that yet? Would they ever find a word for it?
He didn't have to take it.
He would have killed her then, there was no more worthy way to have his first kill than to have it be to protect the honor and virtue of an angel.
Yet something changed, he didn't know what it was. All here knew was that it disappeared, the "unknown" disappeared and it left him stripped. He was naked. He had robes on him yes, but everything else was stripped from him. He was exposed. He had no glamour and he suddenly realized that she could see his bruises, his father's bodily gallery on his heir. He had no rage, no power, no glamour, and no angel, no one to cry for him. He was exposed as Draco Malfoy, the un-magnificent and the un-respectable, the piece of shit in the road of the Malfoy bloodline, the downfall of it.
Suddenly he was so exhausted, he was tired of trying to live up to his father's expectation, tired of trying to rebel, tired of trying to beat Harry Potter, tired of trying to outdo Hermione Granger, tired of trying to cope with the death of an angel, tired of crying for himself, tired of playing his father's game, so so tired. And so he gave up, he let himself fall to the ground, caring not of what happened to him, and as he fell, letting one silver tear escape, he found out what he was truly tired of, being Draco Malfoy.
"Jesus Granger, stop bloody screaming," Draco said. He knew good and well why she was acting this way and he didn't blame her. He held out his hand to her but she didn't take it. Draco didn't expect her to and he really didn't want her to. He didn't want to touch her but he would have to touch if he was to play his father's game and win.
She looked up at him with dilated pupils in her hazel eyes, "Did you attack me?"
Draco had had a lie good and ready; he was just as graceful in body as he was graceful in tongue. He could talk a penny into becoming a nickel, just as dangerous with his mouth as with his wand. "Well," he began, but he could already see in Hermione's eyes that she knew the truth. He braced himself form attack of insults and readied himself for the attack of her wand.
"Son of a-"
It was the one thing he wasn't capable of keeping cool about. She had died for him, his angel, and his mother. She had cried angelic tears of sorrow and yet happiness for him. Sorrow that Lucius was hitting her and could not change, happiness at the fact that it was her and not her son that was receiving this attack.
He couldn't take it; he shouldn't have to take it. Would anyone call Harry Potter's mum a bitch? Hadn't his mother done the same thing as Harry's? Save her son? Did the fact that she was a Malfoy make it meaningless? All the rage that he had been feeling for the past month built up inside, oh but that wasn't it. The hatred was added to it, the innate hatred of her being a mudblood, a Gryffindor, a friend of Harry Potter's. Rage wasn't a good enough word for it, it was something so different. It was intoxicating, the power that came with the rage, it was scary, it was the amount of rage he felt, was it possible to feel this without combusting, it was hatred, it was rage, and the human race had found no word for it yet. It was rage, hatred, vehemence, ferocity, fury, wrath, and ire. Did they have a word for that yet? Would they ever find a word for it?
He didn't have to take it.
He would have killed her then, there was no more worthy way to have his first kill than to have it be to protect the honor and virtue of an angel.
Yet something changed, he didn't know what it was. All here knew was that it disappeared, the "unknown" disappeared and it left him stripped. He was naked. He had robes on him yes, but everything else was stripped from him. He was exposed. He had no glamour and he suddenly realized that she could see his bruises, his father's bodily gallery on his heir. He had no rage, no power, no glamour, and no angel, no one to cry for him. He was exposed as Draco Malfoy, the un-magnificent and the un-respectable, the piece of shit in the road of the Malfoy bloodline, the downfall of it.
Suddenly he was so exhausted, he was tired of trying to live up to his father's expectation, tired of trying to rebel, tired of trying to beat Harry Potter, tired of trying to outdo Hermione Granger, tired of trying to cope with the death of an angel, tired of crying for himself, tired of playing his father's game, so so tired. And so he gave up, he let himself fall to the ground, caring not of what happened to him, and as he fell, letting one silver tear escape, he found out what he was truly tired of, being Draco Malfoy.