Only One Left
by : epiphanies
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"You're alone in this place," she said softly, circling him. He closed his eyes, painfully tight.
"You're wrong," he whispered, and he felt her hand linger over the skin of his chest. He refused to open his eyes.
"Your friends are insipid," she breathed into his ear, a hot, an alive breath, "Your family is dead."
"No they're not!" he cried out, wanting so badly to push her away, push her and her claws away. But she would not cease, no matter what he did. She had taken his wand.
"But yes, Draco," she whispered into his other ear, finally touching his cold skin with a firey fingertip, "They are. They all are. Dead, that is. You're the only one left."
"Then why do you keep me here?" he howled, his knees collapsing beneath him. He fell to the stone floor and his ribs stuck out of his back, as it shuddered with racking sobs.
She watched him with weathered eyes, that used to be brown and full of a soul. Years of practise in this life had changed that, changed that as sure as the setting sun or snowflakes in the winter time.
"I'm not alone," he told himself, and she chuckled.
"I'm not alone," he repeated, feeling her shadow begin to cover him. He breathed shakily as her slender fingers combed his hair out of his blackened face from soot.
She said kindly, "Draco, why are you so resistant?"
"I'll not give up," he breathed into the hard stone slabs, "I'll not give up."
"But you'll die trying," she ran her fingers down his back. He sat up weakly and faced her, confusion rampant in his eyes.
"I've done nothing," a tear rolled down his cheek, "I've done nothing to you."
Her eyes hardened, "Years of name-calling can break a person, you know."
Silence. He stared at her in a terrible confusion.
"Who are you?"
Her voice went considerably low and she moved so close to him that their noses were touching.
"Shut up, you filthy little Mudblood."
His eyes widened in fear as hers narrowed, and he tried to move backward but she had him by the waist. Her fingernails dug into his skin as he moved backward, pulling her on top of him.
"I hope the Mudblood dies."
"No," he gasped, shaking his head, "No...it can't be...you don't even look-"
"What is it, Draco?" she asked silkily, now sitting on his chest, staring into his eyes, "The shorter hair? The straighter nose? The better teeth?"
"Hermione-" he choked, and she wrapped her fingers around his throat menacingly.
"Don't you call me that," she hissed, tightening each finger with every syllable, "That's not my name anymore."
"-I'm sorry-" he gasped, staring at her eyes in wide terror and a begging for mercy.
"Did you have mercy when you killed my classmates?" she said coldly, and he shook his head tearfully.
"Did you have mercy when you killed my husband?"
Droplets of blood were oozing down his neck now. She cried out,
"Did you have mercy when you killed my cat? Malfoy? Did you? DID YOU?!"
He suddenly shuddered, and slumped. Her strength drained, she fell on top of him.
He was cold. She shivered and stared into the darkness of the cold room. There were shackles on the wall. The walls of his very own dungeon. She had seen them occupied before.
A darkness fell over her eyes, and she fell asleep. When she awoke, a pungent scent filled her pores and she remembered her deadly fingernails. She backed away from the body slowly.
She remembered a day where she had felt remorse for slapping the boy across the face.
And, yet, she could not feel anything for this. This shell, that was nothing but a fault of her own.
She climbed the crimson carpeted staircase and when she arrived in the bathroom, she gazed into her own dull eyes. She whispered,
"They are. They all are. Dead, that is. You're the only one left."
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