"I hate you."
The words echoed in his ears, repeating and fading in uneven variables.
"I hate you."
Draco caught himself, having almost fallen as he blindly staggered away from the Great Hall. He was going as fast as his legs would carry him, but he felt like lead, and his legs weren't used to carrying such a heavy burden.
"I hate you."
He sighed and fell against the cold, stone wall of the castle. He shouldn't be upset by this, he knew, it's the three words they had been implying, demonstrating towards one another since they'd met. He knew he shouldn't be upset, he knew Harry hated him, he knew he hated Harry in return, but it was much nicer when he just knew instead of having been told.
"I hate you."
It began to rain, he noted as a drop of water landed on the ground before him. He knew it was raining because, well, where else would a drop of water fall from, if not the sky? Not him, certainly. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't cry, he knew. He had always been taught that. Though the teaching wasn't necessary – he had already known it, and he still did know it – he just did not cry.
"I hate you."
He knew he wasn't crying, just like he knew Harry hated him, and he knew he hated Harry.
.
.
.
Although sometimes, he felt as if he didn't know anything anymore.