Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc. belongs to JKR.
There's a vague sense of displacement in this place. Things just don't seem to fit. Sometimes you will look up and see the emptiness through rusted eyes and it will be like looking to the sky at night… Night as you remember it all those years ago, with its velvet blackness and purity and uncertainty and dark, dark, mystery. You used to like the night. Sitting by a window with a book and a small smile on your face as you read about other people in times long since passed and spells and potions and hope for the end of that war. And you believed in it then. You believed in the night and the books and the petty hopes, because good had always triumphed in the past.
And it had slipped your mind back then, that good was relative. Never defined as one thing. And even if the Death Eaters triumphed it would be recorded as a victory of good because to them it was. They thought they were saving the human race from extinction, and your books told you of brave armies that fought against evil and terrorists and rebels and you never associated it to your own situation.
And what are you now? A prisoner. A terrorist of old, a freedom fighter who fought for the freedom of evil and corruption and death of magic. Because that's what they see you as, as a muggle born you are disease and pestilence and if they had let you you would have been death too. And they fear you for that. Because you could have killed them and would have and they would never see the light of a world untainted. Because that is what they fight for. Freedom from the virus that is the human race, and you find it ironic, because what they condemn you for are not personal, they are then general faults of humanity, but in their blindness (the same blindness they once shared) they have found a way to place the blame. We humans are good at placing the blame you realise. Wars are born in passing the blame and trying to right what they think is wrong but others see as a way of life.
And they will look at themselves and write about brave rebels who managed to disarm and eventually collapse a corrupt empire. And then they come here and torture you, because they think it is the least they can do, after what you tried to do to all of them, after you tried to have them killed and burned at the stake like the little child-witches in the past. And they will make you suffer because they don't know you and don't see what you can only see when life is dark, and they don't understand what you do now. And they don't know that you were trying to save them too. And you wanted good to triumph and end the suffering and prevent the doom of humanity. They don't understand and you would tell them were you not hoarse from screaming and bleeding when you should no longer have anything left to bleed. And you would tell them and make them understand, but they don't want to listen because you are evil and they fear you and they torture you because it makes them feel safer. And because you are the enemy.
And it hurts. And you cry but don't speak because you can't and even if you could they wouldn't listen. And you bleed but do so in silence. And they leave. And you hate them and resent them and pity them and understand and want them to as well. But they don't and they wont. So you talk to him and try to make him understand when he already did but didn't need to because he never fought for what you did. He fought for himself and no other. And once that would have made him powerful, but they didn't recognise and they thought he fought for you and now he hangs and bleeds and understands and hates too.
And that is how it is.
He says that people hate because they can. Because it gives them justification (not public justification but personal, the kind that would appease your conscience), justification to do whatever they wish at the expense of others. He says it is the most powerful emotion in that respect, to your protests he claims it is more powerful than love. He says that with hate you can convince yourself to do anything and it will be justified. Within your own head it will be justified and at times that is all you need. When desperation strikes he says that hate is what gets you through. It lends you strength. He says that hate is humanity's greatest weapon. He says it has been this way since the very dawn of life.
He tells you that there is a story. A story that starts once upon a time with little cave dwelling men who have made themselves little flint spears, sharpened to kill. (Because it's natural, you know. To kill. Since the dawn of time it's been natural.) The little cave men (that is what they're known as… men because they have fire, because they kill each other in anger rather than simply for survival. Men because they have voices, because they can argue to back up their fights. What is it to be a man? To kill on more than an instinct, for more (less?) than survival?) they learn to hate. (It's human nature to hate, he had said.) They learn to hate and kill and kill for hate and hate for killings. (Is that when they became men, you wonder, men rather than monkeys? Humans rather than animals.) They decided that they hated things, other people. They decided that they hated things and decided to do something about it. (That's the good thing about humanity, you see, they don't leave things the way they were. It's progress, development, evolution. They can so they do.) They do something about it and with their sharpened flint spears they aid development and progress and evolution. And hates turn to prejudices which are very similar to hate only not so personal. Prejudice is more like evolved hate, general hate that all can partake in. Prejudice is the little men's new weapon and they are proud of it. They kill with it and for it and they find it good.
And they are dead and hated so truly that their body is strung out among the trees to bleed and be watched over in triumph. But as they watch, the cave men (killers) think. They think and feel and as the blood falls rain from the arches of the forest the evolved killers think they never hated enough. They do not feel the elation they should for the destruction of that renowned enemy, that renowned threat. And so in the glory of their sins they force themselves to hate and to fight and to like it because that is what is meant to happen. That is what they were born for and they will strive to achieve something of the goal they take as their own.
He says they are you. You are the dead, strung among the trees. And to prove their hatred and their loyalty they make you bleed and cry. And their hate justifies it, as it justifies all things. And they wont let you die because it would be a mercy, and mercy is not a concept these killers enjoy.
"What were you fighting for?"
Your voice pierces the air and you can almost hear his head snap up… Perhaps he was just as deep in thought as you.
"I don't remember, Granger. I don't think I even knew then, in all honesty I don't think I really cared."
"How can you not care when you came so close to losing you life for it?"
"Don't you think losing your life would have been better than how we are now?"
"That still isn't answering the question."
He's never answered you that. Not once in the several thousand times you've asked. Not back then, when you hated and resented each other, not now when you're all each other have left.
"Well, it's none of your business is it?"
He's said that before.
"It's been my business since the day you waltzed in and decided to start saving lives!"
And that your obligatory response.
"Shut up Granger."
Some things never change.
"I don't like him being here!"
"And you think we do? It's Malfoy Hermione… no one is going to like it, but we need what he can give us."
"What? We've already got Snape… why would we need anyone else?"
"That's not what he's offering…"
"Well what is?"
"He's willing to get us Bellatrix Lestrange."
Silence.
"What?" Her voice was deadly quiet.
"He can hand over Bellatrix. He knows where her safe house is!"
"Of course he does! He's a Death Eater! But hand her over? Why the hell would he do that? He'll send you off to the Safe house and you'll be ambushed. This is a trap Harry; you can't go along with it."
"Look, Hermione… I know you don't agree with this kind of thing… but she's… Merlin, Hermione, I've been looking for her for years… You know what she's done. If I can have this one chance to get her… I need this."
"I know you do… Harry, but. I. This… It isn't safe. You're taking Draco Malfoy's word for it. Why would he give up Voldemort's best to you of all people. She's his Aunt!"
"She killed his mother."
"What?"
"Narcissa Malfoy. Bellatrix tortured her own sister until she died."
"…Wha… but." She shook her head. "I don't care what Malfoy's little sob story is, this isn't safe! If he wanted Bellatrix dead he'd do it himself. You know his reputation!"
"No." It was Lupin. "She's his own blood and Voldemort's favourite. Extracting his own revenge would cost him his life and I think we've established that Mr Malfoy is adept at keeping himself on top. He wants her dead… but if his name was ever connected to it, it could cost him is reputation. "
"So he gives her to Harry?" Her eyes were disbelieving.
"You've all gone mad. This is Draco Malfoy! Do you not remember him? Bigoted little ferret who called me Mudblood and bitched about Ron's family and called your mother a whore? This is the boy who killed Ernie Macmillan. He challenged another boy to a duel of honour while he was at school! And then he proceeded to peel him apart with the Dark Arts until he begged for mercy at his feet! Are you completely demented? He. Is. Not. SAFE! And you think he's going to give you something you want… for something as small as that. He wants something more than Bellatrix's death, and until you know precisely what it is I don't think you should even consider opening letters from him."
"What is it you think he wants then?"
"What he's always wanted, Harry. He wants one over on you."
"How would that help? How would any of that help? What do you want me to do? Tell you that I love you and we are obviously soul mates so it's all right that we suffer here because we're together and that's all that matters? Will that make you feel better, Granger? Will that stop your goddamned moaning?"
Crying. Still crying. It is all you ever do anymore. All you have the energy to do.
"That wasn't what I meant. I don't know what I meant. I just want something to live for, Draco. Please. Just give me something to live for."
Draco. You'd called him Draco. He hates that. He hates you. He should hate you. You don't deserve to be alive and you don't want to be alive and you deserve what you get and you hate it. And you think sometimes that you hate him, but you don't know. Because you need him and it makes you feel so weak but it is all you have left.
"It's human nature to love." You say.
"Human nature is to hate." He replies, voice bitter and strained. "HATE! Why can't you see that, Granger? Why can't you see what I am? They can't have broken you. I can't survive if they've broken you. There is nothing in me to love, Granger. You hate me. You have to hate me because you always have and it's what I deserve."
It is. It's what he deserves forever and back because he is a bad person.
"Do you hate me?"
"YES!"
He does that sometimes. Shuts you out. Throws you out. He doesn't like it when you talk like that. Perhaps one small part of him believes you're going to get out one day… Because he hates it when you talk about the end.
And he does hate you. And it should make you sadder. It should make you cry more. But it doesn't. Because it is normal and it feels so good to have that link to the past. Because he's always hated you. And consistency is good.
"Just shut the fuck up! It's none of your business! You don't understand and you wont understand and stop saying you do when YOU ARE NOT ME! You can think and mourn and cry all you want Granger, but it wont bring them back and it wont break these chains and it wont make me a better person than I am! And you can try forever because there's no one here to stop you, but you'll get nowhere. We will never get anywhere. So just stop talking and asking questions you don't want the answers to and stop trying to make me something I'm not. Just give it up, Granger!"
"Why? Why should I give up that tiny slither of hope when I lost everything trying to cling to it? You are not a bad person! You are better than them and–"
"Just shut up! Shut your fucking mouth because I don't want to hear it! Shut the hell up and leave me alone! I hate you. Fuck, Granger, you Mudblood bitch! I hate you so much!"
And you do stop. You fall silent and it hurts. Because you know it's true and you hate him too. But somehow you're glad he calls you that. You're glad he screams it with such bitterness and anger and hate. You're glad the venom that courses through that one word is so wholly directed at you, because with his bitter outburst and accusations he reminds you of what you are. Of who you are. Without his anger and his shouting you would question your existence in this world of killers and thieves. You would question your past existence when the world was good and you were pure. You would question the very existence of existence… But somewhere in that word, that harshly spat word, you feel something akin to normality, to belonging. While he curses you, you remember and it feels good.
And you're glad he calls you by your name, for without your name your identity is lost. But he speaks it and you think it so it must be, right? You hope so. You hope so because it is one of the few things that remain truly yours. Your name. Your identity. They can hurt you and beat you and steal your innocence and your dignity but they cannot steal who you are. As long as you remember that you think you might survive. Even if it is only to spite them.
And so you sit in the dark and listen to his ragged breathing and feel your pulse pounding in your temple and just let it be. Because you don't have the energy to fight with the only one who truly understands you (no matter how reluctantly). And it hurts for him just as much as it hurts for you. Just as much and probably more, because he had a choice and made the wrong one. And he had the option and had he taken it he would have been out there, a Lord among the most powerful, respected and rewarded rather than rotting in a windowless cell with only a mudblood for company. A mudblood he hates. It must be worse for him, because he isn't even here for his beliefs. He's here because he messed it up big time and has no chance of redeeming himself.
He was too mercenary perhaps. Maybe this is his punishment for making light of the matters that ruled so many lives. Perhaps he lost it all as a punishment for not believing in anything, not Harry, not Voldemort. Not even a god or greater goodness that would give us peace if we tried hard enough. He lost it all. Power and money and prestige. And it wasn't in a change of heart of an epiphany that altered his whole perception of life. It was by chance. He made his decision just too early and pays for it with blood and sanity and hope.
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