Chapter Ten: A Stir of Emotions

This was about the last thing in the world that Draco Malfoy had expected to see upon entering the Head Girl's bedchamber. What the hell was going on? Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or was he honestly seeing the Hermione Granger sitting upon her bed, face tear stained, a thick red liquid pouring down her wrists and dropping onto her bed, and basically everything about her a bloody mess?

No, it couldn't be. This couldn't be happening! Not that he cared of course…he should be happy that the filthy little mudbloods life may finally come to an end, and oh how his father would be proud if he could just tell him that it was HE who pushed her over the edge. One less mudblood walking around the earth, muddying up everything in its path.

Then why was it that he wasn't laughing? Why wasn't he saying those final words to push her over the edge, to make her continue to make those deep slices into her arms, over her veins…taking her closer and closer to the end of her time? Why was it that he wasn't insulting her, calling her a mudblood, telling her that this is what she deserved from life, crushing her with his words for being so impure, so dirty. Why was it, that he was just standing there, open mouthed, gaping at her?

These were the same questions that Hermione Granger had happened to be asking herself. He had caught her, red handed, bloodied up. Why was it that he wasn't acting completely mortified and disgusted by the fact that she was letting her "filthy" blood pour all over the place? Why was he just staring at her?

Why is he acting so bloody shocked, almost scared, of the fact that I could possibly be on the verge of death? Why wasn't he just acting like a Malfoy SHOULD act? Bloody proud, telling himself that he was the one that helped drive me to this state, that he was person that should be praised for tearing another one of "my kind" off of the face of the earth? Everything in her life was beginning to get so messed up even Malfoy couldn't act how he properly would any more.

"You've seen Malfoy, okay! You've seen what the little Gryffindor mudblood likes to do to herself when nobody else is around. You've seen how fucked up I truly am. You've now seen what I am really like, what has happened to me. Why aren't you applauding yourself? Why aren't you congratulating yourself, and the rest of you Death Eaters for driving yet another muggle born into this state? Huh!" Hermione couldn't help herself. Nobody had spoken for such a long time. Malfoy had just stood there gaping. She just remained with her hands trying best to hide her arms, but now there was no use. He had seen, and he needed to begin to react the way Draco Malfoy should act. Arrogant, rude, snotty… just like a prat should be. Just the way he had always been.

To Hermione's surprise, Malfoy still didn't say anything. She figured that after she had said something his shock would wear off, and his normal persona would kick in, causing him to insult her, jinx her, anything that she would consider ordinary of him to do. But no, he just stood there. And Hermione could no longer think of anything to say, so for a moment, she just sat there in silence, her eyes staring at the blood staining her sheets, and at the frizzy hairs that hung over her eyes.

Minutes that seemed like days must have passed, and neither of them said or did a damned thing, just sat about, one in complete dismay, the other having no idea what to do about the entire situation that lay before her.

Hermione heard her door close, and had figured that Malfoy had finally decided to mind his own business and leave her be. Or perhaps he had gone off to find Crabbe and Goyle, even Pansy, and tell them just what a little mudblood like herself was doing. Who knows, he could be inviting them up to her room at that moment to take a look at the show!

Hermione nearly leapt out of her skin as she felt an icy hand closer over her own. She looked up to see Malfoy standing before her, his eyes fixed on her wrists, and she tried to read his expression, find out what he was feeling by looking into his eyes, but no emotion was reflected. Nothing was there in his cold, blank stare.

What was he doing? Why was he still in her room? Why was he touching her at all! Touching her tainted flesh? What was he playing at being anywhere close to her?

Hermione wanted to pull away from him, wanted to curse him into oblivion for ever entering her room in the first place. Don't people know how to knock! She could have prevented this from happening if the arrogant git would have taken the time to consider knocking. But now, as Hermione watched his hand slowly open her own, all she could do was stare. She couldn't think of anything to say, and was too petrified by the fact that he was touching her at all to move away. And once his hand had completely opened hers, he carefully gripped the razor blade that had been digging furiously into her skin.

He muttered no words as he pulled out his wand, and began to heal her wounds slowly, first the ones on her hand from where she had held the razor, than down to her wrists, and the rest of her arms. The only thing that Hermione heard him say before he turned on his heal to leave her, was, "You'll no longer be needing this, but I have bound your hands together anyway. Bye Granger."

Hermione was completely puzzled by everything. Why the hell would he take away her razor! That was the one thing that she could use to help take away the pain. Why would he heal her wounds, nurture her, take care of her? Surely he was lying when he said that he had-

No, he wasn't. Hermione tried to move her hands but found they were bound by magic just as he had said. What is going on! Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare? I don't even know how to tell the difference between the two anymore… Hermione thought, completely confused. Everything in my life is so completely fucked up! Why couldn't Malfoy just be himself? Why couldn't he be the selfish prick that he's always been and insult me, or laugh, or just leave me alone to wallow up in my own misery and self-pity? Why did he have to mess this portion of my life to, instead of acting ordinary, having to act like something he's not? Why?

Hermione continued to weep quietly at first, until finally, her quiet sobs became full out cries of rage and despair. She didn't care if Malfoy could hear her, or anyone else in Hogwarts for that matter. All she could think about was how much pain she was in, how confused she was, lost inside her own head… Her thoughts swirling about in her mind, becoming one large blurb of emotions, and causing her to feel as though she was losing her insanity just by being left alone with her thoughts…

Draco entered his own bedchamber where he was greeted with a mass of silver and green. Usually the tones relaxed him, caused him to just be swept away by a subtle pride in his house colours, but also make him just want to lay upon his silk sheets and sleep, or shag someone if given the chance. But no, not even that would take him out of this state now.

Draco felt nothing. He didn't feel the chill in his room, or the slight draft coming though his window, tussling his hair. He didn't feel the goose pimples form over his pale arms as his body began to freeze up, for on the inside, his body was already numb.

What the bloody hell is going on? He thought, nearly going insane with the thoughts and questions that were going about in his mind. When did this begin? Why is she doing this? Who caused her such grief? Was it me? Did I encourage her in some way to do this? Was it I who should held responsible? Than there was another set of questions that both enraged him, and scared him to even be thought of inside the solitude of his own mind. Why do I care? Why didn't I push her over the edge, allow her to die just like all of her kind deserves to? Why didn't I laugh and spit in her face, tell her she was finally getting what all filthy little mudbloods deserved? Why did I stop her?…

Nothing was adding up, nothing was making sense. Golden boy Harry Potter was her boyfriend, and his sidekick Weasel boy was right along next to them, following them about anywhere. That's how it had always been, and always would be. How could that suddenly be bothering her now?

No, he thought, it couldn't be that. Otherwise she would have begun acting like this ages ago! Wait…how long ago was it that she started acting like this?… BLIMEY WHY DO I CARE!

Draco was having a silent debate with himself, but no matter how much he fought with himself about this, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that Granger didn't matter, and that he didn't care, and no matter how true he may have ended up finding this to be, he could not stop seeing the images of something that had happened years ago. Something that's scene kept playing itself over and over again in his mind…

"Come now Draco, today you will get to learn a lesson. Learn a lesson yes, and be taught by the Dark Lord himself one of the ways that you can easily torture someone. Today you'll get to see what will soon happen to every mudblood and muggle in the world, what you will someday help to do. Today, you, my son, will be able to meet the Dark Lord himself, and be privileged to watch him kill someone who's not worth the flesh, not worth the oxygen, not deserving of any type of blood, no matter how dirty it might be. Not deserving of living a life where she is granted the opportunity to grace the earth that our Lord graces. And someday son, you will be able to follow in my footsteps, and in the Dark Lord's also." Lucious Malfoy could not have seemed more pleased on this day, as he placed his Death Eater's mask over his face, and slipped on his black cloak.

Draco however, stood completely petrified behind him, knowing perfectly well that what he wanted to tell his father, who couldn't. He couldn't tell his father that he was frightened, frightened to meet the Lord that he was supposed to worship, frightened to meet the man who choose what was going to be happening in his entire future. The man that would someday decide what was going to happen for the entire world.

Draco Malfoy… only 14 years of age, and he was already being forced to meet the Dark Lord. He knew all of his life that the day would be coming, but each time he had thought about it, he had decided that the day was far away, and that he must try to look forward to it. 'I'm a Malfoy, this is what I'm destined to do, this is who I'm destined to be.' That's what he told himself every time the thought of following someone who was said to cause you the feeling of dread, and sense death just by being near him.

He had no choice though. This is what was planned out for him ever since he had been conceived. Even since before than he supposed. He would grow into the role of a follower, soon a Death Eater, and today was the first time he would be honoured by being able to see some of the tactics and techniques he was one day going to have to follow.

The time came much too soon for Draco. His platinum hair was slicked back, not a single strand out of place, and as soon as he had apparated with his father, and felt the presence of the Dark Lord, he knew, this was bound to be the worst day of his life so far.

The tug behind his navel was something he was quite used to, and this quick, slight painful sensation, was something for the first time he wished could have lasted longer, for as soon as he entered the room, he was frightened more than words can describe…

The room was darkened, with stonewalls, covered in dust, only lit by two torches, which stood in the far corners of the room. How Draco wished dearly that he could be standing near one of those flames, for the room was so incredibly ice cold that he could indeed feel his temperature drop immediately. He could smell blood on the hands of the Death Eaters, and if he had been able to see their faces, he would have been able to recognize most of them from previous occasions. His Aunt Bellatrix, Crabbe, Goyle, Pettigrew…

Than, he saw him, saw him for the very first time. The Dark Lord. His robe was black, but it seemed to be the deepest shade of black, as though just by being upon his sickly body, it turned a deeper shade than was even possible. He walked with a stealth only he could pull of, and his hood was pulled over his eyes, causing Draco to nearly choke on oxygen because of fright. If he could not even see this man properly, how was he supposed to know exactly whom he was supposed to honour and cherish? Whose robes it was he was supposed to bow to them hems of, and whose feet he would want to kiss the ground beneath?

He wished that he could see his face, know what he looked like, know what he was supposed to both love, and be afraid of, but as soon as his hood was off, he wished it was back on, and back on immediately.

His eyes were only two narrow slits, with red gleaming dangerously out of them. His nose consisted of only two tiny holes as nostrils, and his lips seemed so thin and shrill it was as if they barely existed at all.

Draco nearly lost himself, and immediately bowed low to the Dark Lord, hoping that neither himself or his father would be punished for delaying that second too long, and the Dark Lord could only smirk in reply as he rubbed long, bony fingers across his scalp.

"It is nice to finally meet you, Draco." He said, and Draco could see his incredibly snake like tongue dart quickly out of his mouth as he stared Draco in the eye. Now, he was panicking. He didn't know what to do! Was it time for him to bow again? Kiss his hand perhaps, the hard cold floor that his feet were standing upon? Or was he supposed to continue staring at him?

Draco chose to first bow down to him, lower than he had the first time, and for a few moments longer, before rising back up to his full height and looking him directly in the eye, if you would call them that, and saying "It's a pleasure to meet you my Lord."

The Dark Lord smirked once again as he looked at Draco's pointed features, seeming to capture everything about him in his mind. Was this so he would know exactly what he looked like in case anywhere down the road he messed up, and needed to be taught a lesson? Was it because he had never seen him before? Or was it because he wanted to intimidate Draco even more?

"You'll get to see one of the many ways that I like to torture people who are not worthy enough today Draco. You will get to learn one of the simplest ways to torture someone, and leaving their bodies behind to torture the rest of their filthy families." The Dark Lord began slowly, walking away from Draco and towards a chair that Draco noticed for the first time. On it there was a petite girl, probably no older than 16 or 17, and was obviously bound to her seat by magic, for when she tried to struggle, neither he legs, nor arms were able to move, and her chair just rocked slightly.

"You'll get to see how a master performs an unforgivable. The Killing Curse perhaps? No, much too simple. I want this girl to suffer, I want her pain to be so intolerable that she begs for mercy, begs for her death, and than I want to finish her off. Only after she has begged and pleaded, only after she has given up." The Dark Lord circled he chair slowly, and with a simple flick of his wand, a spell seemed to be lifted, for now loud sobs were audible. Sobs that were a combined mixture of cries for help, pain, self-pity, and anger.

Draco stared intently at the young woman, taking in her beauty. Her light blue eyes, her loosely tied blonde hair, her long eyelashes and thin waist…everything about her seemed beautiful, everything about her seemed heavenly…perfect.

"She's a muggle Draco," The Dark Lord said, who had apparently decided to tap into Draco's mind. "And there is nothing, NOTHING I will tell you now, beautiful about a muggle."

Draco nodded his head in understanding, agreement…and impatiently forced these thoughts away, while feeling the embarrassment both him, and his father had been feeling at the moment.

"Watch as I torture her, watch as I make her writhe in pain," The Dark Lord said maliciously, glaring at the muggle with a hatred Draco never would have thought possible.

Than, the torture began.

Draco heard The Dark Lord say spells that he had never before heard, of, and saw things that he never would have imagined possible. He saw this girl be raped, by an invisible force, saw her scream in such pain and agony that Draco had to bite his tongue from screaming "STOP!" and had to pretend not to see the image before him so he wouldn't think such things either.

He saw such a beautiful young woman, who had seemed to have an entire life ahead of her, be tortured, and saw her blood be viciously taken out of her body in so many different places, Draco couldn't stand to watch, but he knew, that enormous trouble would lie ahead if he closed his eyes, or even turned away.

The Dark Lord hadn't had enough though. He couldn't settle with causing this girl pain, without making her inflict it upon herself.

He conjured a dagger, and calmly said "Imperio" as if he was just saying good morning to her, and than the real pain began.

The woman began to slice her wrists furiously, and Draco was nearly sick as he saw such an amount of blood pour out of her wrists that he hadn't thought was possible, such an amount he hadn't though was still there after all of the pain that had been caused by the Dark Lord already.

But no, she kept slicing away, a maniacal look in her eyes, as she dug the dagger deeper and deeper into her wrists, directly over her veins each time, and just as she was about to collapse from the loss of blood, collapse from all of the pain, all of the torture, she was murdered. Those two simple words were said, the words that ended her life there. He had tortured her, made her torture herself, than just killed her in cold blood. He was a maniac, and it was from this day that Draco knew he would never want to murder someone in that way. Not until he was absolutely forced…and he knew that the day would come, where he would have to follow in his father's footsteps, because he was born without a choice…

Draco looked down at his hand, but didn't gasp, or cry out at all when he saw that he had been clenching his fists much too tightly, and while one hand was paler then usual even, the other was crimson because of blood. He hadn't placed down the razor, and now, was bleeding furiously. But at the moment, that was the least of his concerns.

Quickly he healed his cut, and muttered a spell to burn the razor. No, that would never be used again. Not whether it was being used on a muggle or a mudblood, it would never be used again.

Draco changed without even thinking, not about anyone, not about anything, and his blank expression was still fixed upon his face as he crawled under his silk bed sheets, the last thing he had heard, before drifting off into a restless sleep, was the screams and wails of Granger, just like those of the muggle who had been tortured that Summer's night when he was just 14…

Well, here's the tenth chapter! Please everyone who's read this review! I would appreciate it much! It is an amazing 3 588 words, so I am very proud of myself! I wrote it all in an hour and fourty seven minutes! I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter much, and is pleased that I updated so quickly, though the next chapter might not be for a while.. sorry!
Love Always,
Carly Jayne