The Similarities of Love and Hate
By Jinxd n Cursed
Disclaimer: If I owned it, would I be writing fanfiction?
Chapter Thirteen
Hate
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He felt sick. He felt wretchedly, completely, awfully, miserably sick. Trying hard not to throw up, he rose shakily to his knees before the Dark Lord, the pretty muggleborn witch just lying on the ground, completely naked with the horrible symbol carved into the flesh of her stomach, just like Hermione.
Hermione… He wasn't sure when, but she had become Hermione in his thoughts. He thought of her, how she must have struggled and cried the same way the other girl had. Blaise had forced himself on her like he forced himself on the girl. Only Blaise had enjoyed it. He had wanted to be sick.
His stomach betrayed him, suddenly and violently. Hot acid and bile and his dinner poured out of his mouth, burning, and forming a puddle close to the nameless girl's head.
Voldemort's laugh was high and cold. "You're father would be ashamed to know how weak his son is," he hissed. "No matter… give me your arm."
Shakily, he extended his left arm toward the Dark Lord.
Voldemort shoved the sleeve up roughly, exposing the white, unblemished flesh. His long, cold fingers ran over the skin for a moment. Then he took out his wand. There was a brief flash of blinding pain, like being pulled apart, and then there was blissful nothingness.
He awoke in an unfamiliar room. It was similar to his room but the hangings were in rich shades of red and gold, unlike the green and silver in his own room. When he lifted his head slightly, he saw Hermione sitting on the side of the bed. She looked worried as she rubbed her stomach, like it was bothering her. Her face was worried and tired, like she had been sitting up all night. With a jolt, he realized she probably had. He'd never gotten the chance to tell her that he was going, since two inner circle members had shown up unexpectedly and dragged him away right after dinner.
Hermione finally seemed to register that he was awake. "Draco? Are you awake?"
He nodded. "Obviously," he replied, attempting sarcasm. His voice sounded dry.
She launched herself at him with a giant sob. "Don't you ever do anything like that again! You scared the crap out of me you… you… stupid ferret!"
He laughed very slightly at her weak insult.
"I'll avoid it if at all possible," he replied dryly.
Hermione looked up into his eyes, her face serious. "What… did they do?"
"I was initiated," he said plainly, pushing himself into a sitting position.
"Initiated?" she said shakily, pulling back ever so slightly. "You mean…"
"Yes," he said grimly.
She pushed off of the bed, covering her face with her hands. "No," she said. "No. No. No. No! No! Damn it, No! Not you!"
He stared at her back, anger starting to enter him. "You think I wanted this?"
"If you didn't, that mark would not be on your arm right now," she said.
"What else was I going to do? Refuse and be killed? I didn't have a choice!" he shouted back at her.
She started to cry.
"You don't get it!" he exclaimed. "How could you possibly understand any of this? All you know is that you had to participate in one of these fun initiation ceremonies. You were the entertainment for the night. Well guess what? So was I! I'm just Lucius Malfoy's weak little brat son!"
He looked over at the crying young woman.
"Stop crying, damn it!" he screamed. "You aren't the only one who hurts, Hermione! The damn Deatheaters pulled my father and my mother in and they want me too and I'm too weak to fight so they can have me! I don't believe in all their shit but I'm becoming a pawn in their war."
"You don't have to be a pawn," she cried. "You can come over to our side."
"To be embraced with open arms by Potty and the Weasel family? Even if they accepted me, what would I have when the war was over, after my father writes my inheritance off to my 3rd cousin Ernest? What then? What good will it do? What good will any of this ever come to, Hermione? We're all going to die in the end!"
"But we're still alive now!" she said through gritted teeth. "You're already resigned to death but I'm not! I have fought hard to survive and I fought for my baby to survive and I am not giving up and I'm not giving up on you!"
He laughed. "Why don't you give up? Face it. It's even official now. I am a Deatheater, one of the ones who did horrible things to you."
"No you didn't!" she said. "You are different from them! Don't you see it? You're stronger. You can fight against them!"
"No I can't!"
"Yes you can, damn it! You're different from them."
He strode over to her and grabbed her shoulders roughly, his eyes boring down into hers. "Am I so different? I still hate mudbloods. I still hurt people. Like you. Am I hurting you yet?"
His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her upper arms and shoulders. "Ow, Draco, stop it!"
He gripped harder. "I'm hurting you, just like them. JUST LIKE THEM! Don't you see? I'm a monster like them! Not some poor soul you can rehabilitate!" He shook her violently for effect.
"No you're not," she hissed. Her eyes were streaming from the pain.
"Am I?" he whispered. With that, he hit her hard across the face.
She looked at his horrified face with an eerie sort of calm. As if in slow motion, her legs gave out, limp knees bending, unable to hold her. Her body pitched forward and her eyes snapped shut. Bonelessly, she slumped to the floor. He could only watch her fall, fear clenching his stomach. Only when she hit the floor did he see the blood, hot and red, staining her nightgown.
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Shorter… I didn't want to drag it out. Review Please. :-) Or else you'll never figure out what happened.
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