A/N: Please don't hate me for this chapter, I know it's a little dark, and deals with some controversial stuff, but I feel all of it needed to be said. I really want to emphasize Draco's inner turmoil, as well as the fact that none of the houses are perfect.

It gets better soon, I promise, just bear with me.

Chapter 3 - Tormented

They had politely said their goodnights a few hours ago and gone their separate ways. But Draco could not sleep. He tossed, he turned, he got comfortable, and then he was uncomfortable. He simply was not tired. Her words were echoing through his head, over and over again, as if maybe the next time he analyzed them, they would mean something different.

"I don't know, Malfoy" she sighed "I mean, I want to set a good example for the rest of the school, but we hate each other. You tormented me throughout all of school. You persecuted me and my friends in the war. You hate muggle-borns and I am one! I mean, I understand what Professor McGonagall was saying by if we could get along, anyone could get along, but it seems like it's a bit 'if' to me." She sighed again.

He rolled onto his back, exasperated. We hate each other. Was that really what she thought of him? That he hated her? Maybe in the past, when he was convinced blood status was everything, when his father would punish him whenever she got higher marks than he did, which was always. There was no competing with Hermione Granger, she was, after all, the brightest witch of her age.

He turned to his side, putting another pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the thoughts, unsuccessfully. You tormented me throughout all of school. Yes, he had. He had mocked her at every turn, and called her Mudblood at every chance he had gotten. He had been raised to think that muggle-borns were inferior to him, that they were unworthy of their magic. And yet a muggle-born had beat him at everything. He had not been able to comprehend it at the time, so he had tormented her, he had tried to make her life miserable.

He moved onto his stomach, still pressing the other pillow over his head, his attempts were once again in vain. You persecuted me and my friends in the war. Yes, he had helped Voldemort. He had stood passively by as his Aunt Bellatrix had tortured her. He had watched her suffer the pain of the Cruciatus curse, a pain he knew all too well. He stood and watched as the word Mudblood was carved into her arm, in his house no less. He had heard her screams, seen her pain, and he had done nothing.

But what could he have done?

He had been surrounded by those who were loyal to Voldemort, who despised muggle-borns like he had. Even if he had done anything, could he have possibly out-duelled his aunt? Would she have escaped? Would he have escaped? Would he even be alive? The punishment he had received for accidentally slipping up was bad enough, but if they had found out he had let them escape on purpose? No, he probably would not be alive. But was dead really better than his state right now? In constant turmoil, hated by almost everyone. For all he knew he was hated by everyone, some were just polite enough not to be upfront about it.

He rolled onto his other side, throwing the pillow against the wall in frustration. You hate muggle-borns and I am one! She thought he had not changed, that he still clung to his old beliefs after they were proven wrong so many times. The same beliefs that had caused so much hurt, to others and to himself. Voldemort was cruel, to his followers as well as his enemies. He did not hesitate to mock, humiliate and torture his followers, he had no mercy. And in a way, it was really what Death Eaters deserved. They thought themselves better than others simply because of the circumstances of their birth. It had nothing to do with ability, accomplishments or personality. It was because of ancestry.

He had been foolish to believe them.

They were all fools.

Fools who fooled themselves into thinking they were not fools.

Fools who called people who did not believe their foolish beliefs fools.

They were all fools, and he had been one of them.

But not anymore.

He sat up, running his hands through his hair. It seems like it's a big 'if' to me. It was a big if, but not the way she thought it was. She did not think he could get past blood status, but he already had. The 'if' was whether or not she could forgive him. He did not think he could if he was her. Years of tormenting, prejudice, and finally persecution. She had been hunted like a criminal, when she had done nothing wrong. Hermione Granger, one of the nicest, kindest, smartest people he had ever met, had been hunted down like filth, all the muggle-borns had.

He realized that the whole House Unity was as big an 'if' as them getting along was. The very nature of the Houses made House Unity difficult. People looked down upon Slytherin, because he valued those with pure blood, and who would do anything to achieve their means. When one puts those two things together, well people like Voldemort and his followers were bound to happen. But it was not just Slytherin who was picky.

Griffyndor only wanted the brave and the bold. He looked down upon those who ran away, just as Slytherin had looked down upon those who were not pure blood.

Ravenclaw only wanted the wise and smart. She did not want to teach those who were not clever, just as Slytherin had not wanted to teach those who were muggle-born.

And Hufflepuff, he remembered what he had said to Harry, on their first meeting "imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?". Hufflepuff wanted those who were loyal and hardworking. She had not cared about bravery, cleverness or ancestry, only effort.

He was reminded of a few lines the sorting hat had sung during his fifth year.

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those whose ancestry's purest."

Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach just those who intelligence is surest."

Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."

Said Hufflepuff "I'll teach the lot and treat them just the same."

In that case, Hufflepuff had been the only one who accepted everyone. Everyone had their own prejudice, some were just regarded as better than others.

He groaned. House unity was going to be a pain.


He collapsed back on his back, Hermione's words still running through his brain.

We hate each other. No, he did not hate her.

You tormented me throughout all of school. Because he had been naive enough to believe that he was better than her.

You persecuted me and my friends in the war. He had been forced to, they had threatened him, and his family.

You hate muggle-borns and I am one! NO! He did not hate muggle-borns, except for the really annoying ones, but that was because they were annoying, not because they were muggle-born.

We hate each other... You tormented me throughout all of school... You persecuted me and my friends in the war... You hate muggle-borns and I am one!

Hate... Tormented... Persecuted... Hate-

The torment of her words was cut off by a scream.

He bolted upright in bed, scampered out it bed as quickly as humanly possible, and running through their shared bathroom, tried to open her door, but it was locked.

"Bloody hell Granger, don't you trust me?" he cursed as he ran for her other door, only to hear the screaming had subsided, but the other door was locked as well.

As he went back to his room, she was still screaming. He realized she must have put a silencing charm on her door. She had anticipated her screams. He grabbed his wand and tried every spell he knew to open her door, every one as unsuccessful as the last.

"Damnit Hermione, why do you have to be so smart?" he shouted in frustration. She had started screaming again, she sound like she was in pure agony.

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE WAKE UP!" He bellowed as loud as he could, but her screaming did not stop.

"We found it! We found it! PLEASE!" Hermione started screaming. A dreadful chill was sent through Draco as he recognized her words.

"It's a copy! IT'S A COPY!" Hermione started screaming again. Draco slid down the wall, it was as if he was living that night over again. Still unable to help her as she went through misery.

She was screaming wordless screams again. He sat there, defeated, worthless, helpless. He could almost hear Bellatrix laughing as she had been that night. He rested against the door, head in his hands, and he felt hot tears started to stream from his eyes. He was pathetic, he always had been, and it was people like Hermione who had suffered because of people like him.

As Hermione's screams finally subsided, he felt sleep gently take him over.

A/N: Again, please don't hate me. It needed to be said. There cannot be progress unless you deal with the issues.

Thanks for reading!

Always,

Shan :)