"The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy who loves you." - The Book Thief, Mark Zusak

Mudblood.

The word flips in your head again and again. It weaves around in your mind, pulsing through your body, flowing in your - (how ironic) - your veins.

And you don't know why you're so affected, or why you can't stop thinking about it. You're twelve (thirteen), for God's sake, these words should harmlessly bounce off you because they're exactly that - harmless. You didn't even know what the stupid word even meant until Hagrid and Ron told you today.

Mudblood.

Dirty blood. How was that still a thing?

You wonder briefly if you'd be so offended if it wasn't him saying it. If it had come out of Crabbe or Goyle or somebody else. You cannot answer yourself because all yourself because all you can picture is his face when he said it. How his pale brow folded, his eyes narrowing, his lip curling as he said it. And it was the way he said it - you can hear it now, the hatred in his voice.

(- And it hurts more than it should and you don't know why.)

You cry yourself to sleep that night, listening to Pavarti's sleep-humming and Lavender's soft snores.

And it's only five years later, you're lying on the floor with his crazed aunt torturing you and his family is just standing there - he's just standing there.

"Answer me, you filthy Mudblood!" Bellatrix Lestrange screeches in your face and she's so close that you can see every single one of her yellow teeth, can feel her hot breath on your cheek. You can't help but whimper. "Answer me!" She hits you with Cruciatus Curse and your eyes roll back as you scream ("Hermione!" you can hear Ron shouting faintly and more tears roll down your face because, this is it, this is where you're going to die).

Mudblood.

It's that stupid word again, and you think of when you first heard it, and you wonder where all the years went. Because it's not a harmless word anymore, you're not twelve, you can't cry in your pillow, and this is real; your body is aching, you're lying in your own blood, your throat is burning from the screams. You are defenseless and you are going to die, all because of a man (but not a man so much, anymore) detested Muggles and you are a Mudblood.

"I don't know," you sob. "I don't know, I don't know." And, between your tears and your pain, you look over at the three Malfoys - all worn out, weary and broken. Lucius is wearing a mask, completely emotionless as you used to see on his son, but you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He is looking directly at Bellatrix and his hand is clenched with Narcissa's beside him. The latter is staring five metres away from the scene with a glassy look on her face. And Draco - the same boy who introduced you to the word - ; his eyes are locking with yours.

You don't know if it's the pain getting to you, but something in your mind clicks and you don't know why because, suddenly, memories flicker on and off in your mind like a light switch. You remember sunlight, snow, you hear your own laughter, and his lips on yours, his grey eyes, your skin against his, the feel of his hand in your hair, your bodies interlocked, a glint of his teeth as he smirked at you, and again and again in his voice:

I love you.

And, right before Bellatrix sends another curse at your failing body, you hear his voice distantly in your head whispering "Obliviate".

(You're not sure what spell you screaming for next, not sure where the pain is located; in your body or your heart.)

There's a flinch in his face as his aunt snarls in your face and he diverts his eyes. His fists are clenched at his sides until his mother's free hand covers one of his. He doesn't meet your eyes again. He doesn't do anything. He just stands there as Bellatrix hits you again.

There's a moment of doubt left in you, because what is it's only your brain messing with you, it hurts, everything hurts, but you see his lips move so slightly as if he was muttering almost silently to himself. Your eyes are moments from falling shut indefinitely, but you swear you see "I'm sorry".

(But that could be you hallucinating through the pain.)

You're unable to form coherent thoughts anymore, and only three words run around your head in a loop:

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

(At that moment, you wish he didn't.)