Blade Of War (Dramione)

Chapter 18

He never liked the look of it. Anytime she'd take a step closer, or even from a distance, he made it rather a priority to not have his gaze fall down to her arm. He didn't wanna see it, the scuffed writing, the dried blood along the words. He didn't want to look at it--no, he always kept his gaze up.

He saw it when it was created. That was long enough.

He didn't have to see it, he could have stopped it.

But he didn't.

It made him sore from the spine down. Just remembering it, not only does it play on in an agonizing loop, it creeps up in his dreams as well.

It made him weak to his fucking knees.

When he sees the distress casted upon her arm, he feels it in his veins, he feels it when he sleeps, he feels it when he breathes. It weakens him, the second he notices it he turns to the large bottle of fire whiskey and drains out the liquid till he regains back strength in his legs.

He refuses to sit with the word weak, its bitter to his tongue.

He doesn't ever recall the sensation, he's never felt weak before, his arm was a symbol that he couldn't experience the word.  He couldn't until he sees the outline of the horrid words he watched her get.

Fucking horrid.

He didn't think he'd ever need to see it again, but now it's all he sees.

He knows what it's like to have a horrendous creation casted on his skin, he knew the feeling and knew the symbol it carried. It destroyed him from the inside out, he barely looked at his as well.

He imagined how she felt.

He fucking hates that he does that. He hates that he thinks of it in her perception.

He loathes putting himself in the girl he hates shoes, but he does it anyway he wants to know what she thinks when her eyes lay right on him.

He knows it's not good, it never will be.

It gives him better leverage to despise her existence.

But he doesn't think she's on the same page.

He didn't think she could carry hate in her heart. The golden girl? Very unlike her. But to him she said hate with her chest. He could feel the anger radiate right off her, he almost swears he's seen a tear roll off her skin for how much rage consumed her body in their interactions.

He almost strode to wipe it off her face, then quickly remembers who it is.

He concludes he's the not the man she reads in those books.

No he deciphers that he's the villain in the texts.

Hermione sits in no question, no surprise that she hasn't seen Malfoy for a few days.

He never shows when they get that close, when they could hear the others heartbeat and sense the others breath hit their skin. It was bitter. Like a glass hitting the ground, it was loud in every way, but words. They were so close. She swears his lips brushed upon hers, she almost feels it days after.

She bites her lip at the sense of his faint breath as It lingered on.

Like biting back a demon.

She's reciting spells in her mind, before a voice similar to Theo rattles for halls down. Parkinson's seems to accompany. As if Theo is cursing beneath his breath, yet loud enough for her to hear. Its booming louder as footsteps draw nearer the hall in which her room stood.