Fated D.M. & H.G.

Year 1996 •1

The first thing about insanity is that it takes you slowly, sucking at your mind one little dribble at a time.  

It works around you, biding it's time.  Making you believe that you are fine, that everything will work out in the end.  

The end though, Draco didn't know what the end held for him.  He didn't want to know, no matter how much every vein in his body throbbed at the possibilities.  

Would he survive long enough to not succumb to his own black and sinister thoughts?

Draco didn't know.  Didn't want to know the answer.  He fought against it every time his mind would steer in that direction. 

Draco sat in his classes, day in and day out, watching people.  

Watching her.  The ever pesky reminder that he was useless.  That he was nothing, not when a fucking mudblood had him beat at every mark, every step.

He used to be repulsed by her presence.  Used to hate the way others talked about her.  Hermione Fucking Granger, the Smartest Witch of his generation.  

The cleverest little witch.  

The hateful feelings subsided over the past couple of years, much to Dracos dislike.  

He used to hate her.  

Used to despise her.

For her blood, or for the fact that she had proven to be nothing like what he had been taught when it came to her kind.  

He didn't know anymore.  

Didn't know why he had gradually stopped caring that she was better.  

He thought that he was loosing his mind. Falling deep into that deep, lividly black hole that he assumed was the product of his own foul thoughts.  

There had been moments years ago that he wished the witch would have just disappeared from his life. From the school. From his fathers lips when he lectured a younger Draco on how he dared to be below her in grades.

As if that had been his own doing. Draco used to argue with the older man, tell him that it wasn't his fault. Always not his fault. 

He didn't care now though.  

Didn't want to care. 

And this year, this year Draco had wondered if perhaps he would feel better.

Better because the Dark Lord had chosen him. Chosen him because his father failed, true, but still, he had been chosen to receive the mark. 

To dispose of Dumbledore.  

It was a test, Draco knew that. His dearest aunt had grilled that into his brain before he had returned to school this year. 

Draco hated her. Hated her for the fact that she chose Voldemort over her own family. Chose darkness over the light that a family could provide.  Was supposed to provide.  

He hated the man that bestowed the mark upon him even more though. Hated that his mothers life had been hanging in the thick air of his childhood home when the man had visited. And he visited often. 

Draco hated himself more then anything. Hated that he didn't care that Granger was better then him. Didn't care that he could join his father in a cell in Azkaban.  

Draco thought that maybe falling into insanity would be his salvation. He truly did think that, because otherwise, he wasn't sure that he would be able to continue.