_
Reading it again didn't help. The spell was right here, even the research that he did which led up to it was here for all the world to see. The methodical mind of a genius spell crafter was displayed in all it's glory across the antique pages of the dirty little book that Hermione had uncovered. Not that Draco was very concerned with who had or had not created the killing curse. Someone had to eventually, and if hadn't been O'Leary, then it would have been someone else. No, what Draco found disturbing was the way that the young brown haired girl who looked so much like Hermione sat at the far end of the room. But it wasn't his Hermione who sat without looking at anything at all, who sat like someone that had been exposed to dementors for a long period of time. Hermione wasn't empty.
Draco had gone to Azkaban once, back in his third year. It had somehow leaked back to Lucius how frightened Draco had been of the dementors that guarded the school. Lucius had always believed that the best way to surmount a fear, if one allowed himself to have a fear, was to confront it. So over the Christmas holiday, Draco and Lucius had traveled to the wizarding prison to ground out his fear. There had been no pity in him for the prisoners there, and why should there have been? If they were so incompetent that they allowed themselves to be caught then they deserved whatever the Dementors had in store for them. In fact, it was the last time Draco could remember feeling a rush of pride for Lucius. The man had avoided imprisonment and was now a respected member of the community; Draco could appreciate the man's ability for avoiding trouble.
"Hermione?" Draco asked.
The girl didn't move, didn't acknowledge that he had even spoken. Draco scowled; he hated being ignored.
"Oh come on Granger," he drawled, "it's not the end of the world. So the old coot created the killing curse. Big deal! But you look like someone just told you your cat died."
Hermione flinched and Draco took that as a promising sign and continued. "It isn't as if our old hermit is a super villain. Bloody hell, in the book I've been translating all he does is go on and on about repentance this and salvation that. I've read pages upon pages of this self-loathing diatribe. If I had created such a powerful spell, I wouldn't be ashamed of it. I would be proud."
"I'll bet you would too."
It was the first time she had spoken in almost an hour and Draco had to fight against the superior smirked that wanted to break across his face. Hermione had turned in her seat now and was glaring at him.
"I'm sure that you'd love to lay claim to a curse that has killed countless thousands." Her voice was sharp, cutting. And Draco found the pleasure of his success quickly dwindling.
"It's not the curse itself you know, it's the wizards who use it." Draco responded with equal bite.
"Oh of course, the curse itself isn't to blame. In fact, we shouldn't even call it the killing curse should we? No, how about we call it the harmless fluffy bunny curse; use it at parties, amaze all your friends!" Hermione stood up and jerked her bag onto her shoulder with a furious flourish. She headed to the door and then stopped to shoot back over her shoulder at him, "I'm sure that Harry would find it very comforting to know that his parents weren't really murdered by that spell!"
Draco was up and across the room with amazing speed. He slammed the door shut before Hermione could get past him and turned to her, his hand pressed firmly against the door, his face only inches from her own. "First off," he hissed angrily, "I don't give a damn about perfect, wonderful, glorious Potter!"
Hermione recoiled and Draco's tone softened as he continued, "and he would have just found another way. If Voldemort didn't have Avada Kedavra, he would have just used some other spell. You know that, don't you? It isn't as if Tom Riddle would have grown up to be your average, all around nice guy if O'Leary hadn't created that spell."
