Until the end Dramione

Chapter 14 Torments

"In life we do not do what we want but we are responsible for what we are." Sartre

"There is no real disappointment except from those we love." Georges Bernanos

The torture was launched... Drago was watching her scream in pain. She was screaming because of... of whom?

He was watching her convulsing violently on the ground, her eyes revolting. Her hand was shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

Only then did he realize what he had just done: he had cast the Doloris spell on Hermione Granger. He, Draco Malfoy.

The coward.

The sight before him was the most horrific he could have ever witnessed.

Only then did fear and guilt, only then did these two feelings, like viruses devoid of mercy, take hold of his being.

This anguish, he had it in his throat, in the form of a heavy and growing stone, which contaminated the rest of his body. This anguish which proliferated and propagated with the speed of a microbe, igniting his chest, freezing his back, gnawing his stomach, shaking his arms and legs, inscribing itself in his flesh.

His frightened, horrified look.

That look.

Even that look begged him to stop, not seeming to be complicit in his irreversible act.

How had he dared?

"Coward!" Her screams...

"Coward..." Her cries...

The little voice in his head, like a hammer that keeps hitting on a nail that is already anchored, deep.

The cold sweat that lined his forehead, that played near his temples.

"You like that Draco?"

The little voice in his head, sarcastic, sharper than a blade relentlessly seeking to cut, to wound, to make him bleed again and again.

" Coward!" Her screams...

" Scaredy!" Her cries...

"Toy! Poor little toy of the Dark Lord! Can you see it? Do you like it? It's your fault... You coward!"

The little voice in his head...

"And you call that loving? Your father raised you well after all. A worthy Malfoy... Coward!"

Her screams... Her cries...

"Remorse? It's too late!"

The little voice in his head.

What's done is done. There is no turning back now...

To feel for the most tender, the most fragile, the easiest part, and to push the knife in: the little voice in his head.

So much upheaval, in the space of five seconds, as soon as Hermione's complaints had begun. Yet it seemed like an eternity. Who was to be pitied in this situation?

On the cold floor, under the horrified gaze of young Malfoy and a Voldemort who was more full of himself than ever, Hermione was convulsing violently. Her limbs were twitching, giving her excruciating, unbearable pain, the most indescribable pain.

"Why?"

An excruciating pain...

"Don't think about it. Don't think about it."