Fallen Dynasty (Dramione)

Thirteen - The Beginning of the Unraveling

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Vivamus moriendum est.

Let us live since we must die.

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Draco was sick for multiples days after Hermione forced the memory forward, debilitated and in agony.

His head throbbed with a piercing pain behind his eyes as through Hermione had ripped and torn out pieces of his mind. His hands trembled days later as Hermione rambled on and on about how she shouldn't have and what she should have done differently.

It took everything in him not to snap on her, but he knew she was someone very important to him now, so he bit his tongue until it almost bled each time.

He couldn't wrap his mind around it; how she was his wife.

His wife.

Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.

It has a certain ring to it that sent a jolt of electricity down his spine every time he reminded himself of the fact.

There was always a certain thing about the curly haired know-it-all that caused his heart to race and his stomach to twist — or flutter — or whatever the fuck you want to call it, but now...

Now, it was like she glowed.

She was a single star in a pitch black sky.

It nauseated him and made him want to be violent.

The fact that someone could be so important to him at some point in time confused him. So important that he apparently put his life on the line for her or so she says?

What the everloving fuck?

He chose his well-being over Hermione fucking Granger? He allowed his entire world to unravel — shatter into a million pieces — for her?

He must have hit his head, a concussion he just couldn't remember properly. Everything was a bit hazy nowadays. That was the only reason he could process through the striking pain behind his temples.

He vowed his seventh year that no one was worth a thought, much less actions of his love, his trust, his life. He saw what happened when you gave yourself to the wrong person and just what people could do to each other.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted to — ached to — love somebody, but he reeked of war and mistrust and evil doings and dark magic and running. So much running.

Hiding.

Terror.

Lies.

Death. So much death.

He didn't deem himself, or anybody really, worth it.

Now, he had to deal with the gut clenching feeling of wanting to burn an entire village to the ground at the thought of her being hurt — and he barely knew why. 

Don't get him wrong now, he still wanted to maim her whenever she ran her mouth too much or talked back at him. He couldn't help it, the need to kill, but something inside him stopped him each time.

Fucking Granger; the swot and apparent love of his life. What an outrageous thought.

She was rambling again, entering his bedroom and walking towards him with that horrible, worried look across her face. He squinted at her, trying to discern the situation with the hazed blur on the outskirts of his vision. He could feel his heartbeat behind his eyes and he groaned, pressing his index and ring finger on bridge of his nose.