Manacled полностью

"You don't care about surviving. Gryffindors are always eager to die." His lips curled into a sneer as he said 'Gryffindors.' "After all, you've been fantasizing a grand murder-suicide for the two of us for months now. No, the thing that's eating you isn't surviving; it's the isolation. Poor little healer, with no one to take care of. No one who needs you. Or wants you."

Hermione stared at him as he continued.

"You can't bear being alone. You don't know how to function. You need someone to love; you'll do anything for the people that let you love them. That was what the war was for you, wasn't it? You wanted to fight, but you were smart enough to know another foolhardy, seventeen year old duelist wasn't going to changed the outcome of the war — not the way a healer could. I don't imagine any of your friends ever appreciated that, did they? That the choice was a sacrifice for you."

Hermione felt herself pale.

"Potter and the rest of your friends were too stupid and idealistic to appreciate those choices you made. Quite a burden, being one of the few people smart enough to understand what was necessary to win; one of the only ones willing to actually pay the price that victory demands. They never appreciated any of it. You let them send you away. Then, when you came back, you let them work you to death. Not much value or glory for healers — not like fighters. Even Ginny realised that. When Creevey died, they gave Potter days to grieve just because he saw it. You were the one who tried to save the boy, and what was it you got? Four hours and you were expected back on shift again?"

"That's — that's not — how — it — was." Hermione's hands were clenched into fists so tight the bones hurt.

"That — is exactly how it was. You may delude yourself, but I've spent so many hours inside your memories I probably know them better than my own. You would have done anything for your friends; you would have made all the hard choices and paid the price without complaint; whored yourself for the war effort. But do tell me, because I'm sincerely curious, what did Potter ever do for you to deserve it?"

She glared up at him. "Harry was my friend. He was my best friend."

Malfoy sneered. "So?"

Hermione looked away and drew a shuddering breath. "I never had any friends — when I was growing up. I was too odd, too bookish. I wanted them more than anything, but no one ever wanted to be my friend. When I found out about Hogwarts, I thought — I thought it would all be different, that being a witch was why I'd never fit in. But — when I got there — I was still odd and bookish and no one wanted anything to do with me. Harry — Harry was the first person who let me be his friend. I would have done anything for him." She gave a dry sob under her breath and swallowed it. "Besides — it's not like there was any chance for me without him."

There was a long pause.

"That is the most pathetic thing I've heard in my life," Malfoy finally said, straightening his robes. "So, what? I'm your replacement Potter?" He scoffed. "If anyone so much as speaks to you, you can't help but latch on to them? Knockturn Alley prostitutes cost more than you."

Hermione's jaw trembled, but Malfoy wasn't done. "Let's be clear, Mudblood. I don't want you. I never wanted you. I'm not your friend. There is nothing that will bring me more joy than being done with you."

"I know—" Hermione said in a low, hollow voice.

"Although..." Malfoy said after a pause, "I can't deny you've improved on me of late. I'll have to send Stroud my thanks."

He raked his eyes across her body. Hermione drew a sharp breath and glared at him.

Then she scoffed. "Really? That's why you kissed me? Because of the potion?"

He shrugged and stared at her mockingly, eyes cold. "What can I say? Rape isn't really my 'thing'. However, your growing attachment is both fascinating and amusing to experience. I never imagined you'd be the sort to fantasise that my mandatory care of you indicated some sort of attachment. I can't even begin to guess how amused the Dark Lord will be to witness it in a few days. Potter's Mudblood, falling for her Death Eater rapist. I didn't think it was possible for you to be more pathetic, but apparently with Mudbloods there is always a lower point."

He turned to leave but then paused. "I'll be back later to deal with your memories. Please don't assume that I'm dead because I occasionally have a better use for my time than wading through your tragic little life."

He snorted derisively one last time and stalked out of Hermione's room.

When he returned the next day, Hermione had barely moved. He stared at her for several minutes. She didn't look up or acknowledge him.

"Bed," he finally commanded.

Hermione stood without a word and seated herself on the edge of bed. She stared down at the floor. He didn't need her eyes.

There was a moment of pause before he forced his way into her mind.