The Dark Side (A Dramione Story)

Chapter 16

She wrenched away from him.

"Are you crazy? Do you think I'm just going to let you tear yourself apart like this?"

"You don't understand because you are the reason our world is the way it is today, and no one will never forget that." He wouldn't look at her, and she felt stung by the bitterness of his tone. "You're a hero."

"No, Draco-"

"When people see me, they see the Death Eater who killed their friend, their parents, their brother or their sister. If I dropped dead, there wouldn't be a funeral. There'd be a celebration. Nobody in the entire world needs me, so why should I bother-"

"I need you!" Just as shocked as he was by her outburst, she paused for a few moments to find the courage to say what she had wanted to tell him since that night she had found him in their bathroom.

"Draco, you're the only one that can understand. The constant flashbacks, the nightmares... Everyone else seems to be moving on with their lives, but my mind is still set on waging a war against itself. I see you, broken and beaten, and it's as if I'm looking at my reflection."

She pulled his hands away from his face and wiped a tear away. "Please let me help you. We need each other."

He turned his face away from her. "I can't be around you right now, Hermione." The crack in his voice made the tears in her eyes finally spill over. She rose to her feet and turned to face one of the trophy cabinets, not able to watch his suffering any longer. He was torturing himself.

"Okay," she sighed. "I'll give you some space. Just please stop torturing yourself because of that night, I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you." She headed towards the door with a pair of tears racing down her cheeks. Looking back at him, she added, "And remember, I need this as much as you do."

***

Once she had left, Draco finally let out the cry of pain he'd been holding back. He wrenched his robes up to uncover his forearm, which was searing more painfully than he'd ever felt, even when Voldemort was alive. The edges of his scar, jagged and spotted with scars from where he'd tried to cut it off, were blazing red as if his skin was on fire. It sure felt like it was. 

"What does this mean?" He cried aloud, but he was met only by a haunting echo. Once again, he was all alone with no one to hear his pain. 

Hermione couldn't understand. She'd take one look at the writhing Dark Mark on his arm and never speak to him again, and that was something that would truly break him. He didn't know if what she had said was true, that she actually needed him. No one had ever needed him before, except when Voldemort came knocking to ask him to restore the Vanishing Cabinet. 

His scar had seared then too, and Voldemort had appeared a few days later. Were the Death Eaters plotting something? Was one of them going to turn up and expect him to come running back to them? 

No, don't be a fool, he told himself. All the Death Eaters were in Azkaban, and they were going to stay there until their last breath. He was safe. His mark would stop burning and everything would be fine.