Prompt 2 - Mens Rea - Wretched - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer - Harry Potter
Jul. 22nd, 2006 11:25 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dedra.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseGAH! My muse was so uncooperative this week, I could kill her! All she wanted to do was write Draco/Hermione fic, ev0l bee-yatch...oh, well, here's my entry for this week...lame, but it will have to do...
Title: Wretched
Fandom: Harry Potter
Prompt: Prompt 2--Mens Rea
Warnings: Dark musings
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco Malfoy cannot stand the thought of what he did so many years ago.
Wretched
Why? Why did I hurt the only person who has been kind to me since that fateful night when my life turned upside-down and I became the hunted? It served no purpose and I had no reason to do it, but I did it anyway. I must be insane.
Her eyes. I can still see the way the tears sparkled in them before they spilled over onto her cheeks. I should feel something besides guilt—I should be happy I made her cry, but all I can think of is those beautiful doe eyes dripping with tears that I caused with my hateful comment.
Is there any way that I can make it up to her? Anything that I can do to change her view of me now? Unlikely, I think. She sees me as a bigot and a racist now and all I can do is live with what I’ve done. I’ve lost any chance at her friendship. I know that now. Bloody hell, I knew it before I said it, but I had to. I have to do what’s expected of me because of who I am. I’m not just any wizard; I’m a Malfoy.
Knowing what I’ve done, what I’ve lost twists in my gut like a knife. It hurts, worse than any beating or any spell ever could. I can feel myself falling in love with her bushy hair and her perfect teeth and her witty banter that she’ll never share with me, just because I called her that name. Mudblood. I curse my wretched tongue because of the pain I’ve caused her and the chance I’ve lost.
I dream about her night and day. I watch her with those two, the Chosen Ones that are blessed with her presence and her laughter. I want so much to be a part of that. I want…but I can never have, and it burns. It burns in my gut and my brain and my body like a thousand fires, never to be quenched.
She could have been my salvation and my reason. She could have been my everything, but I threw it away.
Now I bow before the Dark Lord and extend my arm, waiting for him to burn me and purge me of this unholy guilt. I cannot live with myself anymore. Better to die at the hands of a monster than live knowing I threw away the only decent thing in my life.
He brands me with his mark and I am on fire. He sees my guilt in the moment he touches me, and redoubles it upon my heart. It weighs on me, heavy and harsh, and I scream under the weight. I cannot bear it. I cannot, but I must. It is my burden to bear until the end of my days.
Now I can only pray that death will come and be merciful, claim me with her kiss. Better her kiss than that of the Dementors, for they would take my mind and leave my pain and suffering. I would relive that moment for the rest of my days instead of the momentary lapses that my Lord allows me. At this point, I would give anything for a respite from pain and loathing. I would give anything to bring a smile to her face instead of the disgust that settles on her features at the sight of me. I would give anything to turn time back and change the past, snatch the word back and stuff it deep inside me and refuse to let it go.
Alas, I cannot. I can only pray for death now and it comes soon enough. The war is about to begin, Voldemort is about to rise to his defeat, and I am about to face her on the battlefield. Perhaps she will kill me quickly. Perhaps she will torture me as I’ve tortured her for so long.
Perhaps she will accept my apology before I succumb to her spell. I can only pray she will.
Title: Wretched
Fandom: Harry Potter
Prompt: Prompt 2--Mens Rea
Warnings: Dark musings
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco Malfoy cannot stand the thought of what he did so many years ago.
Wretched
Why? Why did I hurt the only person who has been kind to me since that fateful night when my life turned upside-down and I became the hunted? It served no purpose and I had no reason to do it, but I did it anyway. I must be insane.
Her eyes. I can still see the way the tears sparkled in them before they spilled over onto her cheeks. I should feel something besides guilt—I should be happy I made her cry, but all I can think of is those beautiful doe eyes dripping with tears that I caused with my hateful comment.
Is there any way that I can make it up to her? Anything that I can do to change her view of me now? Unlikely, I think. She sees me as a bigot and a racist now and all I can do is live with what I’ve done. I’ve lost any chance at her friendship. I know that now. Bloody hell, I knew it before I said it, but I had to. I have to do what’s expected of me because of who I am. I’m not just any wizard; I’m a Malfoy.
Knowing what I’ve done, what I’ve lost twists in my gut like a knife. It hurts, worse than any beating or any spell ever could. I can feel myself falling in love with her bushy hair and her perfect teeth and her witty banter that she’ll never share with me, just because I called her that name. Mudblood. I curse my wretched tongue because of the pain I’ve caused her and the chance I’ve lost.
I dream about her night and day. I watch her with those two, the Chosen Ones that are blessed with her presence and her laughter. I want so much to be a part of that. I want…but I can never have, and it burns. It burns in my gut and my brain and my body like a thousand fires, never to be quenched.
She could have been my salvation and my reason. She could have been my everything, but I threw it away.
Now I bow before the Dark Lord and extend my arm, waiting for him to burn me and purge me of this unholy guilt. I cannot live with myself anymore. Better to die at the hands of a monster than live knowing I threw away the only decent thing in my life.
He brands me with his mark and I am on fire. He sees my guilt in the moment he touches me, and redoubles it upon my heart. It weighs on me, heavy and harsh, and I scream under the weight. I cannot bear it. I cannot, but I must. It is my burden to bear until the end of my days.
Now I can only pray that death will come and be merciful, claim me with her kiss. Better her kiss than that of the Dementors, for they would take my mind and leave my pain and suffering. I would relive that moment for the rest of my days instead of the momentary lapses that my Lord allows me. At this point, I would give anything for a respite from pain and loathing. I would give anything to bring a smile to her face instead of the disgust that settles on her features at the sight of me. I would give anything to turn time back and change the past, snatch the word back and stuff it deep inside me and refuse to let it go.
Alas, I cannot. I can only pray for death now and it comes soon enough. The war is about to begin, Voldemort is about to rise to his defeat, and I am about to face her on the battlefield. Perhaps she will kill me quickly. Perhaps she will torture me as I’ve tortured her for so long.
Perhaps she will accept my apology before I succumb to her spell. I can only pray she will.
