This one is short. And vague. (I've realized that I tend to write a lot of vague-ish stories..) I'm not really sure where it came from except that "How does it feel, Granger? Knowing that nobody can hear you scream.." kind of just popped in my head and wouldn't leave until I attempted to spin a story around it. This is basically the result..
It's a OneShot. Rated for a sort of explicit content.
Take a spin, have a read! Leave a thought :)
"How does it feel, Granger? Knowing that nobody can hear you scream.." "One person can." "Who's that?" "You." [She was right. She was always right.]
He wakes with a start. He's covered in sweat from head to toe, soaking his own clothing.
She's still screaming.
[Except she's not, not really].
He winces, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hand to his forehead. To stop the noise. To rid the nightmares. [Except they aren't nightmares, not really].
And then finally it stops. She stops screaming and it's quiet. No sound but the wind blowing outside. It's so quiet in his bedroom now that he could hear pin drop, if a pin ever did drop. It's so quiet... Deafeningly so.
And he almost-but only almost-wants her to scream again. Because when she screams, he knows he isn't alone.
She's haunting him.
"Your friends are dead Granger."
"I don't believe you."
"Oh? And why not?"
"Because, Malfoy. If they were, Voldemort would've shown them to me by now."
"Yeah...you're right. He'd have thrown it in your face and then killed you himself."
She's everywhere. Which is literally impossible, and yet she's e v e r y w h e r e. Her dirty, matted brown hair. Her dirty skin. [Her dirty blood]. Her grungy and ripped and dirty muggle jeans. Her torn tank top and muddy cardigan.
Her illogical, almost naive bravery. Her blind courage.
Bloody Gryffindor. [Not literally].
He looks around the cold, empty room. More cushiony, perhaps, and cleaner. But not all that different from hers. [A cell in his family's basement]. And just as dark. [He avoids opening the curtains]. Just as cold. Just as lonely.
"Ready to talk yet? Mudblood."
"When are you gonna get a new insult, Malfoy? That one's getting old."
"It'll never be old, Granger. It's engraved in your arm, remember?"
"All you have to do is tell me where your headquarters is. Perhaps, I can make an exception and set you free."
"Nobody is free, not anymore."
"Besides, you're smart. You figure it out."
He can't eat. He hardly sleeps. [And when he does, he dreams bad dreams. Nightmares]. It's like he's a mindless zombie, living but not really living. You know? Like looking without seeing. Hearing without listening. It's like he's a shadow of his former self.
Perhaps that's war for you. Perhaps that's life. Because people change, right? Everything changes. And yet nothing, really, has changed. Because there is still a war raging and people are still fighting and dying and crying and s c r e a m i n g. And even though he's no longer a part of it-a spineless little coward, a runaway-he still sees it every day. In his nightmares. In his aging face, a boy of only 18, who looks so much older. War has taken its toll on him. Sleepless nights. Days that drag on. So much blood spilled. So many lives lost-many of them at his wand.
The act of taking a life was simple. Two words. A v a d a K e d a v r a. Everything else was hard, but only at first. Watching the light leave their eyes. Expecting them to get up and walk it off, before remembering that they won't ever have the chance to do so again. But like with most things, practice makes perfect. He was perfect. He enjoyed it. It was control, and control is power and power is strength.
But then, she didn't have power or control and somehow...she still had strength. And he envied her for that. He hated her.
[He's hovering over her. His right leg between her knees. She's on her back. She doesn't squirm or wince or flinch like she's supposed to. She doesn't turn her face away like he had expected her to. She doesn't close her eyes, but she doesn't glare at him either. She just looks].
"C'mon Granger beg. Beg me to stop, you know you want to. Beg me not to hurt you."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"I can break you if I want to."
"So do it, nobody's stopping you."
"You're not afraid?"
"It wouldn't be the first Malfoy, and it won't be the last."
[He's taken aback by the casualty of her response. He climbs to his feet, leaving her half-dressed on the dungeon floor].
"What's wrong Malfoy? Can't rape someone who won't beg you to stop?"
"Fuck you Granger. I just don't want to be tainted with filth from the likes of you."
"You already have been."
She was a force to be reckoned with, even in her darkest hours. Even now. She always had something to say, but it was never what anyone wanted to hear. She sacrificed herself over and over again-her body, her mind, her soul-to keep her friends safe. [Idiotic bravery. Blind courage]. If she'd been a Slytherin, like him, she'd have sacrificed them to save herself.
She didn't care about what happened to her. Why should he have?
[She doesn't beg him to stop the torture he puts her through. She doesn't try to negotiate. But she screams, because screaming is chemical and biological and she probably can't help it. It's deafeningly loud. A part of him enjoys it].
"How does it feel, Granger? Knowing that nobody can hear you scream?"
"One person can."
"Oh? Who's that?"
He hates that she was right. [She's always right]. He hates that he would go to bed and wake up to the sound of her screaming in his head. He hates that her scream is the only one he remembers. [He's heard a handful of other people scream, but they all sound the same. Hers is different]. He hates that even though she isn't here, he can still hear it clear as day. Like she's in the same bloody room. [He tries to ignore the fact that maybe she is].