Hate You, Hate Me

~Chapter 7~

I hate you, Hermione

The almighty silence since Weasley's death hadn't been broken. It seeped in from every corner of Hogwarts Castle, threatening to suffocate us all. Halloween came and went with little celebration, and now winter loomed rather close.

I hate how you blamed yourself when Weasley was murdered that day.

Most people blamed me for Weasley's death. It was plausible enough. He was killed by my father, after all. The disgust never left Potter's green eyes. Still, it seemed the most important people didn't blame me at all. The teachers eyed me the first few days, but afterwards seemed to look at me sadly. And Hermione...

Hermione was blaming herself. Apparently, Weasley hadn't wanted to visit Hogsmeade. He had said something about an ominous feeling. Even after that, Weasley hadn't wanted to separate from Potter. But Hermione had insisted. Personally, I didn't see how any of this kept her from blaming me. But she didn't...

My fingers traced the engraved words on Weasley's tombstone. The 7^th years were all invited to the funeral to pay their respects. By now, everyone else had wandered inside for a bite to eat, leaving me alone to sort my thoughts. Somehow, my stomach was far too sick to eat. I really hadn't eaten much at all during this first Weasley-less week that seemed to drag on longer than a month.

The breeze held the subtle scent of death that most people couldn't even pick up. It was cool and warm at the same time and reeked of the aura that dragged Weasley into the depths of Hell. I saw the scene in my mind much clearer than when it was happening before me. The shock was slowly fading into realization, as the breeze grew stronger.

My father had killed Ron Weasley. I saw him appearing, his blonde hair blowing in the same evil breeze that surrounded me now. His face was contorted into the most evil smile I had ever seen. There was only one other time that stood out in my mind, but I didn't much want to revisit it.

The green light shot from his wand, stealing Weasley's life in mere seconds. That curse... it was so simple, so sickeningly simple that it took only a few seconds of intense hatred to perform. There is not a being on earth that hasn't felt real hatred for more than a few seconds. Scary, huh?

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and jumped. It was only Blaise, who wore a particularly foul smirk in contrast to deep sadness. He chuckled at my angry expression.

"What? You expected me to be sad?" he said.

"I suppose not," I sighed.

I let my gaze settle on the grave again until Blaise spoke.

"What a loony."

I looked up and saw a blonde girl in the distance. It was the very same girl I had met on the night of Weasley's death. She was dressed in a light pink flowing robe and matching headband and was laying assorted flowers on all the graves in the cemetery. She seemed to be dancing to some sad melody in her head as she did this. Barefoot and dressed in pink, I couldn't understand how I didn't notice her at the service.

Blaise continued to laugh as the girl curtseyed to one of the graves. I glared at him.

"You can't tell me this isn't hilarious," he said, resting his arm on my shoulder. "Loony Luna Lovegood must be mentally ill or something. Pity there are no spells to -"

"Shut up," I growled, shoving him.

Blaise frowned at me and said, "What is wrong with you, Malfoy?"

Seriously, I couldn't tell him if I wanted to.

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

Blaise shook his head and walked away. I watched him until he was gone and turned to see Luna gazing at me. She gave me a sad smile before returning to her work. I sighed and let my hand travel into my pocket.

As I heard people coming back outside, I pulled out the contents and sprinkled them onto the grave. I turned to join the others in piling into the carriages that had brought us there.

The carriage I had chosen contained four other students. Four relatively unknown other students. Because that's exactly what I wanted. I didn't want to be around my fellow Slytherins. And I certainly didn't want to be anywhere near Potter's evil glare. Not to mention Hermione.

I knew three of them by face, Ravenclaws with whom Slytherins shared classes in the past. And the quiet redhead in the corner was most certainly the woman of the surname Bones. I knew not her first name, nor did I particularly care, but being of a death eater's family I knew her past quite well. It seemed that she knew me as well, from the look on her face when I entered. But she soon turned away and pressed herself into her corner.

The other three regarded me briefly as I sat in the opposite corner of Bones' bench. We were separated by a dark-haired boy whose surname began with a C if I remembered correctly. Across from us sat a sandy-haired boy who was holding several sheets of parchment and a quill and an Asian-looking girl with extraordinarily long black hair. I wondered for a bit whether or not they would confront me as so many others had in the past few weeks. But I was quite wrong. They had decided to completely ignore me.

I really didn't care.

When the carriages finally began to move, I looked out the window and watched the now dried pink petals swirl in the wind.

Soon after, the three Ravenclaws moved together, undoubtedly about to start one of the intellectual discussions they were known for. However, they didn't start talking at all. The sandy-haired one immediately began sketching on his parchment as the other two merely watched.

I was beginning to think they didn't want to say anything in front of me when the girl decided to cautiously slip words into the silence.

"The funeral?"

"It was quite lovely, I thought," the artist replied, softly. "I figured Anthony might want to see what it looked like."

"Is he still quite sick, Terry?" the girl asked, sadly.

"Worse," the other boy replied, casting a quick glance at the Bones girl who seemed to be wiping at her face quite a bit.

"I was afraid so," she said, leaning back.

The silence resumed for a few minutes, only the gentle scratching of the quill to keep me sane. The girl was once again, the one to break the silence.

"I... I can't believe he's dead."

"It's truly tragic," Terry said still not tearing his eyes away from his drawing.

"It's really hasn't become real until now... and even so." She paused, adjusting her black, beaded bracelet. "And poor Ginny," she resumed with a whisper. "She was sobbing the whole time."

The dark-haired boy looked up at once with a strange expression on his face. "Was she, really?"

"Oh... oh, I'm so sorry, Michael... I didn't realize--" she stuttered. "I mean, I thought with Cho you had--"

"It's nothing, Su," Michael replied, softly as he looked away. "Don't worry about it."

Su bit her lip and looked back to Terry's drawing. "I just... I can't imagine losing someone so close to me."

"And with the dark times approaching..." Michael breathed.

"...there's bound to be closer hits." Su finished.

A small sob from the corner caught everyone's attention.

"Susan," Michael whispered, scooting closer to the now weeping girl. I wondered for a moment how anyone could be that affected by a funeral of someone she hardly knew. And then I remembered that I didn't care.

Su got up from her seat and instead sat on the floor near Susan's feet, taking her hands. Terry watched the three for a moment before resuming his sketching. And I, not wanting to watch a crying girl for the rest of the trip, opted for the scenery.

I believe Potter and Granger went for a walk when we arrived back at Hogwarts. I wanted to follow, but I didn't deserve it. I went up to the common room and stretched out on the couch, feeling very alone. I think I actually fell asleep listening to the silence in the air.

I hate how when I tried to be kind to you, you threw a book at me.

I awoke to the sound of soft voices. Hermione and Potter were talking in hushed tones, though not so I wouldn't hear. They didn't even know I was there. There was just an unwritten rule to keep quiet. No one dared to break it. I caught only the tail end of their conversation.

"I will kill him, Hermione. I swear it."

"Harry, you can't... I won't let you."

Were they... talking about me?

"Hermione, you can't talk me out of it."

There was the sound of a chair being pushed in and Potter was gone. Hermione got up and reached out to him, his name on her lips, but she stopped, not following him out of the common room. From my place on the couch, I saw something heart wrenching.

Hermione's hair... It was straight.

Hermione turned finally and flinched, almost scared as her eyes took in my form.

"Y-you," she said, anger filling her red eyes. "W-what did you hear?"

"I'm sorry," I blurted.

"You aren't!" Hermione shouted at the top of her lungs. "You've never cared for anyone but yourself!"

The rule of silence was broken in that instant, not to mention my eardrums.

...And my heart.

"Hermione," I whispered, reaching out to touch her hand.

Hermione backed away quickly, hitting the table.

"Don't... call me... Hermione," she growled.

She snatched up the first book her hand encountered, which also happened to be the largest on the table, and hurled it at my head. Time seemed to move unbearably slowly as the book flew towards me. As it came ever closer, out spilled the dried pink petals. The smell of them hit me just as the book did. And Hermione gasped.

I hate how I had to stop you from killing yourself three times that week.