Hateful Love

Chapter Forty-Nine

NOTE: I do not own any of the ideas or characters expressed in this story (except Cassie Jackson). All of these belong to J.K. Rowling.

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Draco P.O.V.

          As I walk down the corridors to my fourth detention, I can’t help but feel extremely guilty for not telling Cassie everything last night. I didn’t tell her about why the fight started because that would have required telling her about Samantha Yaxley, but I should have anyway. I really should have just told her everything, because it isn’t fair that she doesn’t know. I’m lying to her, every time she asks me if I’m okay.

          Not to mention the time she asked how things were going with my parents last week and I said fine.

          What the hell is wrong with me? I think angrily, sighing in frustration at myself as I turn left into another hallway. What kind of a person doesn’t tell their girlfriend about an arranged marriage with someone else? Sure, I’ve been sticking to the idea that the marriage won’t even happen, but my parents’ letters certainly haven’t stopped. In fact, lately I’ve been getting at least six a week—not that I’ve read a single one. And the worst part of all this is that Cassie has absolutely no idea I’m keeping this massive secret from her. When I finally do tell her, she’s going to kill me.

          I hear someone clear their throat in annoyance from behind me, and I abruptly stop walking to turn around. It’s Amycus Carrow; apparently I was so busy being angry with myself to notice I walked straight past their office.

          “Where do you think you’re going?” Amycus snaps, glaring over at me as though I’ve lost my mind. He steps to the side and orders, “Get in here, boy.”

          Temporarily being distracted from my thoughts about Cassie, I retrace my steps and slip inside the Carrows’ office without a word or even a glance in his direction. I have to work hard to keep my mouth shut as Amycus closes the door after I’ve barely made it into the room, still pissed that I’ve got all these detentions and the other Slytherins have nothing. It’s been the same punishment for the past three detentions—the Cruciatus curse until he decides I’ve had enough. It’s isn’t that bad, really, I was worried he would do something much worse that could hurt my injuries from the fight. Besides, I’ve gotten used to the Cruciatus curse over the past two years, and it’s not like Amycus can make it hurt as much as the Dark Lord can.

          He turns around to face me, pulling his wand from the sleeve of his robes in one fluid movement. As Amycus points his wand at me, I realize I don’t even feel afraid anymore, only a dull sort of reluctance to be here. I set my jaw and look Amycus dead in the eye, keeping myself from flinching when he hisses, “Crucio.”

          The spell hits me hard, and my chest automatically constricts from the sudden, intense pain. It feels as though my entire body is being burnt alive and, despite my efforts to contain myself, my knees buckle and I collapse onto the stone floor. My jaw is clenched so tightly to keep from screaming that my teeth feel as though they’re about to crack, and my back arches as the curse intensifies. The image of Amycus’s boots begins to blur out as my eyes roll back inside my head, but to my credit, I don’t cry out in pain.

          My recently healed ribs are just starting to protest when Amycus finally cuts off the spell. I instantly collapse back against the floor, breathing heavily and squeezing my eyes shut while the pain slowly dissipates. But Amycus doesn’t allow me to rest for long—he bends down next to me and calmly orders, “Say it.”