The Mudblood

Chapter 108 : Summer

Because it didn't matter that they weren't my blood. It didn't matter that Ray and Lisa didn't physically create me. Mentally and emotionally, they made me who I was. They raised me to be good and strong and to love. And if they saw what I'd become—if any of the Fitzroys saw what I'd become or what I'd done—they would be appalled...but they wouldn't hate me. They could never hate me, I knew that. They would hate what I did, but they wouldn't hate me. They would try to help me because...because they loved me. Even though I wasn't truly a Fitzroy, I was still their family. Blood didn't matter. It had never mattered to me. The Fitzroys were more real to me than these strangers in this photograph. They may have brought me into this world but they didn't raise me. They were dead.

But Harry...Harry wasn't dead... He was still alive—maybe. Or maybe Snape had killed him after I left Hogwarts. Or maybe Snape had brought him back here to be executed by Voldemort. And even if none of those were the case, Dumbledore was still dead thanks to Draco and I, and that would surely mean Harry's defeat. My brother's defeat. In trying to save my fake brothers, I'd doomed my real brother. And possibly the entire wizarding world. I barely refrained myself from crushing the picture of the Potters in frustration.

"What the bloody..." a voice began from outside in the hall, trailing off as it approached. I swallowed back my irritation and forced myself to glance over at the door to my bedroom. Draco Malfoy was peeking his head in through the hole I'd created, gawking at it. His white-blond hair was a disheveled mess and his pale face was covered with soot and dust and splattered blood. I imagined I looked just as horrendous; my wild hair was contained in a knot on top of my head, but I could feel the layer of grime on my face, the residue of the battle we'd escaped—or ran away from, more accurately.

"What are you doing in here, Fitzroy?" Draco finally asked as he lightly kicked the door open. "You-Know...er...the Dark Lord will want to see us—"

"Do you think I give a damn about what the Dark Lord wants anymore?" I questioned, trying to cover the cry in my voice by coughing. "He's going to kill us no matter what."

Draco shifted awkwardly, eyeing me where I sat curled up against the side of my bed. "Dumbledore's dead—"

"Snape killed him. We failed. We didn't complete the task the way he wanted us to, and he's going to punish us for it."

"I thought you said you'd prevent him from killing us if the time came?" he questioned, his hidden agitation now unearthing itself. "I thought you said everything was going to be okay?"

"Why do you ever believe anything I say!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet with the photograph still gripped tightly between my fingers. "Every word I say is a lie! Everything I've ever believed is a lie! Everyone is a liar! No one—no one can be trusted—"

"What the hell are you talking about, Fitzroy?" he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing skeptically at me where I stood right in front of him. He wanted to step back, I could tell, but something about the ferocity of my expression kept him still.

"Do not call me that," I snarled as I grabbed the collar of his shirt, twisting it tighter around his neck. His hands immediately flew up in a sign of surrender.

"Call you what?" His voice held a slight tremor of fear. The coward Malfoy, the one who hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore and had gladly fled from the fight, was rapidly resurfacing.

"Fitzroy! Don't call me Fitzroy!" I bellowed, yanking his collar so hard that he nearly fell on top of me.

"It's your name—"

"It's not!" I cried, my voice finally cracking as tears swelled in my eyes. "It's not my name! I've been lied to! Everyone knew—you probably knew—"