You Did This
I looked up at Hermione who was staring questioningly at me. I took a deep breath. This was my chance to prove to her that I wasn't like she remembered. So much had happened to her today and it was my fault again. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Everything stupid I ever did was coming back and hurting her. I wanted to go back and smack my past self around for what I did.
I looked into her caramel eyes. They were angry, but I didn't blame her. She definitely had the right to be. In fact, she'd acted much better than I thought she would in response to me seeking her out. I had thought for sure that I'd at least get a smack to the face, but there was still time for that I guess.
"What did you do?" She had asked.
What did I do? I killed my own father, that's what I did. I remembered it, clear as day. I hated my father so much, but I would never kill him, not on purpose. But I guess I loved him enough to hate myself every day after it happened.
I rubbed my temples. I needed to tell Hermione what happened. I needed to tell her in a way so that she would see it was an accident. But I didn't know how to do that. I could only think of the same words I used to tell my mother and the Minister at the hearing.
Looking down at my shoes, I told Hermione the truth.
It was about a year ago. My mother and father were in the main level living area in our manor. They were fighting, again. I normally tried to avoid the fights by slipping to my room or heading to our library or the kitchen, anywhere, when I could feel the tension rising, but that night it happened suddenly.
I was sitting in the living area in a high backed chair next to the fireplace reading or something. My mother was in her usual leather chair, the one with the shall draped over it. She was writing or reading or maybe she was just sitting there. It was quiet. All I could hear was the cracking and popping of the fire and the grandfather clock in the corner ticking. The room was dark and it had no windows. The flames from the fire cast odd shadows onto the walls and over the display cases.
Then my father came in and all of a sudden they were fighting again. I don't remember what about, but they were really angry. I tried to sink down into the chair and ignore it. My father scared me. He scared my mother, but she was brave enough to yell back.
I remembered my mother start to cry after a while. That's when I put down my book and started to pay attention to what was happening. Between her sobs, she yelled something nasty at my father in her last attempt to end the fight on her side. I watched his face scrunch up and his eyes flashed and he looked truly scary. He bawled up his fists at his sides and then, SMACK. He'd hit my mother. He'd hit her right on the face.
She stopped crying. She was holding her cheek in shock. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but she looked completely calm. I felt my eyes grow as big as hers and anger surged through my body. She stood up strait and dropped her hand from her face and puffed out her chest trying to look brave. There was a huge bruise forming were he hand had been and I could see tears in her eyes that she was trying so hard to keep in now.
I felt my own fist bunch up. I stared at my mother who stared at my father. I waited for her to do something. To hit him back, yell at him, run away, cry, but she didn't. She just stood there and stared at him.
I stood up quickly, fist clenched, and marched to where my father was standing. I saw my mother notice me for the first time and recognize what I was about to do.
"Draco..." She said quietly reaching for my arm
I shook her off and stood right up into my fathers face. I was boiling with anger. I felt out of control, I couldn't stop my self. "Don't touch her you bastard!" I said between clenched teeth, and then I punched him, as hard as I could right under his eye.
He staggered backward and touched his skin where I hit him. It was already starting to bruise and swell. He looked just as surprised as my mother had been, but surprised and angry.
It felt good to punch him. I'd punched things and people before, but I really meant this. All those times I had dreamed about wrecking his face had gone into that punch. My hand throbbed. I held it close to my chest, feeling it start to bruise as well.
Then, with fire in his eyes, my father started at me. I blocked out the pain in my hand and took another swing at him as he came closer. But I missed and I felt something hit my head hard. I staggered backward and held a hand to my head. I heard my mother scream and start to cry again.
Everything was black for a second. My head hurt and I couldn't figure out why. I started to fall backwards and then forwards. Then I felt something hit my chin. I heard a crack and I coughed, surprised. My eyes cleared and I saw my father bring back his arm to punch me again. I tried to stand up properly but I felt dizzy and sick.
Hazily, I saw my mother grab a hold of my father's arms to stop him from swinging at me. I tasted blood and I felt it pouring down my lip and onto my chin. I saw my father throw my mother to the ground. Then he looked at me like he was debating whether or not to hit me again. Finally he turned around and walked out of the room.
I felt angry again. The metallic taste of the blood in my mouth made me angrier. The pounding in my head made me furious. My crying mother on the ground made me spitting. I bawled my fists and shook with anger. Blinded by hatred, I stormed after my father. My mother was yelling at me to stop, but I payed no attention.
I followed him out of the living area and down the dark halls and eventually out the front door. I didn't know what I was going to do to him, but I wanted to make him pay for hitting my mother, for hitting me, for controlling us our entire lives. He stormed around the front of the manor and walked to the back. It was dark out and hard to see. I followed his darkening shape around my mother's garden and past hedges that lined the house.
Suddenly I noticed that he was growing closer and I realized he had stopped walking. I was frightened by this for a second so I stopped and watched him. He was standing still with his back to me. His head was bent like he was looking down.
I walked closer, trying to see what he was doing. He turned around and looked at me. I sized up and glared at him. He looked right at me. Right at the bruise on my head and the blood on my chin and the fury in my eyes, and he didn't even look sorry about it.
We watched each other for a moment before he finally spoke.
"You did this." He said, his voice was flat and unemotional.
His voice rang through my head like a bell. You did this, you did this, you did this. Then he turned away from me again and walked strait forward and was gone.
I ran to where he had been standing and leaned over the cliff that ran just behind the manor. My heart started pounding. Ohgodohgodohgod. My shaking hands fumbled for my wand in my pocket. I gripped it tightly and then threw a ball of light down the dark chasm. It floated down gracefully, lighting up the edge of the cliff and the rocks and casting eerie shadows against the rock wall on the other side. I watched it intently, fearing what I would see when it lit the bottom.
Finally it settled on the rocky floor and I could see clearly the mangled shape of my father's body. Even from this far up I could see that his eyes where frozen open and staring at me. You did this. His hair was spread out in a fan above his head and his limbs were contorted.
"NO!" I screamed. My eyes welled with tears and poured down my face. I didn't bother to wipe them off, I let them roll down my cheeks and wash off the blood on my chin and fall down the cliff with my father.
"NO!" I screamed louder. My voice echoed off the other side of the cliff and bounced back to me. Then it hit me. This was my fault. I did do this. I crouched down into a ball and covered my face. "What have I done?" I whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Then my mother was behind me, yelling and crying, "Draco! What have you done?!" She shrieked.
I couldn't even answer her. I just sat there and cried. I wanted to jump off the cliff after my father, but I couldn't move. My mother was crying behind me, my father was dead below me, and everything, all of it, was my fault. You did this.
I looked over at Hermione. She was staring at me in disbelief. The look in her eyes told me she didn't believe a word I said. I looked away from her eyes and studied her face. Her brow was furrowed and her small lips were agape. The cut around her eye and up her forehead glistened with the jell I'd put on it and it look horribly painful. Something else that was my fault. Her brown bushy hair had tamed it's self since Hogwarts, but It was still sticking all all over the place. But that might be partially to everything that she went through today.
"Draco," She said.
My eyes snapped back to hers. I couldn't remember her ever saying my name without hate and disgust laced through her voice.
"Your father's death was not your fault." She said.
Shocked, I studied her. I couldn't believe it. She believed me. Hermione Granger, of all people, believed me. How could I ever have been so mean to someone so kind?
I shook my head. "No, Hermione." I said. "My father's death was an accident, but it was my fault."
"No it wasn't!" She said almost happily. "It was his fault! You didn't do anything!"
Maybe she was right, but my father's last words still haunted me, you did this.
I ran a hand threw my hair that had fallen down onto my face. I hated when it did that. I thought about taking a pair of scissors and just chopping it off.
"Thank's Hermione." I stood up.
She looked at me sadly and I had the feeling she knew I still believed it was my fault. I walked over to the little game I had set up earlier to pass the time and waved my wand so that the cones would stack themselves and the marble would roll back and hide under the bottom cone.
"I'm going to take a shower." I said and shuffled toward the bathroom door.
I emerged from the longest shower I'd ever taken, in a cloud of steam about an hour later. The room was dark and quiet. I tiptoed out and shut the door behind me. Looking over at the bed, I saw Hermione's sleeping form rise and fall slightly as she breathed.
I moved silently around the bed and to the large cabinet that was holding what Hermione said was a television. I opened the cabinet doors and found extra blankets I could use. I took them out and laid them orderly on the floor to make a makeshift bed. I knew that no matter how many blankets I put down, it was still going to be uncomfortable. I couldn't recall a time when I ever had to sleep on the floor. I'd always had a bed to sleep on and I became increasingly thankful for that as I stared at the pile of blankets.
My eyes traveled over to Hermione again. She was scrunched up into the fetal position underneath all the blankets. Her breathing was slow and steady. Her small face was just visible over the sheets and under her mop of hair. I realized she was beautiful. Despite what I had told her to believe about herself years ago at Hogwarts, she was beautiful. Not just her face, but she herself was a beautiful person.
I laid down on the blankets on the floor. I was right, it was uncomfortable. Pulling the blankets up to my face, I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. Because right then, in this quiet room, in this dark night, I didn't have anything to worry about.
That would change.