Towards or from, he had always been running.

A Dramione drabble. Three years and the war hasn’t ended.

He is shaking, trembling with muted rage. His metal-like eyes flash for a delirious second, the change microscopic in the air, thick and heady. “You and me. We’re both marked, Granger. With the same thing we’re trying to run towards or from.”

He bites back a snarl, the sound echoing inside his chest, and his pale hand snatches the cuff of his suit, and he yanks it up, his nails scratching, dragging it, all the way up, up, revealing veins running like blue rivers, his perfect blood. His left arm, his fucking cursed arm. And the grey never leaves her. She can’t breathe, she wants to look away. Why now, why him, why, why. Stop, please.

She can’t stop it. As if magnetic, it calls her. And it’s there, the serpentine form, dark and burning, slithering, venom inside his own flesh, black poison. It writhes and it’s a stain inside his white skin, once a proud decision, now his fiery demise. He’s watching her, the delicate bravery leaving her eyes for a moment, a horrifying moment. When the brown finds him again, he stares at her mark.

His voice is guttural and deep, his mercurial irises taunting, “Are you running away or from, Granger?”

She raises her chin high in the air, trying to look unfazed but he knows better. Her voice shakes when she speaks. She hates it. “If you think I feel ashamed of what you’ve classified me as all of these years then you—-“

“But it has crossed your mind. Don’t lie to me. I see you so well. I always did.” Shake her, taunt her, even if you know it’s a lie, a dirty lie. “How difficult that must’ve been…” he muses, his porcelain skin glowing in the room.

Her blood boils and now her words come out rushed and trembling. It’s not uncertainty now, it’s rage. “What about you, Malfoy? Towards or from?”

A laugh escapes his lips as a husky exhale. He releases his suit and strides towards her. She immediately tenses and shoots a warning glance his way.

She backs away from him, and it pains her. You’re not weak, you’re not weak. But his face is hard and cold so she stares at the floor instead.

“What has connected us since we were born has made us equal, Granger. Blood. Always blood. Red, perfect blood…” he croons softly. He’s close enough for her to touch and her skin is crawling. She grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut when his hand lifts towards her face.

He doesn’t touch her but she feels the sizzling heat of his flesh hovering over her cheeks. His voice changes, she imagines his sneer painted across his lips, voice thick and rough, “…and filthy, dirty, mud-filled blood. Such contrast. We aren’t the same, they said. The magic you possess, you do not deserve. That I am the greatest, that I am above you.”

“Get on with it, then.” she growls. Please, leave, leave, I can’t breathe, I can’t see anymore. “Kill me. You hate me, you despise me, you want me dead!”

Malfoy takes a step back, but he’s still towering over her, his scent suffocating her. His voice is an arsenic hiss, “Look at me when you’re lying to me.”

Her eyes snap open and against her will meet his, bones aching, mouth open and dry. What?

“You and I, we’re both the same.” he says. Her eyes are wide, and she shivers again. “Red blood pulsing and licking away our skin. Red.” His somewhat soft expression changes to a much more sinister one, and he visibly shakes with rage, “Though how much I wished you were filled with mud and dirt.” He takes that air-giving step forward and he lowers his face and he’s right there, his nose almost touching hers, “When I saw the red flowing on the floor, on the same house where I learned and grew up to hate you, I fucking wished for you to bleed filth. Just so it wouldn’t hurt so fucking much. Watching you, getting scarred with that word I sent your way every time I could.”

The Manor. Such a long time that was, now a dreamy, terryfing memory in her mind. “What are you—-“

His fist slams against the hard, moist wall beside her head. She recoils but her eyes never leave his. “You’re a mudblood, below me, so fucking dirty. And I am the King, the one with the pure, saint blood… What a fucking lie. Then why do we bleed the same?”