Disclaimer: Do I own Draco? Do I own Hermione? Do I own anything? Hmm, let me think... No.

A/N: So, my second Dramione oneshot, I seem to be rather creative these days. Hope you like it. Btw, I honestly don't get why some people flame. Constructive critisism: Very appreciated. Insults: Not so much.

Irony

I always expected to take great pleasure from seeing her suffer. I even dreamed about it, waking up with a smirk on my face. I made her cry, several times, and I enjoyed every second of it. Yeah, things were supposed to be completely different. As different as can be. It's ironic, really, that I of all people can't see her like this without wanting to turn away and cry.

I was as thrilled to receive the Dark Mark as I was scared. Especially when I figured out why exactly that honor was bestowed upon me. A punishment for my father's failure. With benefits for the Dark Lord. When I got my assignement – to kill Dumbledore – there was nothing left of the thrill. Being a Death Eater wasn't as fun as I'd assumed. I don't know how anyone can enjoy it, really.

I spent a year desperately trying to find a way to get out of this alive. Sometimes I think I should have just accepted help. In the end, I was nothing but lucky. Had Snape not killed the old fool for me, I would have ended up exactly where she was.

The only thing I did for her was not identify her and the other two, and that – I must admit – was hardly more than an act of fear. Never do anything that might provoke the Dark Lord's wrath. I'm a coward, I'm fully aware of it, thanks. But it was her, I knew the moment I saw them bring them. And instead of rejoycing, I wanted to run and hide.

I saw them do things, every day, to Muggles, mudbloods – even half-bloods – and enemies of the Dark Lord. I know. I know their patterns by heart. First, they'd torture her until she was begging for death, then they might rape her – always depending on looks and who was present – and then, after a bit of more Crucio, she'd die in the flash of green I'd become so familiar with.

Apparently, I'm not Death Eater material. I have to excuse myself to vomit every time someone goes through the procedure. I never get their screams out of my head, sometimes I even wish I could Oblivate myself, because the nightmares will never stop. I never participated. I tried, once, then passed out. They laughed at me. From that time on, all I was forced to 'enjoy' was watch. It was horrible enough.

It as Bellatrix of all people who started Cruciating her. And – like I said – absolutely nothing about it was in any way satisfying. I always thought she deserved it, I hated her, detested her, cursed her mere existence. But she did not deserve this. Noone did. I simply stood there and watched.

She'd looked tired when she was brought in, that had been enough to make my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. Tired, exhausted, scared. There was no need for torture, that girl had gone through enouth the past months. I heard how difficult it'd been not to get caught, constantly on the run, doing Merlin knows what to defeat the Dark Lord.

I secretly wish they'll succeed. This is no way of living. I'm not ready to spend the rest of my glorious days frightened. The Dark Lord is as ready to kill his followers as mortal enemies. Especially when they're unable to torture and slaughter innocents.

First, there was no sound that left her lips, her face twisted, trying to pull herself together. I don't know why she bothered. It only lead to Bellatrix doubling her efforts. She fell to the marble floor, first on her knees, then to her side. It shouldn't have been a big deal, the way she hit the cold tiles, but I involuntarily flinched and shivered at the thought that she was writhing on the very same ground I was standing on. I'd played there as a kid.

Her face soon turned into a mask of horror, while curl after curl of her unruly hair fell into her tearing eyes, her body jerking with every wave of her tormentor's wand. Her screams were even louder than Bellatrix' high-pitched, evil, mad laughter. There was nothing appealing about this. It was simply cruel to watch and made me sick to the stomach.

It's a miracle she made it out of there alive and relatively unharmed. I didn't fight them when they escaped.

Now, she's standing right in front of me, wand to wand, and Potter and the Weasel don't matter. I'm just oddly relieved to see her okay. Not that I let it show, of course. Imagine what she'd say to that sick and twisted sense of irony!