Author: Miss Bellatrix
Date: 15/09/03
A/N: As always, review! You all have the idea planted in your mind!
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Perfect.
Flawless.
Desirable.
I know of your envy. You want me. You want to be me. You want to know
what it feels like to look into the mirror and see perfect beauty, faultless flawlessness.
You yearn to see crystal blue eyes stare back at you while you comb back the
pale, white-blonde locks of hair. You desire to see that beautiful white skin
exposed as you dress for the day, or undress for the night. You would kill to
hear that sultry voice come from your throat, instead of mine.
Being the semi-intelligent being you are, you have realized that this can only
be a fantasy of yours. You can never be me. I will always be perfect. I
will always be above you.
That is why you did what you did, is it not? I brought out the truth in words;
in a letter to you left on your study table and it pained you so much that you
took revenge. First on Narcissa, you broke her wrist and her heart. You took shameless advantage of me and my
innocence, created havoc with my self-esteem, abused me until I was worthless
to anyone but you. You wanted it that way, for me to only belong to you. For I
am your son, and your heir. Noone is good enough for me in your eyes, and I
will never be allowed to love another. Your footsteps preceded you by mere
seconds, and you entered my room in the dead of night, eyes blazing from the
letter I wrote and left for you to find.
I sat there, against the black carved headboard and you simply stood there,
gazing down at your only heir. Then as quickly as you had come, you struck. I
first felt the blow to my head. Ah, you are using that cane of yours I see.
Blow after blow, I feel the bruises beginning to form on my arms, legs,
stomach. There is a loud, resounding slap, then a painful sting. You never
slapped my face before. Always on other parts of my body, the parts that can be
easily covered by clothing and not seen.
My hand goes to cover the quickly reddening and bruising cheek, is caught by
your own and slammed heavily against the cast-iron frame of my bed. My eyes
look up, searching for yours in the panic and flurry of pain coursing through
my body. You grab my silver-blond hair, much like your own, and toss me
painfully to the floor, nearly throwing me across the room in the process. I'm
smaller than you, by a few centimetres at least. What is your plan? The collar
of my robe rips violently and your fingernails graze my skin harshly, leaving
stark red lines on my throat as you pick me up and throw me on the bed again, against
the headboard. You stressed the delicate material too much, and it has torn. It
doesn't matter, as you'll just replace the robes anyway. You always have, after
something like this. I whimper quietly against your vicious touch and I
struggle a little, but no tears fall.
A Malfoy never cries.
I watch you warily, in a quiet moment as you reflect on what you've just done.
The anger surfaces again, and you grab me and fling me against the
cast-iron frame of my bed, not caring for the cry of pain you receive. Skin
blisters, hair breaks, muscles and tendons tear…but you care for nothing about
me. The abuse hits me in torrents, and I give up under your strength. You carry
18 years more than I, and you have the strength that proves it. Physically, you
abuse me. Mentally, you tear me up inside so badly that I can't even maintain a
relationship with another person in my life. Noone is good enough, not for your
son. Noone- whether they are pureblood, half-blood, or god forbid, muggle or
mudblood. My mind is in tatters, my soul tarnished, along with the bruises
across the rest of my physical flesh. Yet you walk away each day from this
without a scratch on your body, or a wound in your spirit.
I was perfect.
I was pure.
Yes, we share similar characteristics. The silver hair and blue eyes. Your hair
is long, easily tangled, and almost brittle in your age. Mine, on the other
hand, is short and kept in strict style throughout the day. Your eyes have
dulled, from a blue to almost smoky silver. My crystal blue eyes greet and
destroy all at once, one of my best assets. You may have an advantage of height
on me, but I have the muscle of numerous Quidditch practices, yet I retain that
elegant beauty, the lust of many. My voice is seductive, sultry if I wish it to
be. Yours is rough with anger, almost gruff. Rough with the abuse of many
years, assaulted by fire whiskey and death eaters meetings.
You mumble something about angels belonging in heaven, not on earth. I barely
have time to comprehend this as you hit me forcefully underneath my chin,
sending my head flying backwards into the headboard. No preparation. No
hesitation. No reaction on your face as I cry out in pain again. This is a side
of you I certainly have seen before, but have never wished to. I look up, and
our eyes meet for the first time since you entered the room. Unwillingly, my
eyes fill up with humiliated tears, and my head is jarred against the bed
wantonly as a punishment of my weakness. I may be an angel, but I will remain
on earth for the rest of my life. You've ripped off my wings and broken my
spirit.
There is no love, no admiration, no other emotion but anger, and I expected
nothing less. We are, after all, the Malfoy family.
I was born your son, your only heir. When I was young, you were my hero. My
father, the strong, stable, silent one. The one who disappeared all-day and
only returned at night for dinner. I eagerly strived to be good in your eyes. I
was perfect. You told me so.
You moulded me into the being I am today. Narcissa told me I was flawless in
every aspect, but I never believed her. You were what mattered, your opinion
was all that counted. I was to never answer to anyone, yet forced to answer to
you. I am a pureblood, and a Malfoy.
You said I was perfect. I believed you, and you took advantage of that. You
were determined to drag me down to your level, to your hell. You wanted, no,
you needed, to prove to yourself that I was not perfect, that you
were. But you weren't, and even deep in your own heart you realised that.
Yes, I'm sure you're remembering everything you've ever done to me. I hope you
feel everything I felt. You never took the time to listen to me, or even see
what you were doing to me, too determined were you to take what you wanted
whenever you wanted. I was in pain, emotional pain. I was drowning, and you
never lifted a finger to save me.
You said I was perfect.
You said I was pure.
You lied, father.
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