Title: And So Death Rules
Author: Understarryskies (Raven)
Summary: Suicide is the only option when your world no longer cares about you. The question is, when is that?
Warnings: Character death, violence, non-con (rape), Language, Slash. Nothing very graphic
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own any of the characters from the Harry Potter books or films. J.K. Rowling does and I envy her.
Words: 2838
I don't think my father ever really loved me. I was his son but all he saw was a person to help him gain more power. He probably didn't even see me as a person, just a thing, an object.
Sometimes I wonder if that is what he saw when I was born. Did he see me as a young boy or as a way to make a grab at power?
What about my mother? Did he see her like that; another object to own and use to his advantage? I don't think he ever loved her. Not truly. He was too cold, too cold to let anyone into his life.
It was Voldemort's fault. He was the one who destroyed the name 'Malfoy'. True, we were never really liked but if anyone was kind to us then we were kind back. I hoped I could change it so that we were like that again, not know for our 'want of power'. I should have known better. Most people can't see that I am not my father.
I wonder, now, what made father change in the first place? Was it pressure from others? Or was he already corrupt and just needed a leader. Whatever it was convincing him, it worked. There was nothing Mother could do. Malfoy became a hated name.
Father grew in Voldemort's ranks. He showed he was loyal and could kill and torture, without hesitation. Voldemort soon saw the power he could gain if he used my Father effectively. After a short time as a Dark Side follower, my Father became Voldemort's right-hand man.
Then I came. Voldemort was delighted. I know for a fact that he saw me as a spy. He saw me as a replacement for my father, should he ever need one. Voldemort didn't care what my Father wanted; Voldemort would get his way.
Now as I look back I can see when Father started to train me to follow in his steps. He was never kind to me but when I was five suddenly he was just cruel. When he came back from Death Eater meetings, he would come into my room and verbally abuse me before kicking me or hitting me. It wasn't too bad; I thought I could handle my Father. I was so very wrong
I remember the first time he really hurt me, when I was nine. He had come back from the meeting. You could instantly tell he was back. The house shook as he slammed doors and broke glasses. My Mother did nothing but dutifully repair the glasses for him to break again. I heard he cry out when he first threw a glass at her, but otherwise she was silent as her hurt her.
For a time there was silence and I stupidly thought that maybe he had calmed down. He burst suddenly into my room and grabbed my hair. His eyes were wild, filled with anger. I was terrified. Malfoys are never scared. It's just not something Malfoys do. But none of them have ever seen my Father in his terrible fits of rage. Around Father I am terrified, absolutely fucking terrified.
That night was the first time that I felt that terror. My Father dragged me by the hair out of my room and towards the dungeons, banging me on the walls as much as possible. My Mother tried to stop him but he just bodily threw her out of the way. I will never forget the look on her face as I was dragged past. I only saw her for a second but when I saw it I felt so deeply loved. She was scared, scared for me. No one has ever been scared for me; no one but my Mother and my lover.
I had always known what was in the dungeons. I had always known about the torture that were carried out there under Voldemort's orders. I could sometimes hear the screams of victims as they took their last breaths. It had never occurred to me that I might become a victim.
The stone room was freezing cold and filled with daunting shadows. Glinting torture devices, some still slicked with blood, seemed to loom out of the darkness. My father waved his free hand, the other one still gripping my hair, and candles illuminated the room. I wish they hadn't. Now I could see the glass showcases with knifes, clubs and other devices I didn't recognize. My legs collapsed and my Father let me fall to the ground, kicking me in the stomach. And that was just the beginning.
When I crawled out of that dreaded room, I was unrecognizable. I was covered in blood and sweat. Tears had long since stopped tumbling from my eyes; I just didn't have the energy. There were cuts and gashes strewn across my body. My father had managed to break my ankle, crush three ribs, dislocate my wrist and crush most of the bones in my other arm.
My Mother found me unconscious on the living room floor, the pain and sheer blood loss too much for me. It took her 2 weeks to fully nurse me back to health, or something like it, but the damage was done. My Father had found a new punch bag and I would never be mentally well again until I met my love, and even then I didn't recover fully.
Over the course of my life my Father managed to almost kill that same way, 34 times. Each time my Mother had to nurse me for around 2 weeks to get me living properly again.
Then he found a new sport. Every night, instead of hurting me, he would rape me. I have never felt so horrible in my live than when he shoved himself in me. He didn't prepare me, he just pushed himself in. I was torn, ripped apart, physically and mentally. I have never been the same again.
Of course Voldemort heard about the new stress relief and had to try. It was disgusting, having his huge cock inside of me, and that was before he and my Father fucked me at the same time. The first time they both penetrated me together, I truly thought I would die. The pain was so intense.
Again my Mother found me; this time there was nothing she could do. I slipped into madness for three days. All I would do was lie in my bed and talk to the wall. I don't remember any of it. Only Mother does.
By the time I was eleven I had turned to hurting myself in order to try and distract my mind from the things they did, and stop me from going mad again. It helped but it left me even weaker than before and unable to wear anything but long sleeves. Unfortunately although it helped, I could still feel myself falling into madness.
Then I fell in love. It was the most amazing and pure feeling I had ever felt. Whenever I saw them I would feel elevated, my heart would fill with joy. I still needed to cut myself but not as much anymore. All I had to do was create an image of him and my heart would soar.
Yes, him. I was in love with someone of my own sex. I could never tell my Father, he would kill me. How I craved to be touched by him, talked to by him; hell even have him look at me with anything but hate. But I could never be with him. He would never love me back and even if he did no one would let us be. You see, I fell I love with the wizarding worlds Golden Boy. I fell in love with Harry Potter.
"It would never be possible," I would always tell myself. "He is too good for you. No one will ever love you. You have been fouled, no one would ever love something so disgusting." Despite telling myself this constantly, I still held to that love, a beacon of light in the blackness that had become my life. How stupid I was.
For some reason that I suppose I shall never know, I requested that I talk to Harry in private. There I told him that I was in love with him. I fled the scene instantly, scared at how carried away I was and dreading the rejection that would inevitably come.
The next morning I got an owl from him. He wanted to talk to me again and had proposed that we meet after breakfast in an empty classroom nearby. I decided that I might as well face the rejection like a Malfoy.
I got there early. I waited around for about half an hour, almost killing myself I was so anxious. He slipped in through the door and I felt my breath hitch at the movements of his body. He turned round and looked at me. I was shocked and stunned to see him looking at me with love pouring from his eyes.
He told me how he had lusted after me for years, wishing that there was some way to tell me how he felt. I was stunned. I thought I would never have a chance with Harry but now here he was infront of me telling me how he lusted after me. Minutes later he was kissing me, hard and passionately.
We progressed slowly in our relationship over the weeks, darting quickly into empty classes and using his cloak to sneak into each others rooms. He was stunningly beautiful and I often felt he would leave me; after all I was Malfoy, disgusting, cruel and fouled, unlike the gorgeous Savior.
This insecurity made me use my knife again. I would cut myself to stop my mind from thinking about Harry leaving me. I couldn't let him see the cuts and scars so I used glamour all the time. It was the only thing, apart from my Father, that I hid from him.
When we were a year into our relationship, we had sex for the first time. I was ecstatic. It was the first time that someone, apart from my Father and Voldemort, had entered me; and this time it was because they loved me. Despite this I still didn't tell him about my Father, but somehow Father found out about him.
I had never seen Father so angry in my life than the time he confronted me about my lover. His eyes were red with rage, his face twisted into a horrendous snarl as he shouted at me. Eventually it was too much for him and he just grabbed me by the throat and picked me up. He carried me down the dungeon, only just alive, not quite strangled.
He chained me to the wall and extracted a club from the weapons holder. It had small spikes on it, not long enough to seriously wound me. His first blow hit my left leg, twisting my kneecap out of place and making me scream. The next blow hit me lower on the same leg, breaking most of my toes. The next broke a rib and the next crushed my hand. The blows kept coming until finally, mercifully, one hit my head, opening a huge gash and knocking me unconscious.
When I pulled myself out of the darkness I expected, for some reason, to be in my bed. Instead I woke to the cold floor of the dungeon. The intense pain pierced through the fog and all thoughts were forgotten, as I screamed at the agony. My Father appeared in my vision, sneering at me. He cruelly stepped on my crushed foot, grinding it into the ground and sending spasms of agony up my body. He laughed, the cold, taunting sound echoing through my mind.
For the next hour he raped me continuously, making me bleed constantly with his brutal actions. Whilst he fucked me he craved words into my skin: 'slut', 'whore', 'bitch'. I cried until I had no tears left and screamed and yelled until I lost my voice.
At the end of it all he turned me round to show my Mother, tortured and killed, strung up on the wall. It was the final blow. I fainted onto the floor of the room were too many had met their deaths, hopeful that just maybe I would meet mine. I still had Harry though, right? Wrong.
When I had nursed myself back to health I owled him. He never replied. I must have almost killed my owl with all the letters I sent Harry. Not a single answer. Then, on the last day of the holidays, I got a reply. All it said was 'We can't be together. Sorry.'
My heart was broken. My life was gone. First I lose my Mother and now Harry. I simply gave up. I never went back to Hogwarts. In fact I never again left my room until now. I starved myself, giving up on the will to feed myself. I no longer had my beautiful, loving Mother to care for me. The strongest being in my life was gone. She was strong sure, but not strong enough to go against my Father. When I heard that my Father had been put in Azkaban, hope soared in my chest for a minute then dropped. He wasn't dead yet and neither was I.
Soon I turned back to my old habit. I found myself spending most of my day sitting in my room, gutting myself. It felt good, so right. I was a disgusting, foul thing that deserved pain.
Eventually everything has to come to an end though, and this is why I am writing this. This world has taken its toll on me. I can no longer live in happiness. I can only hope that I can find my Mother in the next world. Maybe I can find happiness away from the memories. I hope whoever finds this tells the world.
I have slit my wrists. There is blood everywhere. I can only just keep writing. I can feel my life force ebbing away. This is what it feels like to die. If only I were not alone. I love you Harry. I loved you all along. I may never know why you killed me that day but just know I still love you. I must go now. I can hear my Mother calling in her soft, loving voice. I cannot wait to see her beautiful face.
Oh god it is so cold, Harry. Goodbye my love.
Harry's hands shook, the sheets of parchment falling from his betraying fingers. Tears poured down his face, blurring his vision. He closed his eyes, trying to block the images, but they continued to relentlessly torture him.
He had gone to the Malfoy manor to apologize and explain his behavior. Instead he had followed a blood trail. At its end he had found Draco, arms slit from wrists to elbow. He was clutching a bloodstained stack cluster of parchment and a blood covered pen. His face was paler than ever, the color of death. His mouth was pulled into a peaceful smile. For the first time in his live, Draco was happy and at peace.
Harry opened his eyes again and looked down at his one true love. He gave a bloodcurdling scream that would haunt the house for years to come, and fell to the floor. He pulled Draco to him, hugging him tight, as if it might somehow bring him back. His tears fell onto Draco running down from his eyes, making him look like he was crying too. Harry took a deep breath, remembering his lover's scent.
"Oh god, Draco," Harry keened, his heart tearing in a million pieces. "How could I have done this? This is all my fault. I should never have broken up with you like that. I love you and always have, but it was too dangerous. You might have been killed. I could never live if I killed you, and now I have." Harry screamed again and fainted.
His dreams engulfed him. Draco was smiling at him. Draco was kissing him. Draco was soaring gracefully on his broom. Draco was slowly making love to Harry. Tears continued to fall long after the brunette had passed out. He was so cold, ready to die. He felt a gentle, caressing gust of wind surround him. He took at deep breath, breathing in his lover's scent for the last time before Draco was gone.
That was a long, hard story to write. Interesting though. I liked playing round with all the ideas in my head. Hmm… hope it worked well. Please drop a review. I love getting them, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. I need that right now. The suicide was based on my experience and is making me fell a bit 'uck'. Anyway thanks for reading.