I do not own ANY of these characters. I do not own Harry Potter nor am I affiliated with J.K. Rowling in ANY way. Nor do I own Nature Boy by Nat King Cole or the words from Moulin Rouge. This story is for mature audiences and contains some elements of rape. If you have a problem with this, please do not continue with this story. I do not condone rape in any form.
The woman he loved. Is. Dead.
There was a boy. A very strange enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye but very wise was he. And then one day, a magic day, he passed my way and while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me, "the greatest thing, you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." Nat King Cole.
She struggled. He watched, dumbstruck, as she struggled. Oh dear God. He shouldn't care. She was filthy. A dirty, despicable, mudblood. But she was writhing on the floor, screaming, and her shrill shrieks of agony resounding miserably in his ears.
"CRUCIO! CRUCIO!" His Aunt Bellatrix flicked her wand again and again, her face twisted in a disturbing mixture off anger and what seemed like lust. "Stupid girl."
She stopped the spells, walked over to the crumpled for and kicked out hard with her pointed boots. Blow after blow, kick after kick, and the whimpering sounds were too much for him to bear. Draco Malfoy turned his face away, revulsion threatening to make him be sick on the floor. Dirty despicable mudblood. But this was different and how he wasn't sure. Was it because he knew her? Because he knew her name? Surely not. But then why? Why was he feeling so revolted? Granger.
"Enough Bellatrix! We need more answers and she won't provide them dead." Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, sounded bored as he crossed the room to take Bellatrix by the arm.
She bared her teeth and fought against his strong grip, then tore her arm from his grasp and flounced away, calling, "WORMTAIL! Where is that dratted….Wormtail!"
"He is attending to the others," Lucius drawled, "Draco! Take the mudblood to the spare cell downstairs. The small one on the other side of the house. I don't want her near the others."
Draco gritted his teeth, "Yes, Father." He strode over to the small broken body, "Get up." There was no response. "Get up, Granger." Still nothing. "Good Lord." Draco rolled his eyes, bent and picked her up, flinging her over this shoulder. She was skin and bones. He could feel her ribs shift as he moved…broken.
"Secure her there and come back up, you can interrogate her later," his mother spoke softly from the shadows. Draco turned and made his way out of the room, down the hall, across the foyer, down another hall and finally to the closet where the hidden stairs to the cellar were. The tugged open the door and pushed lightly on the lack panel which swung open noiselessly. Shifting Granger slightly, he made his way into the passage and shut the panel door. Several torches alit as he swiftly traversed the stairs, opening the wooden door at the bottom. "Alohamora," The door swung open at his wands request and he moved inside. There in the corner of the room was a torture table. He slid Granger from his shoulder and plopped her down lightly on the table. Her bruised and lacerated face was covered in blood, stemming from a gash on her forehead. Her wrist looked broken as did several ribs. Draco brushed a few strands of curly hair off her cheek and reached for a manacle.
"Ple…"
He jumped back, startled, to find her eyes open with tears streaming down and mixing with the blood. Oh Lord, she was looking at him, searching his eyes with her own.
"Please…" Her voice was soft and cracked, barely audible through the damaged lips.
"Don't talk to me, Mudblood." Draco said brusquely grasping her wrist lightly and forcing it into the metal bracelet of the manacle. It pulled her shoulders up slightly, causing her to flinch and cry out in pain. He could feel his eyebrows knitting in confusion and frustration.
Why? Damnnit, why? It's not like they were pals, bosom chums, anything more than mortal enemies. But despite everything he had ever done or said there had always been a deeply hidden and much resented respect for this girl. He was surrounded day in and day out by morons. At school he often longed for stimulation conversation. Draco would rejoice in anything more than one syllable answers and unintelligible grunting. He doubted whether or not Granger ever received thought-provoking conversation of a stimulating nature herself. Hanging out with that Potter and the Weasel could hardly be that conversationally motivating.
"Malfoy, please…" her faint choking words brought him out of his brooding.
He snapped his eyes down, "I thought I said to shut up." Draco watched as her mouth opened and a tiny bubble of crimson blood slowly formed with her labored breathing. His breath caught in his throat, "Oh, Hell." That couldn't be good.
"Please…" The bubble popped and a trickle of blood ran across her cheek, "…kill me."
"N….NO!" Draco stepped back, aghast, what the hell was she asking of him? Her head lolled on the table as her eyes rolled back in her head. "Granger? GRANGER? What in bloody hell?" He demanded, but she had fainted from the pain. Kill? Good Lord, he couldn't kill her. She was a student. She was like him. No. No, she was dirty and he should kill her. He couldn't. He fingered the wand in his belt, sliding it gently between his thumb and first finger.
The door suddenly banged open and Narcissa, Draco's mother glided in with a small bowl of water and a house elf called Grafl clutching a small rag. "Clean it," she muttered to the elf, setting the bowl down by Granger's head and pointing to the face. Grafl set to work dabbing the blood from Granger's face and arms.
"Mother?" Draco peered into his mother's face, noting with slowly simmering rage, the beginning of a bruise blossoming under her left eye.
"Just because we harbor a mudblood does not constitute blatant cruelty. Besides, the more blood loss inflicted now, reduces the chance of her continued interrogation. Your father does not agree, but I have settled this matter." Narcissa used her want to prod spots on Granger's face and arms, jabbing perhaps just a bit harder than necessary. "There. Her bones should be mostly on the mend. I will ask you to supervise Grafl. Supper will be ready when you come back upstairs. Draco nodded with a quick jerk of his head and turned to monitor the house elf as she provided her ministrations.
"Young Master? Why look so sad, sir?" the house elf had finished wiping off the worst of the blood and was grazing the towel gently across the work "Mudblood" now branded on the left forearm.
"It's nothing, Grafl. Continue with your work." Draco bit his lip, thinking, and crossed to leave the room.
"Don't worry, Master Draco. She will still be lovely after Grafl is done."
Draco spun around and advanced, pulling his wand and pointing it at Grafl, "What did you say to me?" His voice was low and threatening.
"Nothing sir, nothing. Grafl meant no disrespect, sir. Grafl was only seeing through your eyes, sir. Never again , sir. Sorry, sir."Grafl bowed, terrified, grabbed the bowl of blood tinged water and with a faint pop, disapperated.
"Seeing? Seeing through my eyes? What?" Draco shook his head, confused, and thundered through the door, pausing to throw a contemptuous look at where the elf once stood. "Knows nothing. Stupid Elf."