Powder
Warnings: Explicit Drug Use and Slash. * * * * * * * * * * * *
The line of white powder slides back and forth with the movements of the card board. Tiny specks left over on the shimmering reflective surface to be licked up later. To be picked up by a slicked finger and rubbed lovingly into teeth and gums. Its almost glamourouse when he pictures it in his head. Slowly a line is made just the length and thickness desired and a rolled up piece of paper is brought towards what he supposes will be the beginning of the line. The fist time he's ever done this and he's not sure exactly what to do.
Sniff, obviously, but he's not sure if there's something more to it and is too scared to ask. He wants to scream "This is a key moment in my life. I will remember this forever", but he doesn't. He doesn't tell her that he's just going to try this. That he isn't an addict and is not of the temperament to become one. But he does believe in trying new things at least once. Just once.
She catches his momentary pause and grins at him with adoration and glee, "Just suck it up fast. It'll be fine". Her eyes are filled with all the sparkle of a mother teaching her child to read. But she's not his mother and Narcissa wouldn't even know what this muggle powder is. Narcissa and Lucius would disapprove because it's 'muggle', they wouldn't really understand the significance of that slightly uneven white line. That velvety soft power staring innocently up at him.
Leaning his head down and blocking off one nostril he breaths in through he other as hard as he can and sucks up the line with all the nonchalance he can muster. But Pansy seems to know in her twinkling eyes how strange this is for him no matter how hard he tries to act cool. No matter how he pretends this is no big deal. It is a big deal.
As she starts to dab at the remaining powder with her index finger he sits back in his chair still making little sniffs. He can feel powder around his nostril and starts to rub the base to get it off. Even when Pansy tells him there's nothing there he can feel the dry powder surely giving him away. A signal marking him so everyone else will know what he just did. He's not sure why that would be bad. Prehaps if he walked around with a white ring on his nostril everyone would know what he did and would think that he was trying to show off. Think that he left it there on purpose so that they would know, and he doesn't want them to think that it's that important to him. Doesn't want them to think that this means anything to him. Perhaps he's just ashamed of having done it, even if it is only this one time.
The dripping starts almost immediately and he wants to ask if that's normal only he's worried that she will laugh at him. . . or look horrified. What if it's not normal? But once he starts to concentrate on it he can't stop. Just behind his nose there is suddenly a thick lump of water which he can't quite feel but *knows* its there. It keeps letting drops fall rhythmically down his sinus' and throat. He feels like he should want to sneeze but his body doesn't. Like he should blow his nose or snort it further down but all his sniffing does little more then gain a grin from Pansy and pause the dripping for one beat. Just one beat in this new inner drumming which make him twitch. The harder he tries not to consentrate on it the harder it is to ignor.
"It's Ok," she tells him, "Its supposed to drip. That's the best bit."
So he tries not to think about now uncomfortable it is. He tries not to wipe his nose again because he *knows* there is "nothing there", no matter what he *feels*. To just pretend there isn't this insistent pulling at the back of his nose with every drop that makes him want to snort loudly and scratch all the way into his sinus'. Each drip hits the back of his throat and he swallows reflexively even though it's not needed. He almost wants to reach because something is dripping down the back of his nose and onto the throat and tounge! But he knows it's not some disgusting flue bile so he tries to hold in the impulse to run and be sick. He wants to drink something to wash away the feel but knows the next drip will just bring it back.
He's certain it's not doing anything to him as he sits concentrating on the shadows and talking to Pansy. He tells her more then he ever has before in expressive metaphors and lets himself go because they share this now, but it has nothing to do with the powder that he draws in again and again at her urgings during the night. It's not doing anything at all.
But then he asks her the time and it's lunch the next day and he isn't tired at all. He's clear and focused and everything is normal. He just *wants* to sit and talk and talk and talk. . .
It has nothing to do with the powder at all, he's sure.
When Blaise comes in and drags him off to the Great Hall he knows something's wrong because hundreds of people are eating that foul smelling food. Hundreds of people shovelling in what *looks* like chicken and salad and meat pies and pastries but smells like 10 day old garbage and makes him dry reach from the stink. The rotting *dead* smell of food that no one else but Pansy seems to notice. His stomach churns and he feels weak from the stench. His arms and knees feel twitchy but Blaise insists he isn't shaking.
He has to flee the sty and it's hundred pigs all grovelling down the rotting stench! He hides from the mirrors and their pail faced boy with blood shot eyes and an almost green complexion.
Back in his room he can't sleep so he just sits there staring at the canopy of his bed wondering where that wonderful happiness and togetherness of last night went. That unity he had with Pansy even as the drip drew some of his attention away from her. But now his nose feels nothing and *he* feels nothing but revulsion at the memory of that 'food'.
So when Pansy comes in with that little plastic bag and promises he will feel better if he just has a little more, just enough to make him forget that stench of death, he believes her. He believes her because he wants to not shake slightly from exhaustion as his eyes refuse to close and he wants his stomach to stop churning with emptiness even as the stench of food makes him want to throw up.
Just a little bit more so he wont feel like this and Pansy will lay down with him and touch him everywhere. Nothing sexual about her touch, just familiar and nice and warm in small circles and light caresses as that drip comes back. Only this time it's welcomed like an old friend and he doesn't try to wipe or sniff it away.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
One Year Earlier
The last day of the Christmas break and he was late. He was supposed to be home by 9 but it was nearing 10.30 already. He was still at Pansys house lying on her bed stroking her hair as they just floated away. Some drone of music at just the right level to be there and ignored in the background as he focused his attention on his hand. The strange and alien movments it made that he'd never realised before. Slight clicking of bones as his fingers manipulated their way through the strands of hair like levers on some muggle contraption.
If one finger pulled down to fast he could feel the pull of a muscle in his arm all the way up near his elbow. He imagined his arm as an empty cavern of dark crimson with a wiring system connected to variouse pieces of skin from the inside. Small rusted hinges and surprisingly white string in an intricate pattern where everyone else thinks there is flesh and bones. Pull that finger down and a long peicce of string is moved that connects to the elbow and tuggs ever so slightly at the skin there. Prehaps even tiny little critters that ensure none of the strings get tangled up together. Tiny little blobs in hard hats of rust to match the hinges. Because that was what he felt like wasn't it? A cavernous pit that was rusting inside?
What a depressing thought.
He stopped his hand in her hair and looked at the frozen appendage for a few moments. How did it move? How did he control it without realising it? That somehow his mind could control such a thing was incredible suddenly. 'Move!' he thought at it. He pictured the movement he wanted it to make, consentrated that image onto his hand but it remained still. Trying desperately to project the movment down the cavern of his arm to the fingers, so send the image of what he wanted them to do. Surely if he sends the instruction to his hand from his brain it will have to move.
'MOVE!'
After what feels like forever trying to command his hand to move with no success he starts to wonder if he can even remember how to move it unconciousely anymore. He consentrates so hard on it that he can't move even a single muscle and he wonders why it is that he can breath if he can't move his hand.
And then he stops breathing.
He thinks the movements in his head, 'breath! Lungs expand! Push your chest muscles out!' but nothing happens. His mind starts to thump with loss of air and he panics until Pansy rolls over to look at his purpling face and asks in concern if he is ok. Her voice brings him out of his consentration and he turns to assure her that he is fine and realises that he is breathing and talking and his hand is stroking her hair again.
So the trick was not to think about it. Which made sense really because this was the first time everything had stopped working and it was the first time he'd really thought about trying to make it work. Ironic.
"You'd better go." She tells the canopy in a flat and uninterested voice. She was right of course, he should go. He knew inside that his father would be mad at him and that he just might be in seriouse trouble but knowing that seemed to mean nothing. It was almost an alien though that had nothing to do with him. He was in trouble. He should leave. It made him laugh a little as if it where all someone else. And he didn't move because it seemed rediculas to believe that *he* was actually the one in trouble and that *he* was the one who was late. He had a sudden image of his entire body as one large empty cavern system of crimson red walls with shadows playing over the sandpaper textured surfaces like a surrealist painting. The system of white cords pulling as he sits up and then stands. Hundreds of relaxed white string lines moving over rusted hinges to accommodate his movements. But then a knott forms in his chest when all those interwoven ropes try to pull in different directions at once. The knott pulls at all his muscles and he spasms and wonders how long the little blobs in hard hats will take to fix the problem. There little red lights going off in alarm as they all run to the problem area and scream out in panic at the ruin of their delicate system.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. . ."
But pansy is looking at him strange and he's paused on the edge of the bed in mid stand with a horrified and amazed glaze in his eyes. She wouldn't understand if he told her he was apologising to the little blobs fixing his knott. He's not sure even he understands so he ignores the echos of screaming little blobs and stands up all the way to prove that he can and says good bye to his friend before flooing back home.
The moment he steps out of the fireplace a hard hand entwines in his hair in a mokery of his actions to Pansy. The slight pulling at his skull it causes doesn't so much hurt as surprise and pull at skin he never really though of as maliable. But when his shoulder makes violent contact with the edge of the mantel he does feel pain and it brings him out of his head and staring into the glowering eyes of his father. The slight narrowing of the brow doesn't change the fixed hew of his eyes, but for some reason they seem to grow darker. The flaring of his nostrils not so much a recognised thing and a subtle movement which makes the boy think of a snarling bull puffing out smoke and ready to kill the screaming masses who thought it might be fun to tempt him.
"What time is it, Draco?"
"I'm not sure, father. The clock at Pansys house was broken."
"Liar! Manipulative little creatin!"
With his screamed statement Lucius pulls harder at Dracos' skull and pushes him back into the marbel of the mantel before letting go. The suprisigly loud noise of the crack seems to surprise him or ebb his rage enough to allow that release.
The moment his head hit the marbel all ability to feel pain left his body and he found himself crying on the floor for no reason. He couldn't stop the tears no matter how much he tried and although he couldn't *feel* the dull throbbing in his head at the moment he knew he would be able to latter on.
"I'm the adult here, Draco! I make the rules and you follow them! What am I supposed to do when you don't respect that? What am I supposed to do? Answer me!"
But he couldn't answer anything. The familiar words seemed to wash over him and feed the tears on. There where so many reasons to cry and so many reasons not to cry right now. But he couldn't move, there where too many emotions. He just sat on the floor with his hands at his side crying and sobbing like a little child. His limbs felt heavy and weak and he was afraid to bring a hand up to his now throbbing skull because it would bring attention to his wound and his father would think he was trying to accuse.
"Answer me, Draco! What am I supposed to do? Do you know how much I hate this? How much I hate it when you make me do this? Do you think I like it? What am I supposed to do?"
Still sobbing he managed to choak out in a louder voice then he would have thought possible "I don't know!" between sharp intakes of breath that his sobs seemed to eat up. He was choking and couldn't breath but he couldn't stop crying either.
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't know!"
And he didn't know. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He didn't understand the question and he didn't know why he couldn't stop crying when he knew it agrivated the man so.
"Why are you crying!?!"
"I don't know!"
More sharp inhaling and a sickly asmatic kind of sound as he sobbed all the air he managed to draw in back out again with such force. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He didn't understand what was going on.
"How can you be crying and not know why your doing it?"
"I don't. . ."
"If you say you don't know again, Boy, I swear to merlin I'll belt you!"
"My head hurts. . ."
"So it's all my fault is it? Do you think you didn't deserve that?"
"No!"
"You're a weak, pathetic, slob! STOP CRYING!"
The voice held the authority of one fit to command and it somehow made the boys sobs mute. He still cried in earnest and sucked in breath as fast as he could while he whipped at his eyes and made little choaking sounds, but the reduction in volume seemed to settle his father some.
"What am I supposed to do, Draco?"
The question almost made the boy burst out in tears again, because he couldn't answer it. He didn't understand what his father was asking. What was he supposed to do about what? About him being late home at 16 years old? He was supposed to say your late and could have been in a ditch. He wasn't supposed to do this! But he couldn't say that. He could barly think it.
"I do. . .
"You don't know! Idiot boy!"
Lucius stormed off into the other room and the moment the door shut Draco's body relaxed. His shivering stopped and the tears ebbed away. He pulled a hand up to place it on his head where he could feel a bumb the size of a tennis ball but was no doubt a little lump. The skin was soft and tender and it made him want to push a hand down onto it and never touch it again all at the same time. Why did this always happen? Why did he think that he could stay at Pansys for just a little while longer? His father was right, he was an idiot!
With a loud burst the doors burst open and Lucius came striding back in with a pouch of floo powder and Draco's dog in each hand. Imediately his heart started to thump again. What was his father doing with Rosco? He'd had the dog for years! Surely his father wouldn't hurt him!
Placing himself in front of the floo with the dog Lucius looked up at him sharply.
"You don't listen to a word I say. Nothing I do even registers with you! Do you have any idea how worried I was? No! Because you don't think about that, do you? You don't think about other peoples feelings. Your just a selfish little boy who thinks he can do what ever he wants because he's 16! Well I'm 39, Draco, and that's a hell of a lot older then you. I made you and I own you and you'll learn to do as I say!"
A trembling started up in the boys limbs as he looked from his dog to his father in growing fear. A tingling sensation pushing out from his heart and into his limps as he faught the urge to run over and take the dog. To run away and never come back. Stupid little facts popping into his head. Pansy only lived an hour away, if he walked there she's keep him and Rosco safe. But he couldn't move.
"No, father, please. . ."
"Theres a friend of mine whose nephu is in a wheelchair. He wants to give the boy a dog, someone to be his friend. That little boy would appreciate what he's given and not spend all his time runnig around doing god knows what with his friends. That little boy might stay at home with his dog. . ."
"No! Father, please, I was only gone for 90 minutes! I wont go out again, I promise! Please. . ."
"DID I SAY YOU COULD TALK!?!"
The silence that echoed around the room was defaning and Draco wrapped his arms around his body to stop the urge to run forward and grab his Rosco and never let go. Perhaps his father was bluffing. Was just threatening to . . . but he wouldn't in real life. He couldn't!
But then the fire blazed and Lucius threw in a handful of floo powder and started to talk to someone. Draco's sobs grew louder and he begged his father to let him keep his dog. He promised to never stay out late again. Promised to take good care of him. He already did take good care of him! He'd only gone to Pansys house for 4 hours even with his 90 minutes over! He spent all his time with his Rosco! Surely his father noticed that?!
"Do be quiet, Draco, I'm talking to someone on the floo!"
Curlign up and cursing himself for being the weak fool who couldn't even get up to say goodbye to his dog, Draco started to rock back and forth and pretend this wasn't real. It couldn't be real. This was all somone's sick dream. He'd wake up and find he was someone else, some privileged boy whose parents loved him and let him keep his pets and stay out with his friends when he was 16 years old. He'd wake up and find out he was really Harry Potter having a nightmare. Everything would be fine.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch and curl in tighter.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I know how much you loved that dog. I hate it when you make me do things like this. You know how much I hate to see you like this. But if your not going to stay home and play with him then he deserves to have a good home. . ."
"I play with him every day! I played with him all day everyday all holidays except for this afternoon!"
Lucius just curled a hand around him tighter and sushed him quietly. "Draco, he's a dog. He needs a proper owner and with you running around with your friends making us all worry about you. . . if you loved him you would want him to have a proper home. Don't do this, Draco. You need to understand not to do these things. You made me feel terrible! You have to stop doing that. Ok? Will you stop making me do these things?"
The cold wave of hatred that washed over the boy was unnoticed as it clung to layer upon layer that was already there. One day he would fight back. One day he'd kill the man next to him. The man who truly believed that *that* was an apology.
"Yes, Father."
His voice was dead and hollow and he moved along with his father as the man led him to his room and tucked him into bed. He didn't even flinch at the soft kiss the man placed on his forhead before leaving the room. But once the door was shut he rubbed at it and tried ot wipe of the feeling of his fathers touch. He sat and cursed the man for existing and silently cried for his dog to kill the stupid boy in his stupid wheelchair and somehow find his way home to Draco instead.
He pretending that Rosco was just outside his door waiting to greet him in the morning. And he pretended that his father was dyign right now. Imagined Lucius called to work late for some emergency and there being a horrible floo acsident. Too many people trying to get out of the same grate at once and half of Lucius body being pushed out another fire place. A *muggle* fire place where his other half sets on fire and slowly burns the man into ash. Painfully. Screaming with half his mouth at the ministry fire place while everyone looked on in horror.
What a wonderful thought.
But Lucius was no doubt down the hall right now, sleeping comfortably in his belief that the events of this evening where Dracos fault and just deserves. He'd heard it all so many times and every single time he broke down into uncontrollable tears. He couldn't breath or think or talk and all the rehersed and practiced screaming was wasted as he collapsed onto the floor and wept.
'What where you thinking, Draco?'
'Why are you crying?'
'Why do you make me do these things?'
'Why are you doing this to me, Draco? Do you really hate me so much? You ungratefull, manipulative bastard! I give you everything and you don't even love me do you? What am I supposed to do? '
'WHY ARE YOU CRYING!?!?'
When it all begun he didn't even know what those words meant. He used to have nightmares of monsters and death but his father wasn't to be woken. The one time when he had ventured to the older mans rooms he was pushed to the ground and kicked along the floor slowly and painfully until he was back in his own room.
'I'm sleeping! What is wrong with you!? You don't ever think about anyone else, do you? I have nightmares too, you know, but I don't come waking you up in the middle of the night! Just grow up!'
The bruises on his ribs and back had hurt for weeks and when his mother had failed to ask where he got them he broke inside. He was only 7 years old. He didn't understand why she didn't care, why she didn't ask him. It seemed to be something that he wasn't supposed to talk about. Something better not mentioned. But he felt deep down that she should want to know. She never wanted to know.
He stayed awake all night playing out a fantacy where his mother was a caring women who loved him, so much that she'd give her life to protect him. A fantacy where his father was a good man who never yelled at him and was proud of him with no limits. Where the evil that grew in Lucius heart was an outsider who treatened his family but was destroyed by their love for one another. . . he resented how much that sounded like Potter.
When the sun came up and the first callings of birds filled the room he got up and changed his clothes without washing. School started today and he could pretent that Rosco was here playing with the special house else left to look after him until the end of year. School was a wonderfull place filled with Severus. Maybe not filled, but it had more of the man then any other place on the earth and his uncle was the only salvation from his father. In the long summer holidays Uncle Severus came to stay for a whole month at the mannor and his father never so much as gave him a dirty look when the dark teacher was in the house.
Warnings: Explicit Drug Use and Slash. * * * * * * * * * * * *
The line of white powder slides back and forth with the movements of the card board. Tiny specks left over on the shimmering reflective surface to be licked up later. To be picked up by a slicked finger and rubbed lovingly into teeth and gums. Its almost glamourouse when he pictures it in his head. Slowly a line is made just the length and thickness desired and a rolled up piece of paper is brought towards what he supposes will be the beginning of the line. The fist time he's ever done this and he's not sure exactly what to do.
Sniff, obviously, but he's not sure if there's something more to it and is too scared to ask. He wants to scream "This is a key moment in my life. I will remember this forever", but he doesn't. He doesn't tell her that he's just going to try this. That he isn't an addict and is not of the temperament to become one. But he does believe in trying new things at least once. Just once.
She catches his momentary pause and grins at him with adoration and glee, "Just suck it up fast. It'll be fine". Her eyes are filled with all the sparkle of a mother teaching her child to read. But she's not his mother and Narcissa wouldn't even know what this muggle powder is. Narcissa and Lucius would disapprove because it's 'muggle', they wouldn't really understand the significance of that slightly uneven white line. That velvety soft power staring innocently up at him.
Leaning his head down and blocking off one nostril he breaths in through he other as hard as he can and sucks up the line with all the nonchalance he can muster. But Pansy seems to know in her twinkling eyes how strange this is for him no matter how hard he tries to act cool. No matter how he pretends this is no big deal. It is a big deal.
As she starts to dab at the remaining powder with her index finger he sits back in his chair still making little sniffs. He can feel powder around his nostril and starts to rub the base to get it off. Even when Pansy tells him there's nothing there he can feel the dry powder surely giving him away. A signal marking him so everyone else will know what he just did. He's not sure why that would be bad. Prehaps if he walked around with a white ring on his nostril everyone would know what he did and would think that he was trying to show off. Think that he left it there on purpose so that they would know, and he doesn't want them to think that it's that important to him. Doesn't want them to think that this means anything to him. Perhaps he's just ashamed of having done it, even if it is only this one time.
The dripping starts almost immediately and he wants to ask if that's normal only he's worried that she will laugh at him. . . or look horrified. What if it's not normal? But once he starts to concentrate on it he can't stop. Just behind his nose there is suddenly a thick lump of water which he can't quite feel but *knows* its there. It keeps letting drops fall rhythmically down his sinus' and throat. He feels like he should want to sneeze but his body doesn't. Like he should blow his nose or snort it further down but all his sniffing does little more then gain a grin from Pansy and pause the dripping for one beat. Just one beat in this new inner drumming which make him twitch. The harder he tries not to consentrate on it the harder it is to ignor.
"It's Ok," she tells him, "Its supposed to drip. That's the best bit."
So he tries not to think about now uncomfortable it is. He tries not to wipe his nose again because he *knows* there is "nothing there", no matter what he *feels*. To just pretend there isn't this insistent pulling at the back of his nose with every drop that makes him want to snort loudly and scratch all the way into his sinus'. Each drip hits the back of his throat and he swallows reflexively even though it's not needed. He almost wants to reach because something is dripping down the back of his nose and onto the throat and tounge! But he knows it's not some disgusting flue bile so he tries to hold in the impulse to run and be sick. He wants to drink something to wash away the feel but knows the next drip will just bring it back.
He's certain it's not doing anything to him as he sits concentrating on the shadows and talking to Pansy. He tells her more then he ever has before in expressive metaphors and lets himself go because they share this now, but it has nothing to do with the powder that he draws in again and again at her urgings during the night. It's not doing anything at all.
But then he asks her the time and it's lunch the next day and he isn't tired at all. He's clear and focused and everything is normal. He just *wants* to sit and talk and talk and talk. . .
It has nothing to do with the powder at all, he's sure.
When Blaise comes in and drags him off to the Great Hall he knows something's wrong because hundreds of people are eating that foul smelling food. Hundreds of people shovelling in what *looks* like chicken and salad and meat pies and pastries but smells like 10 day old garbage and makes him dry reach from the stink. The rotting *dead* smell of food that no one else but Pansy seems to notice. His stomach churns and he feels weak from the stench. His arms and knees feel twitchy but Blaise insists he isn't shaking.
He has to flee the sty and it's hundred pigs all grovelling down the rotting stench! He hides from the mirrors and their pail faced boy with blood shot eyes and an almost green complexion.
Back in his room he can't sleep so he just sits there staring at the canopy of his bed wondering where that wonderful happiness and togetherness of last night went. That unity he had with Pansy even as the drip drew some of his attention away from her. But now his nose feels nothing and *he* feels nothing but revulsion at the memory of that 'food'.
So when Pansy comes in with that little plastic bag and promises he will feel better if he just has a little more, just enough to make him forget that stench of death, he believes her. He believes her because he wants to not shake slightly from exhaustion as his eyes refuse to close and he wants his stomach to stop churning with emptiness even as the stench of food makes him want to throw up.
Just a little bit more so he wont feel like this and Pansy will lay down with him and touch him everywhere. Nothing sexual about her touch, just familiar and nice and warm in small circles and light caresses as that drip comes back. Only this time it's welcomed like an old friend and he doesn't try to wipe or sniff it away.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
One Year Earlier
The last day of the Christmas break and he was late. He was supposed to be home by 9 but it was nearing 10.30 already. He was still at Pansys house lying on her bed stroking her hair as they just floated away. Some drone of music at just the right level to be there and ignored in the background as he focused his attention on his hand. The strange and alien movments it made that he'd never realised before. Slight clicking of bones as his fingers manipulated their way through the strands of hair like levers on some muggle contraption.
If one finger pulled down to fast he could feel the pull of a muscle in his arm all the way up near his elbow. He imagined his arm as an empty cavern of dark crimson with a wiring system connected to variouse pieces of skin from the inside. Small rusted hinges and surprisingly white string in an intricate pattern where everyone else thinks there is flesh and bones. Pull that finger down and a long peicce of string is moved that connects to the elbow and tuggs ever so slightly at the skin there. Prehaps even tiny little critters that ensure none of the strings get tangled up together. Tiny little blobs in hard hats of rust to match the hinges. Because that was what he felt like wasn't it? A cavernous pit that was rusting inside?
What a depressing thought.
He stopped his hand in her hair and looked at the frozen appendage for a few moments. How did it move? How did he control it without realising it? That somehow his mind could control such a thing was incredible suddenly. 'Move!' he thought at it. He pictured the movement he wanted it to make, consentrated that image onto his hand but it remained still. Trying desperately to project the movment down the cavern of his arm to the fingers, so send the image of what he wanted them to do. Surely if he sends the instruction to his hand from his brain it will have to move.
'MOVE!'
After what feels like forever trying to command his hand to move with no success he starts to wonder if he can even remember how to move it unconciousely anymore. He consentrates so hard on it that he can't move even a single muscle and he wonders why it is that he can breath if he can't move his hand.
And then he stops breathing.
He thinks the movements in his head, 'breath! Lungs expand! Push your chest muscles out!' but nothing happens. His mind starts to thump with loss of air and he panics until Pansy rolls over to look at his purpling face and asks in concern if he is ok. Her voice brings him out of his consentration and he turns to assure her that he is fine and realises that he is breathing and talking and his hand is stroking her hair again.
So the trick was not to think about it. Which made sense really because this was the first time everything had stopped working and it was the first time he'd really thought about trying to make it work. Ironic.
"You'd better go." She tells the canopy in a flat and uninterested voice. She was right of course, he should go. He knew inside that his father would be mad at him and that he just might be in seriouse trouble but knowing that seemed to mean nothing. It was almost an alien though that had nothing to do with him. He was in trouble. He should leave. It made him laugh a little as if it where all someone else. And he didn't move because it seemed rediculas to believe that *he* was actually the one in trouble and that *he* was the one who was late. He had a sudden image of his entire body as one large empty cavern system of crimson red walls with shadows playing over the sandpaper textured surfaces like a surrealist painting. The system of white cords pulling as he sits up and then stands. Hundreds of relaxed white string lines moving over rusted hinges to accommodate his movements. But then a knott forms in his chest when all those interwoven ropes try to pull in different directions at once. The knott pulls at all his muscles and he spasms and wonders how long the little blobs in hard hats will take to fix the problem. There little red lights going off in alarm as they all run to the problem area and scream out in panic at the ruin of their delicate system.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. . ."
But pansy is looking at him strange and he's paused on the edge of the bed in mid stand with a horrified and amazed glaze in his eyes. She wouldn't understand if he told her he was apologising to the little blobs fixing his knott. He's not sure even he understands so he ignores the echos of screaming little blobs and stands up all the way to prove that he can and says good bye to his friend before flooing back home.
The moment he steps out of the fireplace a hard hand entwines in his hair in a mokery of his actions to Pansy. The slight pulling at his skull it causes doesn't so much hurt as surprise and pull at skin he never really though of as maliable. But when his shoulder makes violent contact with the edge of the mantel he does feel pain and it brings him out of his head and staring into the glowering eyes of his father. The slight narrowing of the brow doesn't change the fixed hew of his eyes, but for some reason they seem to grow darker. The flaring of his nostrils not so much a recognised thing and a subtle movement which makes the boy think of a snarling bull puffing out smoke and ready to kill the screaming masses who thought it might be fun to tempt him.
"What time is it, Draco?"
"I'm not sure, father. The clock at Pansys house was broken."
"Liar! Manipulative little creatin!"
With his screamed statement Lucius pulls harder at Dracos' skull and pushes him back into the marbel of the mantel before letting go. The suprisigly loud noise of the crack seems to surprise him or ebb his rage enough to allow that release.
The moment his head hit the marbel all ability to feel pain left his body and he found himself crying on the floor for no reason. He couldn't stop the tears no matter how much he tried and although he couldn't *feel* the dull throbbing in his head at the moment he knew he would be able to latter on.
"I'm the adult here, Draco! I make the rules and you follow them! What am I supposed to do when you don't respect that? What am I supposed to do? Answer me!"
But he couldn't answer anything. The familiar words seemed to wash over him and feed the tears on. There where so many reasons to cry and so many reasons not to cry right now. But he couldn't move, there where too many emotions. He just sat on the floor with his hands at his side crying and sobbing like a little child. His limbs felt heavy and weak and he was afraid to bring a hand up to his now throbbing skull because it would bring attention to his wound and his father would think he was trying to accuse.
"Answer me, Draco! What am I supposed to do? Do you know how much I hate this? How much I hate it when you make me do this? Do you think I like it? What am I supposed to do?"
Still sobbing he managed to choak out in a louder voice then he would have thought possible "I don't know!" between sharp intakes of breath that his sobs seemed to eat up. He was choking and couldn't breath but he couldn't stop crying either.
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't know!"
And he didn't know. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He didn't understand the question and he didn't know why he couldn't stop crying when he knew it agrivated the man so.
"Why are you crying!?!"
"I don't know!"
More sharp inhaling and a sickly asmatic kind of sound as he sobbed all the air he managed to draw in back out again with such force. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He didn't understand what was going on.
"How can you be crying and not know why your doing it?"
"I don't. . ."
"If you say you don't know again, Boy, I swear to merlin I'll belt you!"
"My head hurts. . ."
"So it's all my fault is it? Do you think you didn't deserve that?"
"No!"
"You're a weak, pathetic, slob! STOP CRYING!"
The voice held the authority of one fit to command and it somehow made the boys sobs mute. He still cried in earnest and sucked in breath as fast as he could while he whipped at his eyes and made little choaking sounds, but the reduction in volume seemed to settle his father some.
"What am I supposed to do, Draco?"
The question almost made the boy burst out in tears again, because he couldn't answer it. He didn't understand what his father was asking. What was he supposed to do about what? About him being late home at 16 years old? He was supposed to say your late and could have been in a ditch. He wasn't supposed to do this! But he couldn't say that. He could barly think it.
"I do. . .
"You don't know! Idiot boy!"
Lucius stormed off into the other room and the moment the door shut Draco's body relaxed. His shivering stopped and the tears ebbed away. He pulled a hand up to place it on his head where he could feel a bumb the size of a tennis ball but was no doubt a little lump. The skin was soft and tender and it made him want to push a hand down onto it and never touch it again all at the same time. Why did this always happen? Why did he think that he could stay at Pansys for just a little while longer? His father was right, he was an idiot!
With a loud burst the doors burst open and Lucius came striding back in with a pouch of floo powder and Draco's dog in each hand. Imediately his heart started to thump again. What was his father doing with Rosco? He'd had the dog for years! Surely his father wouldn't hurt him!
Placing himself in front of the floo with the dog Lucius looked up at him sharply.
"You don't listen to a word I say. Nothing I do even registers with you! Do you have any idea how worried I was? No! Because you don't think about that, do you? You don't think about other peoples feelings. Your just a selfish little boy who thinks he can do what ever he wants because he's 16! Well I'm 39, Draco, and that's a hell of a lot older then you. I made you and I own you and you'll learn to do as I say!"
A trembling started up in the boys limbs as he looked from his dog to his father in growing fear. A tingling sensation pushing out from his heart and into his limps as he faught the urge to run over and take the dog. To run away and never come back. Stupid little facts popping into his head. Pansy only lived an hour away, if he walked there she's keep him and Rosco safe. But he couldn't move.
"No, father, please. . ."
"Theres a friend of mine whose nephu is in a wheelchair. He wants to give the boy a dog, someone to be his friend. That little boy would appreciate what he's given and not spend all his time runnig around doing god knows what with his friends. That little boy might stay at home with his dog. . ."
"No! Father, please, I was only gone for 90 minutes! I wont go out again, I promise! Please. . ."
"DID I SAY YOU COULD TALK!?!"
The silence that echoed around the room was defaning and Draco wrapped his arms around his body to stop the urge to run forward and grab his Rosco and never let go. Perhaps his father was bluffing. Was just threatening to . . . but he wouldn't in real life. He couldn't!
But then the fire blazed and Lucius threw in a handful of floo powder and started to talk to someone. Draco's sobs grew louder and he begged his father to let him keep his dog. He promised to never stay out late again. Promised to take good care of him. He already did take good care of him! He'd only gone to Pansys house for 4 hours even with his 90 minutes over! He spent all his time with his Rosco! Surely his father noticed that?!
"Do be quiet, Draco, I'm talking to someone on the floo!"
Curlign up and cursing himself for being the weak fool who couldn't even get up to say goodbye to his dog, Draco started to rock back and forth and pretend this wasn't real. It couldn't be real. This was all somone's sick dream. He'd wake up and find he was someone else, some privileged boy whose parents loved him and let him keep his pets and stay out with his friends when he was 16 years old. He'd wake up and find out he was really Harry Potter having a nightmare. Everything would be fine.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch and curl in tighter.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I know how much you loved that dog. I hate it when you make me do things like this. You know how much I hate to see you like this. But if your not going to stay home and play with him then he deserves to have a good home. . ."
"I play with him every day! I played with him all day everyday all holidays except for this afternoon!"
Lucius just curled a hand around him tighter and sushed him quietly. "Draco, he's a dog. He needs a proper owner and with you running around with your friends making us all worry about you. . . if you loved him you would want him to have a proper home. Don't do this, Draco. You need to understand not to do these things. You made me feel terrible! You have to stop doing that. Ok? Will you stop making me do these things?"
The cold wave of hatred that washed over the boy was unnoticed as it clung to layer upon layer that was already there. One day he would fight back. One day he'd kill the man next to him. The man who truly believed that *that* was an apology.
"Yes, Father."
His voice was dead and hollow and he moved along with his father as the man led him to his room and tucked him into bed. He didn't even flinch at the soft kiss the man placed on his forhead before leaving the room. But once the door was shut he rubbed at it and tried ot wipe of the feeling of his fathers touch. He sat and cursed the man for existing and silently cried for his dog to kill the stupid boy in his stupid wheelchair and somehow find his way home to Draco instead.
He pretending that Rosco was just outside his door waiting to greet him in the morning. And he pretended that his father was dyign right now. Imagined Lucius called to work late for some emergency and there being a horrible floo acsident. Too many people trying to get out of the same grate at once and half of Lucius body being pushed out another fire place. A *muggle* fire place where his other half sets on fire and slowly burns the man into ash. Painfully. Screaming with half his mouth at the ministry fire place while everyone looked on in horror.
What a wonderful thought.
But Lucius was no doubt down the hall right now, sleeping comfortably in his belief that the events of this evening where Dracos fault and just deserves. He'd heard it all so many times and every single time he broke down into uncontrollable tears. He couldn't breath or think or talk and all the rehersed and practiced screaming was wasted as he collapsed onto the floor and wept.
'What where you thinking, Draco?'
'Why are you crying?'
'Why do you make me do these things?'
'Why are you doing this to me, Draco? Do you really hate me so much? You ungratefull, manipulative bastard! I give you everything and you don't even love me do you? What am I supposed to do? '
'WHY ARE YOU CRYING!?!?'
When it all begun he didn't even know what those words meant. He used to have nightmares of monsters and death but his father wasn't to be woken. The one time when he had ventured to the older mans rooms he was pushed to the ground and kicked along the floor slowly and painfully until he was back in his own room.
'I'm sleeping! What is wrong with you!? You don't ever think about anyone else, do you? I have nightmares too, you know, but I don't come waking you up in the middle of the night! Just grow up!'
The bruises on his ribs and back had hurt for weeks and when his mother had failed to ask where he got them he broke inside. He was only 7 years old. He didn't understand why she didn't care, why she didn't ask him. It seemed to be something that he wasn't supposed to talk about. Something better not mentioned. But he felt deep down that she should want to know. She never wanted to know.
He stayed awake all night playing out a fantacy where his mother was a caring women who loved him, so much that she'd give her life to protect him. A fantacy where his father was a good man who never yelled at him and was proud of him with no limits. Where the evil that grew in Lucius heart was an outsider who treatened his family but was destroyed by their love for one another. . . he resented how much that sounded like Potter.
When the sun came up and the first callings of birds filled the room he got up and changed his clothes without washing. School started today and he could pretent that Rosco was here playing with the special house else left to look after him until the end of year. School was a wonderfull place filled with Severus. Maybe not filled, but it had more of the man then any other place on the earth and his uncle was the only salvation from his father. In the long summer holidays Uncle Severus came to stay for a whole month at the mannor and his father never so much as gave him a dirty look when the dark teacher was in the house.