Over Dramatic

One Shot

Author's note: This is a story I did for school. It's called a multi-genre paper, which means that it is a mixture of prose and poem, so don't read half way through and get upset when it turns into a poem, all right?

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: The scene contains rape. R for a reason, dearlings

He'd known her in school to some degree, known her to be a mudblood, ugly and loudmouthed, not a proper girl at all. Intelligent, of course, she'd earned her head girl position easily enough. The shame when his name was called beside hers overshadowed his pride at being picked for head boy. She was the most intelligent student in his grade; the memory of being second to a mudblood still ate at him, leaving him bitter. It didn't matter now, though

She was a mudblood, he a Malfoy and a Death Eater, they had been at war. Not anymore though, the war was over, his side had won. The past was behind him and he took solace in the thought that she was dead now, that the humiliation would never again be dragged to the surface

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was only by chance that he'd seen her on the slave blocks, and what a lucky chance it had been. He'd only recognized her by the eyes; she'd always had what some would call chocolate eyes that he thought only served to reflect the mud in her blood. She'd changed so much, she was beautiful, tiny and delicate, only her eyes were hard, unbroken. No matter, he thought, I'll break her. He'd purchased her immediately, and now she was his, and he planned to enjoy every moment of it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He entered his room, the best in the mansion of course, only two rooms away from hers and sank gracefully onto his green, silk sheets. He stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. That was when he heard her scream.

(A/N: this is where the genre changes from prose to poetry)

When I hear her scream
I go running to her,
My pet,
My love,
My slave,
Only to hear her say, When I reach her,
"Go away
I was dreaming of you
Of all the things you put me through
All the things you've done to me."
And I reply,
"Aren't you being a little
overdramatic?"
So cute,
My pet.
She's silent for a while
Knowing not to speak again.
She's learned to hold her tongue,
I've taught her again and again.
She's silent,
Finally,
I never thought I'd see the day.
"I saved you after all."
She's crying again,
I though she'd stopped that.
She needs to learn another lesson.
"Without me, you'd be dead."
She's sobbing,
She needs to be taught.
So I teach her.
It feels so good to teach her.
When I'm done, I look at her,
Still crying,
And smile.
"Without me, you'd be dead.
I saved you, after all."
I turn to leave
Her naked and bloody on the sheets,
"I'd rather be dead" I hear.
Almost at the door,
I turn
"Aren't you being a little
overdramatic?"
And the lesson starts again.
She needs to be taught,
And I don't mind,
It feels so good to teach her.

Author's Note: The poem is the main reason for the story. If you'd like me to expand on anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged.

Yours,

The Author