Title: Support
Author: Verdeben
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They're not mine; they're J.K. Rowling's. Do I wish they were mine…? Oh, fuck yeah.
Pairing: Narcissa/Draco, implied Ron/Draco
Warning: incest, semi non-con
Summary: Just a little ficlet. Draco reflects on the abuse he suffered—and still suffers—from his parents.
Author's Notes: Yeah, I realize the part at the very end makes no sense, with Ron and Draco and such…You'll know what I'm talking about when you get there, but, yes, I'm acknowledging now that my ability to make sense left me when I wrote that part. You know what, I think that ability left me for this entire fic. C'mon, it was past midnight! Gimme a break! XP
"Wait…what the hell?"
No.
"Draco, what's wrong with you!"
Why me, God, why?
"Y-you're not…hard."
Shit. Please, oh please, tell me this is a dream.
"Hey! Ohhh, don't you—what? Why are you getting dressed? Don't you walk away from me, Draco! What, am I not good enough for you! Draco? DRACO!"
I let the door slam behind me
When I was in the comforting embrace of my own bedding, in my own dorm room, I dreamt of Mother. Truthfully, it was not really a "dream." More of a flashback while sleeping. Because it had actually occurred.
It was Mother's birthday from a few years ago. I believe I was about twelve or so at the time. Father had just handed her her last present of the night. She would not permit me to glimpse it, even, but her response to my inquiry told me all I needed to know. A tacit answer.
"What is it?"
A wink and a kiss blown across the dining table. I had a feeling, right then and there, that this would not be one of my more cherished evenings.
It was nearly midnight when her knuckles rapped on my door. She entered my bedroom with a smug expression plastered on her face. My lower extremities jerked a little. She wore Father's gift. Black, lace panties. Nothing else. Speak of the Devil. He followed her inside, closing and locking the exit behind him.
I sensed my heart fluttering, my chest tightening. Bile rose to the back of my throat—I could taste it. I, the Draco Malfoy, was scared. No, not scared. Terrified.
Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, I found myself sprawled out on my back. Nude. As was Mother, who was now straddling me. This part felt good. Her skin was so soft. Her large breasts hung above my face, brushing me gently as we rocked, setting a rhythm.
And yet, I was aware that this is wrong. So wrong! And I was—am—afraid! I hated this! I continue to hate this! I hate it so fucking much! With Father just sitting there, watching us, letting it happen! Mother moaning on top of me! I can't take it anymore! I HATE THIS!
That was not the first time. It was not even close. And it was not the last, either. Not even close.
A letter came for me the next morning. From Mother. The girl I was with the previous night glared at me across the table. I did not really notice, nor did I even care.
The letter. The damned letter. Mother said she was lonely, what with Father being in Azkaban and all. She wanted me to return home for Christmas holiday to "keep her company." I imagined her laughing at the end bit. God, how I despised her laughing. Girlish laughter. It did not fit well with her name. Narcissa and childish giggles—not a sane combination.
Fear came over me. Suddenly, I was cold. Very cold. I don't want to go back home. I'm afraid. I'm so cold. So cold. Why is it so fucking cold in here?
But then my cheeks were warm. I touched my face. Hot tears rolled down it. I had started crying without realizing it. I was freezing, but sobbing scalding droplets into my hands.
I rose to leave the Hall. The room was deathly silent, and everyone was staring at me. Then I was too weak to walk.
Crumbling.
Crashing.
Falling…
Falling to my knees.
My world is blurred.
Black.
Gone.
Now the whole school knows. Peachy. I stand before the Lake, gazing at and seeing nothing in particular. Behind me I can hear the famous trio arguing. As if they think I'm deaf to their conversation.
"Ron, just leave him alone." That was Granger.
"He's a Malfoy, for Christ's sake!" Potter.
And so and so forth. I sort of blocked the rest out.
I suppose Weasley won the fight because soon I felt arms encircling my torso. He pulls me backwards to press up against his chest. I allow it. Strange. He wipes away one of my stray tears.
"They abused you, Malfoy. It's okay to cry about that." Yes. A flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye. I recognize that voice. It is Weasley, after all. How…oddly pleasant. At this moment, I don't care that it's him, of all people. Just that I have someone holding me, concerned for me. "Anyone that cries—even an arrogant son of a bitch like you," he chuckled, and I couldn't help but join in, it was true, "—doesn't deserve to cry alone."
Again, I crumble. But this time I do not crash. This time I do not fall. Because this time someone is supporting me.
...Fin...