A pale white hand lay open.
The day sunk between the branches of thick oak trees, their leaves shuddering in the brilliant light. Evening came while the whistles of blackbirds still leaked through slightly ajar windows. The scent of a true fire wafted through the manor, carrying with it the crackling taste of home cooking.
Such was the beautiful delicacy of this home, always carrying with it this intimacy that spoke only of the pure English countryside. That was, of course, apart from the incessant clamour and clangour of pots and pans along with the panicked pacing of a house-elf. He could hearhim muttering to himself under his jittery breathing, as though he was some kind of hare caught in a snare. As pointless as it would be, Lucius Malfoy so often wished he could just shoot the poor thing and let it out of its misery.
"Dobby, come on now. This is taking far too long."
The house elf practically shrieked from the kitchen. When he finally appeared, he seemed completely shaken - carrying with him serving plate after serving plate. The dinner was quickly laid, and soon after the miserable little creature was moaning again, "I'm sorry Master! Dobby had to take longer than he is allowed because Dobby was cooking a special meal."
Lucius raised a brow, looking down his nose with a very distinctive sneer, "What are you talking about?" Allowing a moment, he decided he would soon find out for himself and added,"Regardless, you know the rules, Dobby. You should have started earlier. Punish yourself."
Without needing much prompting, the wailing yelps began as Dobby began to beat his head, whining endlessly about his failings while Lucius opted to open the servery cloche instead. Ah, roasted pheasant. It was hardly special. He'd shot the thing that morning.
Yet before he could berate Dobby further, he found his mouth agape ever so slightly and his brows knitted in a look of utter confusion. The house elf was sitting - sitting- on the chair opposite him.
"Dobby, just what exactly do you think you're do-" as if things could not get any worse, the house elf snapped his fingers - and suddenly all the lights died. Candle light was all that accompanied them, and Lucius could see (with a great deal of disgust) the deep wrinkles on Dobby's face, canyons seemingly growing wider in the dim light. "And where has Draco gone? Why have you not summoned him for dinner?"
"Master has been so lonely. Dobby thought this would cheer him up." A pale white hand sat unyielding. So cold. So cold. "Master Draco has been in his room all day. He refuses to come, Master."
He. Had. Never. Ever. Felt. So utterly violated in his entire life. That was until the feckless creature placed its shrivelled, wart covered, filthy handover his own. Lucius immediately retracted his hand, wiping it profusely with a napkin before roaring to his feet.
"You will stop this nonsense at once Dobby,"yet just as he went to reach for his cane, he found, to his horror, the House-elf was already holding it.
"I am sorry Master, so sorry, but Dobby must do this for Master's own good."
"You will obey me!" Looking down at his cane, he added harshly, "Get down from the chair and punish yourself immediately."
The Elf seemed to do as he was told. It was funny how, in his youth, the elves abusing themselves had been a source of amusement. Now it seemed even that irritated them. As though their verypresencewould bring disgust to his features. He loathed them, but admitted to their use. Beating them was the only way they could learn, even if they did make the most awful noises while doing it.
When he seemed done enough, Lucius attempted to reach for his cane. "Now thank me."
The House elf gave it over with little protest, thanking him profusely as he did so before wandering into a corner to cry or something, he really didn't care. Sighing, he gave himself time to contemplate as to what had happened to Draco. It seemed strange that he would hide himself like that. He would speak to him after he was finished, he resolved - though he doubted the boy would give way to the source of his isolation.
After some time had passed and he had almost finished eating, he suddenly began to feel rather peculiar. Wide eyed and shocked, he withdrew his wand, about to finally put an end to that horrid little creatu-
He dropped both cane and wand.
"Dobby, you can come back now~!"
Wh... What was he saying?
"Please have a seat. Forgive me for my rudeness, I did not mean to be so harsh."
N... No. This wasn't happening!
"Thank you Master!"
The house-elf hopped onto the seat again, smiling triumphantly at his master. Placing his hand over his again, Lucius found himself indignant as he wrapped his pale fingers over his, squeezing delicately.
"Master has been so kind to Dobby! So good to Dobby!"
He could feel himself moving closer to the rancid, vile, anthropomorphic toad.
"Master must never forget that he is needed. Master is a kind and loving person. Master deserves some happiness."
Oh. No, no sweet Merlin no. He tried to pull away, all fire and power of his soul desperately pulling and weeping until he could resist no more and those crinkled lips crushed against his own.
"Master must remember, he is still loved."
He screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed, but thankfully those lips did not come to him again - and no cries escaped his throat to disturb Draco. He swore a tear trickled down his face, though.
Suddenly, voice found words. "Dobby, I must go see my wife."
He stood, desperate to escape this situation - though he wanted far more to beat Dobby to death for this, going to Narcissa to seek reassurance and soft whispers that this was not his fault - and watching herrip the slave apart would be far more satisfying.
He could hear Dobby weeping.
Turning back, he asked, "Whatever is the matter?"
"Dobby tried to help Master forget. Dobby tried to help Master. Dobby can do nothing, Dobby is so sorry."
The elf was beating himself again, spitting blood on the table.
A pale white hand would never grip his own again.
"She's dead, Master. She's still dead. Dobby can do nothing."
He knew. He forgot. He relived the moment time and time again, and emptied it into nothing. He forgot, he erased, he moved on.
"... I must go see her."
Nothing worked. Nothing ever would.