Warning: incest, noncon/dubcon, torture, and all kinds of other probably squicky things. Sorry...only not really. ;)
This is for the Hunger Games Competition Round 3. Prompts used were Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Sugar, "Run away, and never come back", and dagger.
He hears her before he sees her.
And he soon learns that subtlety is not a quality Bellatrix Lestrange possesses.
He tries to ignore her. She might be his aunt but as far as he's concerned she's just another Death Eater, another house guest who refuses to leave because she has nowhere else to go.
His mother insists he joins them for tea so he sulks in the chair in the corner and refuses to look up as Bellatrix paces. It's one of the many things about her he's already come to find irritating; she doesn't stand still and she can never sit for long.
Narcissa attempts to make small talk, and he mentally shakes his head at her. Clearly, small talk is not Bellatrix's thing. She's been pacing for a quarter of an hour now, her eyes on him, always on him. He can feel her penetrating stare but he is determined to be more interested in watching the lump of sugar dissolve in his tea.
Until…
"Come here, boy, and let me look at you."
His mother gives him an encouraging smile and he sets his cup down on the coffee table and goes to stand a few feet from Bellatrix. He still refuses to meet her eye which she seems to find amusing.
"Come closer."
So he does.
She reaches out to put a hand beneath his chin and his immediate reaction is to flinch. He berates himself for showing a sign of weakness. And he has no choice now but to look her in the eye. She smirks down at him, and then stops to study his face.
He studies her in return. He wonders what she'd say if he told her all he sees is a predator. She's piercing eyes and wild hair, rotten smile and a vice-like grip that is bruising his jaw. She was beautiful once, he muses. But Azkaban ruined her.
As this thought crosses his mind, she grins even wider, revealing yellowed teeth. "You look very like your father," she says quietly. She releases his chin and circles around him in an unsettling way. "But you're built like your mother." She looks over her shoulder at her sister who is watching all of this from the couch. "I always did say you would make beautiful babies, Cissy."
She comes to stand before him once more and her eyes pierce his. "Beautiful," she repeats again, more to herself than anything and Draco feels his skin crawl as he comes to the realization that she has chosen him as her prey.
Then she throws her shoulders back and her voice becomes haughty and almost businesslike. "The Dark Lord wishes you to learn Occlumency," she says importantly. "Do you know what that is?"
Draco nods. "Yes." He's heard of it before, of course, though he knows little of what is actually involved. He'd heard his father discussing it with one of his business partners in Knockturn Alley one day. In spite of himself, his interest is piqued. Occlumency could be useful.
Finally, Narcissa speaks up and the concern in her voice is evident. "Why does the Dark Lord desire such a thing?"
Bellatrix only smirks and continues to look at Draco with that piercing gaze. "You shall see. Meet me here at eight tonight, Draco, and we shall begin."
And with that she turns on her heel and marches regally out of the parlor, leaving Draco feeling inexplicably violated and Narcissa completely petrified.
Draco enters the parlor promptly at eight as she'd directed. She is already waiting for him. The room is dimly lit and the candlelight makes her sharp angles stand out even more. But while she's wasted away in Azkaban for so many years she still carries a presence that is larger than life.
He approaches the center of the room which she has cleared of furniture and waits for him expectantly. It occurs to him that this is the first time he's ever been alone with his aunt and two disturbing facts cross his mind.
One: Being alone with his aunt feels indecent.
Two: Being alone with his aunt shouldn't feel this way.
He tries to stop thinking about it because he doesn't want her to know he's uncomfortable. He can't let his guard down. Besides that's what this lesson is all about, and so he straightens up and comes to stand before her in what he hopes is a confident stance.
She doesn't say a word. Only smiles evilly and looks him in the eye. And without warning his head is spinning and things he hasn't thought about in years come to the surface of his mind. Walking in on that old house elf ironing his hands…His mother crying after a row with his father… a scarlet steam engine and a boy with a lightening scar who refuses to shake his hand… McGonagall dragging him to Snape's office by the ear…
And then with a jolt he finds himself lying on his back, his aunt leaning over him. She grasps his forearm and pulls him up. "Was that Harry Potter that I saw, Draco?" she asks.
He nods his head and rubs his shoulder which is aching from the impact of hitting the floor. "You could see?"
"I can see anything I want to if you let me," Bellatrix explains, leaning in to whisper in his ear, her breath warm against his skin. "That's the point of this. Do not let me. Wands are useless here. You have to control your mind, and that is a magic of a different sort, my love."
My love. The endearment makes him want to slap her.
She continues. "Empty your mind of all emotion. Don't think. Don't feel. Forget." She steps back and puts her hands on her hips with a sigh. "Shall we try again?"
And this time he recognizes the invasion for what it is. But he can't control it. She directs his thoughts and again the image of Harry Potter comes to the forefront of his mind. In Madam Malkins… Harry's head floating in Hogsmeade… looking on as he is transformed into a ferret…
Draco groans and falls forward, his fist pounding the floor in time with the heartbeat in his head. She waits silently for him to gain his composure and when he does he stands, trembling slightly.
"Why," he gasps, "do you want to know about Harry Potter?"
Bellatrix rolls her eyes. "Who doesn't? Now, what was happening in that last scene? It looked…interesting…"
"I'd rather not say," he says obstinately.
"I'll just have a look into your mind and see for myself, then."
The corridor shrinks… everyone staring… stomach lurches as he's launched toward the ceiling and back down… he squeaks on every bounce…
"ALL RIGHT!" Draco groans, and he is surprised to find that he is gripping Bellatrix's wrist. And when he looks up at her face, she seems to be pleased. "Ferret," he mumbles and releases his hold on her. "Punishment."
He can't be coherent anymore but thankfully, Bellatrix gets the idea. She hums her amusement. "You don't know the meaning of punishment, boy. But you'll learn."
He looks up at her wide eyed and immediately he searches for her wand which is visibly poking out of her pocket. "Oh, yes. You'll learn." She shakes the sleeve of her robes up to reveal the black Mark that is etched on her skin. "Everyone who bears the Mark must learn."
The implication of her words settles in, and he pushes himself off the floor so she is no longer above him. It makes him nervous.
She smirks and comes to cup his cheek in her hand. He doesn't flinch this time. "Don't worry, Draco, dear. I'll teach you that too." She goes to leave and then pauses in the doorway. "We shall try this again tomorrow."
He is much more successful at Occlumency the next day. And even more so the day after that. She is still able to access his thoughts but he can control them better. She is no longer able to see his parents' woes or Harry Potter or any other embarrassing moments.
He figures this is something he ought to be good at. It's what he's done his whole life. He compartmentalizes things, doesn't show what he's actually thinking. He detaches himself. His father taught him young how to get ahead in life.
Bellatrix approves.
The first night she comes to his room, he hears the door creak and he knows. He doesn't have to look.
He turns over as he feels the mattress shift under her weight.
"What do you want?" he whispers, even though he knows that too, feels her breath against his neck, feels the bare skin of her thigh against his hand as she guides it with her own.
"You," she whispers back. "I want you."
He shakes his head. "That's what husbands are for," he says pointedly.
"Funny. I thought so, too."
She takes his hand, directing it to where she wants him the most, and he tries to pull away. "Aunt… no…"
And then there is a flash of silver. "Don't call me that again," she says. She lifts up her head so he can see her face and is startled to see a single tear staining her cheek in the moonlight. And the cool blade of the dagger she keeps in her boot has found its way to the side of his neck. He swallows hard, lamenting the power she has over him.
"We shouldn't."
The sharp edge presses against his jawline. It doesn't break the skin. But a sudden move is all it would take. And he's given up all resistance as clearly it is futile.
She sighs and rocks against his hand.
"We shouldn't," he repeats. Why he bothers, he doesn't know.
"You should stop giving a shit."
Oh, how he wish he could.
He sits down to breakfast and Bellatrix shoots him a knowing look from across the table and his stomach lurches at the thought of what they've done. What she did.
He resolves to say as little as possible. He nods to his mother when she greets him, eats his meal in silence and then wonders how long he should stay before he can leave without seeming rude. He's amazed that he can even keep is food down.
"What did you do to your cheek, dear?" his mother asks.
He reaches up and feels the thin cut against his face. The knife had slipped when Bellatrix had lost control the night before.
He swallows thickly and mumbles a response. "I shaved. Cut myself. S'nothing."
He sees his mother nod in understanding.
He also sees his mother glance in Bellatrix's direction.
She knows.
And she does nothing.
The next Occlumency lesson begins badly. He still can't bear to look at her and when she finally forces him to, he unwillingly looks down from her eyes to her cleavage and she is invading his thoughts again. They are all of her.
She catches his fall this time, pressing her body against his, and as soon as he can stand he shoves her away. "Don't touch me."
She sticks out her bottom lip mockingly. "Are you upset with me, Draco?"
He doesn't answer.
"You're supposed to forget," she says, running a hand through his hair, soothingly. "Clear your mind. Don't let anyone see. Don't let anyone see what we do."
"Mother knows."
"Your mother won't tell," she says confidently.
"How do you know?"
"I have my ways."
He bets she does.
There are nights when she comes to his room and he knows he is not the first man she's had. It's nights like these, he wonders if it is possible to Obliviate one's self. If one day he finds out he can, he swears he will.
She cries, always cries. And she begs for him to get her off because someone else didn't.
He wonders who that someone else is. And then a part of him hates himself for wondering.
Tonight is one of those nights and she takes it one step further because she's Bellatrix and it's what she does. Apparently she has decided that his hand isn't good enough.
"Have you ever been with a woman, Draco?"
He shakes his head then bites his lip to keep from shouting in frustration as her hands wander beneath the waistband of his pants. This isn't fair.
This isn't fucking fair.
He lets her have her way because what else can he do? She doesn't have her knife tonight; she's learned she doesn't need it. But he is no match for her with a wand.
He stares at a blank space of wall, willing himself to hold back tears as she lowers herself onto him. He's never really thought about how this would feel. He supposes it would feel good if he weren't so disgusted. She seems content to let him lie there while she moves against him, slowly at first, but ultimately she is desperate for the release that someone else denied her. Finally, she collapses against him and places a trail of kisses along his neck.
"You get your Mark tomorrow." She presses her mouth to his insistently. "I'm so proud of you."
Proud. Who could be proud of him for this?
The Dark Lord gets right down to business. It appears he has more important things to do. He allows Bella to "do the honors."
Before Draco has time to wonder what exactly that means, his body is overcome with searing pain from the roots of his hair to his toenails and once again he finds himself on his knees before her. It's a pain so paralyzing he can't even scream. Finally, the spell is lifted and he groans, while he hears laughter from behind him. The other Death Eaters of come to watch the show.
"Have you ever experienced the Cruciatus Curse before, Draco?" the Dark Lord asks.
Draco shakes his head and then remembers himself. "No, my Lord."
"Your parents were too soft on you. Again, Bella."
He doubles over and shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming. She is merciless and his body is on fire, acid flowing through his veins. She's inflicting physical pain to match the emotional havoc she has wreaked on him for weeks. And just as he's about to give up and scream for mercy, she lets up.
"You take pain well, Draco," the Dark Lord observes. "This is a useful quality. Very useful."
"Thank you, my Lord," Draco gasps, head bowed. He ponders how humiliating it is to thank someone for abusing them. But he does not have much time for this as the Dark Lord approaches him, beckoning for him to reveal his left arm. Draco obediently pulls back the sleeve of his robes and for the first time, he dares to look the man (if he could be called a man) in the eye.
And for the first time in a long time, his mind is blank. He doesn't want to think anymore. He doesn't want to care anymore. The hot pain of burning flesh overpowers his senses as the Dark Mark is etched across his skin.
And then it is over. But before he is dismissed, he is informed of his purpose as a Death Eater, how he is expected to prove his usefulness.
"You shall kill Albus Dumbledore."
His mother was not present at the ceremony. As it happens, his mother doesn't know she's too late.
She knocks on his bedroom door and when he answers, she quickly enters and presses her back against it and turns the lock.
"You should go," she says.
"Go?" He looks at her in disbelief. "Where do you expect me to go?"
"Anywhere. I can find a safe place for you. But you can't stay. He will want you to become one of them. And I've heard… I've heard how he plans to punish us…" Her voice breaks as the tears begin to flow. "You have to run away, Draco. Do it for me. Run away, and never come back. Please." She goes to grip his arms and he pulls away in pain.
He lifts the sleeve of his robes to reveal the black skull against red swollen flesh. "Too late."
She slumps against the wall in defeat and covers her face with her hands. "I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." Any resentment he's felt toward her until now disappears and he puts his good arm around her shoulders. She clings to him burying her face in his neck. "So sorry."
He sheds a few tears for both of them. "I know, Mother. I know."
Bellatrix has no interest in helping him figure out how to kill the only man the Dark Lord ever feared.
She is only interested in creating more memories to hide.
It's the night before September first and she has come to his bed again. He actually participates this time and he is not kind. He's determined to treat her like the whore she is. It's his last chance, after all. Or so he hopes.
And she likes it. Why is he not surprised?
He rolls off her and she settles herself against his chest in contentment. She reaches over and traces the Dark Mark that has finally healed.
"I'll miss you when you're gone, Draco, love," Bellatrix whispers. "Will you miss me?"
"No."
She doesn't take offense to this. Not at all. "You will," she says. "You won't think so now. But you will."
Draco plays his part. He greets his friends on the Hogwarts Express. He boasts about what he could be up to this year. He lies through his teeth and creates this brilliant façade because there is nothing else he can do.
No one can ever know.
He must forget, just as Bellatrix had said. And he is more than happy to.
But he can't forget entirely.
He enters the Great Hall and the reason for his plight is seated in the center of the staff table. Old and frail and more dangerous than could ever be expected to look at him.
No, Draco can't forget entirely. He has a job to do.
And he hears her voice in his head on a never ending loop as he goes through the motions, as he works frantically to prove his usefulness.
He's studies a broken Vanishing Cabinet.
"Don't think. Don't feel."
He sends Rosmerta into the girl's bathroom.
"You don't know the meaning of punishment, boy."
He poisons a bottle of mead.
"But you'll learn."
And he has learned.
He watches the old man finally meet his end and he is acutely aware of the truth in her words, now.
And he thinks he might know better than anyone.
"Everyone who bears the Mark must learn."