His Heart On A Platter
"Delicious."
Lips smacking. Laughter. The continued tinkling of forks sinking into meat and knives tapping fine china. He blinked beneath his blindfold; he didn't have to see what they were eating. The smell of cooked meat was enough.
"Draco, you aren't eating. Is the food not to your liking?"
He tasted the steam wafting from his plate when he opened his mouth to speak. He gagged. A child giggled.
"Perhaps he would prefer a lighter meal, Doctor."
"Ah, yes." His heart began to race. "Of course. How silly of me. Chef?"
Pans crashing. Murmurs. The thrashing of an ingredient forced back into its cage and the half mad chuckling of the head cook. He rattled his restraints.
"Untie me," he said. "Please."
"How cute! Look, Doctor, he's begging!"
The guests murmured and tittered. Someone snickered from behind, clawing at the leather belt around his neck. One twitch and they could nick his jugular. He hoped, but the hand retreated.
"Silly Draco. You can't leave the table until you've eaten your dinner."
Mother screaming. Swears. Footsteps leading out of the kitchen when the screaming cut short. Chuckling. He felt dizzy. Nausea. He heaved, but his stomach was empty. He prayed it would remain so.
A puff of cold breath on his face preceded the coppery odor of blood. He whimpered. More chuckling.
The clang of the serving platter dropped in front of him scared him out of his skin. They watched him squirm, trying to distance himself from the warmth of the dish seeping through his nightshirt. He couldn't breathe. He was choking on his own heartbeat. Thumping. The rasp of clothes on clothes. Unyielding pressure on his back. Someone was leaning over him.
"Dinner's served, Malfoy."
He jerked towards the voice.
"Potter," he hissed.
"Hmm?"
He could hardly speak around his bludgeoning heartbeat.
"Help. Me."
Laughter.
"He wants me to help him! What do you want me to do, Malfoy? Let you go?"
Potter's laughter. It killed him.
"Tell you what: how about I take off your blindfold? I'd like you to see my best dish."
Sweat cooled the cloth across his eyes. The skin beneath was clammy when the air touched it. Suddenly, candlelight. He was too tense to blink. It was quiet except for the thumping. He looked anywhere but at his plate. A boy in a feathered dress. A shadow in a top hat. His mother's body in a birdcage. Anywhere but his plate.
Potter wouldn't have that.
His head was forced into a cloud of cloying sweetness. He couldn't look away. He couldn't close his eyes. He saw it:
Surrounded by garnishing of candied fruit sat his heart still beating.
"Bon appétit."
N/A: School has started up again and I won't be able to write a longer chapter for another two weeks or so. This is the first of the Nightmares at Midnight drabbles. There are underlying meanings in every one, some much more obvious than others.
