Disclaimer: hers. *tosses
a dead lamb at JKR's feet* there's my sacrifice.
Warnings, notes, ramblings, etc.: mmm… so I had trouble writing this one. It's Draco's POV, because people asked. It's sort of short, oh well. This contains references to cutting (self-injury) and I'll probably delve into that later in the story. Also, it contains incestual rape and abuse and lots of no-love-for-Draco stuff. So, yeah.
Sometimes I lie awake at night and I can't breathe, the fear
and hatred compressing my lungs and racing through my veins. I hate when I feel
that way, when I think I can hear his footsteps in the halls and hear his
whispers in my ear and his breath on my skin.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to stop the blistering
behind them, and I take deep ragged breaths that shudder through my throat, but
I never seem to get enough. The burning turns to tears that sting as they slide
down my cheeks and the gasps turn into shaky sobs, ripping through the quiet
air.
I hate nights like that, I hate to cry that way, terrified
and broken and ashamed. I try to stifle the tears but that makes me weep harder
and makes it harder to breathe, choking out pain around the fist stuffed in my
mouth.
It's weak to cry, Draco, he tells me. It's a sign of
weakness, of femininity.
Well, fuck him. Isn't it also weak to beat your own son? To
humiliate him, degrade him, to break him like a bloody broomstick? Isn't it
weak to creep into your own son's room and do things to him, terrible things
that I can't even think of without retching, just because you need the
rush of power it gives you? Isn't that weak?
Sometimes I'm not sure, not sure at all. Maybe it isn't weak.
Maybe I'm the one that's weak. For letting him, for not fighting back.
Weak for falling in love with the fucking Boy Who Lived.
Yes, that's right. Golden Harry Potter, perfect Harry Potter,
bloody fucking gorgeous Harry
Potter. My sworn enemy, my inherited foe, my rival- he's the one I'm in love
with. Of all the people in the school, it's him. God, I do the stupidest
things.
And it's not as if he could ever, would ever love me back.
I'm the dreaded Malfoy, for fuck's sake. Despised, hated, dreaded Malfoy who's
never had a kind word roll off his too-thin lips, or a compassionate look in
his too-pale eyes, or anything but a sneer grace his pointed face.
But the secret is, and what a secret- I hate myself more than
they ever will. I want to laugh at them for not knowing that. Granger, that
fucking Mud-Blood, hit me on the face once. What she didn't know, what none of
them will ever know, is that I hit harder than she's ever dreamed of. Oh, yes.
I scream louder, I slap harder, I cut deeper than anyone. They hurt me, I hurt
me twice as much.
They can never do anything more than increase the pain.
They'll never make it new, they'll never take it away. It floods my brain, it
drowns my heart. They could never take my pain away. It's the only thing that's
mine anymore.
So I'll sneer. And I'll snicker, and my voice will be icy and
cruel and my eyes will be emotionless. And they'll never see me smile, they'll
never hear me laugh, but they won't notice because they're too busy hating me.
And I'll love Potter- Harry. I'll love him and I'll hate him
for not loving me and I'll hate myself even more for loving him. And I'll wake
up and sob silently at night and I'll hate my father for breaking me and I'll
hate myself for allowing myself to be broken.
Because, you see, my father taught me something.
A Malfoy always wins.