Notes, disclaimers, etc: *raises glass* here's to JKR and all her genius. Just so I can babble some, who here has seen the HP movie? Malfoy is not supposed to look like that and neither are the twins. But Oliver was hot. Really hot. *salivates* um.. yeah. Anyway. I could rant for about 3½ pages about the movies… So.
This chapter contains slash, angst!Malfoy, rape, and abuse. So, yeah. You have been warned.
And HEY! Where are all my readers! You make me cry. Only one review on chapter 7! That's upsetting! REVIEW! Um.. yeah… I'm done.
Chapter 8: That Name
"Malfoy!" Feet pound on the cold stone floors. I can hear a book bag thumping against legs. "Malfoy, wait!"
I do not stop, but slow. I do not look back, but I know. It's you. I would know your voice anywhere; under the pretense of hatred I have studied every lilting nuance, every rise and fall, every pitch. "What do you want?" I say, not snidely, too tired to keep up my pretense of hatred at the moment.
You reach out, grab me by the elbow. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" You say, and without waiting drag me into a deserted hallway, force me into the shadows so no one sees us.
I yank my arm away from your grip and rub it ruefully. You haven't hurt me although I pretend that you have. How can you not see what you do to me? How can you miss what I've become, just from your touch, just from your eyes?
"Oh. Sorry about that. I just didn't want- you know. People to be curious."
I raise my eyebrows. "Oh? And what will we be doing, that will make them so curious?" My voice is low and seductive and I half-lower my eyelids, leering at you.
You blush. "I-" You hesitate. "I wanted to know…" You close your eyes and say. "What the bruises are from. I mean. I wanted to know if you're okay."
In the word bruise images flash in my mind; my naked reflection in the mirror, the bruises now old and yellowing against my pale skin; the crack of my jawbone underneath my father's fist; the sketch of you, smiling and hidden underneath my Hogwarts robes. My father's voice, you fag, you bloody faggot, you bring shame to this family, will you destroy everything we have done for you, and the sounds he made later, the night I felt no pity for him, the night I wanted to kill him, the night I would have killed him, and my mother too.
I make my voice sarcastic and jaunty, brave when I am anything but. "Don't ask, Potter. I doubt you'd like the answer."
Her eyes, in the doorway, her hair lit from the back, like an angel. Her silk robe clutched around her, her lips pressed tight together. Mommy. Fifteen years old and still crying Mommy. Fifteen years old and still not able to break free of Daddy. Please help me. Please get him off me. Mommy. Please do something. Begging, begging for god's sakes. All for you.
Later, when he leaving, there will be no more talk of your… feelings for him. Final. In a small voice I said, I love him.
"You're okay?" You question anxiously, your eyes worried, caring.
I can't help it. I can't bear the tenderness in your voice. Care about me? How can you? No one else finds it in their hearts to do so. "It's none of your bloody business, Potter." I snap angrily, and begin to move past you.
You grab my sleeve once more. "Malfoy-"
Everything spins. Vaguely, I realize I am slumping against the wall. The name on your tongue, your lips- it has never seemed so blasphemous, so sacrilegious, so horribly and blatantly disgusting. I cannot think of myself in relation to him any more. To hear the link on your tongue, in your voice—my cheeks are cold and wet and to my shame my shoulders are fucking shaking and the tears are collecting on my recently healed jaw.
"Malfoy?" You ask again.
"Please." I mumble. I want to die, here, now, violently, I want to slit my own throat and drink my blood off the floor. I am crying. In front of you. "Not that name. Please, never that name."
Before I know what I am doing I am running, through the empty corridor, going nowhere I'm sure, nowhere but down.