Ah, yes! Back again!
Okay, yeah, so my comps a bit fucked at the moment so, first off for this chapter only (I hope. . .)
*Blah* = italics, emphasis
^^blah^^ = things that are communicated across the bond, as it were. . .
//blah// = thoughts Sooooooo sorry about the long delay-all is explained at the bottom! Love you all like mad!
~NayNymic
Chapter Seven: Memories Best Forgotten. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He knew where he was-he had been there before, many, many times. His Father had always brought him there to. . . "learn," he said. Humility, fear, hatred, obedience, sometimes cunning-but always. . . *always*. . .pain.
But even as his mind recognized it, it denied it. This wasn't real, couldn't be. For one thing, he could see himself-young. No more than three or four years of age, at most. He was huddling in a dark corner, seemingly attempting to blend in with the dank dungeon walls and floor. And for another, his younger-self was crying.
//A memory then,// he thought. He himself hadn't cried in years.
Malfoys never cry.
He watched as four-year-old-Draco's head snapped quickly to attention, eyes round with fear. He had an anxious look on his tiny face, as though he were listening to something or someone very far away. Then, as quickly as it had come, the look of consternation passed, morphing quickly into an awful, full-fledged fear.
Hastily, the child wiped the tears from his small, pale face, trying to compose himself for the evil that both he and Draco himself knew to be coming towards the door. He knew that something was coming, but what? //What is it that I fear so?// Draco asked himself as he watched the boy before him grow even paler. There was a sort of dreadful silence for a moment and then. . .footsteps.
//Ah,// Draco thought, his "eyes" once again trained on the younger blonde. //And here he comes. . .//
Dispassionately, Draco watched the scene unfold before him. It was a occurrence that he knew all too well. Vaguely, he wondered what his young self had done to cause the livid expression gracing his Father's face, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. It didn't matter what the boy that was himself had done. It never really did. In the end, it was all the same.
Circles chasing circles, chasing circles. . .
"So, boy," Lucius Malfoy's cold voice rang through the dungeon. "Have you thought on what we. . .discussed?"
The small boy nodded, barely able to keep his immense fear from triggering the impending tears.
"And?"
"I won't do it again, fadew(1). . .I pwomise. . ."
Lucius sneered at his young son. He had obviously beaten the tiny child for his earlier offense pretty badly for his voice to be so faint. But then, Draco mused further, all of the beatings were bad.
Lucius turned to leave-probably with the full intention to lave young-Draco as he was, when a small voice rang hesitantly out from behind him. "Daddy?"
Lucius stiffened, his entire body frozen with what the boy probably thought was shock, but what Draco knew to be rage. Inwardly, he winced. The sneer of earlier moments had been wiped from his Father's aristocratic face to be replaced by a façade of utter calm. But his eyes, Draco shuddered. Those eyes bespoke murder.
"Why did you call hew a mudbwood? Is 'sat bad?"
For a moment, silence rang through the dark cavernous space, piercing the frigid, stale air. Louder, it was, than a scream. "What," the man said, his voice deadly. "Have I said about that name."
It was not a question.
There was a desperate gleam in the child's eyes as he realized his mistake, too late. Lucius was going to explode now. No doubt remained in the Slytherin's mind.
Despite himself, he felt bad for the boy; after all, he knew those beatings too. He knew the agony of the *Crucitus*, the sting of the *Unaufhörliche Qual* Curse (2), how it felt to actually *want* to die.
He knew, knew all too well. These were, after all, his own memories.
//Odd,// He watched, detached, as the boys Father bloodied him mercilessly. He did not resist, could only scream again and again. . .//I wonder how many of *these* precious moments made it into the Family Albums.. .Merlin knows, there are so damned many that they should, by rights, occupy them entirely. . .//
His train of thought was broken by his memory-Father's derisive snort. "Call yourself a Malfoy, do you boy?" He gave the bloodied heap of child another kick, satisfaction flitting across his icy face when the child whimpered slightly. This expression was soon replaced by a sneer however, as he knelt down to whisper in his sons ear. "You'll never be fit to lick the dirt from my boots, worthless child."
Then he was gone.
//Ah, yes, now I remember this. . .// Draco felt a wave of pain wash over him, sympathy he supposed for the boy he had been, but squashed it ruthlessly. //I never made the mistake of calling him *Daddy* again.//
Draco watched, brow furrowed, as the boy began to cry once more, sobs of pain and anguish wracking his small body furiously. It would be hours, Draco knew, before anyone came to dry the tears. The blood itself was never allowed to be removed.
"Still hasn't been," he whispered softly into the newborn silence.
As the memory faded, Draco thought he felt a presence near him-someone he knew, someone he cared for. Deeply. But who?
^^It's all right,^^ they seemed to be saying to him. ^^I know what you are, and what you have seen. I never knew before, but I see now. . .^^
^^Who are you?^^ He wanted to shout, but found he couldn't.
^^It's all right. . .^^ the presence assured him. ^^I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I see now. . .I see.. .^^
A feeling of serenity flowed over him, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of a warm hand slipping into his own. This. . .person, if indeed it was one, was someone he could trust; someone who would and did care. He couldn't really explain it, not even to himself, but somehow he knew, without knowing, that this presence was the one who mattered. That this. . .bond was right. Was good.
//Heaven//
His musings were brought to an abrupt end as the, erm. . .room? settled again. This time he was in a tiny, cramped space, so dark as to actually be entirely devoid of light. He could hear the sounds of someone or something scratching against what sounded like wood. The thing was. . .humming, the song off-key and unrecognizable. A child, then. The "thing" was a child.
God. A child. In such a place as this? //How could anyone stand to be in here?// He thought. This was indeed the kind of dark that one would *never* get used to. . .And if you ever did, your eyes would be virtually ruined for life. . .
Suddenly, the scratching stopped, and loud footsteps could be heard. Very heavy footsteps. Inwardly, Draco wondered what could be so very large as to be responsible for them. He could hear sounds of the faceless child putting something away, and, beside him, the presence seemed to tense expectantly; holding their breath in dreadful anticipation. Draco, responding to the others fear, stiffened subconsciously and waited.
He didn't wait long. A moment later, Draco's "eyes" were blasted with light and sound, as what appeared to be the door to a small closet was wrenched open.
"Boy." A large man, probably the one responsible for the elephant-esqe footsteps, with a livid purple face and a large moustache appeared suddenly in the opening. "You'd better not be making any noise in here. . .well? Were you?"
"No, Uncle Vewnon," a small voice said quietly from Draco's left. Suddenly, Draco was aware of a small boy, four at best, untidy ink-black hair and big vibrant green eyes sans the usual ugly glasses. . .Oh, Merlin. . .Potter.
"Liaw!" came a bratty, young voice from behind the large man. "Daddy, the nasty boy's a liaw!"
"What do you mean, Duddykins?" the obese man called Uncle Vernon cooed. Draco shuddered in revulsion.
"I hewd him Daddy. . .he was scwatching again."
Draco watched as Har-no, *Potter's* face blanched quickly. Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, reducing them to mere slits of fat in his pig- like face.
"Is this true? Were you using them *again*?"
Draco had no idea what "they" were, but what could Ha-*Potter, damnit!* Possibly be doing that could be so awful? The young boy nodded his head- green eyes glassy with fear.
Beside Draco, the presence seemed to wince.
"I'm sowwy, Uncle Vewnon. . .I didn't mean to use the cwayons when you towd me not to, but I only used one!" he said somewhat hurriedly. "I just wanted to dwaw Mummy and Daddy.. ."
He held out a tiny fist, and opened it to reveal the well-worn and well- loved stub of a blue crayon. It was an inexpensive one, obviously, the wax more clear than cobalt, and the boy obviously couldn't have drawn much with it, given that, as Draco had surmised earlier, he had no light, and his attempts were all on wood. . .but what got Draco, was that the crayon itself was so. . .loved. As though it were all the tiny child possessed in the world. . .
If possible, Vernons ugly face purpled further. "What?!" he grated out dangerously.
"I dwew that they didn't die in da caw cwash-" //Car crash? His parents didn't die in a. . .// "And that they came on a big, flying motobike, and we fwew to a magic kingdom whe-"
But Potter got no farther. Vernon's face reached an all time shade of puce and his eyes widened grotesquely as he exploded with ire.
"FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU MONGREL! THERE IS-NO-SUCH-THING-AS- *******MAGIC******!"
"But my Daddy-"
"No," Vernon snarled, dragging Harry bodily from the closet and into the hallway. "You listen to me, you little piece of shit! Your Daddy was a screw-up!"
"No. . ." little Harry exclaimed, trying desperately to free himself from the vise-like grip of the evil man before him.
"Yes," Vernon spat cruelly, his lip drawn back a feral snarl. His son, and a crane-like woman Draco assumed to be his wife watched coldly. "He was nothing-a nobody. Got your whore of a Mother knocked up real good, didn't he?"
Vernon grinned, delighting in the boys cry of pain as h twisted his right arm mercilessly. Draco saw red. "No good cocksucker! That bastard didn't care about that no good slut-he liked his hard, rough and dry. . .and you're just like him!"
The bone had cracked and Harry fell, scuttling quickly across the floor in an attempt to flee his uncle's wrath. Still snarling in pleasure, Vernon grabbed his nephew's messy ebony hair, dealing him repeated blows to the face and neck until the skin was as much red as it was tan.
"Truth is, boy," the man smirked, placing his foot almost casually on the sprawled boys knee. "The only tragic thing about their death was that the bastards didn't take you with them."
At Harry's cry of rage, Vernon shifted all of his 300-odd lbs onto the knee- supported foot with a sickening *!CRUNCH!* earning a cry of pain so intense, it literally made Draco's world go black.
. . . TBC. . .
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
1. Baby talk; the boys are young in their memories, so they can't pronounce certain words correctly. If anyone has any trouble figuring out which words mean what, just leave it in your review, and I'll clear it up there. :)
2. The Unaufhörliche Qual Curse-This I just made up. It's German for "Agony Unending." I'm intending it to be a slightly modified, more intense version of the Crucitus. It'll come up again. :p
Okay, so yeah. There it is! Ta-da! I'm sorry again that this was so late, but I'm not living at my house at the moment, and so, having access to all of my stories has been a bit hard (especially as they're all on disc. . .:p). Then, once I finally got it re-written, ff.net kept screwing me over, and wouldn't upload. Grrr. . . Oh, well. All's well that ends well, right?
Signing off, now. Please, please, REVIEW!!!!!!! Love you all!
~NayNymic
Okay, yeah, so my comps a bit fucked at the moment so, first off for this chapter only (I hope. . .)
*Blah* = italics, emphasis
^^blah^^ = things that are communicated across the bond, as it were. . .
//blah// = thoughts Sooooooo sorry about the long delay-all is explained at the bottom! Love you all like mad!
~NayNymic
Chapter Seven: Memories Best Forgotten. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He knew where he was-he had been there before, many, many times. His Father had always brought him there to. . . "learn," he said. Humility, fear, hatred, obedience, sometimes cunning-but always. . . *always*. . .pain.
But even as his mind recognized it, it denied it. This wasn't real, couldn't be. For one thing, he could see himself-young. No more than three or four years of age, at most. He was huddling in a dark corner, seemingly attempting to blend in with the dank dungeon walls and floor. And for another, his younger-self was crying.
//A memory then,// he thought. He himself hadn't cried in years.
Malfoys never cry.
He watched as four-year-old-Draco's head snapped quickly to attention, eyes round with fear. He had an anxious look on his tiny face, as though he were listening to something or someone very far away. Then, as quickly as it had come, the look of consternation passed, morphing quickly into an awful, full-fledged fear.
Hastily, the child wiped the tears from his small, pale face, trying to compose himself for the evil that both he and Draco himself knew to be coming towards the door. He knew that something was coming, but what? //What is it that I fear so?// Draco asked himself as he watched the boy before him grow even paler. There was a sort of dreadful silence for a moment and then. . .footsteps.
//Ah,// Draco thought, his "eyes" once again trained on the younger blonde. //And here he comes. . .//
Dispassionately, Draco watched the scene unfold before him. It was a occurrence that he knew all too well. Vaguely, he wondered what his young self had done to cause the livid expression gracing his Father's face, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. It didn't matter what the boy that was himself had done. It never really did. In the end, it was all the same.
Circles chasing circles, chasing circles. . .
"So, boy," Lucius Malfoy's cold voice rang through the dungeon. "Have you thought on what we. . .discussed?"
The small boy nodded, barely able to keep his immense fear from triggering the impending tears.
"And?"
"I won't do it again, fadew(1). . .I pwomise. . ."
Lucius sneered at his young son. He had obviously beaten the tiny child for his earlier offense pretty badly for his voice to be so faint. But then, Draco mused further, all of the beatings were bad.
Lucius turned to leave-probably with the full intention to lave young-Draco as he was, when a small voice rang hesitantly out from behind him. "Daddy?"
Lucius stiffened, his entire body frozen with what the boy probably thought was shock, but what Draco knew to be rage. Inwardly, he winced. The sneer of earlier moments had been wiped from his Father's aristocratic face to be replaced by a façade of utter calm. But his eyes, Draco shuddered. Those eyes bespoke murder.
"Why did you call hew a mudbwood? Is 'sat bad?"
For a moment, silence rang through the dark cavernous space, piercing the frigid, stale air. Louder, it was, than a scream. "What," the man said, his voice deadly. "Have I said about that name."
It was not a question.
There was a desperate gleam in the child's eyes as he realized his mistake, too late. Lucius was going to explode now. No doubt remained in the Slytherin's mind.
Despite himself, he felt bad for the boy; after all, he knew those beatings too. He knew the agony of the *Crucitus*, the sting of the *Unaufhörliche Qual* Curse (2), how it felt to actually *want* to die.
He knew, knew all too well. These were, after all, his own memories.
//Odd,// He watched, detached, as the boys Father bloodied him mercilessly. He did not resist, could only scream again and again. . .//I wonder how many of *these* precious moments made it into the Family Albums.. .Merlin knows, there are so damned many that they should, by rights, occupy them entirely. . .//
His train of thought was broken by his memory-Father's derisive snort. "Call yourself a Malfoy, do you boy?" He gave the bloodied heap of child another kick, satisfaction flitting across his icy face when the child whimpered slightly. This expression was soon replaced by a sneer however, as he knelt down to whisper in his sons ear. "You'll never be fit to lick the dirt from my boots, worthless child."
Then he was gone.
//Ah, yes, now I remember this. . .// Draco felt a wave of pain wash over him, sympathy he supposed for the boy he had been, but squashed it ruthlessly. //I never made the mistake of calling him *Daddy* again.//
Draco watched, brow furrowed, as the boy began to cry once more, sobs of pain and anguish wracking his small body furiously. It would be hours, Draco knew, before anyone came to dry the tears. The blood itself was never allowed to be removed.
"Still hasn't been," he whispered softly into the newborn silence.
As the memory faded, Draco thought he felt a presence near him-someone he knew, someone he cared for. Deeply. But who?
^^It's all right,^^ they seemed to be saying to him. ^^I know what you are, and what you have seen. I never knew before, but I see now. . .^^
^^Who are you?^^ He wanted to shout, but found he couldn't.
^^It's all right. . .^^ the presence assured him. ^^I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I see now. . .I see.. .^^
A feeling of serenity flowed over him, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of a warm hand slipping into his own. This. . .person, if indeed it was one, was someone he could trust; someone who would and did care. He couldn't really explain it, not even to himself, but somehow he knew, without knowing, that this presence was the one who mattered. That this. . .bond was right. Was good.
//Heaven//
His musings were brought to an abrupt end as the, erm. . .room? settled again. This time he was in a tiny, cramped space, so dark as to actually be entirely devoid of light. He could hear the sounds of someone or something scratching against what sounded like wood. The thing was. . .humming, the song off-key and unrecognizable. A child, then. The "thing" was a child.
God. A child. In such a place as this? //How could anyone stand to be in here?// He thought. This was indeed the kind of dark that one would *never* get used to. . .And if you ever did, your eyes would be virtually ruined for life. . .
Suddenly, the scratching stopped, and loud footsteps could be heard. Very heavy footsteps. Inwardly, Draco wondered what could be so very large as to be responsible for them. He could hear sounds of the faceless child putting something away, and, beside him, the presence seemed to tense expectantly; holding their breath in dreadful anticipation. Draco, responding to the others fear, stiffened subconsciously and waited.
He didn't wait long. A moment later, Draco's "eyes" were blasted with light and sound, as what appeared to be the door to a small closet was wrenched open.
"Boy." A large man, probably the one responsible for the elephant-esqe footsteps, with a livid purple face and a large moustache appeared suddenly in the opening. "You'd better not be making any noise in here. . .well? Were you?"
"No, Uncle Vewnon," a small voice said quietly from Draco's left. Suddenly, Draco was aware of a small boy, four at best, untidy ink-black hair and big vibrant green eyes sans the usual ugly glasses. . .Oh, Merlin. . .Potter.
"Liaw!" came a bratty, young voice from behind the large man. "Daddy, the nasty boy's a liaw!"
"What do you mean, Duddykins?" the obese man called Uncle Vernon cooed. Draco shuddered in revulsion.
"I hewd him Daddy. . .he was scwatching again."
Draco watched as Har-no, *Potter's* face blanched quickly. Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, reducing them to mere slits of fat in his pig- like face.
"Is this true? Were you using them *again*?"
Draco had no idea what "they" were, but what could Ha-*Potter, damnit!* Possibly be doing that could be so awful? The young boy nodded his head- green eyes glassy with fear.
Beside Draco, the presence seemed to wince.
"I'm sowwy, Uncle Vewnon. . .I didn't mean to use the cwayons when you towd me not to, but I only used one!" he said somewhat hurriedly. "I just wanted to dwaw Mummy and Daddy.. ."
He held out a tiny fist, and opened it to reveal the well-worn and well- loved stub of a blue crayon. It was an inexpensive one, obviously, the wax more clear than cobalt, and the boy obviously couldn't have drawn much with it, given that, as Draco had surmised earlier, he had no light, and his attempts were all on wood. . .but what got Draco, was that the crayon itself was so. . .loved. As though it were all the tiny child possessed in the world. . .
If possible, Vernons ugly face purpled further. "What?!" he grated out dangerously.
"I dwew that they didn't die in da caw cwash-" //Car crash? His parents didn't die in a. . .// "And that they came on a big, flying motobike, and we fwew to a magic kingdom whe-"
But Potter got no farther. Vernon's face reached an all time shade of puce and his eyes widened grotesquely as he exploded with ire.
"FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU MONGREL! THERE IS-NO-SUCH-THING-AS- *******MAGIC******!"
"But my Daddy-"
"No," Vernon snarled, dragging Harry bodily from the closet and into the hallway. "You listen to me, you little piece of shit! Your Daddy was a screw-up!"
"No. . ." little Harry exclaimed, trying desperately to free himself from the vise-like grip of the evil man before him.
"Yes," Vernon spat cruelly, his lip drawn back a feral snarl. His son, and a crane-like woman Draco assumed to be his wife watched coldly. "He was nothing-a nobody. Got your whore of a Mother knocked up real good, didn't he?"
Vernon grinned, delighting in the boys cry of pain as h twisted his right arm mercilessly. Draco saw red. "No good cocksucker! That bastard didn't care about that no good slut-he liked his hard, rough and dry. . .and you're just like him!"
The bone had cracked and Harry fell, scuttling quickly across the floor in an attempt to flee his uncle's wrath. Still snarling in pleasure, Vernon grabbed his nephew's messy ebony hair, dealing him repeated blows to the face and neck until the skin was as much red as it was tan.
"Truth is, boy," the man smirked, placing his foot almost casually on the sprawled boys knee. "The only tragic thing about their death was that the bastards didn't take you with them."
At Harry's cry of rage, Vernon shifted all of his 300-odd lbs onto the knee- supported foot with a sickening *!CRUNCH!* earning a cry of pain so intense, it literally made Draco's world go black.
. . . TBC. . .
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
1. Baby talk; the boys are young in their memories, so they can't pronounce certain words correctly. If anyone has any trouble figuring out which words mean what, just leave it in your review, and I'll clear it up there. :)
2. The Unaufhörliche Qual Curse-This I just made up. It's German for "Agony Unending." I'm intending it to be a slightly modified, more intense version of the Crucitus. It'll come up again. :p
Okay, so yeah. There it is! Ta-da! I'm sorry again that this was so late, but I'm not living at my house at the moment, and so, having access to all of my stories has been a bit hard (especially as they're all on disc. . .:p). Then, once I finally got it re-written, ff.net kept screwing me over, and wouldn't upload. Grrr. . . Oh, well. All's well that ends well, right?
Signing off, now. Please, please, REVIEW!!!!!!! Love you all!
~NayNymic
