Chapter II
"It's not rape, how silly of you! We are married" he was actually surprised, really surprised- and not scared of me. Not for one second, I'm afraid... how amused he looked, facing me, as I was standing there with a knife. "Just put it down" he said with a sneer. That's just how he is, he ignores my anger, he always did, and I can't complain really. Just watching him makes me learn more about people than anything else. Nobody ever questions what he does. Well, nobody did until recently. Well, you see, my dad is a very special person. One would think I got after him, but no. After you're around us Malfoy's for a while you see that I'm actually just like my mother, which really gets on my nerves sometimes. She doesn't have the character I want to have, I am afraid I will get just like her, a little too much like her . Daddy dearest says character is something you can work on, but that's just an old joke of him...because, of course, he believes that you have to be born beautiful, you have to be born to higher tasks , you have to have strong will in your blood. He says mother doesn't have it. He's not much of a philosopher, but admitted, he was born special. And he knows which eyeshadow will emphasize this quality of his.
He was the only one to reject me, really, so if you ask yourself why I might sound a little to bitter for my age, well, that's the bloody reason. Just like Colin. But Colin this, Colin that, enough of him! Do I sound bitter by the way? I hope so, otherwise all what had happened would prove to be worthless; not even scarring my mind. My father never learned, he never worked on himself, he just profits from the pain he suffered, and my darlings, that is the best way to go trough life- if you are able to deal with that. So, whatever happens, humiliation, pain, loneliness- just put more perfume on. I'm wondering about Harry. Sometimes. He seems to be the only one who thinks the same way I do. I know he had some rough time in the past, and even now; but at least he didn't see his mother raped on a regular basis. But I can't complain either, I know when I was still pretty much unaware of what's going on with the Dark Lord he actually defeated him. Get that, that's really something. There are so many rumors about what happened to Harry in the past years, and nobody seems to really know what's going on. Except Harry, of course.
To be honest, I hate that he gets so much attention. He doesn't even care for what he's wearing, stupid muggle upbringing I guess. His hair is interesting in a way, I like that messy look. But that's about everything I appreciate about that Potter boy. People seem to be very attracted to him, even if they don't like him- which is very often the case, how weird, isn't it? The hero boy; but this way or another he always gets to be in the spotlight.
He met the Dark Lord before I got to meet him. That is something I could be jealous of; not that I am. That's just a thought tho.
I don't hate him, absolutely not. I hate my father. That is hate; my feelings towards Harry are actually pretty friendly. What can I do about the fact that his best buddies seem to despise me more than anything? He probably does too, but he's trained in the fine art of forgiving and so on, and so on. He's got such a huge golden heart. You should see how nasty this sweet boy can get, oh my. You know, once... once he really beat me almost unconscious. I played along and pretended to lose it before he actually he manage to hurt me. I'm not fooling you, he can get pretty wasted and then pretty violent. He doesn't do it too often I think; but still, happens.
I have to say it was fun reporting him to Dumbledore. I have no idea how long did he spend in detentions for it, but certainly they came up with a nice excuse to avoid expelling him. Those are not the times where anyone would let Harry leave Hogwarts. The War makes it so much easier to behave badly.
But that was the last time I was teasing that boy. Of course, it might seem as if he had just scared me enough to be nice to him now. I am not nice though, because Harry has a delicate spot now. Sirius. I'm not saying I'm playing tastelessly with his emotions.
Well, maybe I am!
Anyway that train of thought doesn't lead anywhere. I just can't get that boy out of my head. And as much as it hurts I have to admit that his charm works on me too. But here's where the strong will comes in handy- I am able to cut down those silly feelings everyone seems to develop towards him. I can't even count how many times he drove me crazy by being in my dreams. Thankfully, I know now how to deal with emotions those dreams evoke.
So, you see, there is some sort of silly infatuation, whether I want it or not. I can't say I'm going for it, but Hermione is just the perfect...she's just perfect to get us all together.
Because the way I see it now, we should be together. Not as a couple, silly you. Not me and Harry.
You have to understand that I don't care for many people. I would even say I don't care for people at all; I care for the beauty that we all can create together. I told you about Colin. This boy is pure poetry. I didn't tell you about Tom though. Tom I do care about. But there's something I don't want him to achieve- Harry's death. And somehow I don't even want him to win the war. It seems I want the war to last forever.
But I'm not that naïve. I know it will take many of the beauties I cherish, and although I know that I've seen so much by now I haven't seen anything yet. Who taught me that? The Dark Lord himself.
Tom was the one to save me from being a total fool. The nights after I confessed.... confided in my father- that was the most humiliating time in my family's life. I never felt so betrayed, and if you knew what happened, you would understand why I hate my dearest father.
He's not a good daddy. You see, in relationships he's like a femme fatale. Oh, muggles have delirious movies about those kind of woman... 'The Blue Angel' ? 'Morocco'? 'Mata Hari'? That is style and grace; and I felt so special when daddy's friends showed me those movies- the silly thing in muggles is, they do not believe in this kind of life besides the screen. I said that 'femme fatale' thing about my father because I think it's the best way to describe the way he is with others. He really never knows what he wants- so he takes it all and leaves behind whatever turns out to be less satisfying. He never had to learn to choose, he was never forced to it. Yes, his natural born charm allows him to play with everyone, and to tease...
Ah, I shaped my eyebrows just like his favorite movie star, Greta Garbo. I was wearing red and green, just the colors he thinks I look best in. I was wearing the nicest petticoats under my robes; that's when I really started dressing myself and when I got my own taste. It was all just to impress him, in the beginning that is.
I developed the finest feeling for choosing fabrics; I knew which furs to wear to which occasions. My hair, oh dear, what haven't I done with my hair just to satisfy him- so he could show me off, like a doll, at his parties. I noticed pretty quickly that he is trying to push my limits. At first, it was a pleasure for him to get complimented on me; but he couldn't have noticed faster how it all started to look like some sort of prostitution. We would arrive to an event, a family like from a picture- my mother modest, but stunningly silent, goddess-like; maybe a little too shy- which is nothing bad really, especially that people thing she's just very aloof. Him, the most beautiful creature you could imagine. A tall and sleek man, perfect hair, not a wrinkle on his delicate coat, giving those intense charming looks...one would think it's his soul, his mind being so powerful and charmingly looking trough his eyes. But it's just eyeliner, really; I know he can sit dumbly and numbly thinking about nothing and look like he's fascinated by the pure fact of his own existence.
And me, the doll I was, with hair neatly curled, the fur collars perfectly matching the tone of my skin and gloves with discreet rings that would underline the delicate shape of my hands... my hands are just like my mothers- a fact that made me proud, back then. Then, he would show me off more and more blatantly, he was almost making me turn around in front of a crowd to present me... and the things he used to say. Like I was his trained puppy! The people were delighted, and so was he; the more admiration he got the more avowedly he was playing with me. I never felt secure back then, all those hands touching me, allegedly 'in passing by', those seemingly innocent kisses! And those terrible, terrible smiles. This is not a lot you want to be a doll for, the Death Eaters. I can assure you. I can't imagine not going to those parties, not meeting those beautiful and influential people, crème de la crème of our wizard's world - but I want to be someone they respect.
That was the time I was washing myself all the time. My skin was shedding in some places. I was so trivially obsessed with being clean, I didn't even notice there was this obvious connection between my daddy somewhat selling me to others and this psychotic behavior.
He was just trying me; I saw that in his looks- this mocking smile he gave me whenever I put more effort in looking good. But he seemed to be so satisfied with me, too, and how he encouraged me! He introduced me to the best tailors, the most exclusive jewelers, those who create the most beautiful masterpieces by combining magic with actual knowledge of the matter and the work of hands. Sometimes he was stroking my hand and kissing it, telling me how wonderful I smell and how delicate my skin is. Just like your mothers, he added sometimes with a fleeting smile that made my heart rise in hope.
How much pleasure must it have been for him, to torture me in the ways he did. He showed me so much love and concern sometimes that when he grew cold the very moment after- I couldn't even think clearly. I wanted hold him forever by my side, having him entertain me and anybody else, telling me stories, telling me compliments! And he was always leaving me with that lack of satisfaction, the hunger for more. So many times he turned to me during a conversation, giving me a mysterious smile, looking at me with visible pleasure- but then he turned his back to me just as quickly.
One night he danced with me, and his eyes were staring at me so intense, and his hands were holding me so tight I was gasping for breath- that is what I wanted, to dance with him forever. We were, as other guests joked, the most graceful couple of the event. It didn't matter to him, I think. If it did, he disguised it really well.
How blind one can be! I will always wonder about that phenomenon of loving someone so deeply that you're able to lose yourself in this love.
He still alleges he loves mother. And that was the love I was so jealous for? So many times I heard her screaming, I never really questioned it, as it was always there in our house. Until that moment, when I couldn't bear it anymore, them being together, without me. I ran into their room where I saw her tortured , I ran in with a knife, my face red in traces of tears... the valet, not the house elf I mean, couldn't keep me away from entering that room with no force. I must have had a pretty stupid look at my face, as my mother winced at the vision of me standing there; and he, my father, just lifted his eyebrow and smiled. "What are you doing, Draco?" He asked softly, and once more, I was bedazzled by how quickly his voice and expression can change- from a monster, a furious animal he turned within seconds into my loving father. The words about rape escaped my mouth faster than I could think; I wouldn't say that otherwise. That's when he said calmly : "You silly boy. We're married. It's not rape"
So, that night I realized I couldn't take it any longer. Seeing him the way he was with my mother made it pretty clear where I want to be with him. The image of his body, of his hair falling down onto the shoulders covered in sweat and scratches- I couldn't push it away from my thoughts for weeks. I got so thin then! I had to stay in bed for days, being treated with the silliest kinds of medication. And then, after such a long time, he came to see me saying with this worried voice that he knows I am troubled with something.
He couldn't wait it either. He wanted to hear it as much as I needed to say it. So I did; I told him everything. I broke down I tears, and he encouraged me to put all the love and desire I had for him into words. And guess what he did after that?
He laughed at me. He said that I can't be serious about falling in love with my own father. Again, the sneer on his face and the soft, oh-so- rational voice gave me shivers as he told me he won't tolerate such ridiculous, sick behavior and if I don't stop immediately he will have to send me to see a specialist about that. And you have no idea what kind of 'specialists' he knows.
"It's not rape, how silly of you! We are married" he was actually surprised, really surprised- and not scared of me. Not for one second, I'm afraid... how amused he looked, facing me, as I was standing there with a knife. "Just put it down" he said with a sneer. That's just how he is, he ignores my anger, he always did, and I can't complain really. Just watching him makes me learn more about people than anything else. Nobody ever questions what he does. Well, nobody did until recently. Well, you see, my dad is a very special person. One would think I got after him, but no. After you're around us Malfoy's for a while you see that I'm actually just like my mother, which really gets on my nerves sometimes. She doesn't have the character I want to have, I am afraid I will get just like her, a little too much like her . Daddy dearest says character is something you can work on, but that's just an old joke of him...because, of course, he believes that you have to be born beautiful, you have to be born to higher tasks , you have to have strong will in your blood. He says mother doesn't have it. He's not much of a philosopher, but admitted, he was born special. And he knows which eyeshadow will emphasize this quality of his.
He was the only one to reject me, really, so if you ask yourself why I might sound a little to bitter for my age, well, that's the bloody reason. Just like Colin. But Colin this, Colin that, enough of him! Do I sound bitter by the way? I hope so, otherwise all what had happened would prove to be worthless; not even scarring my mind. My father never learned, he never worked on himself, he just profits from the pain he suffered, and my darlings, that is the best way to go trough life- if you are able to deal with that. So, whatever happens, humiliation, pain, loneliness- just put more perfume on. I'm wondering about Harry. Sometimes. He seems to be the only one who thinks the same way I do. I know he had some rough time in the past, and even now; but at least he didn't see his mother raped on a regular basis. But I can't complain either, I know when I was still pretty much unaware of what's going on with the Dark Lord he actually defeated him. Get that, that's really something. There are so many rumors about what happened to Harry in the past years, and nobody seems to really know what's going on. Except Harry, of course.
To be honest, I hate that he gets so much attention. He doesn't even care for what he's wearing, stupid muggle upbringing I guess. His hair is interesting in a way, I like that messy look. But that's about everything I appreciate about that Potter boy. People seem to be very attracted to him, even if they don't like him- which is very often the case, how weird, isn't it? The hero boy; but this way or another he always gets to be in the spotlight.
He met the Dark Lord before I got to meet him. That is something I could be jealous of; not that I am. That's just a thought tho.
I don't hate him, absolutely not. I hate my father. That is hate; my feelings towards Harry are actually pretty friendly. What can I do about the fact that his best buddies seem to despise me more than anything? He probably does too, but he's trained in the fine art of forgiving and so on, and so on. He's got such a huge golden heart. You should see how nasty this sweet boy can get, oh my. You know, once... once he really beat me almost unconscious. I played along and pretended to lose it before he actually he manage to hurt me. I'm not fooling you, he can get pretty wasted and then pretty violent. He doesn't do it too often I think; but still, happens.
I have to say it was fun reporting him to Dumbledore. I have no idea how long did he spend in detentions for it, but certainly they came up with a nice excuse to avoid expelling him. Those are not the times where anyone would let Harry leave Hogwarts. The War makes it so much easier to behave badly.
But that was the last time I was teasing that boy. Of course, it might seem as if he had just scared me enough to be nice to him now. I am not nice though, because Harry has a delicate spot now. Sirius. I'm not saying I'm playing tastelessly with his emotions.
Well, maybe I am!
Anyway that train of thought doesn't lead anywhere. I just can't get that boy out of my head. And as much as it hurts I have to admit that his charm works on me too. But here's where the strong will comes in handy- I am able to cut down those silly feelings everyone seems to develop towards him. I can't even count how many times he drove me crazy by being in my dreams. Thankfully, I know now how to deal with emotions those dreams evoke.
So, you see, there is some sort of silly infatuation, whether I want it or not. I can't say I'm going for it, but Hermione is just the perfect...she's just perfect to get us all together.
Because the way I see it now, we should be together. Not as a couple, silly you. Not me and Harry.
You have to understand that I don't care for many people. I would even say I don't care for people at all; I care for the beauty that we all can create together. I told you about Colin. This boy is pure poetry. I didn't tell you about Tom though. Tom I do care about. But there's something I don't want him to achieve- Harry's death. And somehow I don't even want him to win the war. It seems I want the war to last forever.
But I'm not that naïve. I know it will take many of the beauties I cherish, and although I know that I've seen so much by now I haven't seen anything yet. Who taught me that? The Dark Lord himself.
Tom was the one to save me from being a total fool. The nights after I confessed.... confided in my father- that was the most humiliating time in my family's life. I never felt so betrayed, and if you knew what happened, you would understand why I hate my dearest father.
He's not a good daddy. You see, in relationships he's like a femme fatale. Oh, muggles have delirious movies about those kind of woman... 'The Blue Angel' ? 'Morocco'? 'Mata Hari'? That is style and grace; and I felt so special when daddy's friends showed me those movies- the silly thing in muggles is, they do not believe in this kind of life besides the screen. I said that 'femme fatale' thing about my father because I think it's the best way to describe the way he is with others. He really never knows what he wants- so he takes it all and leaves behind whatever turns out to be less satisfying. He never had to learn to choose, he was never forced to it. Yes, his natural born charm allows him to play with everyone, and to tease...
Ah, I shaped my eyebrows just like his favorite movie star, Greta Garbo. I was wearing red and green, just the colors he thinks I look best in. I was wearing the nicest petticoats under my robes; that's when I really started dressing myself and when I got my own taste. It was all just to impress him, in the beginning that is.
I developed the finest feeling for choosing fabrics; I knew which furs to wear to which occasions. My hair, oh dear, what haven't I done with my hair just to satisfy him- so he could show me off, like a doll, at his parties. I noticed pretty quickly that he is trying to push my limits. At first, it was a pleasure for him to get complimented on me; but he couldn't have noticed faster how it all started to look like some sort of prostitution. We would arrive to an event, a family like from a picture- my mother modest, but stunningly silent, goddess-like; maybe a little too shy- which is nothing bad really, especially that people thing she's just very aloof. Him, the most beautiful creature you could imagine. A tall and sleek man, perfect hair, not a wrinkle on his delicate coat, giving those intense charming looks...one would think it's his soul, his mind being so powerful and charmingly looking trough his eyes. But it's just eyeliner, really; I know he can sit dumbly and numbly thinking about nothing and look like he's fascinated by the pure fact of his own existence.
And me, the doll I was, with hair neatly curled, the fur collars perfectly matching the tone of my skin and gloves with discreet rings that would underline the delicate shape of my hands... my hands are just like my mothers- a fact that made me proud, back then. Then, he would show me off more and more blatantly, he was almost making me turn around in front of a crowd to present me... and the things he used to say. Like I was his trained puppy! The people were delighted, and so was he; the more admiration he got the more avowedly he was playing with me. I never felt secure back then, all those hands touching me, allegedly 'in passing by', those seemingly innocent kisses! And those terrible, terrible smiles. This is not a lot you want to be a doll for, the Death Eaters. I can assure you. I can't imagine not going to those parties, not meeting those beautiful and influential people, crème de la crème of our wizard's world - but I want to be someone they respect.
That was the time I was washing myself all the time. My skin was shedding in some places. I was so trivially obsessed with being clean, I didn't even notice there was this obvious connection between my daddy somewhat selling me to others and this psychotic behavior.
He was just trying me; I saw that in his looks- this mocking smile he gave me whenever I put more effort in looking good. But he seemed to be so satisfied with me, too, and how he encouraged me! He introduced me to the best tailors, the most exclusive jewelers, those who create the most beautiful masterpieces by combining magic with actual knowledge of the matter and the work of hands. Sometimes he was stroking my hand and kissing it, telling me how wonderful I smell and how delicate my skin is. Just like your mothers, he added sometimes with a fleeting smile that made my heart rise in hope.
How much pleasure must it have been for him, to torture me in the ways he did. He showed me so much love and concern sometimes that when he grew cold the very moment after- I couldn't even think clearly. I wanted hold him forever by my side, having him entertain me and anybody else, telling me stories, telling me compliments! And he was always leaving me with that lack of satisfaction, the hunger for more. So many times he turned to me during a conversation, giving me a mysterious smile, looking at me with visible pleasure- but then he turned his back to me just as quickly.
One night he danced with me, and his eyes were staring at me so intense, and his hands were holding me so tight I was gasping for breath- that is what I wanted, to dance with him forever. We were, as other guests joked, the most graceful couple of the event. It didn't matter to him, I think. If it did, he disguised it really well.
How blind one can be! I will always wonder about that phenomenon of loving someone so deeply that you're able to lose yourself in this love.
He still alleges he loves mother. And that was the love I was so jealous for? So many times I heard her screaming, I never really questioned it, as it was always there in our house. Until that moment, when I couldn't bear it anymore, them being together, without me. I ran into their room where I saw her tortured , I ran in with a knife, my face red in traces of tears... the valet, not the house elf I mean, couldn't keep me away from entering that room with no force. I must have had a pretty stupid look at my face, as my mother winced at the vision of me standing there; and he, my father, just lifted his eyebrow and smiled. "What are you doing, Draco?" He asked softly, and once more, I was bedazzled by how quickly his voice and expression can change- from a monster, a furious animal he turned within seconds into my loving father. The words about rape escaped my mouth faster than I could think; I wouldn't say that otherwise. That's when he said calmly : "You silly boy. We're married. It's not rape"
So, that night I realized I couldn't take it any longer. Seeing him the way he was with my mother made it pretty clear where I want to be with him. The image of his body, of his hair falling down onto the shoulders covered in sweat and scratches- I couldn't push it away from my thoughts for weeks. I got so thin then! I had to stay in bed for days, being treated with the silliest kinds of medication. And then, after such a long time, he came to see me saying with this worried voice that he knows I am troubled with something.
He couldn't wait it either. He wanted to hear it as much as I needed to say it. So I did; I told him everything. I broke down I tears, and he encouraged me to put all the love and desire I had for him into words. And guess what he did after that?
He laughed at me. He said that I can't be serious about falling in love with my own father. Again, the sneer on his face and the soft, oh-so- rational voice gave me shivers as he told me he won't tolerate such ridiculous, sick behavior and if I don't stop immediately he will have to send me to see a specialist about that. And you have no idea what kind of 'specialists' he knows.