Ok, kind of a weird chapter...I think anyway. Thank you for your reviews (
All appreciated. Tell me what you think of this please. Oh an I've made the
story R rated...just to be safe cause I'm slightly paranoid.
The meal ended and Dumbledore bade them all goodnight. Draco scraped back his chair and, looking down at the uneaten bread on his plate, followed the rest of the school out of the hall. He walked the automatic steps towards his Common Room, saying good bye to Blaise on the second floor and eventually ending up in a corridor with only the other sixth year prefects. Draco was the first to arrive at the Portrait Hole, gave the password to a beaming Fabian and walked in.
He blanked out Pansy's annoyed "humph" as he pushed her out of the way and continued to walk towards the stairs. He ignored Harry's smug "Bad luck today, Malfoy," and opened his door.
Draco walked into his room and leant with his back against the door breathing deeply for several moments. Suddenly, he turned around and kicked the door hard, stormed over to the book shelf and booted that too, sending books flying everywhere. He walked slowly over to his bedside cabinet, opened the draw and pulled out a knife. He slowly drew a vertical line along the inside of his arm. The blood oozed out, and with it, he felt the tension leaving him. He breathed for a minute, his muscles relaxed slightly, his body still shaking, then flung himself on to the bed. There he lay for at least an hour, awake and thinking. After a while, he fell into a troubled sleep, his nightmares barely worse than his waking thoughts had been.
Eventually he lifted his head from the pillow and hauled himself to his feet. It was pitch black outside, apart from the waxing moon which was spreading a milky glow through his window. He looked at his watch. One a.m.
He pulled his wand out and pointed it at each of the candles in turn, muttering "flaminium" as he did so. Slowly, the room filled with light, and Draco stripped off his robes and his t-shirt and walked over to the window. The room was hot and stuffy and the breeze was pleasant on his skin.
There he stood, basking in the light of the moon and the chill of the air. Once he was cool, he turned away from the window, made his way to his bedside draw and began to rummage around. Firstly, he pulled out the small brown paper bag, checked it's contents, and returned it to the draw. There was very little left, and it would be more urgently needed in the future. He then pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and placed it beside him on the floor.
He grabbed a small book and quill from inside the draw, picked up the bottle, pushed the draw shut and left the room, without even blowing out the candles or putting on a shirt.
He made his way down the stair case and into the common room, where the embers of the dying fire were still struggling, glowing weakly, occasionally emitting a spark of life and a raspy crackle.
He flung himself down on the settee, wincing slightly as he did so, opened the book and began to scribble, occasionally taking a swig of the liquid from inside the bottle. The clock chimed two and he raised himself from the sofa and walked to the open window, bottle in hand.
He rested his arms against the windowsill and leant out, humming softly to himself and swinging the bottle in front of him. Below him he could see the outskirts of the forbidden forests, swaying serenely in the breeze and further off in the distance, he could see the black shape of the Quidditch pitch.
He looked down and his left arm which was holding the drink. The long gash down his arm was healing over. He rubbed his fingernails along it, feeling the stinging sensation renewed. He took a large swig from the bottle and screwed his face up against the burning feeling in his throat. He took deep breaths of cool air to soothe the pain
After a few minutes he heard a voice behind him saying, "Aren't you cold, it's freezing out there."
He turned around and there was Hermione standing with her back to the fire, dressed in pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. She was shivering slightly, despite the fire.
"Well, fancy seeing you here!" Draco exclaimed, drunkenly, lifting his arms towards her. It was then that she noticed the gash down his arm and the half empty bottle in his hand. "Come, join me in a bottle of...whatever this is," he said, patting the seat beside him as he flung himself onto the sofa and lifting the bottle up.
Hermione sat down, but shook her head to the drink.
"Draco?" Hermione said, hesitantly.
"Mmmmmm?" said Draco, who was staring intently at the liquid in the bottle, which was reflecting the fire light.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Where?" he said inspecting it.
"There," said Hermione, pointing.
"That...! Just call it a product of teenage angst, parental aggression, blind stupidity, whatever you like."
She raised an eyebrow and stared closely at his arm. Before her very eyes, more marks appeared. Some raised and red, some scabbed and some simply white lines.
"Draco, what-?" she began.
"Dammit..." he muttered, "stupid potion...there's no way it's been eight hours..."
"What are you talking about?" she said, sounding confused, but at that moment he stood up and she gasped.
"How the hell did that happen!" she said, staring at his back and grabbing onto the arm which was unharmed.
He turned around and her eyes widened in shock. His face was scarred in several places, there was a violent red stripe across one cheek, a blackening eye and several bruises.
He took another drink and said slowly, "Please let go of my arm, I need to go take some more potion."
"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to you!" she said, sounding slightly hysterical.
"I'd really rather not..." he replied, softly, swaying slightly and taking another swig.
"You don't have a choice in the matter," she said, firmly, and pushed him down onto the sofa once again.
He sighed deeply and allowed himself to be seated.
"They didn't get there by accident," she began, "and you might have cut your own arms, but you didn't beat yourself up, so tell me who did, if you're being bullied I can go to Dumbledore, he wouldn't stand for it you know-"
Draco began to laugh and she stopped abruptly.
"What?" she said, sounding slightly affronted.
"Hermione, who in this school would have the bottle to bully me?" he said, still sounding amused, "and anyway, I thought you knew...you read my notebook...didn't you?"
"I got a glimpse of it for like..10 seconds, I hardly read it cover to cover..." she said, sounding uncertain.
"Oh...well I figured a smart little witch like you must have put two and two together...apparently I'm smarter than I thought," he said, sounding sardonically pleased.
"So are you going to keep complimenting me, or are you going to enlighten me?" she asked, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.
He sighed again and took another drink.
"Do you get on with your parents?" he asked her suddenly, after a few minutes.
She looked warily at him and then answered, "I suppose so..."
"Well I don't," he said, shortly.
"Wait...your parents did that to you...?" she questioned as blood oozed from his shoulder and a bruise throbbed sinisterly. "Parent. Singular. I only have one parent," he said, staring at the floor.
"You...but...what?"
"My mother died when I was four, Hermione," he said, softly, showing no emotion on the subject.
"I...I never knew, I'm so sorry-"
"You didn't kill her so don't fucking apologise," he spat, viciously.
She looked slightly taken aback, then composed her self and said, tentatively, "So...who was it who did that to you then...?" she trailed off.
"You know Hermione, I honestly thought you were smart."
"Would you just answer me straight!" she said, becoming agitated.
"Look, I really don't want to talk about this ok, it isn't important..." he said, timidly.
Hermione looked as if she was about to cry, "Please Draco, tell me, I don't like seeing you like this, it's...it's scary. I might be able to help," she said, sadly.
"Look Hermione, my father's a deatheater, he's hardly one to send me to bed with no supper as a punishment, is he? And you can't help, no one can..." he said, softly.
"Yes they could! It isn't right Draco, you shouldn't stand for it!" she said, sounding choked.
"What do you mean I shouldn't stand for it? What exactly can I do about it?"
"You could stand up to him! Fight back!" she said, full of furious determination.
Draco shook his head slowly and looked as if he could not believe what he was hearing.
"Stand up to him....fight back...?" he muttered.
In a split second he was on his feet, "Fight back!" he yelled, and before she could say another word, he has struck her across the face and she was sprawled on the floor, "Come on Hermione! Stand up against someone who's twice and powerful as you, who would kill you in a second if you gave them a reason! Come on, fight back!"
He stood, breathing heavily, still angry...and slowly, she got to her feet and walked tentatively towards him.
She got closer and closer, he was still full of rage that he felt like venting, but she didn't give him the chance.
She was now so close he could hear her breathing. She stopped a few inches in front of him and looked up. She raised her hand and tilted his face towards her own.
He wasn't aware of what was happening, only that, next moment, their lips had touched. She could taste the alcohol in his mouth and wondered, had he been entirely sober, would he have pushed her away by now?
She kissed him gently for several moments and then she pulled slowly away.
She looked up at him and smiled, "I think I fought back," she said softly, and sat down again.
He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her and looked guiltily at the red mark upon her cheek.
"Yeah, but I don't think my father would react too well if I did that to him, would he?" he said, weakly.
"That really wasn't the reaction I expected..."
"What did you expect me to do?" she asked, lightly.
"I don't know, slap me back...run away? Anything but that..."
"Are you complaining?" she said, her eye brows raised.
"No," he said, grinning.
"But I was serious Hermione, fight back? Have you ever actually met my father?"
"Of course I have..."
"Then how the hell do you expect me to stand up to him?" he asked, incredulously.
"Well...I don't know...you always seem so sure of yourself, like you don't care what anyone thinks, you're not afraid of anyone," she answered.
He smiled slightly at this, "Everyone's afraid of something."
"So you're afraid of Lucius?"
"How can I not be? After...after..." he trailed off.
"After what?" she asked, confused.
"After everything! After everything he's ever done to me, to my mother, to all the muggles and mudbloods – I mean, well you know what I mean...sorry, he rubbed off on me, what can I say?" he sighed.
She looked a little annoyed, but said nothing about derogatory term.
"What has he done to you and your mother?" she asked, hesitantly.
"Look at me," he said, gesturing to his body, "he made me terrified of him, for as long as I can remember. I was never allowed any freedom, to do what I want, say what I want, even think what I want. If he found out I ever so much as looked at you without throwing an insult or a curse, he'd kill me, and if he found out that the last thing I want is to become a deatheater, and that I hate Voldemort, and all the deatheaters...well I don't think I need to go into details of what would happen to me," he looked older than his years and, suddenly, much more sober, "my life is mapped out for me and I have no say in the matter. In a few weeks time I'll be killing muggles and planning the death of your best friend. You just kissed your murderer Hermione, there's no two ways about it."
He looked at her and, for the first time ever, he looked truly afraid, like a lost child.
"There's nothing I can do," he whispered, his voice in danger of breaking, "I hate it, and I hate my father, and I hate myself for it, but there's nothing I can do..." he broke off and put his head in his hands.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and lifted his head up to look at her again. She smiled slightly and said, "I know you won't follow him forever, one day you'll realise, it's your life, not his, he can't make you do anything you don't want to, you'll find a way to win."
She kissed the bruise on his shoulder and made her way to the bruise on his jaw, then to his lips. He kissed her passionately, pushed her back on the sofa and laid himself on top of her, holding her close.
He pulled away for a moment and said, "I don't think anyone has ever believed in me like you, they all just think I am who my father is..."
"You're not anything like your father, I don't think you'd be kissing a mudblood like me if you were," she replied.
The meal ended and Dumbledore bade them all goodnight. Draco scraped back his chair and, looking down at the uneaten bread on his plate, followed the rest of the school out of the hall. He walked the automatic steps towards his Common Room, saying good bye to Blaise on the second floor and eventually ending up in a corridor with only the other sixth year prefects. Draco was the first to arrive at the Portrait Hole, gave the password to a beaming Fabian and walked in.
He blanked out Pansy's annoyed "humph" as he pushed her out of the way and continued to walk towards the stairs. He ignored Harry's smug "Bad luck today, Malfoy," and opened his door.
Draco walked into his room and leant with his back against the door breathing deeply for several moments. Suddenly, he turned around and kicked the door hard, stormed over to the book shelf and booted that too, sending books flying everywhere. He walked slowly over to his bedside cabinet, opened the draw and pulled out a knife. He slowly drew a vertical line along the inside of his arm. The blood oozed out, and with it, he felt the tension leaving him. He breathed for a minute, his muscles relaxed slightly, his body still shaking, then flung himself on to the bed. There he lay for at least an hour, awake and thinking. After a while, he fell into a troubled sleep, his nightmares barely worse than his waking thoughts had been.
Eventually he lifted his head from the pillow and hauled himself to his feet. It was pitch black outside, apart from the waxing moon which was spreading a milky glow through his window. He looked at his watch. One a.m.
He pulled his wand out and pointed it at each of the candles in turn, muttering "flaminium" as he did so. Slowly, the room filled with light, and Draco stripped off his robes and his t-shirt and walked over to the window. The room was hot and stuffy and the breeze was pleasant on his skin.
There he stood, basking in the light of the moon and the chill of the air. Once he was cool, he turned away from the window, made his way to his bedside draw and began to rummage around. Firstly, he pulled out the small brown paper bag, checked it's contents, and returned it to the draw. There was very little left, and it would be more urgently needed in the future. He then pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and placed it beside him on the floor.
He grabbed a small book and quill from inside the draw, picked up the bottle, pushed the draw shut and left the room, without even blowing out the candles or putting on a shirt.
He made his way down the stair case and into the common room, where the embers of the dying fire were still struggling, glowing weakly, occasionally emitting a spark of life and a raspy crackle.
He flung himself down on the settee, wincing slightly as he did so, opened the book and began to scribble, occasionally taking a swig of the liquid from inside the bottle. The clock chimed two and he raised himself from the sofa and walked to the open window, bottle in hand.
He rested his arms against the windowsill and leant out, humming softly to himself and swinging the bottle in front of him. Below him he could see the outskirts of the forbidden forests, swaying serenely in the breeze and further off in the distance, he could see the black shape of the Quidditch pitch.
He looked down and his left arm which was holding the drink. The long gash down his arm was healing over. He rubbed his fingernails along it, feeling the stinging sensation renewed. He took a large swig from the bottle and screwed his face up against the burning feeling in his throat. He took deep breaths of cool air to soothe the pain
After a few minutes he heard a voice behind him saying, "Aren't you cold, it's freezing out there."
He turned around and there was Hermione standing with her back to the fire, dressed in pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. She was shivering slightly, despite the fire.
"Well, fancy seeing you here!" Draco exclaimed, drunkenly, lifting his arms towards her. It was then that she noticed the gash down his arm and the half empty bottle in his hand. "Come, join me in a bottle of...whatever this is," he said, patting the seat beside him as he flung himself onto the sofa and lifting the bottle up.
Hermione sat down, but shook her head to the drink.
"Draco?" Hermione said, hesitantly.
"Mmmmmm?" said Draco, who was staring intently at the liquid in the bottle, which was reflecting the fire light.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Where?" he said inspecting it.
"There," said Hermione, pointing.
"That...! Just call it a product of teenage angst, parental aggression, blind stupidity, whatever you like."
She raised an eyebrow and stared closely at his arm. Before her very eyes, more marks appeared. Some raised and red, some scabbed and some simply white lines.
"Draco, what-?" she began.
"Dammit..." he muttered, "stupid potion...there's no way it's been eight hours..."
"What are you talking about?" she said, sounding confused, but at that moment he stood up and she gasped.
"How the hell did that happen!" she said, staring at his back and grabbing onto the arm which was unharmed.
He turned around and her eyes widened in shock. His face was scarred in several places, there was a violent red stripe across one cheek, a blackening eye and several bruises.
He took another drink and said slowly, "Please let go of my arm, I need to go take some more potion."
"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to you!" she said, sounding slightly hysterical.
"I'd really rather not..." he replied, softly, swaying slightly and taking another swig.
"You don't have a choice in the matter," she said, firmly, and pushed him down onto the sofa once again.
He sighed deeply and allowed himself to be seated.
"They didn't get there by accident," she began, "and you might have cut your own arms, but you didn't beat yourself up, so tell me who did, if you're being bullied I can go to Dumbledore, he wouldn't stand for it you know-"
Draco began to laugh and she stopped abruptly.
"What?" she said, sounding slightly affronted.
"Hermione, who in this school would have the bottle to bully me?" he said, still sounding amused, "and anyway, I thought you knew...you read my notebook...didn't you?"
"I got a glimpse of it for like..10 seconds, I hardly read it cover to cover..." she said, sounding uncertain.
"Oh...well I figured a smart little witch like you must have put two and two together...apparently I'm smarter than I thought," he said, sounding sardonically pleased.
"So are you going to keep complimenting me, or are you going to enlighten me?" she asked, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.
He sighed again and took another drink.
"Do you get on with your parents?" he asked her suddenly, after a few minutes.
She looked warily at him and then answered, "I suppose so..."
"Well I don't," he said, shortly.
"Wait...your parents did that to you...?" she questioned as blood oozed from his shoulder and a bruise throbbed sinisterly. "Parent. Singular. I only have one parent," he said, staring at the floor.
"You...but...what?"
"My mother died when I was four, Hermione," he said, softly, showing no emotion on the subject.
"I...I never knew, I'm so sorry-"
"You didn't kill her so don't fucking apologise," he spat, viciously.
She looked slightly taken aback, then composed her self and said, tentatively, "So...who was it who did that to you then...?" she trailed off.
"You know Hermione, I honestly thought you were smart."
"Would you just answer me straight!" she said, becoming agitated.
"Look, I really don't want to talk about this ok, it isn't important..." he said, timidly.
Hermione looked as if she was about to cry, "Please Draco, tell me, I don't like seeing you like this, it's...it's scary. I might be able to help," she said, sadly.
"Look Hermione, my father's a deatheater, he's hardly one to send me to bed with no supper as a punishment, is he? And you can't help, no one can..." he said, softly.
"Yes they could! It isn't right Draco, you shouldn't stand for it!" she said, sounding choked.
"What do you mean I shouldn't stand for it? What exactly can I do about it?"
"You could stand up to him! Fight back!" she said, full of furious determination.
Draco shook his head slowly and looked as if he could not believe what he was hearing.
"Stand up to him....fight back...?" he muttered.
In a split second he was on his feet, "Fight back!" he yelled, and before she could say another word, he has struck her across the face and she was sprawled on the floor, "Come on Hermione! Stand up against someone who's twice and powerful as you, who would kill you in a second if you gave them a reason! Come on, fight back!"
He stood, breathing heavily, still angry...and slowly, she got to her feet and walked tentatively towards him.
She got closer and closer, he was still full of rage that he felt like venting, but she didn't give him the chance.
She was now so close he could hear her breathing. She stopped a few inches in front of him and looked up. She raised her hand and tilted his face towards her own.
He wasn't aware of what was happening, only that, next moment, their lips had touched. She could taste the alcohol in his mouth and wondered, had he been entirely sober, would he have pushed her away by now?
She kissed him gently for several moments and then she pulled slowly away.
She looked up at him and smiled, "I think I fought back," she said softly, and sat down again.
He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her and looked guiltily at the red mark upon her cheek.
"Yeah, but I don't think my father would react too well if I did that to him, would he?" he said, weakly.
"That really wasn't the reaction I expected..."
"What did you expect me to do?" she asked, lightly.
"I don't know, slap me back...run away? Anything but that..."
"Are you complaining?" she said, her eye brows raised.
"No," he said, grinning.
"But I was serious Hermione, fight back? Have you ever actually met my father?"
"Of course I have..."
"Then how the hell do you expect me to stand up to him?" he asked, incredulously.
"Well...I don't know...you always seem so sure of yourself, like you don't care what anyone thinks, you're not afraid of anyone," she answered.
He smiled slightly at this, "Everyone's afraid of something."
"So you're afraid of Lucius?"
"How can I not be? After...after..." he trailed off.
"After what?" she asked, confused.
"After everything! After everything he's ever done to me, to my mother, to all the muggles and mudbloods – I mean, well you know what I mean...sorry, he rubbed off on me, what can I say?" he sighed.
She looked a little annoyed, but said nothing about derogatory term.
"What has he done to you and your mother?" she asked, hesitantly.
"Look at me," he said, gesturing to his body, "he made me terrified of him, for as long as I can remember. I was never allowed any freedom, to do what I want, say what I want, even think what I want. If he found out I ever so much as looked at you without throwing an insult or a curse, he'd kill me, and if he found out that the last thing I want is to become a deatheater, and that I hate Voldemort, and all the deatheaters...well I don't think I need to go into details of what would happen to me," he looked older than his years and, suddenly, much more sober, "my life is mapped out for me and I have no say in the matter. In a few weeks time I'll be killing muggles and planning the death of your best friend. You just kissed your murderer Hermione, there's no two ways about it."
He looked at her and, for the first time ever, he looked truly afraid, like a lost child.
"There's nothing I can do," he whispered, his voice in danger of breaking, "I hate it, and I hate my father, and I hate myself for it, but there's nothing I can do..." he broke off and put his head in his hands.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and lifted his head up to look at her again. She smiled slightly and said, "I know you won't follow him forever, one day you'll realise, it's your life, not his, he can't make you do anything you don't want to, you'll find a way to win."
She kissed the bruise on his shoulder and made her way to the bruise on his jaw, then to his lips. He kissed her passionately, pushed her back on the sofa and laid himself on top of her, holding her close.
He pulled away for a moment and said, "I don't think anyone has ever believed in me like you, they all just think I am who my father is..."
"You're not anything like your father, I don't think you'd be kissing a mudblood like me if you were," she replied.