Atlantis
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Chapter Five
Imaginary
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Draco Malfoy
Journal Entry something or other
Year Seven
Number: 191213
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Severus got me out as promised, the very next day. But not before that final lasting punishment. The humiliation that will forever haunt me. The scar that will never fade.
And all of that other poetic shit I'm supposed to say about this lovely mark on my face in order to show that I'm searching the depths of my soul and all of that stuff. I feel like I should have an entire page worth of things to say about my new mark but really I have nothing beyond the truth.
The facts. Plain, simple, and laid out for your viewing pleasure.
I looked up at the sound of my prison creaking open. Part of me hoped for my potions master but I was rarely so optimistic in real life. So I was far from disappointed when the man I knew as Wormtail walked in. His teeth were a dull yellow color, exposed because of the way his dry and cracked lips were drawn back in a parody of sadism. His skin was washed out and gray, save for his gleaming silver arm, and his body flabby and rank with the stench of filth.
How quaint. Voldemort had sent his favorite little bet to come and finish me off.
It looked as if Severus would be able to keep his promise in a round about way. I'd get out, as I severely doubt I was to survive this little encounter, and the pain and torture would end. And I think, really, that I was okay with that prospect. I was just so tired all of a sudden.
"Let him down." Wormtail's voice echoed in the small room.
"Finally." My voice was a mere whisper but it lacked none of my carefully learned and perfected venom and acid. "I was beginning to lose feeling in my arms. I must inform you that these accommodations are ghastly."
Wormtail smiled and I winced internally. Had the man never heard of a toothbrush? "The Malfoy pride is a delicious thing you know. People were willing to kill each other for the chance to break your parents. I'm pleased to see you're every bit as stubborn."
I smiled wryly. "I was taught by the best."
I was dropped in that instant and hit the ground with a hard thud. Tiny prickles of pain ran through my legs and hands and I took a sort of delight in being able to feel something in my limbs. I was so glad to feel anything at all I didn't even acknowledge that it was pain. I didn't bother trying to get up, as it seemed unwise to show how weak I truly was. I wanted to leave a hint of question in their minds.
I pushed myself into a sitting position and set about rubbing full circulation back into my wrists, pointedly ignoring the others in the room. There was a moment of silence, as if my unwillingness to acknowledge them came as a surprise.
I bit back a sigh as I was grabbed. What exactly I expected I couldn't say but to be pinned to the ground and stretched out on the damp and dingy floor wasn't exactly it. It should have been I suppose when you consider who my tormenter was to be, but I was still taken aback.
Then Wormtail climbed onto me, crushing air from my lungs and irritated an already bruised and battered chest. Not to mention I'd never been the most built bloke in the world, maybe even skinny by most accounts, so holding the weight of an overweight man wasn't something I was built for. It took will power I hadn't even known I had to keep from crying out in alarm and disgust.
What can I say; I just didn't fancy having that man put his hands on me. At least the other Death Eaters bathed regularly.
I gritted my teeth and hissed out: "I never thought you were so deprived Wormtail, what with all that Death Eater action I'm sure you've been seeing. What's the problem? Did Voldemort decided to forgo your bed for thoughts of Potter again?"
A hand closed around my throat and squeezed. I coughed, maybe even gagged, but made no sort of move to stop him from strangling me. Soon my vision began to gray around the edges and I could feel myself beginning to slip away from the world of the waking.
Then the pressure was gone and I could breath. I drew in a deep rattling breath involuntarily. Damn it.
I smirked up at the blurry figure hovering above me and he glowered back, clearly furious with me. Good. He'd slipped up and very nearly killed me. He ad almost lost the game we were playing and Voldemort didn't favor losers. (Nor did he like those that won too often. My parents were proof of that.)
Wormtail's buttons were easy for me to find and push. Just mention that Voldemort may want someone above him, and especially Potter, and the man would start to lose what little control he had. He was so very easy to twist and manipulate. That's why Voldemort really kept him close.
He was afraid the man would fall under someone else's sway one day and let lose all of the things he'd seen while in the Death Eater fold. Wormtail could never be allowed to become anyone but Voldemort's because he was Voldemort's. It mad sense in a strange sort of way I think.
"If you had any sense at all you'd stop trying to upset me Malfoy. I control your fate from this moment on, just as I controlled your parents."
I snorted. "I guess we were all pretty useless in those last moments."
His eyes narrowed for a moment then reached over to his side. I tried to follow his hand but found that my head didn't really want to cooperate. Oh well. I was sure I'd find out what exactly he was reaching for in a matter of moments.
"My lord has told me to make sure you always remember your time here with us. We can go about that in a way that we will both find pleasurable-" Like hell. "Or you can continue to be stubborn by trying to push me and suffer for it."
I smirked. "I'm a masochist."
For a second I caught sight of a sharp piece of metal in his hand, nearly white from heat. He held it aloft while forcing my head off to one side. I clenched my jaw in an attempt to steel myself against the oncoming pain. I felt the heat before I felt the metal, and it made my skin blister from the intensity. Then the metal touched my cheek and I jerked as my entire face blossomed in pain. It felt like my skin was slowly being melted away from my face.
Blood filled my mouth, a salty metallic tang I'd come to know very well, and I realized I'd practically bitten my tongue off. I blinked, feeling tears prick my eyes. I felt the metal moving along my skin carefully, carving a pattern and I realized, just as an errant tear burned its way down my face, that I had lost the game.
And I screamed. And I fought and I trashed and I wanted to be anywhere but there and would have not only welcomed Death but fallen to my knees and given it the best blow job of my entire life if I could have just gotten the fuck out of there.
I'm sure my father was somewhere in hell cursing my. He would have been very disappointed to see me crack like I did in that room. Most people would say things like 'of course you screamed, the pain must have been horrible' and 'your parents wouldn't think any less of you for it' but they didn't fucking know Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy did they?
They didn't understand that I had just shamed hundreds of years of strong, thick skinned, unshakeable Malfoys by opening my mouth that day. They wouldn't understand and maybe they can't understand. I couldn't possibly care less.
The last thing I was aware of, before falling into a blessedly black oblivion, was Wormtail crying out.
"I know it! I knew you were nothing but a traitor! You will die!"
And then I woke up in a bed in the infirmary of Hogwarts with a very disenchanted looking Severus Snape at my side. I blinked up at him and he blinked down at me before sitting back in his chair and letting out a long sigh.
Anyone else would have given me false words of comfort to try and ease my pain but Severus just sat there and let the silence seep into my bones and I appreciated that because it gave me time to think.
I had lost. Voldemort had won. I'd broken.
And it would never happen again. Never. Another sound would not leave my lips. My punishment for not winning the game.
…Well, perhaps that wasn't totally true. I spoke to Severus for the short time he was at Hogwarts but now he's gone. Rescuing me exposed him and now he's gone and the only person left who gives a shit about me is that crazy old coot who had me put in here to begin with.
And isn't that kind of ironic?
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Draco leaned against the doorframe and watched Ron watch the ocean. One of the few upsides of being stuck in this strange little prison was the views. While in a technical sense this wing looked directly at the forest all of the rooms were enchanted to show different scenes. Something about evoking feelings of tranquility and peace.
Weasley had stumbled into a room that showed a wide expanse of ocean. He was sitting on the window seat and watching the waves crash against the glass. He had his arms wrapped around himself and he was perfectly still, almost as if there was no one truly inside. Those eyes, which had once been as wide and blue as the water Ron was so intent on watching, were full and seemed almost...gray.
Draco wondered what was wrong with him. Sure Potter was dead but somehow that didn't seem like enough to totally send the redhead off of his rocker. Ron had always struck him as the responsible type who would risk a thousands deaths to protect those around him…
Yet he'd just sent his little mudblood girlfriend and his sister away with enough cruelty that even Lucius Malfoy would have been impressed.
He considered the journal he now held in his hands. Wondered what secrets it may have held.
He tossed it into the room. It bounced off of the window just above Weasley's head and fell to the ground with a soft thud. Ron jumped then turned slowly and looked down. For a moment his one good eye stared at the book blankly then he stood slowly and walked over to it. He crouched, picking it up, then glanced over at Draco.
"Thanks Malfoy." He frowned for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind. Then he nodded, more to himself than at Draco. "I hear you don't talk."
While it was true that he hadn't see Draco speak in the few days he'd been there, but he didn't see him that much either. He spent most of his time alone or with Dean and Seamus. Draco wasn't…a person he would ever go out of his way to speak to, even if they were both stark raving mad.
Draco just stared. Bloody brilliant this one was. Where was Thomas when he needed semi-intelligent conversation anyway? (Not that it could really be considered conversation what with him not speaking, but the basic idea still held.)
"It's pretty screwed up; all of this. Or…us, maybe." Ron paused, not sure what he was trying to get across for a minute, or why he was event talking to Malfoy of all people. Maybe because he knew he wouldn't speak back or tell anyone else. It was easy to speak to a mute. "Actually I kind of think everyone else is screwed up and its like we're the only people who notice and so we must be nutters."
Draco arched an eyebrow. How…enlightening. That was probably the most intelligent thing he'd ever heard Weasley say and, considering it was kind of rambling and nonsensical, that was saying something. He understood what Ron meant…he didn't really think he was crazy. Everyone around him maybe, but not really himself.
He made sense, it was the world that was out of whack.
Ron didn't notice Draco's thoughtful expression, too busy trying to puzzle out the jumble that was his mind as of late.
"It's not like…I'm crazy. I mean, I'm probably a little crazy but shouldn't everyone else be crazy as well after…everything? How can anyone who was really there not want to curl up in a little ball and cry? It's just so… And my family and friends, just picking up and moving on. I know that it has to hurt them as well so why are they so intent on never showing it? Why'm I the only one who acts like things aren't okay? They aren't, you know? Nothing can ever really be okay again. Not that I was okay to begin with."
Ron shoved his hands into his pockets, looking at the ground. He was rambling aimlessly, in circles really, and it all came back to the same place. He felt so alone, had always felt alone, with his thoughts and feelings and it was like…the carefully constructed Ron mask he'd fought so hard to maintain throughout the War had just cracked and died with Harry.
He couldn't even fake a smile anymore, not for them. Once he'd faked everything for the sake of those around him but now…he just felt so betrayed. Even more cut off from everyone than he'd been when he'd just faked who he was. Now that he couldn't pretend anymore and was who he was everyone seemed even more without of reach.
They thought he'd just had a spontaneous breakdown and couldn't see that this had been him for quite a while. They probably would never get it. They…just couldn't see him for what he was. Couldn't understand that he'd always been itching with pain; for pain. That he'd always felt like something…strange and twisted lied just under his skin and that maybe if he just carved a little deeper he could cut it out.
No, they didn't understand because…that wasn't them. It was so out of their…line of reasoning that they couldn't get it.
"I guess, maybe, I'm weaker than all of them in the long run. I'm the one who's stuck, right? Mourning instead of moving on, like my dad and Harry would want me to. They'd hate this; how utterly selfish it is. They'd want me to be strong and help everyone else though it. I…I just can't anymore. I feel like I've been falling apart on the inside for years but now I'm starting to crack on the surface and everyone is…they can't face it Can't face me anymore."
Ron turned away from him but Draco couldn't help but notice the wet film that had covered his eyes before he did. He looked away as well, wondering why he was even standing here, listening. He could claim he didn't have a choice, he couldn't very well tell Ron to shut up.
"Its like…they can't even stand to see me anymore, except to come to visit to make sure I'm still breathing. Like it hurts to look at me because I see it all and…what'm I supposed to do? They wouldn't even talk about it! How can they just...forget?"
Draco watched as Ron walked back to the window jerkily and sat down, drawing his legs up to his chest and bowing his head. A strangled sound seemed to be almost torn from him and it took a moment for Draco to fully process that the other teen was crying.
He could just leave couldn't he? Wasn't like Ron would really notice and it wasn't like he gave a damn about the Weasel's stupid nervous breakdown. He had his own shit to work through without taking on anyone else's. He didn't need to care.
He swallowed then walked over to Ron, sitting on the floor so his back was against the window seat and Ron's foot dangled next to his shoulder.
They would just chalk this up as…protecting his fellow crazies. He stood by Thomas and Finnigan, why not Weasley as well? The stupid rivalry was dead and buried, what was the point of clinging to it when the only things they had in this stupid wing was each other? Their fellow seventh years and war survivors: What was the point in shunning the only people they had left?
Even their families didn't give a damn.
This…was truly it.
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Thanks to Moon, Anon, and NZ.
Cora: Psychology is fun and crazy people…have proven to somewhat amusing.
Crazy Loon: I love it when you ramble on, you do it so well. You've got it pretty well. Ron sent Ginny and Hermione away to both protect them and to protect himself. He doesn't want to be that terrible thing they have to deal with that reminds them of the past, but at the same time he doesn't want their pity or…them, really. Draco has a noted interest in Ron, he just isn't sure why that is yet.
Mechante: Something like an explosion, yeah. I'm done with school, just got me a job, and have a few parties lines up…but I'm more or less free. So lots of time to write. It's cool that you were remembering my story, I love the idea of sticking in people's heads…
Taryn: Thanks. I love flawed Ron and Draco (Almost as Draco in makeup actually) so I'd like to think I'm doing a good job. I've done a little research and…well, I'm hoping its going well.