I walked around in the dark mansion in an almost drug-like haze. I was staring at the floor, watching my feet creep along the tattered wood floor. I was hearing people speaking, but I'm not sure whether they were real ot imaginary. My father had guests over, but they were in a completely different part of the house. This place was like a tomb, though, silent and deep, and voices could travel far. I was hearing weeping as well. It was incessant, and I'd been hearing it for quite sometime as I was walking. I followed the shuddering cries to the door of my room. I hadn't slept in my own room ever since the night with my father, and it was slightly astonishing to see some life inhabiting it. I peeked around the corner to my own mother, clasping the pillows on my bed and weeping bitterly.
Weeks ago, this sight would have rendered my heart in two, but now I just stood there, fascinated with the sight of human pathos. Part of me delighted in this pain, and the other part thought I must be crazy for feeling so. I inched fprward, battling with myself whether or not to step in and talk to her, ask her why she was crying. There must have been some sympathy left in my young bones, because I continued walking forward, and placed a boyish hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me, her eyes red, and her cheeks blotted. At the sight of me, she broke down harder, and clasped me to her bosom.
"Draco, Draco...mi amour..." She whispered in her flawless French. Mother only spoke French when she was very upset. She had spent Summers in the Reviera with her mother, and had grown to love the country dearly. I hestitantly placed a hand upon her blond head. I suppose I was trying to comfort her, but I was strangely empty still.
"I'm sorry for what he did to you. I'm so sorry!" She looked up at me, and her eyes were searching, and in want of something I don't think I could have given her. I stared straight back at her and heard myself say, "It's okay, Mother. I don't hurt anymore." She started crying more then, and I kept staring.
"He's broken you!" She screamed angerly. I smiled a strange sort of smile and walked out. Mother should get rid of that ugly weakness. It's so very unbecoming. I continued my tour of the home with the same smile. I was playing over and pver again in my head that image. I think I had seen her heart break, right in front of my eyes. It was, dare I say, delicious. I walked slowly but deliberately and found myself in a bathroom. I stared at the blinding white of the walls and tiles. I was staring, wide-eyed at the drawers under the sink. I cautiously stalked toward it and opened the drawer. I pulled out a spare shaving razor.
I wondered why I had led myself here. Something in my subconcious had certainly urged me forward, but for what? I stared at the sharp object in my hand and realized that I had a pin in my chest. It was a deep, searing pain that was growing ever more insistant as I concentrated. I felt a wet mark on my cheek and reached up to feel a droplet of water sliding down. The imaged of my mother crying and my father laughing at me were playing over and over again in my head. I tried to stop them but they just continued on, as more confusing tears welled up and spilled down my face.
"I'm not supposed to cry." I whispered, to no one but myself. I sat down on the toilet and placed the razor on the pale flesh of my wrist. I glided it along slowly and felt my pain sibsiding. I wanted it all to go away, so I continued on down my wrist. I revelled in the sight of my own blood staining the snow white floor. I felt tears again, but this time they were tears of pain, and I smiled meniacly as I started cutting faster, and slashing my wrist to pieces. It was exstacy, and I was lost in it completely.
I woke up to the sound of dishes being set next to my bed. I looked at my right arm and saw it bandaged. "You blacked out, Son." My father arose from the shdows as the house elf that had given me my dinner skittered out. I stared at him, wondering if he was angry or delighted in my pain. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he swooped down and collected my into a hug. My eyes widened as he kissed my head and whispered to me, "I'm sorry." It was simple as that, and he was gone. My father never once again entered my room late at night, or looked at me lustfully. I felt a happiness welling up inside of me as I lay down to bed every night. I wasn't scared or worried anymore. It was very easy for me to sleep now that I didn't have to wonder when Father would come.