The Dark Side of the Moon
Chapter 2
Cigarettes
The pain intensified tenfold, as canine teeth sank into the soft flesh of her neck, and her body arced upward, large claws forcing her to arch her spine brutally as the cruel portrayal of love approached its climax. No sound left her lips, as she trembled in agony. She wouldn't scream.
It wasn't an act of defiance, her silent tortured struggle was just as arousing for the inhuman soul above her as anguished tears and terrified screams. She couldn't scream. Screaming would only alert others of her terror, would only trap others inside this hell. She'd be damned for all eternity if she let that happen.
She would remain silent. She could remain silent.
One claw, fisted in her hair, jerked downwards and the only light in the sky, a sliver of the pale moon, blurred into a dozen colors as pain shot through her neck like lightening, harboring in the base of her skull before firing into her mind with a flash of brilliant white light.
It wasn't the scarlet blood that dripped onto her tearstain cheeks from yellowed canine fangs, nor the dingy, rotten smell of air forced from the lungs of the creature pinning her to the sodden ground, nor the feel of firecrackers sparking to life within her as he filled her womb with his seed that froze her heart with fear in that moment.
No, all of those things would pass, just as the world turns and the sun rises. Her heart stopped beating, and her lungs stopped filling with air, because she screamed. Loud, and clear, and it echoed on the crisp night air, rousing the lanterns of the house nearby.
She prayed for death, her death, as the beast clung to her, yelping manically, digging the blood stained nails of his claws into her flesh, ripping her open as he was pulled away. The snapping of teeth, baying of dogs, and slashing of claws filled the air around her, mixing with the quiet chant of her mother, as she stroked her hair, dragging her limp form away from the battle.
Words were choked through her quivering lips, words she didn't understand but meant with her entire soul, words that no one would dare repeat. A loud crack of Apparation broke through the sound of battle and all was hushed, but for the chanting of her mother. Then that, the solace of unknown words, was broken too, with a howl of a scream, and her body tumbled downward, back onto the sullied ground.
The cold mud, felt unrealistically warm against her shivering flesh as the blood flowing from her wounds swirled with the earth. Her eyes begged to close, to hide the truth from her, but she refused to let them.
"Come. Hurry. Mungo's. Can't. Dying," were the only words her mind comprehended in the stuttered and croaked voices of those she knew, though they weren't hovering above her. She didn't understand why.
And then, with crushing heartbreak, she knew.
Swimming before her eyes was the dying image of her serenity, of her heaven. Slashed across the throat, blood gushing from the fatal wound and the dirty fingers attempting to halt the flow, spilling onto the sodden ground, mingling with hers, his head thrown back, dark hair matted with dirt, singed from curses, his eyes hollow and empty. And it was all her fault.
She screamed.
Panting heavily, frantically yanking her bedding from her legs, Lilith Moon leaned over the edge of her bed and retched into the wastebasket. After empting the contents of her stomach, she roughly wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, feeling the wetness of tears on her cheeks. Sniffing, despite her anger, she ridded her face of tears, flicking on her light.
As the small curtained area of her bed filled with a soft glowing light, her eyes settled on her reflection. The mirror, merrily glued to her bedpost, whispered in a hoarse voice, "I always said you were most beautiful when you were crying." She smiled weakly at it, letting herself believe that it wasn't some charmed devise quoting phrases that he wanted her to hear even when they were apart, but him, peaking in the curtains, pressing kisses to her hair.
Only allowing her fantasy to last for a few moments longer, she sighed vanishing the vomit in her wastebasket and climbing out of bed. The gray light of morning peered into the false windows of the room, casting its dull rays across the beds of the other sleeping girls. Moon tucked her hair behind her ear, thanking whatever greater power there may or may not have been, for not letting them stir.
Gathering her things, she padded silently to the bathroom, and stood before the sink, staring at her reflection. It gave her no words of comfort or intrigue, and not for the first time, she was pleased at its silence. Opening the medicine chest, she carefully removed the bottle of pills from the top shelf, fingering the lid for a moment, in contemplation. With a sharp inhalation of air, she tugged off the cap and placed two pills in her palm. She quickly swallowed them, before inspecting the bottle again. Frowning, she transformed a pair of earrings into the shape of the pills, marking them with an 'x' on either side before slipping them into the bottle and replacing the lid.
Splashing cold water onto her face, she began her daily routine.
Draco Malfoy decided long ago that breakfast was for happy people. For cheerful people. For people who were glad Harry Potter vanquished the Dark Lord. Draco Malfoy was not one of these people. Draco Malfoy did not eat breakfast.
Instead, he wandered the Hogwarts grounds, aimlessly. Not that he would ever admit to engaging in an aimless activity. That was not fitting for a Malfoy. Malfoy's had a purpose and Draco Malfoy's purpose was to annoy the living hell out of anyone he deemed unworthy of peace. Today's target, which surprisingly was not Harry Potter, happened to share his belief of breakfast being a meal for happy people, and she was not a happy person.
He spotted her with ease, listlessly posed against one of the many pillars of the colonnade, staring up at the patched ceiling, watching smoke drift lazily up into the air.
"Dirty, muggle habit, that," Malfoy said carelessly, nodding to the cancer stick resting between Moon's fingers as he strode up beside her.
She turned to him, breathing the smoke out through her nose; she brought the cigarette back to her lips. Lifting a sardonic eyebrow, she inhaled deeply, sucking the chemically enhanced tobacco into her lungs. When she released it, a small "oh" of sound left her lips as the smoke pooled in his face, clinging to his hair and clothes.
Wrinkling his nose, he took a step back, coughing, before realizing he had let her get to him, yet again. Smirking, he stole the cigarette from her loose grasp, taking a long drag from it. Returning the favor, he blew the smoke into her face. She merely blinked, holding her hand out, waiting for the return of her sorry excuse for the first meal of the day.
Malfoy ignored her outstretched hand, holding the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, studying it with a scrutinizing gaze. Moon stared at him, mildly bemused, severely irked. Haughtily leaning against the stone pillar on one shoulder, her cigarette still between his fingers, he peered out into the trees of the forbidden forest.
"Lilith Moon, Hufflepuff, seventh year, adequate in Charms, brilliant in Arithmancy, struggles with Herbology, visit's the Headmistress on a seemingly regular basis, and lost her virginity to Fred and George Weasley," he chuckled, "not sure which managed to penetrate first, but my guess is Fred. First from the womb, first to the grave. It just makes sense." He chattered off what might be her defining traits with an air of vague amusement, sucking on her cigarette every so often, not moving his gaze the trees.
A dry laugh bubbled in Moon's throat, spilling out of her mouth sarcastically. "So, you've troubled yourself with learning my name. I suppose, your little whore offered the extra tidbits for free." She smiled faintly. "My, my, I'm surprised one little meeting in the bath could have had such an effect on you, Mister Malfoy. I didn't think you'd 'sully' your thoughts with such a 'disgusting creature' as me." Sighing in with a hint of amusement, she added, "It was George, by the way. I wouldn't want you to be forced to sleep with Parkinson, yet again, just to appease that little pique of intrigue."
Malfoy scowled. "I wasn't thinking of you," he hissed, inwardly rolling his eyes at his words, they surely had not made anything better.
Moon laughed outright at that. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. I thought sparring with you would have a hint of a challenge in it. So far, I've dragged you through the mud without even trying. Make an effort."
As far as Malfoy was concerned, that was below the belt. She was calling him dumb. Didn't she see the people he hung out with? Moon would have pointed out that is why he fancied himself so brilliant; he surrounded himself with thoughtless whores and bumbling baboons, had she heard his thoughts.
"I beg to differ," retorted Malfoy, lifting his chin.
"I'm sure you do," was Moon's humored reply, "but, sadly, I've lost interest in you. My cigarette, if you please." She motioned with her fingers curtly.
Enraged at her blatant brush off, Malfoy took one last drag off the cigarette before tossing it to the ground, smashing it under his toe. He exhaled the smoke into her face, arrogantly raising an eyebrow.
Moon frowned for a moment, before slipping her hand into the front pocket of her bag and removing a shiny, silver lighter and a new cancer stick. With a flick of the lighter, she took a short puff on the cigarette, giving Malfoy a snort of defiance. Again, she blew the smoke into his face. "I hope you die of cancer, Malfoy. Second hand, of course. You wouldn't be able to contract the illness on your own." Laughing listlessly, she murmured, "I doubt you can do anything own your own. Bet you even need help getting your little whore off." Slowly turning on her heel, she swaggered for the castle, ignoring any would be retorts.
Malfoy fumed, forcefully pulling out his wand and jabbing it in her direction. And with a whispered curse Moon's dark red hair was set ablaze. She gave a satisfying shriek, dropping her bag, and quickly removing her wand.
He was quickly disappointed however. Instead of covering herself in water to subdue the flames, she used a severing charm, ridding herself of the burning tresses. The burnt hair lay in a pile of smoldering ashes, as Moon ran a hand through the few remaining centimeters of tendrils. She released a humorless laugh, placing her wand back in the pocket of her robes, and continued on to the castle. Not giving Draco Malfoy, so much as a flicker of a glance.
His anger was only intensified.
Endnote:
1) For those of you who are worried Moon will not always get the last word. She simply knows Draco's character better than her knows hers, leading to winning the first few battles. Once little Malfoy pulls his head out of his ass, and learns her weak spots, he'll be cutting her down just as often, don't worry.
2) As for Draco not coughing and sputtering on his first cigarette, you can look at it two ways: one, it wasn't his first smoke, or two, he's like me and it just didn't affect him. Take your pick.
3) I don't like chicken noodle soup, so review for my soul.