6. The Worst Day
WARNING: this chapter contains physical violence against two minors and a woman, once again for entirely unjust reasons. (Abuse is always unjust.) Proceed with caution!
My body goes so hot that someone could cook a fried egg on my skin. Her lips are like a quick, soft tickle against my cheek—not even my mother's loving caresses can compare. She pulls away in less than a second, looking unashamed and peaceful. Hermione turns away, her long brown hair blowing under the cool air conditioning of the brightly lit theater.
"Let's get home." She heads for the exit, and I stumble after her feeling light and somewhat woozy.
Hermione Granger just kissed me. She told me that I have a heart and she thanked me. I wish with all my being that I had power over time—I would relive that blissful moment again over and over for the rest of my life. And sure, it was just a peck on the cheek, but it was a bloody bit better than a slap, so I'm satisfied. I open my mouth stupidly as she stands on the sidewalk in front of the theater, the wind rustling her short white sundress. She's the prettiest girl that I've ever seen. She always wears white, I notice. Never anything else—and it's beautiful. I always wear black… in a way I suppose that we would look fitting together. Both of us are a perfect balance of light and dark—on the outside at least.
"Are you coming, slow poke?" She teases, the sun glinting off her shining arms as she holds out her hand for me. I take it, hurrying along at her side as we walk towards home.
"Let me take your purse for you?" I extend my hand, trying to break the slightly awkward silence after her kiss. Well, awkward for me, at least. She seems nonplussed.
"Thanks!" She passes the small back to me, and I gasp at its unexpected weight. "Do you want to be my friend?" She looks up into my eyes, lips slightly parted in a small smile.
I blink, fumbling for words. "Your- your f-friend? You mean- you mean, like-"
"Friend. Noun. A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations." She laughs, shaking her head slightly as she rattles off the definition like the dictionary she is.
My heart, which was (up until this point) fluttering around practically in my throat, drops like a stone. That kiss didn't actually mean what I thought. It's as simple as that—she meant something other than what I was thinking when she offered friendship. Exclusive of sexual relations, she said. Not that I want to do that with her, but—but… I pin on a smile, trying to be glad that she at least wants to establish platonic relations. "Yeah, of course I'd like that. Friends then, I suppose."
She pauses in the middle of the sidewalk and shakes my hand vigorously. It's like she doesn't even understand how good she makes me feel. She holds my hand and touches me as if she had no idea that every single moment of contact sends me to heaven.
We walk in silence through the silent streets until we reach my doorstep. She realizes my hand, waving farewell over her shoulder as she turns back to her house. "Bye Draco! Let's hang out tomorrow. I'll come over for breakfast, okay? Don't want to miss your mum's pancakes!"
"See you then, 'Mione!" I smile to myself, quickly hurrying along the short garden walk to my front door. I swing it open, peering inside. "Mum? I'm home! I have really exciting news and—oh."
My mother sits on the low white couch in the living room, fresh blood running down the side of her face and her eyes swollen and red. Her hair is a tangled blonde mess and her shirt is ripped nearly off of her shoulders. Looming behind her with his long fingers clamped cruelly around her shoulders stands my father.
Mum mouths something through swollen and cracked lips, her eyes pleading. She's telling me to run.
"Come here, boy." My father's voice is cold enough to freeze even Hermione Granger's sunny smile.
I stare at him, shaking my head almost imperceptibly. Then I do what I figure is probably either the bravest or stupidest thing that I've even done in my life. I dart past him, almost tripping as I skid into the open kitchen. I seize Mother's largest knife from her little magnetic wall rack, and hold it before me. My hand is shaking so terribly that I almost drop it. "Get out, Father." I say, my voice cracking weakly.
"Put that down, you foolish child." He laughs—a deep, scathing laugh at my expense—and waves his hand. The knife is jerked from my sweaty fingers, hovering in the air before my nose. With a quick jerk of his hand, my father sends the knife whipping past me, slicing my cheek and driving it into the white-washed kitchen wall. I whimper slightly, holding my fingers up to the deep gash in my face, which is beginning to ooze blood down the front of my black tee-shirt. My mother cries out, trembling beneath my father's hands and turning (if possible) even whiter.
"Do I have to come get you, or will you walk over here like the obedient son that I've raised you to be?" My father growls, his long hair hiding half of his face as he beckons me. Mother moans, and he tightens his hold about her throat, leaving bruises as tears spill from her eyes. "Silence, woman. Draco—I'm waiting."
I bow my head and stumble to him, falling on my knees in hopelessness. This is it. Somehow he found us. The best day of my life—the day that Hermione kissed me—is now the worst. Everything is crumbling: my trust in humanity, my dreams, my self-resolve.
My father is just opening his mouth to speak when a smart rapping sounds at the door. We freeze, staring towards the sound. My father steps from behind the couch slowly, deliberately. He makes his way across the room, pulling the door open and bringing a well-known voice to our ears.
"Hey, Draco has my purse, and—oh Merlin." Hermione Granger's brown eyes shift from my father to us, her mouth falling open in fear and distress. With an unfathomably rough movement, Father seizes her by the arm and pulls her into the house, slamming the door behind her. Hermione begins to scream, but his hand covers her mouth, gagging her.
"Stop it! Stop it—let her go!" I yell, rising to my feet and lunging for him in a panic. Her little white purse swings from my shoulder, suddenly remembered. I raise it, beating Father across the back as hard as I possibly can. I'm skinny, but I have pretty good aim, and the added weight of the enchanted bag works to my advantage. It's not much of an advantage however, as he simply jerks the weapon from my hand and throws it to the floor. "Hermione!" I scream, making a grab for her hand as Father half carries, half drags her across the room, setting her roughly on the couch next to Mother.
He turns on me with a vicious leer, pulling me onto the seat as well. "Draco, have you been playing with this mudblood?"
I raise my chin in defiance. "Hermione Granger is my friend, Father. If you lay a hand on her, I will—I will…" My voice trails off. I know that I'll be unable to do anything for Hermione, and that hurts me more than any of the punishments that I've even endured.
He punches me. A single, fluid knock to my jaw that flings me back against the couch. I moan, and Hermione bursts into terrified sobs. "You're a disappointment to me, boy. I'll never be able to tell you that enough times. You and your foolish mother thought that you could… escape me. You must not have realized that I am your owner. It wasn't all that difficult track you two down—I'm surprised at your sloppy work, Narcissa. And you, Draco. Snuggling up with a mudblood, I see. Perhaps you really were paying attention at Hogwarts after all. You seem to have managed to absorb their lessons on that treachery the so-called 'tolerance'. Accepting mudbloods, welcoming mudbloods, mating with mudbloods."
I flush in shame, horrified that these things are being revealed in front of the girl I love. Yes, I do love her—I wanted to be with her always, safe in the arms of this London utopia, but that will never happen. If Father doesn't kill us, then he'll take us away. I'll probably never see her again after this day—he'll never let me go back to Hogwarts.
Hermione's dark face reddens slightly in anger. "How dare you?" She whispers, looking up into his stone cold eyes with all the fool-hardy bravery of a true Gryffindor. His hands wrap around her thin arm, jerking her to her feet. My father slaps her with the back of his hand, just as he had done to me so often. She twitches, more tears streaking down her lightly freckled cheeks as her hands find the bloody gash from his heavy ring. "Get your filthy hands off of me, you evil man." She hisses, sinking her white teeth into his arm without hesitance.
My father snarls in rage, shaking her easily off. She slides across the living room floor, scrambling to her feet and dashing into the kitchen and to our unused telephone on the counter. Father begins to go after her, and I leap from my seat, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back. He lashes out at me, but I dodge his fist. "Yeah? You want to go after me, Dad? I'm sick of you hurting everyone I love!" Over the sound of my panicky voice, I can hear Hermione speaking quickly into the telephone.
Father punches me again, and I fall onto the floor with my eye swollen and bloodied. His heavy boot crashes down on my ribs with a mind-numbing force, and I feel the slender bones shatter.
"Lucius Malfoy! You will not touch my son like that another time!" Mother stands, seizing a vase of flowers from the low coffee-table before the couch and hurling it at his head. Water and glass spray everywhere as my father makes a noise of pain, wiping blood from the cuts and slices on his face.
Hermione slams the receiver of the telephone down, looking desperately around as if for a weapon. I groan, attempting to struggle to my feet, but succumbing to the agony of my injuries. My mother screams as my father curses, dashing across the room to my side. "Draco? It's all right. Merlin, where's my wand?" Her hand rests reassuringly on my chest as she turns to face Father, who is stumbling towards us with blood coursing over his skin.
"Get out of the way, woman."
Behind us, Hermione whimpers slightly, dropping to the floor and creeping on her knees towards Mother's knife rack.
"Avis Oppugno!" Mother shrieks, waving her hand in the air. My father is skilled in wandless magic, but my mum- despite all of her strengths- is not. A puff of feathers sprinkles down around us, and my father laughs derisively at her failure. She bursts into fearful tears, lunging up at him to bare his way of attack. He hurls her to the side and she yelps in agony as he brings his boot down on my skull. The entire world explodes in pain, before fading to darkness.
A/N: Another quick reminder: I do not think that, under any circumstances, Lucius Malfoy would ever treat his wife and son in such a matter. For the sake of the story, however, I am writing him in a completely OOC format. (I really do ship Lucius and Narcissa big time!)