Surviving Malfoy _ Part II : Anger and Depression
Crystal Castles 'Alice Practice' – Children shouldn't play with dead things.
CW: mentions of sexual assault.
Chapter 15:
Luna was right, my eyes adjust to the steady darkness in the Malfoys' cellar quicker than expected. The narrow strip of light seeping in from under the door is eventually enough to make out the edges of the room, the four wide stone pillars supporting the heavy stone floors of the drawing room above us and the long, unpolished wooden table lining the wall opposite the only dry spot in the room. Our toilet - a steel bucket - stands in the furthest corner from the door, the water jug and empty food bowl on the floor next to where we spend our time huddled together to keep warm under the large fireplace.
Alf brought us blankets, imbued with a heating charm, shortly after Draco locked me back in the cellar early on Boxing Day. He also brings us leftover scraps of food whenever he can manage sneaking anything out of the kitchen without the other elves noticing. He was caught once, but made up a lie saying it was for Draco when questioned. It took him a day to bring down the pepperup potion I requested for Mr. Ollivander. It's dangerous for the elf, and Luna and I keep professing our gratitude, which only makes him all the more eager to help. But Mr. Ollivander's condition has improved, his cough has eased after the pepperup potion and the blankets allow him to sleep peacefully.
Three days have passed since Draco snuck me into his bedroom. Three more until his aunt is due to be here. The thought made me sick on the first morning. I woke up after only a few hours of restless sleep, puzzled by my surroundings at first before sprinting to the steel bucket, dry heaving. The bucket's contents vanish immediately, but I didn't eat a crumb of food all day either way. I keep my nausea at bay by recalling Madam Zollner's breathing exercises - in for five, hold for two, out for five - and it eases the panic in my guts until I can sit somewhat still.
Keeping myself from pacing the room all day isn't easy and all it does is make me chase my own thoughts around my head. I have a task at hand, I know what Draco's aunt will do to me and I know how difficult it will be to protect the people I love from her. From Voldemort. But I was given all the tools and I gained some confidence since talking to Draco. It will be difficult, but not impossible.
I wake up before Luna or Mr. Ollivander and start meditating before breakfast. I let Madam Zollner's voice guide me, reminding myself of her instructions and imagining her talking me through the process. I can't just shut Draco's aunt out of my head completely, it's best if she doesn't know I'm capable of Occlumency. If she does, she would only end up coming down harder on me, and without a wand I won't be able to keep her at bay for very long. What I need to do is conceal whatever thoughts will put my friends or family in danger while giving her free range of everything else, no matter how embarrassing that might get.
So, I spend my time sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor, away from the other two, eyes closed and meticulously picking apart my own brain. I separate my memories into three categories: safe, dangerous, and deadly. I picture my mind as a home, letting most of my thoughts roam freely as they normally would. I picture rooms with memories of my mother, of Salem, Lizzie, Aithne and all the other girls, chasing each other around freely through the open doors. I add mundane memories of Debbie and Blaise and Harry, Hermione and Ron further at the back. Innocent ones chatting about schoolwork or having petty arguments. I add Draco into the mix, but only memories of sharing meals in the great hall or extracting Snargaluff pods in Herbology class. I keep those doors open too.
Any mentions of Horcruxes, talks of resistance or killing Voldemort, I stuff in the basement, accessible only by an innocuous but heavily locked door on the outside of the back wall. I add memories of Draco teaching me Occlumency, of him telling me about his mother and his mission. About him being a werewolf. And of Ron not having Spattergroit as well as Cassius Warbeck's tales, just to be sure. I let them run free in the dark, but I lock the door in my mind with several curses, opening it only when I remember something new to add and each time locking it up more heavily than before.
But I know Draco's aunt will not be satisfied only seeing irrelevant memories of Hogwarts and Salem. She already knows there is more. So, I add an attic, shutting away darker but more innocuous memories in it. Memories of Greyback, of Ron getting poisoned, of things Draco has done I know his aunt won't mind, like forcing his way into my head and finding out about Harry. I lock the door to the attic, but only with a padlock, and keep the stairs hidden by a white curtain, letting it blend into the walls.
It's time consuming, but time is all I have between Christmas and New Year's. Luna forces me to take breaks three times a day for meals and is kind enough not to press me on what I am doing. Handling darker memories especially, is agonizing. The more I get through, the more there are to distract me whenever I do have to visit the attic or worse, the basement. I end my days with a splitting headache, exhausted and unable to focus on whatever conversation Luna and Mr. Ollivander are having in the evenings, despite spending all day just sitting on the floor.
I decide to work on the memories of my previous Christmas and New Year's first thing that morning, knowing it will be hard. I don't want Luna or Mr. Ollivander to witness whatever face I am pulling. I haggle with myself for a while, but finally decide it will be best in the attic. It is a painful set of memories, but it's irrelevant to both Draco and Harry, so it isn't worth taking up space in the basement. And it might satisfy Draco's aunt, if she believes this is my darkest secret.
I'm in the process of carefully dissecting each day, separating memories of making water glasses dance for Lizzie from memories of lavender soap, memories of picking out a dress from memories of Debbie pulling me out of our bathtub, blood down my leg, crying - something pokes my shoulder and I flinch, tumbling down the attic stairs and slamming the door shut on the image of a toilet. I barely have the time to pull the curtain closed before I'm poked again.
"Miss?"
I wrench my lids open and huge, vivid, yellowish-green eyes swim into focus. I blink as my brain connects sitcom to elf, awkwardly forcing the two to interact in my living room. I frown. "Yes?"
"Miss Luna mentioned Miss was having headaches," Alf says, staring up at me with unsure eyes.
"I- yes," I stammer, my eyes flicker over to Luna's silhouette, still asleep on one of her blankets. The elf and the cellar both seem strangely unreal, like I'm looking at them through a tinted window and I shake my head trying to shake the feeling.
"Master Draco said this would help." The elf holds up a set of vials for me to see and reality clicks back into place at the mention of Draco. I take the vials from the elf, they aren't labeled and their contents are perfectly clear.
"What are they?" I ask.
"Pain relief mixed with a calming draught, Miss." Alf says eagerly. "Master Draco said it would help with concentration if Miss takes one after waking up and one just before sleep."
I eye the vials suspiciously. Draco said Alf is his and will only ever follow his orders, but who knows if I can trust Draco.
"Thank you." The elf bows low. "Wait," I say, as he straightens, holding him back from vanishing. "When do I take the last one?"
The elf cocks his head. "When Miss is no longer having headaches," he says matter-of-factly.
"No, that's not- Could you ask Draco? He'll know what I mean."
Alf vanishes with a soft plopping sound, and I am left alone with the vials. I unstopper one and sniff it. Though it is clear, it does have a very faint, minty scent - Draco's calming draught. I take a gulp, if it is poisoned, I'm not completely opposed to the idea of being dead on New Year's. But Alf reappears just as a warm sense of peace spreads through my limbs.
"Master Draco says not to take one on the 31st," Alf says. "It might show."
I nod. "I won't, thank you."
"Is there anything else Alf can do for Miss?" His eyes shine brightly.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Just past 7, Miss. Alf is about to bring breakfast."
I nod my thanks before Alf disappears again. I decide to stay in the cellar for the time being, despite the knob of my attic door rattling frantically. Whatever it is will have to wait until I have time to revisit after breakfast.
Things get easier with Draco's potion. I have no more headaches, no more exhaustion and I'm able to have normal conversation over dinner. It's calming too, allowing me to sleep without anxious dreams. And it quietens down my memories whenever I am working on them; I no longer have Draco's mangled, Sectumsemprad body pulling on my pant-leg while separating my last fight with Debbie from the more pleasant image of waking up next to Casper.
Still, I can't ignore the knot in my stomach as the days go past. It isn't distracting, but the physical reaction to my stress and the inability to eat that comes with it, is not something I can easily ignore. Even less so once it comes back full force on the morning of New Year's Eve. The knowledge that I will be facing Voldemort in just a few short hours is unfortunately not something I can just shut away in the attic. Luna forces a piece of cold toast on me, but it's all I'm able to eat for the rest of the day. My attic door rattles, the pitter-patter of tiny memories banging against it from the inside ever-present until I think to put a silencing charm over it. The basement door can't be much quieter, but it's out of sight outside, far from any windows and I decide to trust it will be unnoticeable, rather than dare go near it to check.
I finished on all my memories the night before and I spend the day visiting each room, going through all the memories I can find to make sure there is not a hint of anything incriminating that might hurt Draco or Harry. Now I just need to keep Draco's aunt away from the basement. The attic she will find. It's easy to oversee, but after a little digging she will no doubt break into it and with a bit of luck, she will take the bait and ignore what worse things lay beneath.
"You should take the last potion," Luna says, her hand gently rubbing my back.
I shake my head, bend over and dry heave into the steel bucket again. The drawing room upstairs has just burst to life, the cheery chatter of a dozen voices clearly audible, as are their owners' steps on the bare stone edges of the floor above. "I can't," I say.
"Why not?" Asks Luna.
"I need to be clear-headed for this," I say, straightening a little and wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
"Alf," Luna calls and the tiny elf pops in almost immediately.
"Could you get us an anti-nausea potion? And some towels, please?"
The elf disappears and reappears within moments. "Everyone is distracted upstairs," the elf says when Luna inquires. "Is Miss alright?"
I nod. "I'll be fine, thank you," I say as I take the hand towel he's holding out for me, and I wipe my face with it before trying to rub the sick off my sleeve. Alf snaps his fingers and it vanishes immediately. "Thanks," I say.
"Miss should drink this." He holds out another vial to me. "Master Draco said no one will notice if she does, and it will help."
"Thank him for me, will you?" I take the small vial off him and gulp the contents down without checking if I know the potion. The pain eases immediately and the contents of my stomach stop pushing up my throat. I take a deep breath, groaning as I rub my temples.
"Do you want to try and eat something?" Luna says.
"I'm not hungry," I say truthfully.
The voices upstairs grow steadily louder, as if more and more people are trickling in. They're all male voices, except for one shrieking laugh I'm certain would never come out of Narcissa Malfoy's mouth. I shudder. I've heard that laugh before. Last summer, just before Draco forcefully pushed me out of the Room of Hidden Things. I know who it is.
Luna pulls me away from the steel bucket and towards Mr. Ollivander, sitting under the fireplace, seemingly unaffected by the noise above him. She pulls me onto the floor and keeps hold of my hand as she sits on her heels next to me. "It'll be fine." She squeezes my hand.
All three of us flinch when next moment the babble dies down almost completely, to be replaced by one singular, high-pitched voice and my blood runs cold. He speaks too lowly for us to make out any distinct words, but it's obvious regardless that he is dominating the room above. Mr. Ollivander cowers against the wall and puts a finger up to his lips, imploring us not to make a sound. I sink back against the wall next to him, still clutching Luna's hand, the sound of Voldemort mere feet above my head almost drowned out completely by my blood rushing through my ears.
There is a scraping of chairs and all three of us flinch again, a loud cry of 'MAGIC IS MIGHT' in unison, followed by the clinking of glasses and the squeaky sounds of cutlery on plates. They're eating. I let out a shaky breath and finally let go of Luna's hand. Maybe I have a few more hours. I cross my legs - in for five, hold for two, out for five - and sink into my brain.
My house is blissfully quiet, unassuming, almost innocent. The reminder of Voldemort and Draco's aunt is gently scratching at the front door, but I ignore it for now. It's too early, it doesn't need to be let in yet. I check on all my rooms again; Salem on one side, Hogwarts on the other. I make sure the white curtain is closed, silencing charm and padlock in place. I roam the rooms, one by one, choosing to look only at my most peaceful, happy memories, ignoring the petty fights and mundane days.
I don't know how much time passes like this. Neither Luna nor Mr. Ollivander try to wake me out of my trance, I wake myself up instead. The sounds from up above seem dulled, the cellar around me far away, as if I'm still sunken into my head. I blink once, twice, and remember the way Alf looked when he pulled me out of my head. I glance over at Luna, she's still sitting on her heels, swaying gently from side to side, a little too slowly for my liking.
"They're done eating," she says matter-of-factly. She stops swaying. She said it at a normal cadence, but the feeling of looking at her through glass remains.
"Ok," I say, even though I haven't made a conscious effort of responding to her at all. I get up as if on autopilot and walk over to the cellar door, tuning my ears to the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but there are none. Yet.
I turn, Luna and Mr. Ollivander have their eyes on me, a curious expression on both their faces, Mr. Ollivander's worried, Luna's intrigued. I start pacing the room until finally there is an uproar upstairs and the excited yelp of a man, the door to the drawing room at the top of the stairs bangs open and someone sprints down the steps.
"Stand back!" It's a voice I don't recognize. I retreat against the nearest stone pillar, crossing my hands behind my back and a moment later the cellar door crashes open. I can only see the large silhouette of a man against the sudden onslaught of light, only candlelight, but lighter than has attacked my eyes in a week. "You girl," he demands, and I know he means me despite having my eyes screwed shut. "Come with me."
My legs move of their own accord towards the light, despite every fiber in my body screaming to be kept in the cellar. There is no way around this. The closer I get to the man, the thicker the smell of stale sweat becomes. A light breeze causes my white curtain to ripple. It's a stench I should recognize, but I turn my back to it. He grabs hold of my arm and harshly pulls me through the door, shutting it with a loud crash. I can feel his putrid breath on my neck, and slowly but surely, as he pulls me up the stairs by my arm, his grip vice-like, the open door to the drawing room swims into focus as my eyes adjust.
"He said once they're done with you, you're all mine." His tone is deathly sweet, and I realize it should shock me. He pushes me through the open door to loud jeers from two dozen people, most of which I have never seen before in my life. Only one catches my eye immediately, at least his eyes do - they are of the brightest crimson red. He's tall, bald, his face skull-like, his mouth twisted into a wide grin that gives him an almost serpent-like quality. I instinctively recoil, but the man in my back pushes me forward making me stumble.
"Ah, Miss Potter!" Says the serpent's mouth. "How delightful to finally meet you."
That's not my name. I think, but don't respond. I figure it's best to keep my mouth shut. My eyes flicker away from the bright red ones for a moment. Most people have retreated into chairs at the edges of the room, some stand, but all are at a respectful distance. There are only two women, a blonde is standing in the furthest corner on the left, her lips pressed tightly together, and a black-haired witch stands closest, a wicked grin on her face and her wand drawn.
Say hello to all my friends. A high-pitched voice whispers into my ear. He has his wand pointed at me and despite my reluctance, it is best to follow its orders. I bow my head to each side of the room to loud snickers all around.
"How polite," the snake cackles mockingly. "Salem do have the most well-mannered witches, don't they." More snickers. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same for everyone present." His slitted eyes glance over my shoulder, no doubt at the man who brought me up from the cellar. "But rest assured, I'll make sure he behaves as long as you comply, Miss Potter." I realize this is a threat, of what I'm not sure, but I'm not ready to find out. "I'm sure you're aware we are looking for your dear brother."
Harry. I cock my head to the side and the blonde woman in the back shifts her weight. The man in front of me starts pacing.
"As I understand, you two are close now that you've finally reunited. Do you happen to know where your brother is, Miss Potter?"
Answer me. I shake my head no.
"Do you happen to know what he is up to?"
I shake my head no again, before the voice in my head demands an answer.
"Has he ever mentioned plans to defeat me?"
I shake my head.
He tuts. "What a shame."
The black-haired woman at his side grows fidgety and she whispers something to him I can't understand.
"In a moment, Bella," the snake says. "Bella here has some questions of her own for you, Miss Potter. I hope you won't mind." The woman cackles. "But we have other business to tend to first. Mr. Wiggleswade here is from the Daily Prophet. He'd like to take a few pictures of you for a feature he's been working on, all about your brother. Would you mind?" It sounds innocent enough, but I feel uneasy about having my picture taken in this setting.
I don't really have a choice. The short, paunchy man is already setting up a camera in front of me and two sets of hands shoot out from either side, taking hold of my arms. Not that it's necessary, I'm not stupid enough to try and make a run for it. A response from my end apparently isn't required either, the flash of the camera goes off in a puff of smoke and I blink, trying to get rid of the white spots that appear on my vision.
"Thank you most kindly, Miss Potter," the snake says. "Wiggleswade, you're dismissed."
The paunchy man bows low and walks hurriedly backwards out of the room as if he can't escape quickly enough. The black-haired woman inches steadily closer and is now mere feet away from me, but-
"Just a moment, Bella. The clock is about to strike midnight and Miss Potter has been incredibly pleasant so far, she deserves a reward, don't you think? Fips." The woman stops approaching, she stays put right in front of me, leaving just enough space for a tiny elf to appear between us. It's holding a silver tray with two glasses of champagne. The woman takes one. Take it. I take the other and the elf disappears. Similar glasses appear in the hands of the men all around. All eyes are now directed to an old grandfather clock to my left. All except the woman's.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!" The men start shouting in unison.
Drink. I put the glass to my lips and dip it.
"Six! Five! Four!"
I press my lips together tightly and the liquid in the glass prickles over them.
"Three! Two! One!"
I lower the glass just as the black-haired woman does and her mouth twists into a wicked grin, revealing a set of rotten teeth as my eyes meet hers.
I feel the glass slipping from my fingers as I am suddenly pulled back. My front door comes crashing down as if blasted in by a vicious storm. Its wind whistles through each room, one by one, thoroughly, yet carelessly strewing about everything within its reach. It's pulling apart, throwing in heaps and ripping through all that it can find. I see my mother, offering tea to Draco in the greenhouses, Blaise chatting with Aithne about her crush on Harry... But my walls stay intact. She's quick and I am pulled forward as the black-haired woman materializes in front of me, her grin transformed into a vicious snarl.
Draco's aunt. And my heart is in my throat. She raises her wand in slow-motion and growls a word I can't focus on. For just one blissful moment, nothing happens. No light comes from Bella's wand, no move, no sign at all that her curse has worked - until my nerves react.
My brain implodes with pain, over-stimulated by my screaming nerves suddenly dipped in pure acid. My ears are ringing with screams, my vision blurs, my knees give out and my memories, still jumbled from before, are blown into the air and ripped to shreds. Still, my walls hold up and I retreat as far back into my mind, as far away as possible from the pain as I can.
The white curtain ripples again just the slightest and all of a sudden everything goes still.
"Got you." A whisper goes through me, the curtain is pulled back painfully hard, revealing the dark steps. A snicker goes up them, rips the padlock off in one swift motion and the agony from the opening door tugs at my heart.
I hear myself whimper when I suddenly connect a name to the rancid stench of stale sweat. I feel myself being flung backwards, my wand breaking, but just before he tears into my flesh I find Ron, unconscious in the infirmary, Debbie yelling at me over his bed about how selfish I am and I turn my back to her-
"You're supposed to keep her sane."
Bella withdraws with a growl and starts shouting at someone above me. I'm laying side-ways on the thick carpet. It smells musty and I spread my fingers over it, pressing my hand flat against it, feeling the roughness of it. I force my mind back up to Bella in an attempt to anticipate her next move, but it keeps drifting away, down to the carpet, to my lifeless form. To where things are easier.
"... pathetic!" She barks. "Get back in line Draco."
Draco. The attic roars, my heart sinks. He's here. He's here and I should know why. I feel a bubble form in my throat, threatening to burst up and I whimper again. Bella whips around to me.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I repeat like a mantra as she plunges back into my mind, torturously slow. I quickly stuff all of Draco into a chest at the back of the attic, far away from her, hoping she won't notice. But of course she does. With one word, the pain is back, and I hear myself scream in the distance, the edges of the room blurring dangerously as she lunges at the chest.
I hate him. Pulling out worse memories to see before her. Draco raises his wand at me, using the same curse she is and his face blurs together with his aunts.
He isn't pathetic. I yell as she tugs memory after memory apart.
Please no! She digs her claws into images of Draco, of his hand on my throat, pushing me up against a wall, slamming my head into it.
He's dangerous.
The Hogwarts bathroom materializes. I'm staring into a cubicle as he pushes me into it, one hand gripping my hair, the other pulling at my skirt. I yelp in pain, as I'm forced down onto the floor, cold tiles pressing into my knees, and I clutch the toilet bowl.
I fumble for my wand, pushing myself into the furthest corner of the cubicle. Harry's voice echoes through the bathroom, shouting curse after curse until the whole room goes quiet with a splash. There's water all over the floor and Malfoy lays motionless on the ground, blood spurting from several long gashes all across his body.
The carpet is rough and soaking wet under my cheek. I hear myself moan in agony when Bella finally retreats. My vision comes back, and I stare at my hand, still gripping the dark carpet.
Bella's voice is ringing shrilly as I focus on my cracked thumbnail. I must have pushed it into the carpet too hard. I frown, curious, as it starts throbbing dully the more I look at it.
I'm pushed over with a kick I can't feel, my nerves so numb they only react with a one second delay and I groan. Draco's aunt is crouching over me, gripping my chin forcing me to look at her, but her face keeps swimming in and out of focus and my eyes quickly drift up to the chandelier on the ornate ceiling. It's crystal.
She slaps me across the face, my head snaps to the side and something is yelled next to her. A gentler voice, female, the blonde maybe, but I don't care much. Greyback approaches, crouched down to sniff my hair and my world goes black.