Surviving Malfoy _ Part II : Anger and Depression
Ashnikko 'Invitation' – His castration would be nice.
CW: rape.
Chapter 24:
The stone is cold.
It's hard. And it hurts my knees.
I think there was a carpet here before. I don't know what happened to it.
He still doesn't allow me to wear pants.
It's starting to chafe my shins. And the skin of my feet.
I'm not allowed to look up. So, I stare at the feet of the woman in front of me.
She's wearing heels. Black. Much like the ones I wanted to wear some day.
I probably never will.
She doesn't move.
Neither does he. But he's not quiet.
He sits next to her and talks.
Talks to the Death Eaters all around the table.
I tune it out. I don't want to know.
I don't know why I'm here. But no one pays me any attention.
His elf brought me down.
It's the first time in months that I have left the bathroom.
That I've been unchained.
I can feel the rough stone under the wound on my ankle.
The elf was kind enough to take the cuff off. He didn't have to.
I'll have to thank him later.
If I don't die tonight.
His father is here. Sitting on his other side.
He scares me.
He keeps glancing back at me.
The high-pitched voice scares me too.
It's interrogating people. Asking about their missions.
About how many they have killed.
Or turned.
He says thirteen turned. Eight of which died.
Five he's training.
All children.
All innocent.
Which have now killed two dozen.
It's proud. I try to stop myself from shivering.
The snake is here too. It follows its master around the room. Around the table. Around its followers.
Sniffing at my bare feet with its tongue.
It stops behind me. I freeze.
"How has the girl been doing, Draco?"
"No progress, my Lord."
"She has more scars than before." I can feel its robes swing against my back. "Have I not told you we need her intact?"
"You have, my Lord. Those aren't my doing."
"And whose doing are they then?"
"My aunt's, my Lord."
Another set of heeled feet abruptly shift on the other side of the table.
"Bellatrix?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Explain."
"I was concerned about the lack of progress, My Lord."
"You do not trust your own nephew, Bellatrix?"
"He is weak. He is too soft. If you would give her to me, my Lord-"
"We need her sane, Bellatrix. Does she look sane to you?"
Its hand is on the top of my head. Every muscle in my body tenses.
He forces my head up. Forces me to look at her.
She doesn't answer.
He does instead. "She isn't, my Lord. She's fragile, ever since New Year's Eve. I have been working on getting things back into place in her head, but it was in shambles even before my aunt came back for seconds."
"What has she done to you child?"
Its hand is gentle. Icy cold.
My jaw is locked.
"Speak up."
The curse makes me fuzzy. It whispers to me.
"Torture."
My voice croaks of its own volition.
I never use it.
"That much is clear."
Several people chuckle.
Elaborate. It whispers in my head.
"She used legilimency and the Cruciatus curse simultaneously. And when she didn't find what she was looking for, she threatened me with a knife."
"And carved into your neck?"
"Yes." My lord. "My lord."
More chuckles.
"When did she stop?"
"I don't know. I passed out."
"Which is never a good sign when torturing someone you want to keep sane, is it Bellatrix? You of all people should know."
The room goes still.
"Answer me."
"No, my Lord."
The hand on my head moves. Down. To my chin.
It tilts my head back further.
It smiles down at me. Disgustingly.
I stare up. Into crimson red eyes.
It plunges into my brain, painlessly.
Unlike her.
I don't flinch.
I whimper.
It's gentle.
I barely notice it's there.
It's quick. Methodical, clean.
I don't follow it around.
It doesn't make me.
I stare up at the ceiling.
The room is silent. No one breathes. Until
I don't flinch when she screams.
It's the first thing that brings me joy in months.
It tilts my head back in place.
Two hands on each arm, it lifts me off the ground.
Puts me on my feet.
I wobble. There's no blood in my feet.
It waves its wand.
My t-shirt changes. I grow inches.
I almost fall over.
"Narcissa," high pitch. "Would you be so kind as to take your sisters seat."
I step aside, on unsteady heels.
The chair scrapes back.
I look down. I'm black and white.
"Miss Potter," sweetly. "Take a seat."
My stomach churns.
That's not my name.
I grab the back of the chair. Sit. Next to him.
It moves my chair for me. Moves to the head of the table.
Snake glides over stone.
"Miss Potter is our guest. Treat her as such."
"Do we get to treat her like Malfoy does?"
Giggles.
I tense.
"I don't like to share." There's irritation in his voice.
"Behave, Fenrir."
I stare at the table. It's dressed to the nines.
He makes polite conversation.
I don't pay attention. I don't dare look around.
The door opens.
"Ah, Severus. Fashionably late as always."
"Apologies, My Lord. A group of students thought it wise to turn the door hinges into stone and flood my office with stink juice."
"You must get your school under control, Severus."
"Only a handful of students are at Hogwarts over the holidays, My Lord. Alecto is handling them as we speak. One will crack sooner or later."
"Have you thought of an appropriate punishment?"
"Seeing as expulsion is no longer an option, I thought perhaps Fenrir will find them of good use. I believe the next full moon is on the first day of class. My I request Fenrir's presence during the feast, My Lord? Make a spectacle of it. Perhaps that will finally deter these brats."
"Fenrir will be busy handling the cubs as always. Maybe he can spare Draco."
"Certainly, My Lord."
He makes no move.
"Take a seat, Severus. We have a special guest tonight. Miss Potter, I trust you met before."
Don't be rude.
Snape is the first person I look in the eye.
"Good evening."
Snape nods.
"Let's begin."
Pancetta. Goat cheese. Pear.
I don't remember the last time I ate.
I'm not hungry.
He kicks me under the table.
I pick up the smallest fork.
"Corban. How is the mudblood registration going?"
"We finally rounded up the Cattermoles in the Sperrin Area, My Lord. We believe they wanted to cross to Ireland near Strabane. We've reinforced the border."
"Excellent. Get in touch with Wiggleswade, make an example of them."
Everything tastes stale.
"Certainly, My Lord."
I manage to swallow the cheese.
"Miss Potter."
I put the fork down.
That's not my name.
"Feel free to give your leftovers to Bellatrix."
They all go silent.
They all look at me.
"My Lord?"
"Bellatrix, why don't you take a seat behind Miss Potter."
She stares. Freezes. Stands against the wall behind her sister.
"It isn't a request."
Abruptly. She moves.
Stalks over to me.
Stands. Behind me.
She's in my back.
"Sit."
"But, my Lord."
"Thorfinn, Miss Potter, would you make some room for Bellatrix?"
Not my name.
He grabs the arm of my chair. Pulls it towards him.
The man on my right scoots away.
She waves her wand. A chair appears.
It snips its fingers. The chair disappears.
"Sit."
She falters.
Kneels. Beside me.
It snips its fingers.
A bowl appears. Metal. In front of me.
"Any leftovers you have go in there, Miss Potter."
"Yes, my Lord."
They all look at me.
I nibble at the pear. Sickly sweet.
My hands tremble.
I pick up my plate. Scrape the hors d'oeuvre onto the metal.
I pick up the bowl.
"Ah, ah. Not yet."
The room is tense.
She doesn't protest.
The plate disappears.
Soup.
I pick up the right spoon.
Chestnut. And Fennel.
Rich. And Sweet. And heavy.
Difficult to swallow.
"Lucius."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"The dementors were promised payment. As of last week, they had yet to receive it."
"The Gringotts goblins won't allow me access to my vault, My Lord."
Silence.
"How come?"
"They require my wand."
"I'll handle it, My Lord."
"Thank you, Draco."
I swallow my third spoon.
"For righting your fathers wrongs."
I put my spoon down.
Wait.
In silence.
"Miss Potter."
Not. My name.
I know what it wants.
I pour soup over pancetta.
Salad.
Greens and grapes and walnuts and blue cheese.
Vinaigrette. Sweet. Again.
I pick up the salad cutlery.
Ignore my bread plate.
"Wine?"
It's Rowle.
He escaped.
I decline.
He fills my water glass instead.
I feel it look at me.
"Thank you."
"Thorfinn, any news on the giants?"
"Negotiations with Korkus are going well, My Lord. He's accepted the offer of immunity and a pension. We're working on moving them out of the Ural Mountains but will likely have to go the naval route over the Barents Sea. The Russian prime minister isn't keen on letting them go."
I force down the greens.
"Do we have adequate boats?"
"We are working on it, My Lord."
"Good. See to it that you get your hands on some of Kasyanov's family. That should keep him out of our business."
"Of course."
I scrape salad onto soup.
Sip the water.
Try to rid myself of the sweetness.
"Miss Potter, your bread."
Bread goes on blue cheese.
Pasta.
Gnocchi. Made with pumpkin.
Sweet, if not for sage butter. Finally.
"Travers. Have you made progress on Gringotts?"
"Gnarlak died on me today, My Lord. None of them will budge, no matter the type of torture."
I eat four.
Put my cutlery down.
Drop gnocchi on bread.
"What a shame. Try Ragnok next."
"Excellent idea, My Lord."
Fish.
Halibut, in white wine. More greens.
Fish cutlery. I pull it apart.
Poke at the greens.
"Augustus."
"Yes, My Lord?"
"Any news on Gregorovitch?"
"We've raided his last known address in Kiev, but only found muggles. We used a crup to track him from there, My Lord. He's somewhere near Poznan, it should only take a few more days."
"Well done."
"My Lord-"
"I will still need a spare wand, Lucius."
Giggles.
Halibut covers gnocchi.
Meat.
Puree, white bean. Lamb chops, balsamic glazed.
Sweet. Again.
I pick up the dinner cutlery.
"Antonin. Edward Tonks?"
"Still at large, My Lord."
"Shame. Find his wife."
The woman opposite me stills. Puts her cutlery down.
"She's a pureblood, My Lord."
"Pius, make affiliation with muggleborns a crime."
"Yes, My Lord."
I mirror her.
Scrape white bean puree onto fish.
Ignore conversation until dessert.
Panna cotta.
The champagne flute fills.
"A toast, to Miss Potter's excellent dinner etiquette."
I sip. Don't finish. Ignore the name.
It gestures at me.
I pour it over lamb chops.
Nip at the thick cream.
Empty it into champagne.
"If you're finished Miss Potter, you may give your bowl to Bellatrix."
I don't look at her.
I feel her glare.
I hand it to her.
She refuses, doesn't take it.
I put it down. On the floor.
"Act like a bitch…"
Sniggering.
It's low. I don't know who said it.
"My Lord?"
"Yes, Draco?"
"May we be excused?"
"Of course, go enjoy your evening."
Laughter.
He puts his napkin down.
So, do I.
He moves my chair.
I get up.
Don't be rude.
"Thank you for the invitation, My Lord."
Chuckles.
It raises champagne at me.
"Until next time, Miss Potter."
Hand on my back.
He leads me out of the room. Up the grand staircase.
I'm not used to heels this high.
Through corridors. Into his room.
Tears me towards his bed.
Takes my head into his hands.
I don't recoil.
I close my eyes.
Let my arms hang by my side.
Pretend I don't exist.
"You absolute genius."
He let's go. Pushes me down by the shoulders.
Onto the bed.
"Look at me."
I do. It's better than the alternative.
His wand points between my eyes.
He plunges into my head.
I don't resist.
He's gentle.
Doesn't search. Doesn't look. Doesn't analyse.
He's direct. Determined. Lite he knows where he's going.
He's brutal.
When he finds what he's looking for.
I gasp. Suck in air like I've been drowning.
He retreats. Lunges off the bed, away from me.
"Alf!" he yells. "Memory solution, now."
Alf appears. His eyes huge with worry. He looks at me with apprehension.
"Does Miss have her memories back, Master?"
"Yes, she's processing. But she needs the potion, Alf."
I stare at the two of them. Stare at Draco. So different from the person who just watched my humiliation in front of a room of death eaters, with glee.
There's a ringing in my ears.
"Will Miss be back to normal?"
Draco unstoppers the vial Alf hands him.
I'm glad I'm sitting. Glad there are pillows behind me. I can't hold myself up for much longer.
Draco sits behind me.
My vision blurs at the edges.
"Can you drink this?" He gently pulls me against his chest, I fall back, all strength leaving me. I don't protest when he puts the vial to my lips. I swallow, just in time, before the room goes dark around me.
I don't know how long I'm out for. I don't know if its days like the last time or just a few hours. The potion does its job while I sleep. I dream of kind grey eyes. Of soft touches, and private moments of ecstasy.
I dream of Theo. Of his daily visits, his cunning intellect as we plan our escape. How I lapped up his every word, his every tale of the outside world. Theo is a brutally honest person, he doesn't hold back, if I ask him a question, he gives me an answer. Even to the questions Draco usually skirts around.
I dream of Alf, panicked, telling me I'm expected et dinner. With the Dark Lord.
I dream of Bellatrix. Of the hatred in her eyes. The pain this will cause.
But when I finally wake up, it isn't Bellatrix taking her revenge.
I'm groggy, disoriented, my head hurts. It's still dark outside. Or again.
I'm uncovered. That's the first thing I notice. My legs are bare. I'm confused, someone is talking but I can't make out what they' re saying. My ears are still ringing. It sounds angry.
I turn my head.
I shouldn't have.
It's Lucius.
He pushes my head back into the pillow, forces it to the side, cracks my neck, and forces me look into a different set of grey eyes, blown wide with fear, unmoving.
I focus on Draco as reality sets in, as the numbness in my bones slowly evaporates, leaving behind nothing but pain and fear. My arms spring into action, I whip my head around, towards Lucius above me, and start hitting, kicking, scratching every inch of him with in reach. I buck my hips, trying to throw him of me, scream at him, but it doesn't help, he's too strong.
It takes him all of five seconds to overpower me, to grab hold of my wrists with one hand, pushing them into the mattress above my head, using the other to force my face away from his. His signal ring digs into my cheek as he presses my head into the pillow, makes me watch again, makes me look at Draco's still form on the ground in front of his balcony doors, his mouth pulled open in a silent scream.
I go still, go limb. And I focus on the only thing keeping me steady, on Draco's eyes boring into mine. And watch as a single tear falls from his lashes, catches on the bridge of his nose and trails down it to its tip, where it falls, soaking into the already wet carpet.