Covered in Crimson

Five Years Ago

The winter had been particularly cold and snowy and seemed to linger on forever. March had been true to its reputation as blustery and bitter, not unlike the young man who stalked the halls of Hogwarts looking for excuses to act out his hatred and prejudice on favorite victims. Because it had been clear that Draco was being watched, and violence of any kind would not be tolerated, he’d had to resort to more creative ways of insulting and terrorizing with words.

He’d withdrawn further from the few housemates and fewer friends who had been his companions since they were all eleven years old. He never spent time in the Slytherin common room, only visited the library when it was absolutely required, took meals alone at the end of the Slytherin House table, and had quit his position as Seeker on the Quidditch team. If Draco was not in class, he was in his room, draperies drawn tightly shut around his bed.

Draco Malfoy’s sullen behavior had not spared those few friends that remained loyal to him because of either long-standing prior relationships, like Pansy and Blaise, or in recognition of his apparent status in the Slytherin pecking order. He was as likely to ignore or insult them as anyone else. Draco had never been described as friendly; now, even those closest to him were apt to call him cold and remote.

His only apparent contact with the outside world was with his mother and very occasionally, his father. He’d sent three or four reports of Harry Potter’s suspected activity in preparing some of their schoolmates in defense techniques. Since not much was known about details, Draco’s reports were long on suspicion and supposition and short on facts. None of this was terribly helpful to Lucius and he largely ignored the letters except by way of noting that Draco was still committed to becoming part of the Dark Lord’s army. Lucius did not share these letters with his wife, seeking to spare her additional concern.

The constancy of Narcissa Malfoy’s devotion to her son had not wavered, and even when he’d gone weeks without replying to her frequent letters, she wrote to him and sent him hampers full of the sweets that she knew he loved so much. Once in a while, Draco would remember to dash off a hasty “Thanks, Mum” note, but he had only managed to actually jot down a few quick sentences to her once during the whole term, leaving Narcissa even more worried and saddened than she had been over his churlish visit at Yule.

She was composing one of her weekly letters to her son when the weight of her sadness threatened to crush her. Narcissa had tried to keep her letters upbeat, loving, and gossipy as Draco had always enjoyed, but today she ached to know what she had done or neglected to do that had caused him to withdraw from her so abruptly. She could not help the warm trail of tears that coursed down her alabaster cheeks, threatening to smear the ink that she’d put to parchment.

Why, Draco darling, have you not written back to me as you used to do? Have I done something to hurt you? Have I not been the mother you wish me to be? My heart breaks thinking that you are angry and upset with me, and I only wish to put things right between us, my sweet boy. Please tell me what’s wrong so that I can correct it. I anxiously await a letter from you.

Your loving mother

When he received the letter late that afternoon, Draco was a little surprised to read about his mother’s distress. He hadn’t been that different in his communication with her, he thought. He wrote back to her swiftly.

Sorry Mother, but nothing’s wrong. I’m not angry with you. I don’t know why you’re so upset. Thanks for the hamper.

Your son,

Draco

Narcissa sat in the drawing room and sobbed for nearly an hour after reading her son’s note.

Lucius, who had witnessed her growing melancholy over the last several weeks and was privy to her utter breakdown that evening, retreated to his own study, unable to comfort or cajole his distraught wife. While she wallowed in her tears, he found small solace at the bottom of a bottle of Ogden’s, at a loss for ways to repair his broken family.

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Seventy-three kilometers away from the imposing Malfoy Manor, another husband and wife drew their heads together in their dark wood-paneled sitting room. The dark-haired woman reviewed the list of potion ingredients her husband had compiled, noting that a trip to the apothecary would be necessary in the morning if the next layer of additions were to be ready in time for the next shipment of treats to her nephew.

“Where did you find this research, Rodolphus?” Bella asked.

He chuckled before answering. “Believe it or not, I found it in a journal that compares potion ingredients to drugs and concoctions from the Muggle world. I love the idea of using their drugs in ways that will ultimately be deployed against them. Delicious, isn’t it?”

“It compares the addictive qualities with something called ‘cocaine’, and this is what you’ve been adding for the last two weeks to Draco’s truffles?” she confirmed.

“Yes, dear. The previous ingredient provided addictive properties, but this one is much stronger. He was likely craving the truffles quite frequently with the previous formula, but this new component ensures that he’s virtually unable to function without them. It doesn’t produce the same kind of ‘high’ that the Muggle drug delivers, but the addiction will be just as persistent,” he explained. “The result is that the other potions the confections deliver will be released into his blood stream with even greater frequency, reinforcing their effect.”

“Perfect, love, just perfect. I was so happy with our progress when we saw Draco at Yule – this will take us that much further. My sister has been complaining that he’s been ignoring her letters; I think that the suggestive spells are really taking hold as well. I’ve been working on the modified Imperius as well, and I think we’re ready to test it in the next few days. Find me a subject, will you, dear?” Bella requested.

“Not a problem. We’ve got a raid planned for Thursday, so I’ll make sure we have a Mudblood or two for you to play with,” he sniggered.

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Compulsion. That was the only way he could describe it. He just had to do it, regardless of consequences, regardless of witnesses. He believed it was the right thing to do. It felt like a suggestion implanted in his brain, but much more insistent. He could fight it if he really wanted to, but it was such a good idea to plunge the double-edged dagger into his daughter’s heart over and over and over again. His own wrists were the perfect next target.

Bellatrix watched from a dark corner of the dungeon. No matter what, the two Muggles that her husband had brought here tonight were not leaving alive, ever. This was infinitely more entertaining and enlightening than other alternatives, however. She felt sure that the altered Imperius, designed to be delivered over long distances and to act as a strong compulsion rather than forcing obedience, would be the perfect method to further control her nephew’s behavior. Another bonus was that it was nearly impossible to detect, because the modification was so new and utterly unavailable to anyone other then her husband and herself. She was most pleased.

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Narcissa’s mood had begun to resemble her son’s. She had been withdrawn and uncommunicative for several days when Lucius had had enough. He used a silent Alohomora on her sealed study door and stormed in, ready to confront his recalcitrant spouse on her unacceptable behavior. What he saw when his eyes fell upon her huddled form gave him pause.

She sat on the floor instead of one of the seven cushioned chairs and settees that dotted the expansive room. Her knees were tucked into her chest, and her arms encircled them tightly. She rocked back and forth, staring blankly into the remains of a lightly stoked fire; it was finally starting to warm now that the end of March had come and the house-elves had been instructed to cut back on heating charms and roaring flames. She, however, shivered as though it were freezing both inside and out.

Lucius cleared his throat in an attempt to draw her attention, but he was not rewarded with acknowledgement. He moved to join her near the hearth and gracefully dropped his tall form to the floor, stretching his long, muscular legs out in front of him. He wrapped one arm around his wife’s shoulders, stopping her rocking. “What’s wrong, Cissy?” he whispered.

“I heard from Draco,” she replied, her tone flat and lifeless.

“And?” Lucius prompted.

“He, he,” she started, voice thick with unshed tears. That condition only remained for a second or two until the waterfall of weeping began in earnest. In the midst of her deepest distress, Narcissa released the tight hold on her knees and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

Lucius, unaccustomed to such blatant displays of emotion from his normally stoic wife, wasn’t quite certain what to do and tried to rely on clues from the distraught woman for his response. He decided that she just wanted to be held while she cried out all her fears, frustrations, and worries for their son. He turned his body so that they were facing each other and wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, bringing one hand up to stroke her soft, blond hair. “Shhh, love. It will be alright. Shhh,” he soothed, but to no avail. It was several more minutes before she calmed enough to separate from him even minimally, and he moved his hands to her upper arms and held her in place, finally making eye contact. “What’s this all about?”

Narcissa took a deep, shuddering breath before attempting to speak. “He’s completely withdrawn from me, Lucius. I’ve been writing to him every week, just as I have for his entire five years at Hogwarts, and he’s not writing back.”

“Oh love, I’m sure he’s just been busy with school work and his friends. You know that as boys get older they tend to separate from their mothers. I’m sure it’s nothing more than that,” Lucius rationalized.

“No. That’s not it. I spoke to Mrs. Parkinson about an hour ago, and she received a letter from Pansy telling her that Draco was not speaking with his friends and was entirely keeping to himself, even to the point of taking meals alone. Draco and Pansy have been close since they were in nappies, Lucius. He’d never ignore her unless something was terribly wrong. Pansy insisted that they hadn’t had a row; he’d just stopped talking to her, especially in the last couple of weeks.”

“Could it be that Pansy is pushing for something more from their relationship than Draco is interested in giving right now? You know we’d talked about betrothing them. Possibly she’s being too forward, and Draco is rebelling at such a decision being made while he’s still so young.”

“I’m fairly certain that‘s not the case, Lucius. The Parkinsons were also speaking with the Notts about betrothing her to Theodore. It seems that Pansy is quite taken with him, and they are apparently close to finalizing the match. No, I think Pansy is genuinely concerned for our boy, whom she considers more a brother than a potential match.”

“Hmm, I see.”

“And there’s something else. I wrote to him earlier today and specifically asked him if he was angry with me, and his response was entirely dismissive. He’s never behaved that way with me, and it’s just confirmed my concerns. It’s a good deal worse than it was at Yule, Lucius.”

“I’ll admit that I did notice that Draco was much moodier than usual,” he allowed.

“And there’s one more thing. My sister has continued her unusual interest in him. Before the holidays, she rarely mentioned Draco. You know she’s never had any interest in children, but now Draco is constantly top-of-mind? That’s worrisome in the extreme. I know that Rodolphus told you they’d leave Draco alone, but I’m convinced she’s up to something. I have no proof, but I know my sister better than I care to at times. It scares me to death.”

Lucius had no response; he held his wife just a little closer.

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It was late afternoon when Draco opened the package that had been delivered while he ate his solitary breakfast several hours earlier. He’d had to bring the large hamper back to his room on his own; the house-elves had, stunningly, refused to deposit the delivery for him without further explanation. This was the third time that had happened, and he was getting extremely irritated with their disobedience. If they were his own, he’d have them severely punished. If he’d heard their rumblings about “horrible, Dark things in there”, he’d have been insulted and incensed.

He’d been late for his first class by almost ten minutes, and Professor Flitwick assigned detention. The young Slytherin would be spending the evening assisting the professor in grading first-years’ recent essays on the theoretical differences between charms and spells. He had two hours before he had to report and decided to spend that time relaxing in the privacy of his draped and silenced bed. He finally had a few moments to sort through the items that his mother had sent.

Draco was pleased to find not one, but two, packages of the elegantly wrapped truffles he’d come to crave. There were four other types of sweets, including some lovely flaky pastries that were similar to the honey-drenched delights that they’d sampled in Greece two summers ago. They were certainly tasty, but didn’t compare to those incredible truffles. He reached for one of the silver packages and untied the lovely ribbon that was the last barrier between him and his favorite treat.

A shiver of… anticipation, he thought, ran through him as the bow came undone in his long, slender fingers. He never quite understood why, but the thrill he experienced in consuming these confections felt almost sexual. Then again, at nearly sixteen, almost everything felt sexual on some level. A smirk crossed his face, regardless of the fact that there was no one there to witness it. He decided that it would be a jolly good idea to find a witch to entertain him once his detention with Flitwick was done.

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Draco’s detention was finally over; three dreadfully dull hours of poring over the barely coherent ramblings of first-year students was enough to make the young man want to tug his hair out at the roots. He had other ideas for his amusement for the rest of the evening however. He’d been feeling randy since early that evening and was in search of someone to help him ease his growing need. Draco’s good looks and wealth had typically meant that it was no trouble for him to find willing female companionship. What he hadn’t counted on was the alienation he had engendered amongst his classmates with his nasty attitude over the last several months and the last couple of weeks in particular.

When his self-perceived Malfoy charm failed to convince the first four young ladies he approached to accompany him to a more private location, he began to get frustrated and very, very angry. A passing fifth-year Hufflepuff became the unfortunate victim of his blinding rage and lust.

He didn’t know her name, and probably never would. The corridor was dark except for a single torch lamp about ten meters away; the shadows here were enough to ensure some privacy. He reached out a long arm and grabbed her shoulder from behind, tugging her back to his chest so that she could not see his face. He covered her mouth with his other hand and whispered harshly in her ear, “Don’t scream, and I won’t hurt you.”

She whimpered and tried to struggle out of his grasp, but he was taller than her by at least fifteen centimeters and outweighed her by nearly twenty-five kilos. He quickly took advantage of the fact that she wasn’t holding her wand and used his own to magically bind her hands and cast Silencio on her. He divested her of her wand and tossed it further into the dark corner they occupied. The power he had over her was intoxicating, and his need became painfully obvious.

“I just want to have some fun. Don’t you want some fun, too?” he taunted.

Her inability to answer was of no consequence to Draco. He saw the fear in her eyes and the recoiling of her body that told him he would not have a willing playmate. It really didn’t matter; this was such a good idea. He forced her to her knees and held her there with one strong arm. With the other hand, he unbuttoned his fly and freed his swelling penis. It wasn’t fully erect, but three or four quick strokes of his hand took care of that. He pushed his thumb into the hinge of her jaw, forcing her mouth to open, and pushed his rigid member toward her. “Suck it. And if you use teeth in any way, I’ll make you pay,” he promised.

It was clear that she had no experience with this particular sexual practice, and Draco was not getting the satisfaction he wanted. Intent on his pleasure, he shifted to hold her head in both of his hands and pushed in and out of her open mouth over and over again. It didn’t take very long for him to find his release, which was denoted by his guttural “ahhhhh” and he forced her to swallow every drop, unconcerned or oblivious to her choking sobs.

He smirked at her, trembling there on her knees, and put away his wet, sticky penis while he regained his breath. “Good girl. And we won’t be telling anyone about this, will we?” he warned. “Just for good measure… Obliviate!” He retrieved her wand as she rose to her feet, clearly confused about what she was doing in this dark corridor.

“Here, you dropped this,” he stated pleasantly as he handed the thin piece of wood back to her. He sauntered off into the darkness and headed back to his dormitory, where he dressed for bed, ate a couple of truffles, and fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.

When Draco awoke the next morning, he noted the sticky residue on his penis and thought, “It’s been a really long time since I had a wet dream. Guess I need to find someone to play with soon.” He smirked as he got into the shower to prepare for another day.