Memoirs of a Serpent's Son

Memoirs of a Serpent’s Son

--Age 17—part 7

August 31 –continued

I cannot be sure of what I answered him. I think…. I think I might have asked “what”….but I really do not know for sure. It likely came out as some kind of garbled mess of shock and surprise that Potter interpreted to mean “what” because he answered as though that is what I had asked.

I wasn’t paying much attention to what I was saying, anyway… I was too busy carefully grasping the covers so that they did not show anything (thank GOD they were black), and very gracelessly freaking out. I tried desperately to inhale deeply but it was increasingly difficult as Potter was sitting quietly very close to me with a mildly bemused expression on his face…one that just HAD to be so appealing to me…

“You were moaning and speaking in your sleep,” he explained quietly with a smirk so small that he might not even have been aware of it. “Things like ‘no…can’t’, between moans… What were you dreaming?”

I stared at him, my pupils contracting to the size of pinpricks. I know this because suddenly everything went very dark and then readjusted slowly. I couldn’t breathe. I don’t think I tried for at least a minute. My heart stopped beating… If there had been some kind of mediwitch around I’m sure I would have been pronounced dead.

“Nothing,” I answered finally, as though my brain had JUST started working again. “Just a nightmare… from my past.”

It wasn’t a lie. My dreams about Potter plagued my sleep and tortured my subconscious… not to mention they WERE a thing of my past up until tonight. Damn him.

“I see…” he said softly, giving me the kind of look that proclaimed suspicion and disbelief. He opened his mouth to ask something else but I cut him off. I was NOT about to explain THAT to him.

“What are you doing watching me sleep, anyway??” I sneered as I became increasingly aware that I wasn’t wearing a shirt. He gaped for a moment.

“I was going to wake you up, but then…” he trailed off and I know what happened then. Then I started moaning in my sleep and he hoped that I would speak enough so that he didn’t HAVE to ask questions. He’d just know… thankfully that dream WAS very different from all the others I’ve had… I’ve never had such a violently demanding one…

“Right, I see, then you decided to renew your stalker ways and just watch me,” I scoffed, readjusting beneath the covers.

“What?!” he snapped, looking affronted. I snorted.

“You followed me religiously all throughout sixth year, Potter, I’m not oblivious like you are.” It was a double-entendre… but seeing as he’s oblivious… well he didn’t get it.

“You followed me all throughout fifth year,” he countered quietly.

Damn Potter.

I glared at him for a moment.

“What the hell do you want, anyway, Potter?” I was not really in the mood for another row about absolutely nothing. Or anything particularly important. I was just NOT IN THE MOOD.

“I want to know why you started cutting yourself,” he explained simply. “And when.”

Alright, now I know that I keep saying that Potter is the oblivious one… but remind me, when did I start cutting myself and why?

“What the hell are you talking about??”

“Your arm,” the little prat said. “It’s not possible that those cuts are still from third year.”

Oh…. I see. Alright, now I understand. Potter is just stupid.

“Yes well, my body believes differently,” I drawled, rolling my eyes. “Did I not explain this to you yesterday? Or are you just that dense?”

“You didn’t really explain anything,” he retorted, clearly getting annoyed. “So pretend that I’m stupid and explain the whole thing, yeah?”

“Oh there will be no pretending involved, Potter, believe me.” He glared at me but I ignored him. “I told you. My father used to “discipline” me with spells and curses when I was younger. It didn’t take long for him to overdo it and he eventually permanently altered the makeup of my internal organs and functions. What is there that you don’t understand?”

“There are no spells that I know of, or that Hermione or Ron or even Remus know of that can do that,” he defended. I seethed. He’d told EVERYONE?

“WHAT? You told your friends??? YOU TOLD THE WEREWOLF?” I was shaking in anger at this point. What right does he have to share MY SECRETS with the whole world??? Just to prove my point, my arm started bleeding again and the shirt sleeve I’d used as a tourniquet was slowly staining red.

He stared at it for a moment.

“No, you prick, I didn’t tell them. I just asked some hypothetical questions.” He gave me a hard look and I snarled.

“Well, Potter,” I snapped. “Allow me to educate you in the ways of dark magic. First off, there are FAR more terrible curses than the Unforgivable curses, I promise you that. Ancient magic…things like blood magic, soul magic and the like. Things that have been outlawed since before even Hogwarts existed.”

“Then how can you use them if they’ve been outlawed and there are no books on them?”

GOD I hate it when people interrupt me.

“Will you just shut up and listen?” I spat. He glared. “Just because something is outlawed doesn’t mean that it cannot be done. The Unforgivable curses are a perfect example of that. And though books on these subjects are hard to come by, you forget who my Father is.”

“And who you are,” he muttered, mostly to himself but I heard and I wish I hadn’t. My anger spiked and I was livid.

“I am NOT MY FATHER,” I screamed, balling my fists and nearly tearing the blanket. “Learn to make that distinction or you will face tremendous problems, I guarantee it.” My voice was dripping with poison as the words slipped from my mouth. He opened his mouth to say something but clearly thought the better of it and shut up. He motioned for me to continue my explanation. “My father has an entire library full of books solely on outlawed magic…and he liked to practice these curses. They were things that were used for Medieval torture. They were the kinds of spells that could turn you inside out and leave you to live that like for as long as…well you lived.”

At this point Potter looked absolutely horror-stricken and I smirked inwardly. Yes, I was glad that he was horrified at the simple mention of the kinds of spells my father used on me. I was ecstatic.

“Yes, that’s right,” I continued with a small nod. “And my father used these kinds of things on me to teach me my place. I was once a very disobedient and willful child, believe it or not-” He snorted. “And he used these –among other things –to show me my place… or if I cried… or if I did poorly in school at first… or simply if he felt like it. Then one day he cast something on me and I didn’t get up. I didn’t move or answer him and at first he increased the strength of the spell like a punishment until he realized that I wasn’t conscious. They rushed me to the family nurse and she said she had never treated anyone so close to death. The magic from all the different spells he’d cast was fighting a war inside of me and affected some things inside of me that would never be the same. That’s why I don’t have quite enough blood and I don’t heal well.”

“But… it’s not possible.” I rolled my eyes again. “I mean, ok if I believed all that, then maybe… but just your arm is like that. The…the gashes in your face and chest from my sectumsempra spell are gone…” I snorted.

“The healing process is different for different parts of my body, as well as the kind of attack,” I explained as though I was an expert. “My arms and legs have the hardest time healing and the attack on my arm was caused by a magical creature. My face heals very quickly and with no scarring, my chest heals more slowly but doesn’t scar as much as my arms. And for some reason magical cuts don’t affect me the way physically induced ones do… I don’t know it’s not like you can read up on this, I’m the only case.”

I know I was rambling but… well I just told him all I knew. And he still didn’t seem to believe me so I just showed him. I showed him my fingers, licked my fingertip then ran it along the thing scar that still marred my chest from where he had cursed me. As soon as my fingertip passed, I winced and the thin scar opened slightly revealing little droplets of blood that slowly dripped down my chest.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, jumping as though to move forwards to touch my chest and stop the bleeding but then caught himself and a faint blush flew over his cheeks. He then grabbed my arm very roughly, removed the shirtsleeve bandage and cast a quiet “ferula”. Tight white bandages formed over my forearm and stemmed the flow of blood. I stared at them for a moment, confused.

“So do you finally understand?” I asked with less of a sneer than I wanted. He shook his head.

“Yes but… you said your father used other means of putting you in your place,” he began. I could hear a new kind of spike in his voice when he mentioned my father. It was as though his hatred for the man had suddenly grown and it pained him to mention him at all.

Good.

“What other things did he do to you, Malfoy?” he asked quietly. I turned away quickly, a grimace growing on my lips.

“That’s not important,” I snapped, trying to deter him. I shifted uncomfortably in the bed and pulled the sheets tighter to my body, hoping to draw his attention elsewhere. But it didn’t work because then he asked me the strangest thing.

“Malfoy… did your father rape you?”

My head snapped back to him and I stared in unadulterated confusion for a long moment. How the HELL did he come to THAT conclusion??

It took me a few moments to put it all together. I realized that he likely pays more attention to detail than I realized… He could have easily associated the moaning from my “nightmare” and my uncomfortable shifting in the bed to something Father had done… and I suppose that was the most glaringly obvious explanation.

But I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“No, Potter,” I snorted humourlessly, reliving some unpleasant moments from sixth year. “My FATHER didn’t rape me.”

And then, before he could even say anything, I realized my mistake…my eyes widened and my breath caught in my chest for a split second before I regained composure to try and pretend that I hadn’t put the emphasis on the wrong word… I didn’t just admit anything to Potter… He doesn’t know how vulnerable and tainted I am… he doesn’t.

“Draco…who raped you?” His voice was strong and determined while still showing some form of care. His eyes were set when I looked over to him and was drawn in completely. I clenched my jaw and fought hard to refuse him. He was suddenly shaking slightly.

“Draco??” I repeated, trying to change the subject. “Since when do you call me Draco, Potter? How is it you suddenly give a damn now??”

“Oh sod it, Draco! Don’t play smart, this is serious!” he snapped, anger rising. “Answer my question!”

“No.”

“No??” Potter repeated incredulously.

“Not until you answer a question for me,” I answered quickly, hoping to change the subject enough for him to forget. “I give a little, you give a little.”

“What’s the damn question?” he snapped, clearly disagreeing with me.

“Why are you such a massive prat?” I asked, much to his surprise. “That was the second time I’ve kissed you and yet you don’t even have do me the courtesy of pummeling me into oblivion! Honestly, do you react that way with your precious Weasel girlfriend, too? Or is it that you are only immune to me?”

“I- wait, what?” he stammered, giving me a confused look. “Second time?”

“Oh that’s nice of you,” I drawled. “First time was so wonderful you can’t even remember. Thanks, Potter.”

“First time…” he muttered, his eyes searching the floor as though hoping the answer might be there. Then they stopped straight on the bed ahead of him and he flushed red. “Fifth year… in the hallway after detention…”

“Oh yes, very good,” I spat. My eyes were narrowed in anger and hurt. I felt my heart beat off-pace and swallowed hard. I wasn’t nearly as strong and indifferent as I pretended to be.

“I…I thought I was hallucinating,” he mumbled, turning redder and redder by the moment.

“You what?” I laughed without amusement. “That’s a nice way to try and build my ego back up, telling me it was so great you couldn’t believe it was real, but it’s not going to work Potter.”

“I’m not lying!” he squeaked, suddenly shifting very uncomfortably. “It was right after detention with Umbridge and… and it was late and I thought I was hallucinating from the pain…and you were just there and then you weren’t… it was so surreal, I thought I was just crazy.”

“You thought you were hallucinating,” I repeated in disbelief. “HOW DAFT DO YOU HAVE TO BE?? WHAT? Did you dream of me OFTEN, Potter???”

I must admit I’m not so great at controlling my outbursts anymore. I didn’t do a very good job there. But who can blame me? He claims that the reason he didn’t react to me at all was that he thought it was an illusion. OF ALL THINGS.

“Look, what do you want me to say?” he snapped irritably. “Even if I had accepted it as real, what should I have done? Told Ron and Hermione? They’d think I was mad and not believe me! Go tell you? HA! You would have used it against me in an instant and you know it! Besides, I was already trying to start a rickety relationship with Cho and I did not need THOSE kinds of rumours flying around… real kiss or not.”

“Oh and like THAT relationship was ever headed for success,” I retorted vindictively. He snarled.

“Oh shut up,” Potter spat. “And what? It’s not like you ever did anything afterwards to indicate that it WAS real!”

“Are you mad?” I couldn’t believe him at this point. “Why do you think I did such a wonderful job making an arse of myself after the Quidditch match?? I was trying to get ANY kind of rise out of you! And I followed you around all year! You even admitted it!”

“Like hell! How was I to understand THAT?” he screamed back. “It’s bloody mental!” Then he seemed to come back to himself, much to my dismay. “Besides, that’s not the point! That’s been enough questions! Now TELL ME! Who raped you??”

I exhaled through my nose and glared at him before turning away. All the emotion drained from my face as I thought the words before I spoke them. I felt empty…nothing at all.

“Theodore Nott,” I said expressionless. “I can tell you why, as well. Would you like to know?”

“…yes…” he choked out, his voice strained with what seemed like failing control. I didn’t look at him.

“Because he was jealous that Voldemort picked me to kill Dumbledore.” The words came strung out one after the other though they were all empty and worthless in my mind. I finally turned my head to look at him. His eyes were glazed and shiny but anger and hatred burned behind the green. “He raped me because he was jealous that my life was falling apart…and I would have given anything to switch places with him.”

There was a long awkward silence as Potter shuddered and shook in his violent rage, trying –I imagine –not to take it out on me. He was breathing heavily and looked as though there was something stuck in his throat that he desperately needed to get out.

“He cannot get away with that!” he finally croaked, his voice wavering as he did. My face softened a bit and I shook my head.

“Newsflash, Potter,” I whispered. “He already did.”

“I’ll kill him!!” he exclaimed suddenly, full of fervor and determination. “I’ll kill him! No one has the right to do that to you!!”

And then something broke inside of me. I don’t know what it was but it was sick of these frustratingly mixed signals. One minute he’s rejecting me and pushing me away, throwing insults…and the next he’s trying to be my hero and promises to defend me and avenge me! I don’t understand it!! I gritted my teeth and grimaced, trying not to cry with what I was about to say.

“Just sod off, Potter,” I shot, looking away angrily. “Just leave me alone and go back to snogging your perfect girlfriend.”

He looked as though he’d just been struck by lightning.

“What??” He jerked his head back. “What was that for?”

“Because I want you to leave.” I turned back to him, against my own will. His eyes drew me in again but I shook it off.

“I don’t want to leave,” he answered stubbornly. I frowned more. “I’m going to stay with you.”

“Argh!!” I groaned, tugging at my hair. “I can’t stand this, Potter!!! Just put me out of my misery! Just tell me that you hate me and go back to your precious girl-thing to leave me in peace, will you?!”

I just wanted a definite answer… just something to let me know for real what was going on… Just… just enough so that my heart could let go and I could start getting over him… if that were possible… but he wouldn’t even give me that.

“I broke up with Ginny,” he answered calmly. “And besides… I don’t know if I really hate you…”

-------IIIIIII-------

A/N: YAY LOOKIT HARRY DID SOMETHING GOOD! Sorta. That was a fun conversation to write. I hope it doesn’t seem too choppy or anything… I’ve been thinking about it and rewriting it over and over again in my head at work (hahaha obviously not paying attention to what I’m doing there)…and I’m sooooo sorry for the delay (yes more than 24hrs is wayyyy too long for me not to post teehee) I just had to deal with work and frustrations and things of that nature.

In response to questions: yes Kreacher has a purpose… sorta…anyway though if Harry did ask him to take care of Draco, he would not have asked the elf to stroke Draco’s legs X_X THAT was JUST Kreacher hahaha I think he’s a pretty deranged house-elf anyway hahaha

Also, Draco hasn’t had Harry dreams since he’s been at Grimmauld Place (until now anyway) but Harry definitely heard that one ^_^

And thanks for all the support! It means so much! I do feel better now, and hopefully the bad days will be mostly over for a while :)

*Love and cookies to all!*