Don't Touch Me:
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
Summary: He has to face his problem; even if it means giving up everything.
Rating:I would say around a PG-13 for abuse, just a smidgen of sexual touching.
A/N: I didn't really know how to summarize this. I just had this feeling that I had to get a bunch of angsty stuff out of me. For the past some time I've been feeling dirty (not physically), because of something in real life. I will not bore you all wiht my pathetic life any longer.
Don't Touch Me
A hand rested upon my shoulder. Generally I didn't allow this, but I knew who it was – and yet I didn't care it was her. I knew she meant well, and always had – but I always thought her nasty, vile, unworthy of me.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," she soothed me. I had been dreading the coming minutes since I had learnt of my fate – which is why I am here, to deny it. I will personally change my fate. I closed my eyes, and sighed desolately.
If father would have found out she was here in this house, he and mother would go ballistic, most likely hand me right over to the Dark Lord, and kill her – I wouldn't allow it; yet I had to have her here with me. So I hid her in my room, I don't think she minded, and spent most of my time in there with her. I was being selfish and foolish, keeping her locked up in my room, away from all family and friends. But I didn't care, I am pretty sure she understood.
"I will be right here when you return," she said this softly, but determinedly. I nodded. And so I stood. I had been sitting on the edge of my bed, and she sitting cross-legged in the middle. "Then…" I took a pausing breath, "I will be right back." I don't know why, but I enveloped her into a bracing hug, and kissed her delicately on the cheek.
Then moments later, I stood before his study where he spent most of his time at home. My hands didn't seem to want to move, they wouldn't knock on the damned door. I clenched them into fists, and slowly raised my right fist and knocked twice.
"Come in," the voice within expelled. I turned the handle, and pushed it open. I stepped inside, and it closed behind me, without my effort.
"Ahh," my father smiled at me. It wasn't a welcoming smile; it was a false smile – a smile of torture. I knew what he did, and that is what I did not want to do.
"Father, there is something that of which I must speak to you about."
"Well, you are here, do continue," he motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite him.
I gulped, sat, and took a staggering breath; "Father, I… well," beads of sweat were near to bursting on my forehead. Never in my life had I ever been nervous to speak – except around him.
Then, out of no where, a voice of a snake sounded somewhere behind me. "He does not wish to become a Death Eater." I froze in place. My eyes widened, and I nearly blanked out. I didn't want to hear the evil cackle of laughter. I had to concentrate, and block my mind. If they found out she was here…
"What?" father rose from his chair, and took a step near me, "Is this true?" he looked down upon me, as I lowered my eyes.
The Dark Lords hands slithered onto either side of my head, and jerked it upwards. "Look at your father when you answer him! At least have respect, when not standing, fool." I couldn't concentrate.
"I…" the breath in my lungs caught, and I choked. The Dark Lord dug his nails into the side of my head, and I screamed: "It's true! I wish not to become one." The pressure released instantly, he let go of my head, and bent away from him.
"Why?" was his only question.
"I…" I had to lie. "I do not know."
The Dark Lord smacked the back of my head. "Do not lie! He is in love, I can tell," I could literally feel him smirk at me.
"Love?"my father spat. "Our people do not love!" his nostrils flared when he was angry, surely they were now. But I didn't look until a moment later when I was once again forced to look at what I –maybe- would become. I said not a word when I was thrown away with a force that tipped the chair I sat in. But I did not fall out, or rise from my position. Now was the time to really concentrate on blocking my thoughts. Concentrate on something other than her…
Flashback:
"HOW DARE YOU!" he screamed. I fell onto the ground with the force of the smack I received. Lying on the ground, I tried not to sob out emotion. "HOW DARE YOU!" he repeated and kicked me on the side. Normally father never lost control and beat me, but this time I had gone to far. I knew perfectly well what I had done, and I dared as much as I could. I had told the whereabouts of the Dark Lord to the Headmaster of my school. He had offered me protection from something like this, but I had denied it and went home. Somehow, most likely because of the Dark Lord, father found out and came home enraged and ready to kill. That is why I was being beaten.
As I lay bruised and beaten, and bleeding from some afflictions, father looked down upon me, breathing heavily. "Get up," he ordered. I obeyed at once. And I winched – which I regretted. I had never seen father so angry. Nor had he used physical abuse before. It was such a Muggle way. But why was he now?
He hit me again as I stood shakily, but after that, his hand rested upon my shoulder. "Son," he breathed and then calmed himself. "This, hopefully, has taught you a lesson." His jaw was set, and his eyes piercing. "You are on our side. You hear me? Not theirs. You will become a Death Eater in time. You will kill, and you will torture. You will never under any circumstances help the side that will loose. Do I make myself clear?"
I didn't answer him, and he shook me, "Do I make myself clear?" he repeated, harsher. I didn't want to answer. I wanted to slap him, to harm him, not them… and I wanted to cry. With closed eyes, I nodded. He dismissed me, and I walked slowly to my room, where I collapsed upon my bed, and didn't wake up until days later – healed by house-elves.
End Flashback.
"Well, well. I do wonder why my most promising Death Eater's son would rather be on the side which will loose, than on my side. Because of love, is that it?"
"I never said I wanted to be on either side."
"But you don't want to be on mine." I nodded, and he added, "Which makes it seem like you want to be on theirs."
"My fate was chosen, and not by myself - by you and father. I don't think I should be bound by either of you."
And for this, I was backhanded. "Shut up, you stupid fool. You don't want to be on the Dark Side because of love. Yet who is this girl that which you love? But wait. Is it a girl?"
"It is…" I whispered.
"Then who? I will pry it out of you, either way. Crucio may work…"
I said the first name which popped into my mind, "Pansy Parkinson."
He laughed, and he knew I lied, "Her family is on our side, and I know you literally hate the wench."
I looked away, and didn't say a word. "Who is it? Tell me. I'd rather not much like to harm you in this state."
Still, I did not answer, while he pointed his wand at me. "Fine by my.Crucio!"
The pain in my body was like stepping on hot coals – but all over my body, add being stung by a million or so bees, times ten. It was so intense, I let out a scream of horror; but it didn't stop there. It was doubled as he prolonged the exposure to the horrid curse. This wasn't my first experience, but it definitely wasn't this long – ever. I gripped at the arm rests on my chair, and writhed about. He lifted the spell, and faced me. "You can have more of that lovely occurrence, unless you tell me who she is."
Of course I would never tell. And of course, I had more doses of the spell. First, I gripped the arm rests to hard, my knuckles to deadly white and my hand started to bleed. Another, I writhed about so much I fell to the floor, and smacked hard into the table – which caused the pain to intensify.
This lasted for well over an hour, and I knew she to be worried – she would never come out, though. He became bored with me, and disappeared as I lay on my father's study floor and breathed in deep. I tried moving, but my body seemed to have quit long ago, and I just lay there; drifting in and out of conscious. I've only been beaten, or tortured, a few times. But this was the worst – and not even by father – but by him. Would they allow me to not become one of them, when I did not want to? Usually, if the Dark Lord wanted something – he got that something; and he wanted me.
As these last thoughts occupied my mind, I fell into subconscious then unconscious. I was discovered when my father returned to his study, and he personally carried me to my room and lay me on my bed – I never knew of this, but she told me about it when I awoke. And thankfully, she had some how known and hidden in time before he entered my room with me. I was taken care of by the house elves. Neither my mother nor father ever returned to my room, she told me. The house-elves were well aware of what was happening – they knew of her, but swore to never tell. Five days after my ordeal, I began to awake. I saw dim figures around me, like in a memory. No faces, just outlines. In my state of subconscious ness, I relived all of my beatings; from a child, to present. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it hard contact with another and myself.
Father hit me when I was younger, when I was starting to learn the Ways of my family.
Father hit me again right before I received my letter for school, thinking I had failed them, and was a Squib – although I showed magical powers.
Father hit me some time in between second and third year, when he had lost Dobby the house elf.
Hermione Granger hitting me in the third year after calling Hagrid pathetic…
Father beat me after fifth year in school, when he had been captured, but escaped Azkaban, and it was because of Potter – he took it out on me.
Father beat me after sixth year, for telling information.
Father beat me and used Crucio a couple times throughout the entire summer vacation in between sixth and seventh.
The Dark Lord beating me recently…
Mostly father hitting me…. With a sob, I awoke; fully. I must have taken them by surprise, but I heard a soft squeak and a hustle to get me rested again. I sat up and placed my face in my palms as the tears leaked through. Feeling the weight of my bed shift, I pulled away from the center it had. I didn't want to be touched – not by her or anyone. Just to touch myself felt stupid. I was tired of being hurt. But I knew it would never end. Sooner or later, I laid back down, and realized she had gone. She didn't talk to me, and I was slightly glad – but also sad. I turned over in my bed, facing away, and tried to sleep – but I couldn't.
Since I was asleep, I never heard the door creak open, or I never heard her get up and hide in her usual hiding spot – the wardrobe. I was lying on my back, lost in the covers of my bed spread. But I did hear the heavy breathing; I heard the squeak of the boards in my room, I felt him sit beside me. I wanted to move away.
His hand traced down the side of my face, moving a piece of loose hair out of my face. Surprisingly, my fathers hands were not rough like mans hands should be, but silkier. I supposed it was tradition or something; there was so much to our ways. His hand didn't stop at my chin, or my neck, not even my shoulder. He trailed down my chest bone, and near my waist. His finger tips played with my waist band, threatening entrance. I took a sharp intake of breath, but only acted as if I were asleep. I didn't know if he knew I was out of my unconscious state or not.
After another moment of pause, his icy hand slipped into my boxers and clasped around my length. It suddenly deemed on me this may not have been the first time my father had ever done this to me, and he could have done worse. And I became scared. I knew what I had to do would cause me pain, but I twisted away and he let go. I turned my back to him, and curled into a ball. I literally heard him smirk and get off my bed, then eventually leave. I let out my hold of breath, and sobbed. A door creaked, but it was the door to the wardrobe, and I heard her squat down beside my bed.
When she spoke, she sounded stuffed; like she'd been crying herself. I didn't look at her, I couldn't. I turned over, and she rested her head against the mattress. "You have to escape," she whispered.
"Please… I can help you. You can get out of here… I know you don't care about who I am anymore. Come with me….Draco, please," She whispered.
I stayed quiet for a few minutes. I just looked straight ahead, and didn't say a word. As she came to place a hand on my shoulder, I whispered:
"I'm dirty, Hermione. Please, don't touch me."