𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟔 - 𝟏

He was close to me now. My lips shook as I replied, "I. Refuse."

He slashed his wand violently an inch from my face, sending a shooting pain across my cheek. Draco inhaled sharply. My mother screamed, but hastily muffled it with her hand. I thought I would cry. Instead, I only felt burning hot anger. How dare my father hurt me because I disgraced his idea of the Malfoy name? 

I was a Malfoy, I was a Gryffindor, and I was in love with Harry Potter.

I didn't know where the last part of that thought came from, but I didn't deny it to myself. 

"Then you are no longer a Malfoy," my father said. He spoke normally, but with his harsh tone of voice he could have been shouting.

"Father..." Draco choked out. "Please."

My father stepped away from me, breathing heavily. "Go to your room," he demanded quietly. "I will deal with you in the morning."

I pushed past him and my quietly sobbing mother. As I left the room she stretched out her hand, brushing my arm with her fingertips like it was the last time she would be able to touch me. As a shaking house elf closed the door behind me, I heard my father telling Draco how proud he was of him. 

Draco didn't want this. None of us did. Only my father wanted praise from Voldemort. He wanted to experience the feeling that he had done something right for his twisted cause. I knew my mother would rather run off to France then stay here. I knew Draco felt like the world was crashing around his ears. I knew I felt the same way, just for different reasons.

When I reached my bedroom I didn't even bother locking the door. There was no point if father was going to unlock it in a few hours anyway. I slowly lowered my shivering body onto my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. 

I tried to focus on one main point like my old etiquette dance teacher had taught me. She said that when you were spinning, you had to find one point to look at during each turn to prevent getting dizzy. And I was getting very dizzy.

I didn't even attempt to wipe the blood off my cheek. No one who cared was going to see me. I knew that if Dumbledore was coming with Potter they would have to come tonight, unless he wanted to take a Death Eater to the Burrow. The chances of that happening were next to nothing.

How long I sat there, teeth chattering and mind blank, I didn't know. I focused on one of the handles of my bureau. I had never noticed how intricate the design on it was. Whoever made it did a truly impressive job.

Hours and hours later, or at least I assumed it had been that long since the sky had changed color about fifteen times, the lock on my door clicked open. My stomach clenched. My father was back to "deal with me." I kept my face blank, staring straight ahead.

But when I turned my empty eyes to the door, my father wasn't there. Instead I saw Dumbledore calmly walking into my bedroom, Potter right behind him. I sobbed with relief, jumping out of my bed and throwing my arms around Potter's neck in a rib-crushing hug. 

He froze for a minute, and then awkwardly put his arms around me. "Erm... I'm happy to see you too." 

When I pulled away, Potter and Dumbledore both saw the ugly cut on the side of my face. Dumbledore's forehead creased in concern.

"I'm sorry, Alexandra," he said sincerely. "I shouldn't have waited so long."

I turned to him. "They would have given me the Dark Mark tomorrow evening," I said, voice cracking. Potter exhaled, like he was trying not to freak out. I could see a million thoughts spiraling behind Dumbledore's eyes, but I figured for a man like him, that was normal.