- Obliviate -
to wipe from existence; to forget
"FOCUS."
His Fathers pressed his palms against the sides of Malfoy's ears. The hands blocked his view of the open windows and the trimmed hedges. The air was soft and cold against his cheeks. Outside snow whipped against the windows and drizzled down the windows like fallen angels. His gelid boots were smothered in snow flecks. He felt like a melting snowman.
"Draco!"
Snap. Snap.
"Yes sir."
"You should have mental blinders on at all times. Forcing you to look straight ahead. Nothing else matters."
His fingers found the hemming on his pockets and twisted the shallow cloth in fistfuls. His mind already felt intruded upon, and he pushed unwanted thoughts into crannies and nooks.
"Focus, my son." Lips murmured in his ear.
Clear your mind.
When he was younger he would imagine a snake protecting his dark secrets. The snake would swallow every precious memory, digesting them. Hide them in its notched abdomen. The first time he tried using the snake on Severus, Severus gutted the snake in seconds.
"You should be able to do it," his father snapped his fingers, "like that." Malfoy blinked and swallowed.
His father often pulled him aside for legitimacy practices. His father had a natural talent for blocking out unwanted intrusion: and he had nothing to hide. Each time Malfoy tried another method of holding his mind internally but to no avail. Since Snape's death, the mental barriers he built were useless without upkeep.
Focus focus.
He held his hands to his side, eyes frantically panning over the polished floor boards. The portraits above them murmured contorted jargon. He could not fail this simple thing again.
"Draco... do not disappoint me." A firm hand lifted his chin to his fathers gaze. "I am your father... do not... taint the family name again." His voice was so quiet Malfoy had to strain to hear it above the roaring in his ears. The whisper was more intense than any scream. Balmy eyes swept over Malfoy's face. The seams in his hands tangled awkwardly around his fingers. He was a brittle thread pulled too tight. No amount of control could stop the fissures forming on him.
His father stood motionless, shifting focus from eye to eye. There was nothing but tunnels behind his gaze. He was baiting him. Malfoy constructed tiny bridges of protection over his thoughts. Threads vined over the patches of mind and held in the floodgates.
A blistering agony shattered the barriers in place. He resisted the first wave with all his might, using the attack to construct fortifications in unnoticed areas. He was being pulled into the undercurrent. Each second of resistance left his head aching for resignation. Cold claws tore at the bridges he had placed. The force came in waves, too fast to construct enough protection, but giving him seconds to recoil in agony. Eyes drove a nail into the tissues, turning steel into fissures.
The pulsating throbs left no room to think. Malfoy gasped as his father rushed the puncture wound.
Stay still -was all he could think. He tried to mask the terror in his mind as his father flicked through memories in pages.
His early morning shower
Healing the wound on his inner thigh.
As the memories echoed in his eyes Malfoy slid others away. He flicked through them as one would book pages. Skimming, pausing for some moments, but always searching for something unexpected.
His first quidditch match.
Kissing Pansy Parkinson.
Dueling Harry Potter.
Herbology.
Cutting his hair.
Flying over the treetops.
The memories aimlessly poured freely now, the puncture wound streaming his own story. He scoured his mind for any vulnerable memories and clutched them to his chest.
Staring at the sky.
Falling asleep.
In another reality, his hands were still anchored in his pants pockets, his father was staring into his soul- but here there were only memories.
Learning Dark Magic.
Buying ink and quills.
Flying.
Punching a wall.
Getting the Dark Mark.
His head ached with the meak attempts to push his father out. No attempts gave way.
Torturing a girl. He never knew her name-
Legitimacy with Snape.
Snarling at Harry.
Eating at Hogwarts.
Swimming in the Great Lake.
Lecturing Goyle on his broom antics.
His father tore away pages too fast for Malfoy to hide them to him. Chapters spinning feverishly in his head.
Sparing a mudblood.
Darkness licked the edges of Malfoys perception. He could not hide, could no longer cling to the energy he once had. He was hanging onto reality so he would not black out.
Not torturing someone... and killing them swiftly.
Crying over the body of Neville.
No.
Please no-
A rush of tangled feelings.
Rocking her back and forth in his arms.
Quivering.
His lips mouthing "Not Granger..." repeatedly.
The fleeting hope- that perhaps she could escape even if he despised her.
His fathers grasp on his memories loosened and he was tumbling out of his own mind. The room spun widely around him. He crawled away from his Fathers form. Boots swiveled and paced slowly back. The hissing sound morphed into screaming. Sweat poured down Malfoy's face as rain.
"You have the audacity to ask for the mudblood... as your mission when you harbor affections for her?
"It- is not... not-" Words lulled on his tongue faintly. His voice felt distant and parched. "I not....'s not affection! Father you misinterpret-"
The boots still. The floorboards cooled his burning head. Malfoy pushed himself up, ignoring the throbbing in his skull. Fingers clutched a table leg for balance. His left ear was ringing, and the right was quiet. The world was spinning on an axis and he was planted, alone. The floor was the wall, then it was his fathers fists.
"You dare claim I misinterpreted your thoughts?" Hands gripped his shoulders and shook him. "You dare? In my own home..." His voice had lost its soft whisper and each word was a cacophonous grit.
"No... I- " His fathers eyebrows stretched aghast.
"No... I only... felt pity. It won't happen again. It was a fleeting thought, not what I believe. I'm.... so sorry... I didn't want it.... At all."
The words brought no consolation to his father. His eyes were studying Draco richly, as if he never knew him. Dread settled in his chest as colors returned in wrath. Pins and needles ate his head, but he could make out the bitter taste in his mouth and the way his Fathers hand shook.
"Please," he gasped, "Father-" He reached out. As if his hand could flatten the wrinkle on his fathers forehead. Please. Fingers brushed the lapse of brows, the short patch of skin on his Fathers head.
"Father-" Father bucked away, features tightening into a rigid state.
"Again and again, you disappoint me."
"Father... Please I beg you..." His voice was strangled and pathetic. Careened forward on his knees, he prayed; That the floor would stop spinning. That his head would be able to think through the pain. That his father could forgive him.
The last desire felt inconceivable compared to the others.
"No begging can reverse what you felt for a mudblood."
His hand met his chest and slapped the spot above his heart- "I pray for the day she dies..." All I want. "I want to see her killed, Father."
He met his Father's gaze, one that had hardened over the years. One that only loosened for him and was now looking at him with disgust.
"It's unforgivable."
A shallow gasp left his mouth. So familiar yet unknown. The sweat had turned into tears. Nothing could save him from the disappointment in his Fathers eyes. They had darkened to shades of ebony and burgundy and they stared through Malfoy as if he was made of glass. He had already been unraveled by his Fathers mind, and now they peered through him as if he was a mudblood. Each secret was wrung out and lay to dry. If he was obliviated- he was sure the eyes would haunt him. How could he have allowed his guard around her to resign- how...
The portraits began murmuring again. Before he could decipher their words, his Father knelt. He could endure it, he could take the blows, the hits, the scars- There was no choice in punishment when it was deserved.
"Oblivia-" A soft glow of light scattered through his lashes.
"No!"
"Narcissa-"
"You can't do that again. He is your son."
"He is a failure... This is my house. I choose to handle him how I see fit. It is the only way."
"Punish him... but some other way. If you..." Her voice was hushed. Malfoy lay in a fetal position on the floor, his hands wrapped around his ribs. Colors and sounds flashed on the edge of his comprehension. The world fell away. The ache that had begun was resounding through his ears and body; a rippling internal bravado that seized control of his body.
"Narcissa..."
"I am your wife. He is my son. He will go insane if you continue-"
"Fine."
The voices increased in volume, and Malfoy found his body again. His legs regained feeling, but his face felt chipped and splintered. His soul screamed for a lifetime, and still his internal chords chimed with regret.
"I'm doing this to you... because I love you too much for you to be associated with that filth."
His head was nodding softly. I understand. It bobbed up and down again as a boat would in the ocean, even after his Father stopped talking.
"Cleanse me." He murmured.
"Good boy." And then... "Let this blood cleanse you of her."
A sharp force clipped his chin. Pain mottled his senses. Darkness came and went.
Hold. On. Fists peppered his sides. Lay. Here.
The ceiling came into view. He wondered if he would die if the chandelier fell on him. His chest ached. The adrenaline had faded. He could taste his pulse in the gushing blood. Everything twinged in agony. It was everywhere and nowhere. You. Deserve. It. Something in his leg crunched, but it did not stop the heavy kicks to his side. There was no air in his lungs anymore.
The pale ridges of fists pummeled his face. Colors bled into the ceiling. One time when he was younger, his mother took him stargazing. The pigment was so much richer. The sky was amber. Flecks of white dotted over the canvas of azure. He could not reach the stars. They were rubies and diamonds and pearls attached to candles. His arm clung to his side like a disembodied limb. His Fathers face swam in his retinas, dusting the blood off his lip. His mouth was on fire with the touch.
This. Is. Love.
. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
When he was younger, he read any book he could get his hands on. Some he stashed under his bed board to reread late at night. In Between flying and reading, Malfoy managed to read the entirety of the Manors library and some he snagged from various shops. There was not much else to do. He once read through a thesaurus- quidditch practice wasn't merely good, it was exhilarating, awe inducing. If he talked like a thesaurus, he sounded more like his Father. However, laying here in the dark, there were no words that could sum up the feeling...
Pitch.
Nothingness.
The quiet caliginous darkness and agony of nothingness. Fear. Tension. Terror. Chafe?
There were no words to complete the ache in his soul. He could not feel his limbs, and for hours or minutes- he could have been dead. It was not dark. There was simply nothing, but consciousness that ate at every fear and crawled through his mind restlessly. No answers. No voice. No relief in the stifling darkness that overcame him.
He chanted words. Threw song lyrics around in his mind and tried to pull back into reality. Was he being dragged away to the pit like all the others? Would he lay there alone for an eternity, surrounded by those he had killed-
He tried to wring out his hands, but he had no body to contain him. No body to hurt. No vessel to remind him he was alive. Perhaps he was dead, but the thought was too formidable for him to even consider.
No words were terrified and immobilized by the loss of consciousness. There was no one who would understand if he tried to convey the hurt in his soul. As if his soul was twisted one too many times that even if it was unwoven it would be too mottled to ever be comprehended. He was undefined and utterly useless to even his own mind.
Even in solace, peace left him alone. Peace turned to regret, and regret to anger. The only thing keeping him sound was imagining her, burning away, dying. Her brunette hair aflame in the wind and the freedom of not failing to kill her. Even in his dreams her eyes followed him like a young tigress. Malfoy lit the match and avoided her gaze. He inhaled and exhaled his assignment.
He was here because of her. One loose strand of intrusive thoughts, and his body was mangled beyond attachment. She was the reason for everything he hated, and his gut burned with the desire to strip her of everything as she had stripped him of his Fathers approval. He would ruin her, and he would be the reason she prayed for death.