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Perfect	By : HauntedDreams Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Perfect
- 1
Author: Haunted Dreams (formally, "Haruka")
E-Mail: TheCrew@slashtheplanet.com
Pairing: Lucius/Draco
Rating: R (see "warnings" for info)

Originally done for the Malfoy Fuh-Q Quest (lucius.is.dreaming.org)
-Update: I won the People's Choice Award ("Popular Plume"), with this story! Yay!
Warnings: Incest, suicide, self-mutilation, slash
Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter or related characters or trademarks. This is just to satisfy my drunk muses and rabid plot bunnies.
Thank You: To my Cheerleader, Muse, and Beta: Moonlight Knight. Any mistakes you may find belong to me...It's not his fault, he did his job ^_^ Flame me, not him!
This squicked my unsquickable friend, Justin. So I dedicate this to him for being brave enough to read it.
Feedback:Yes, please! (Thank you to all those who have reviewed!) The more reviews I get, the more I write for you. It's an interesting give-take relationship, isn't it?
**Special Dedication**:
To my husband, Daniel, who was deployed to Kuwait/Iraq. I miss you honey...come back safely and soon. Our daughter misses you too, and wishes you peace. I'm writing a special fic for you to celebrate our upcoming One Year Marriage Anniversary (June 01). Thank you for the best year of my (and our daughter's) life. I love you, Daniel.
***

My icy blue eyes watch the rich blood creep across my velvet wrist, pool there a second, then splatter into the perfect white marble sink beneath it. Like deep, dark, rich blood on pure, untainted, white snow.
The pain can be unbearable at times, but it is my only salvation. I revel in the burning and stinging as I drag the knife across the all-too-perfect alabaster skin. Knowing I can be caught at any time is an almost orgasmic thrill. But in truth, they can never know. They think I am perfect, and I intend to keep that reputation. After all, if my father were to find out how I really feel about our, ahem, interludes, he would not be pleased. This is my way of dealing with the emotional teardown and erosion.
And it works…
*
Another night fades into morning as the sun’s first ray’s peak over the horizon. I begin to awaken as the figure beside me begins to shift, and thus rises from my bed. Though my vision is still blurry with sleep, I can make him out, and even if I couldn’t, I have seen him so many times that every piece of his anatomy is more than engraved into my memory. He gently closes the gauzy black, nearly sheer, curtains around my bed. He then uses his wand to remove the ‘Silencio’ spell he placed the night before.
I watch him as he swiftly moves about the room, collecting his clothing and accessories, dressing in the process. He moves towards the door and looks back at me. He can’t tell that I’m awake; the curtains conceal my bitter, piercing stare. But I know he can feel me.
He hesitates a moment before opening the door slowly, as if just now contemplating the actions of the previous night. With one last glance toward my general direction, he leaves. But I know he’ll be back. He never surpasses an opportunity to claim me. Never.
**
I sometimes have trouble believing how formal my family is. Everything must be formal, from breakfast (which only serves to be my father, mother, and myself) which I never understand why, lunch is to be taken in our own rooms (mother doesn’t see the need to summon me downstairs) but I cannot be served unless my absent father’s demands are met (which are increasingly ridiculous. For instance, I am to answer the door in formal attire and be served in formal style (which is too long and complicated to explain, since I have only an hour left)), and dinner, which is more understandable, since father has many business dinners, which are to include mother and I (even though I feel we are more for show, than anything else). After she and I are excused, I am to go to my room and wait for him. He never disappoints.
I lost my virginity at the age of thirteen, to my father. Instead of being an intimate, personal encounter (I bother not with love, for it is too complicated), I was taken in front of a crowd.
My father had mentioned that he was to entertain a few contacts that night, and mother and I were to be kept out of sight, so I was genuinely surprised to receive the summon. I made my way down to the basement (where father usually held his…business), my stomach in knots. I had absolutely no idea what to expect.
Once I had made it to the basement corridor, I began to grow worried. I knew of the Dark Lord, remaining Death Eaters, and of my father’s plan to have me initiated into the ranks. From what I had been told, however, I was to be eighteen at that time. Surely, they wouldn’t have moved up my initiation that many years?
I heard voices outside of the second basement door, primarily used for heavy, near-death punishments of house elves, or occasionally, a person (but the latter was only rumor, as far as I knew). I only recognized a few of them, as intermingled in conversation as they were. Trusting my father to allow no harm to come to his only heir, I pushed the door open.
Everyone, with the exception of myself, wore hooded cloaks, and some members of the congregation chose to wear masks. All heads turned to me as I opened the door and stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Two people approached me, one taking my arm (quite painfully, leaving bruises the next day) and yanked me forward into the room. The other simply closed the door.
I was led, nearly dragged, to the front of the room (or what would be considered the front of the room, with the way the people were assembled). I was thrown down to my knees harshly, landing in front of an undistinguishable figure of a man.
Before I could even get to my feet, a hand snaked out of his robe and cupped my cheek in an almost mock-loving gesture. His other hand crept up to run his fingers through my hair (which I had washed all the gel out of, being close to bedtime I thought not of keeping it in the usual business-like style I normally harbor). “Your son is beautiful, Lucius.” An audible snicker ran through the crowd of onlookers. The hand in my hair tightened painfully, tearing a few strands. “I do hope he’s ready for his…duty.” “Duty?” my lips trembled slightly. The hooded man glanced from me to another in the crowd. “Yes my dear boy…your *duty*. I am sure your father has explained this to you?”
I wish he had. At least then I would have been prepared. Well, more prepared than I was at that time. It seemed that my ‘duty’ was to be a toy for the others amusement. A sexual toy. I was to be ‘broken in’ by a close male relative, I believe I have already said who that was. I’m quite sure you’re intelligent enough to figure out the rest of the details of that night. I’d rather not relive it, it was quite painful in every aspect.
But from then on, I was to entertain all of their desires. And I did. Not that I wanted to, but I had no choice. If I struggled or refused, I was cursed (in the literal), and my father would be rough with me for embarrassing and humiliating him in front of ’important business contacts’.
So, for years it has been so. Interludes with them, and my father. All quite painful. All full of shame and degradation.
Which brings me to this. What I am planning to do now. Tonight. In thirty minutes. I am going to die. Well, commit suicide, more accurately. Not by ‘turning my wand’ on myself, as some are so keen to say. But by muggle means. Slicing my wrists open and bleeding to death on the perfect tiled floor.
I need to leave my mark on him. This is how I will do it. I will have my revenge by depraving him of his only heir, and killing myself in means that I know will have a psychological impact on him (in respects to the large amount of blood I will shed, and the muggle means I am using). Not to mention that I will be wearing my family dress robes and using *his* letter opener. I plan on leaving a big impression upon him, oh yes.
Fifteen minutes left.
I pad down to his office, where I know he will be after dinner (which I did not attend, obviously), and leave my suicide note on his desk, my parchment unmistakable.
Ten minutes.
I walk back to my room and don my dress robes and take the silver letter opener into the adjoining bathroom.
Five minutes.
Funnily enough, these are my last minutes of life. I am not sad to be leaving this world. I am having no second thoughts. I only wish I had done this sooner.
Two minutes.
I can hear the house elves cleaning my room, after the mess I made trying to pick out the “perfect” outfit. They finish quickly, and leave me to my madness.
One minute.
I turn off the light. I think it will be much more devastating and nerve wracking to have him turn the light on before seeing my dead body.
Thirty seconds.
Hm…He should be finished with dinner. Walking back to his office.
Ten seconds.
If you only knew…..
Five seconds.
…how much pain I was in…
Three seconds.
…maybe this could have been avoided….
One second.
…if you only loved me.
I slice my wrists, retracing the well-worn path (I have no scars, due to my healing charms, but I know the path too well). I slice more deeply than ever before, feeling the blood run down my arms in a frenzied stream. I feel relieved, as if my blood is freeing me from my pain and misery. Then…there is nothing.
***
Lucius entered his study to find an envelope on his desk. Reaching for the place his letter opener usually occupied and not finding it, he cursed the house elves for moving his things without permission. He tore the parchment open. He read.
***
Dear father,
I was born your son, your only heir. When I was young, you were my hero. My father, the strong, stable, silent one. I eagerly strived to be good in your eyes.
I was perfect. You told me so.
You molded me into the being I am today. I was told I was flawless in every aspect. My beauty was unsurpassed, my skills in the Arts could never be rivaled by others my own age, I was to never answer to anyone.
I was perfect. You made it so.
My life has been a lie. I realize that now. The compliments were simply covered insults. The love you had for me was not love at all.
I was perfect. I was everything you wanted to be.
You’ve told me you love me. At first, it was innocent. It was always supposed to be that way father. I was to love you, you were to love me. Not in the sense that you loved me just last night, but real love. The type that is right in a father-son relationship. Not the perverse way we did.
I was perfect. You took advantage of that.
You took advantage of unspoiled perfection by reducing me to your level. By raping me when I was thirteen-THIRTEEN!-and you have never left me in peace after that. You seem to revel in passing your sin to me. I have no choice but to take it. If I didn’t, you would kill me. Or at least you always said so, in your heated whispers.
I was perfect. I could have been an angel and gone to heaven, but you ripped my wings off every time you were determined to degrade me and drag me to hell. To your level.
Yes, I’m sure you’re remembering everything you’ve ever done to me. I hope you feel ashamed, dirty, spoiled, used…everything *I* felt. You never took the time to listen to me, or even *see* what you were doing to me, too determined were you to take what you wanted whenever you wanted. I was in *pain* father. Emotional pain. I was drowning, and you never lifted a finger to save me. Physical pain. You tore me up inside, literally, so badly that I could barely walk the next day, along with the bruises across the rest of my flesh. Yet you walked away without a scratch on your body, or a wound in your spirit.
I was perfect. I was pure.
I have carried these scars for far too long. I am too overwhelmed to continue on. Tonight I will answer my own prayers. Come to my rooms and try to stop me.
I was never perfect, father. I lied.
Draco Malfoy19832
M2
May I rest in eternal peace.
****
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