Pretty Track Marks | By : DeniPie Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1859 -:- 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. |
This has been floating around in my head for quite a while
kinda distracting me from writing other things so I thought I might as well do
it since my attention refuses to drift elsewhere. Hope you enjoy!
Much luv
The Deni Pie
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Everything, everything inside and
out was nothing but searing fire, torching every nerve and blood vessel. Every
muscle, every bone, every patch of flesh on his body hurt. He was nothing more
than a tall, lanky, sallow ball of complete torture. Fortunately the hours had
dulled the sharp, excruciating sting into a dull, throbbing, ache. It hurt to
walk, it hurt to move, it was absolutely torturous to sit. But worst yet, it
hurt to fly. It hurt too much to fly.
The sky was where he felt peace,
where he felt at home and calm. And those bastards had taken that away, along
with everything else that made him who he was. Stripped him of everything until
he was nothing but their mindless little bitch puppet. Stripped him until the
once looming, powerful, famous Quidditch player had to limp away with what
remained of his shredded and tattered dignity. He was once named the best seeker
ever to handle a broom, the idol of millions, and look at him now.
He knew his parents were expecting
him. Knew his father was frantically pacing the fireplace while his mother
continued to nip at her nails and glance at the door every seven seconds. But
he couldn’t go home, couldn’t stand to see the way they would look at him, look
at what those demons had turned him into. He didn’t want his father’s pained,
regretful sigh, didn’t want his mother’s tears as she fussed hysterically over
him. Before he even knew what he was
doing, he was on his broom, cringing and wincing at the horrible ache
splintering through his very tendons as he mounted it. He knew he shouldn’t be
flying, knew he shouldn’t be aggravating his already tender wounds. But if he
got off, if he succumbed to his torn flesh and crippled bones, they would win.
Again.
Shutting it out of his mind he
concentrated on his mental compass, calculating the right directions to take in
the air. He had flown with broken bones, ripped muscles, and cuts from every
which way before. And he would fly with this too. His mind may have said it,
but his body had several objections and often demanded that he land to rest and
nurse his injuries if only for a little bit. He hated stopping, it gave him
time to catch his breath and too much time to think, too much time to hate. His
forearm throbbed, seemingly laughing at him, and he was grateful he had ripped
a piece of his clothing to bind it.
His breaks never lasted long and
soon he was back up, more determined to get as far away from that wretched
place as humanly possible. It was late the next night when the recognizable
silhouette of the familiar castle came into view on the horizon. Leaning
forward he used the aerodynamic momentum for more speed and raced onto the
massive school. When he finally came to levitate in front of it he cursed
frustratedly in his mother tongue, now remembering he hadn’t a clue where the
right room might be.
Heaving an angry breath he steeled
himself determinedly and began to circle the enormous castle, passing by each
window with a bit of anticipation and hope for a light to be on.
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Hermione
deftly buttoned the last of her crimson, flannel pajamas with a sleepy yawn. She
had finally finished the last of her rounds, and ushering overly curious first
years back to bed was a chore vastly underestimated. But it was yet another
responsibility, among others, of being Head Girl that she’d come to take very
seriously. Glancing tiredly into the vanity she tied her bushy hair back into a
ponytail, which looked more like a fluffy pompom or an enormous powder puff
stapled to the back of her head.
“Perhaps you should consider nightcaps, dear.” The mirror
suggested giving her a critical once over.
She frowned
back at the reflection, fists resting on her hips. “Perhaps you should consider
minding your own business.” She
replied.
The vanity
shrugged as the girl walked away muttering under her breath something about
using compact mirrors from now. “Just giving you a tip, dearie.”
Strolling
into a bathroom she was at last able to claim as her own, Hermione plucked up a
decent sized piece of floss and began to delicately twine it through her teeth.
Ambling back into her own room she sat herself on the bed, careful not to
jostle the string into her gum. She didn’t know why so many students didn’t do
this, she rather enjoyed flossing, finding the sensations of the minty thread
rubbing between her teeth to be quite pleasant. Then again it may just be the
15 or 16 odd years of dental cleanliness lessons her parents practically
drilled into her since she was two. She
could still see her little toddler self looking up at her father as he instructed
her, by example, the proper conduct of perfect oral hygiene. Hermione chuckled
as she remembered how he had taught her to count to one hundred and twenty as
she brushed her teeth. ‘Most people think a decent brush should last a
minute at least, but we know better, don’t we darling?’ He would say to her
with a wink.
To anyone
else it would seem a grand display of a waste of time, brushing your teeth
until you counted to one hundred and twenty, but she had yet to spot a single
cavity since her teething days so that had to be saying something. She’d tried
to coach Harry and Ron on the wonders of such hygienic upkeeping but she could
tell they were only tuning her out until they could say ‘Yeah, you got
something there. Now about that arithmancy homework……’ Well, if they wanted
their teeth to rot out of their brainless little heads and suffer a horrible
night of regrowing them then that was their business.
Hermione
had just started on the top row when a sudden loud rattling almost startled her
off the bed. Gathering herself together she brushed her canopy aside and
glanced around the room, waiting for the sound to come again. It echoed off the
walls once more, this time harsher and firmer than before and her eyes
flickered to the window, shocked to see a large form hovering on the other side
of it.
Once the
initial fear and suspicion wore off she jogged lightly over to the sill, the
night still covering the physique in unseeable blackness. She hesitated a
moment before opening the window, her mouth dropping open as the details became
clearer and the image much sharper. “Viktor?!” Her eyes were as wide as
saucers at his beaten form.
“May I come in?” He mumbled, his accent thick and harsh to
her ears.
She nodded
dumbly, stepping aside for the large Bulgarian to clamber through. Her jaw was
still hanging open when she felt a tickling on her lower lip, only to realize a
moment later that she never removed the floss now dangling from her two front
teeth. Sheepishly pulling the string away she shoved it into her pocket with
the mental reminder to wash her pajamas directly after.
Her delicate hand stifled a gasp at the very sight of him. He was
like one big collage of gaping wounds and pulsating bruises. His nose looked
like it had been broken yet again and blood crusted to his face and other parts
of him that were exposed through the tears and rips in his clothes and robes.
She noticed the right sleeve of his shirt had been ripped off and was now
wrapped tightly around his forearm in what she guessed was his attempt at a
makeshift bandage. “Oh just look at you. You look positively dreadful!” She
worried.
Cautiously
grasping at his shoulders she helped him the rest of the way through until he
was standing slouched on her rug. “Come with me, you need to get to Madam
Pomfrey!” She explained clutching his hand urgently.
“No!” He snapped, yanking the appendage away from her.
Hermione
balked at that. “But she’s the mediwitch here! You need help, you dolt!”
“I do not need your medivitch.” He grumbled.
Her jaw opened and closed in
astonishment. How could any idiot stand there practically bleeding on her
carpet right in front of her and say he didn’t need medical attention? “Fine.”
She bit out in frustration. “One moment, don’t move.” She commanded, racing to
the bathroom.
He heard
the squeak of knobs twisting and the flush of flooding water before she came
back carrying what looked like a sloshing rubbish bin.
“Don’t worry, the pale is clean. I only use this one for
paper.” She explained seeing him glance at the bin. “You should sit down. Here,
use my bed if you like.”
“I do not vant to sit.” He muttered gruffly.
He seemed
tired, and angry, she noticed how his large hands fisted and unfisted at his
sides, how they appeared to shake with the irresistible urge to pummel
something. “Alright then.” She replied. Apparently they would be doing this the
hard way.
Sliding the
chair from her vanity it made a muffled skidding noise as she dragged it in
front of him. Carefully kneeling on the furniture, Hermione stilled frightfully
when it wobbled once before settling into the carpet. Leaning down, she took
the soaked rag she’d dipped in the water filled bin and rung it out ever so
slightly. Rising up on her knees to meet his height she began to dab at the
cuts across his face and over his brow. “I wasn’t sure what to use. Cold water
helps against the swelling, but hot water sterilizes. I supposed since cuts can
get infected we best see to those first.” She said feeling a little uneasy with
his scowling face, never revealing a single wince or cringe when she applied
more pressure to the injuries.
“Your vater is still on.” He groused, still able to hear the
flood of liquid splashing against something hard.
“Yes it is.” She agreed, softly wiping the last caked clump
of blood from his nose. “There now, come with me.” She ordered, stepping down
from her chair and guiding him into her bathroom.
The water
looked to be coming from the insides of a shower he noted. Turning back to the
girl in front of him he noticed she was facing away from him, waiting
expectantly. “I need for you to take off your shirt and pants, if you don’t
mind.” She clarified, having that air of professionalism that she always had
about her. When she heard no rustle of clothing she glanced back at him to find
him simply standing there unmoving. “I’m not doing this for my own pervy
benefit!” She glared waspishly. “Your cuts are so covered in bruises and gook
that I can’t see where one ends and another begins so I need you to get in the
shower.” Hermione demanded jerking her finger towards the spray of water.
Viktor
finally gave a curt nod as she pivoted back around, and began shrugging his
robes off his wide shoulders and down the tall length of his body. His shoes
were next, then the socks, and lastly the torn pants. When all was done he
stood there in nothing but his boxers, making sure to keep his front to her.
“Are you finished?” She questioned, turning her head to the
side when she heard his consent. It was difficult to keep her face schooled as
she twisted to face him. His body was covered head to toe in cuts, welts,
burns, and bruises of various shapes and sizes. Sucking in a resolved breath,
Hermione moved over to him, gently nudging him into the shower and under the
spraying nozzle. Instantly a flow of pink water washed down his skin as the
liquid mixed and diluted the blood found there, draining it down and flushing
it to the drain. Walking in with him she didn’t mind the shower soaking her
pajamas and instead focused on the lacerations that were becoming easier to
spot now that the water was cleansing the dirt and clotting away from the open
lesions.
His eyes
slid shut, letting the steaming spray wash everything away, the heat gradually
relaxing his tense and knotted muscles. He stepped back until he was leaning
against the tile wall, slitting his eyes open to watch her soft hands take a
shower-cloth and tenderly pat at his gashes and abrasions. She wasn’t looking
at him, rather concentrating intently on her work, careful not to inflict
further pain, but firm enough to clean the torn skin of any bacteria or
infection. Her touch was soft, delicate, and nurturing, so unlike the harsh,
disgusting, demasculinizing fingers that had been clutching and grabbing at him
all too recently. Gazing down at her with half lidded eyes she looked
impossibly small, her head only reaching below his breast bone. Seeing her like
this gave him the overwhelming urge to grasp her in his arms, to press her
against the shower wall, to feel big again, to feel like a man again.
Her flannel
garments were now drenched and clinging to her flushed skin. And if he looked
hard enough he could see the shadow of her nipples through the thick fabric.
Her hair was thoroughly soaked as well, bangs and loose tendrils pushed flat
against her forehead and her neck seemed to be straining against the
overpowering weight of her waterlogged ponytail. He wondered if she would touch
him still, if she knew the truth. If she knew what he had done. If she knew he
wasn’t even a man anymore.
Hermione
braved a glimpse up at him before returning to her work. He looked so tired
now, as though the wall were the only thing keeping his knees from buckling
beneath him. The shower beat down on his lanky form, matting his short thick
locks of raven hair against his scalp, hot beads of water dripping and running
through the lines of his muscles. At last the water thoroughly cleared away the
grubby skin, bringing it back to its normal sallow color and revealing every
nick and incision to her inspecting gaze. She breathed a silent breath of
relief when nothing looked particularly deep or life threatening. “Turn around,
please. I need to check your back now.” She instructed.
“No.” He replied roughly.
A frown lit
across her features at his incivility. “What do you mean ‘no’? I need to
look over your back, Viktor.” She said more firmly this time, grasping his arm
in an attempt to turn him around.
Easily
batting her away he crudely shrugged her off. “I said no!” He snarled.
She
glowered up at him though it was a hard feat to accomplish with the shower
flinging water in her eyes. “Fine, but if you suddenly find the flesh on your
backside rotting off don’t complain to me.” She spat. Skimming the wet rag over
his chest, shoulders, and arms one more time for good measure she tugged at the
resisting cloth tied around his forearm. “Better remove this so I can have a
look see. I’m sure this bandage has grown into an absolute breeding ground for
bacteria.”
Viktor
snatched his arm away from her inquiring hands. “It is fine.” He bit out.
Making an
exasperated noise in the back of her throat, her brow furrowed frustratedly.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but I can’t make sure nothing else
will happen because of that if you won’t let me clean those out properly.” She
explained sternly gesturing to his various burns and gashes.
His only
response was to look away, saying nothing.
Hermione
shook her head defeatedly under the furious jet of water. He was more than
likely exhausted, Lord knowing where he came from. And she was no better off
herself. It was doubtful that anymore could be accomplished tonight and they
might as well turn in and deal with the rest in the morning. Hopefully by that
time he would be more inclined to see Madam Pomfrey. She would have to hide him
away here and pray the Head Prat wouldn’t discover his newest piece of
blackmail. “Listen, why don’t you take the bed for tonight while I sleep in the
comm-” Her words were abruptly cut off as a pair of firm lips came crashing
onto hers and she was promptly hauled against a naked chest.
Too much
had happened, too much was happening, and finally he could take it no
more. She was shocked into mobility for a moment before she began to struggle
against him, his worn body ached for him to release her and tend to the new
pangs spearing him through, but he felt none of it. This was why he came; he
wanted her to take it all away, no questions asked. To make it better, to kiss
and touch away what they had done to him, to make him whole again. Her outraged
protests drowned into his mouth as he kissed her so brutally, pummeling her
lips as he wanted to pummel her body. His hand lost itself in her gnarled hair,
pushing her ever closer to him as the other gripped her hard around the
ribcage. His fingers pulled and tugged at the drenched fabric coating her body,
desperate to have it off and hold her fittingly.
Clawing and
pushing at him didn’t seem to be doing any good and she was quickly becoming
angry and desperate. When she felt his hand move under her top to fondle the
bare wet skin there she immediately jerked her knee up to connect with his
unprotected groin. He grunted painfully and she yelped as his knees gave way,
taking her down with him. His shins smashed against the tile floor while her
head hit the back of the shower door sending it careening open with a
resounding crash. She lay there for a short while with him on top of her,
waiting for her dazed bearings to return before furiously shoving him away from
her.
Crawling
out from under him she clambered out of the shower, promptly rounding on him
with an enraged glare. “I now you’re not exactly in the best of minds at the
moment but don’t you dare take your anger out on me!” She hissed. “You
may be hurt but try that again and I’ll toss you out with or without that broom
of yours!” He slowly rose up to his knees with a cringe at his jostled
injuries. “If you’re well enough to attack me so cordially then I suppose
you’re well enough to clean yourself up.” She spat throwing the soaked
cloth at him disgustedly, fighting the urge to slam the bathroom door as she
stormed out.
The rag hit
him with a weak slap before sliding limply down his chest to the ground.
Creening back he was careful to sit on his tailbone as he leaned against the
cold tile wall. Viktor clenched and
unclenched his fists, wanting, needing, to hit something, anything, to
beat something down thoroughly. He knew he shouldn’t have taken it out on her,
he just couldn’t stand that disgusting feeling of pure….pure weakness
anymore.
---flashback---
He wore
the same stony scowl he used for ferreting out a particularly devious snitch or
intimidating an annoying younger year. The room was dark and dank and left the
slimy taste of sludge in his mouth. He was here for his family, he was here for
his life. Several cloaked wizards hidden behind white masks surrounded him as
he stood in front of their master who was eyeing him devilishly.
“Should your present attendance with us mean you’ve
finally come to your senses, little seeker?”
His
voice slithered around him and tainted his skin, making him itch to cleanse
himself of it. A curt nod was his only response, not yet able to make his voice
utter such demeaning words of acceptance. The world is changing, his father had
told him, the ones who change with it are the ones that live to see it again.
“I see.” He purred. “You have resisted my calling for
some time. You understand I cannot let it go unpunished.”
He
nodded again, his muscles tensing for the Cruciatus curse and possibly a series
of other hexes and such. But a voice spoke out before a wand could even be
raised.
“My lord,” Viktor glanced over to see a man of average
height look him over before turning back to his leader. “If I may make a
suggestion?”
That
filthy grin that Viktor so loathed widened into a crooked parody of a smile, as
if already knowing what his servant might say. “You may, Avery.”
“Perhaps we should first welcome him into our little
family.” He lilted, drawing out the word ‘welcome’ like a thing of perversion.
“So that you may punish him suitably as a son and follower of your own, of
course.” He added.
He firmly
believed the sound of Voldemort’s laughter would be with him until his dying
days. Instead of a deep baritone chuckle it was perfectly even and raspy, but
it snaked into your ears and poured its grime into you until all you wanted to
do was claw out your own eyeballs simply for the sake of extracting it. “That,
my dear Avery, is an acceptable suggestion.” He replied. “I’m sure you all
would like to initiate your new brother properly.” He welcomed.
Viktor
looked down at the man he now knew to be Avery as he walked towards him with
his master’s permission. His thick eyebrows knitted together with the other
man’s approach, giving him a brief once over. Had they been anywhere else but
here, he could knock him flat with one blow. And still the shorter male didn’t
appear the slightest bit threatened in the least.
---flashback---
Grunting
painfully as he climbed to his feet, he twisted the shower knobs until the nozzle
silenced its spray. Stepping out of the already open door he was careful of the
water dripping off of him, creating hazardous little puddles in their wake. He
walked over to what he assumed was her toiletry closet. The door opened with a
short click to reveal several plush towels, a few bottles of shampoo and
conditioner, and a basket of randomly assorted soaps. Taking a white towel from
the top of one of the stacks he proceeded to dry himself off, rubbing the cloth
furiously over his sopping hair.
When no
more drops fell from his body he carefully folded the damp towel and placed it
next to the sink. Shoving his soaked trunks down his legs he wrung them out
over the drain, trying to ignore the redness that seeped away with the water.
Only then did he find himself looking in the mirror above the hot and cold
handles. No wonder she had been so frightened when first laying eyes on him.
His cheekbones looked bruised and broken and his nose was swollen and battered,
every angle of his face was covered in purple and blue with outlines of a
sickly yellow. Yes, those bastards had certainly had their fun before smearing
his arm with that wretched mark of theirs.
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Idiotic,
ruddy males! Hermione muttered a quick drying charm before slipping out of her
pajamas in exchange for a robe decked in Gryffindor colors. She would find some
more suitable sleep wear later, best to get something on now should he come out
sooner than estimated. Sending another scathing look at the door she couldn’t
help wanting to give it a firm venting kick. Not that it would accomplish
anything, which was why she refrained from such acts of childish immaturity.
Did every
specimen of the opposing gender on this planet assume that all the world’s
problems could be solved simply with sex or a fist? She had only been trying to
help him and how did he repay her? By jumping on her like a gorilla in heat.
Hermione snorted, God should have left them at one head and stuck to it.
All righteous anger aside though,
she should go and get her new bed in the common room set up, it would give her
some decent space to let her irritation go. Taking a spare blanket from her
closet she ambled toward the door, twisting it open to reveal the Head Boy
lazily leaning against the frame, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
“Can I help you?” She deadpanned.
He gave her
robe a slow once over, his eyes taking on a new light as if they’d just
confirmed a hopeful suspicion. “Actually Granger-”
“That was a rhetorical question. Get out of my way.” She
demanded, shoving past him and making sure the door was well shut on her way
out.
Not to be
deterred, he continued to follow her down to the Head Common Room, watching her
splay her blanket neatly along the couch with a knowing smirk. “Been kicked out
of your own room, have you? In the dog house as it were?”
“I left a window open this morning and now my room’s too
cold. What do you care, Malfoy? What’re you doing up so late any how?” She bit
back.
He strolled
around the sofa with that oh so aristocratic stride of his. “I was just getting
a good night’s rest, actually. Then all of the sudden I started hearing
voices-”
“I’m sure.”
Ignoring
her interruption and blatant slight on his state of mind, he continued. “coming
from the Head Girl’s room. I was going to let it slide as a trick of the ears
when not a few minutes later I hear the Head Girl’s shower running. Now I
couldn’t help think to myself ‘What on earth would St. Granger be doing taking
a shower so late at night?’ and that thought inevitably led to ‘I wonder what
her dear McGonagall would say regarding such oddities?’ Perhaps she could shed
some light on all this mind boggling confusion.”
“Yes, and maybe she could shed some light on the voices I
hear coming not from your room but this room as well. And why,
after doing my rounds, I see Parkinson of all people leaving the Head Common
Room where, according to Professor McGonagall, she’s not even allowed.”
She snapped. “Perhaps she can also inform me as to why I’ve been personally
basting this couch with every sanitizer I could get my gloved hands on before
I’ll so much as set my homework on it.”
The haughty
grin melted from his face faster than a snowflake in summer. Hermione could
practically see the wind leave his egotistical sails as the opportunity of
hanging something over her head quickly vanished from sight. “That’s right,
silencing charms on your room rather loose their purpose when your girlfriend
leaves her knickers in the couch cushions don’t they, you smug git?”
He glared
at her foully, his once superior smile twisting into a pouting frown as she
showed cards of her own, and what a marvelous hand they were. “Fine, I showed
you mine, so you me yours.”
Hermione
sighed in exasperation, wouldn’t he just go to bed and back to those soiled
sheets of his? “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Oh don’t play dumb you chit, who’ve you got stashed away in
there? Potter? Weasel?” He inquired. Malfoy had always been quite the school
gossip, never able to let a single juicy piece of information or rumor go
without diving his nose into it. It was a disease really. “Or maybe you’ve
finally broken free of your little ménage toi and bribed a mystery man to your
bed? Why I had no idea you had that kind of money.”
“I haven’t got anyone ‘stashed away’, as you so crudely put
it.” She replied nastily.
Malfoy
tsked at her disapprovingly. “Sneaking boys into your room, taking what many
would consider a shower of ‘questionable’ motives, and now lying? I’m seeing
whole new sides to you tonight, Granger. And I must say my world has turned
completely and utterly upside down.” He drawled.
Rolling her eyes she tucked the
edges of the blanket under the cushions with a bit more force than was adequately
needed. “I’m sure you’ll discover some method of coping, one way or another.”
“So who’s the unlucky little sod?” He repeated curiously.
Hermione
abruptly thrust herself up away from her task to glower aggravatedly at him.
“Why?! So you can run about the halls spreading wild rubbish about prim and
perfect Granger living a secret life as a two-bit slag?”
He blinked
at her, giving her that superior ‘as a matter of fact’ look she so wanted to
smack off again. “Of course, why else would I want to know?”
“Oh go to bed you grand obnoxious prat!” She spat, trying to
calm herself with a wonderful mental replay of the swat she gave that
self-absorbed little face of his in third year.
“Though I would have chosen ‘filthy whore’ in place of
‘two-bit slag’, myself.” He went on as if she’d never spoken. Seeing her seethe
in response, he opened his mouth to add more insult to injury, preferably one
about her tainted bloodline, unfortunately a reverberating smash blasted from
her room, echoing off their walls with the noisy splintering of broken shards.
When the ruckus died down it was quiet for a moment as her face paled of color.
“Can’t say I blame him, I’d probably have to throw myself out the window too
after engaging in such acts with you.” He remarked, idly watching her bolt up
the stairs to the room in question.
------------------------------------------------------------
Dashing
into the room she forgot to close the door in her race to the bathroom. Yanking
back the knob almost violently, she came in just in time to see Viktor draw his
bloody fist away from the remains of her sink mirror. “Have you gone daft!?”
She exclaimed, before immediately jerking around and smothering her eyes with
her hands when she discovered is nudity. “Would you cover yourself so I can
yell at you?!” She ordered. Her hand blindly prodded along the wall to her side
until finding the familiar closet. Pulling it open she managed to ferrate out a
towel and throw it at him from behind.
Viktor
caught the cloth at the last minute, grudgingly unfolding it and tying it about
his narrow waist. The last of the vanity’s shattered fragments dangled
precariously off the frame before finally dropping into the sink with the
others. A twinge of guilt rose within him at destroying something that was
hers, but it was as if his body was acting on its own these days. “I
apologize.” He grumbled.
Hermione
whipped around relieved to find his unmentionables appropriately hidden. “You
apologize?” She parroted in awe. “You apologize?! Viktor what is the matter
with you!? You look injured, but injured people don’t go around
attacking others and breaking things all over the place! I won’t ask you what’s
wrong if you don’t want to tell me, but as long as you don’t I’m going to have
to ask you to get a hold of yourself!”
He nodded
in compliance; no he had not been treating her fairly and could only imagine
what he must look like right now. “I am sorry, Hermy-own-ninny. I haff not been
myself lately. I haff been putting anger in places they are not belonging in.”
Sighing
exhaustedly she rubbed the bridge of her nose defeatedly. “Yes, yes I
understand, its alright.” She excused.
“Oh this is too rich.”
Viktor look
up as Hermione twisted her head to see Draco Malfoy standing just outside the
bathroom doorway looking like a kid at Christmas. Hermione groaned and massaged
her temples, not ready to deal with this on top of everything else at this
hour. “I didn’t say you could come in here, Malfoy.” She gritted through her
teeth.
“But you never said I couldn’t either, now did you?” He
remarked coyly.
“I made that very demand perfectly clear the first
day of the year!” She howled wanting to tear her hair out at the impossible
situation he was putting her in.
“Well since we’re getting everything out in the open I
thought I’d gotten a pass to that rule.” He sneered tauntingly.
“We’re not opening anything! You’re snooping around like a
busybody little schoolgirl!” She cried.
He casually
dismissed her and turned his attention to the other man in the room. “I must
say Krum, I’m sorry we had to meet again under such horrid circumstances.” He
started, sparing Hermione a pointed glance. “Although why you’re wasting your
rage on that mirror when her face is right here, I couldn’t begin to fathom.”
The foreign
seeker frowned at the insult as the female brunt of it fumed at the pale young
man. There was something familiar about him and he wracked his mind to find out
what it was.
“You’re not to say a single word, do you hear me?” Hermione
demanded.
Malfoy
looked at her like one would look at a wad gum they’d just found on the bottom
of their brand new shoes. “I’ll say whatever I want to whom I
want when I want. Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?” He
jeered.
“I think I’m the girl who would all too happily prance down
to Dumbledor’s office and tell him about all the ‘evening friends’ you’ve been
bringing in here. I think I’m the girl who would joyfully tell who’s been
taking the safety charms off my razors so I can nick myself. I think I’m the
girl who would jump at the chance to inform the professors who’s been looking
off my homework.” She challenged.
Draco
instantly jumped at the bait. “I’d never cheat off some filthy mudblood’s
homework!” He hissed in outrage.
“No but I can make that as true as the rest, you slimy
braggart! Lets see what that does to your second rate grades!” She
threatened.
He scoffed
at her attempt to cow him down. “You wouldn’t dream of lying to your darling
faculty.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her
chest and settled him with a firm glower. “I’d think of it as repayment of
justice for them overlooking so many of your own depraved slytherin stunts.
Besides, who do you honestly think they’ll believe?”
Clenching
his teeth with the severe urge to hex her into oblivion he silently gave her
this one. “If I were you, I would be sleeping with a good deal more locking
charms on my door for the next few nights, Granger.” He warned.
“We’re at an understanding then.” She confirmed in a
resolved tone, stooping down to pick up the sopping mess of Viktor’s clothes.
“I’m going to see if I can ask Dobby to take these to the laundry.” She
informed stepping out of her bathroom and dorm room and moving outside.
Draco
tossed her a look with a mix of loathing and repulsion as she turned the corner
and out of sight.
“Do not speak to her that vay.” Viktor commanded in a low
and intimidating voice.
Glancing
back at the taller male, Malfoy ran his eyes over him with that air of royal
superiority. “Pity, such skill and talent wasted on that.”
Viktor’s
eyes widened as he finally recognized those angular features, those stony gray
eyes.
---flash back---
His
hands gripped the wall so tightly his knuckles went a bloodless white as the
other man pounded into him from behind. He clenched his lids and jaw shut,
determined not to make a sound even when he felt like he was being torn apart
from the inside out. Determined not to give them that one last satisfaction. He
was strong, he could endure. At a
particularly hard thrust one grasping hand slid up the wall, his blunt nails
scraping painfully against the cobblestone.
He heard
a sound amongst all the sniggering and heckles. A distasteful snort. His
eyelids slid open and to the left to see an older man with long platinum hair.
The blond regarded them with something that teetered between boredom and
disgust reflecting in those arrogant gray orbs of his. Another spearing jab
from behind and the man was gone, his eyes snapping shut to block everything
out once more.
---end flashback---
This boy,
this boy in front of him must be related to that man. His son most likely, the
similarities were too striking. He saw him glimpse lazily over to the forearm
tied with a scrap of his shirt, his eyes sparked knowingly at the discovery, a
devious smirk already twisting his pale lips.
“Quite the scrape you’ve got there.” He lilted, eyeing the
makeshift bandage. “How on earth did you get it?” He inquired almost
innocently.
“You English haff a saying I am liking very much. I belieff it
is ‘none of your focking business.’ ” He bit out. “That is correct, yes?”
“Indeed.” Malfoy drawled sourly.
Storming
past him, Viktor didn’t bother to move out of the way and let his side
forcefully shove the shorter boy’s shoulder.
Draco
glared at him, turning around to rest against the back room wall as the
foreigner seemed to be at a lost of what to do with himself now that his
mudblood master let go of his leash. “Not one for beating around the bush, are
you?” It wasn’t really a question. “I bet that mark of yours is pretty fresh
right about now, wouldn’t you say?”
At that,
Viktor stopped wandering aimlessly about the room, instead, standing perfectly
still, his wide shoulders tensing furiously as Malfoy continued.
“I’ve got to admit, having a world class Quidditch player
and idol of millions is definitely a boost for morale. Plus who knows how many
fans it will bring in as new recruits, all wanting to grow up just like their
favorite hero Krum.” He leered, delighting in the reaction he was getting from
the older boy. “But ah there lay the rub.” He sighed with false pity. “I wonder
if dear innocent Granger would want to play with you anymore once she finds out
you’ve made friends with the monsters under the bed?”
Sadly, one
of Draco’s biggest faults was his penchant for the underestimation of others.
Which is why he didn’t see Viktor’s fist swinging at his face until he was
already laying sprawled on the floor with a gushing nose. Before he could
retaliate or even so much as wipe the blood flowing over his upper lip, the
Bulgarian was on him, thick bony fingers gripping his flaxen locks and pinning
them to the floor while the other readied itself for another punch. “You vill
tell Hermy-own-ninny nothing!” He gnashed heatedly.
“You muggle-loving bast-!” Malfoy raged but Viktor cut off
the curse with another head snapping blow to the face.
“You say single vord to her and I vill hurt you.” He
threatened, his fingers digging into a patch of soft fleshy scalp.
“You seriously think you can do this and get away with it?”
Draco sneered incredulously. “I’ll tell my father so quick-”
“I DON’T CARE!” Viktor snarled. He could not face her. Could
not face the shock and revulsion in her eyes if she ever found out. He knew he
could not hide it forever, but he could damn well try. And no snobby, silver
spoon sucking, daddy’s boy was going to take that away.
Draco
stilled, now regarding him more carefully, trying to dismiss the blood flooding
into crease of his lips. It was never wise to toy with a man with nothing to
loose. Especially when they had you by the throat. Anyone that didn’t fear
death was certainly someone to handle with a bit more caution. “Take your
bloody hands off me.” He hissed, now able to taste the tangy metallic flavor on
his tongue.
Viktor
considered him for a moment before consenting and moving off the other boy.
“You vill not tell-”
“Why should I?” He mocked, standing up to idly brush
invisible pieces of lint from his robes. “She’s going to find out herself
eventually. If I told her now of course she’d think I was lying. I’d like her
to look you right in the face when she discovers the truth. That would
certainly be a scene, now wouldn’t it?” He jeered.
“What on earth happened now!?”
Both
occupants turned as Hermione walked from the doorway gaping at them, a small
bundle of something white in her hands. “Are you serious?! I know he’s an
infuriating little worm but I asked you to control yourself!” She scolded
angrily. “And you, Malfoy! You’re bleeding all over my carpet!”
The
fair-haired boy seethed at her before stomping passed her and out of the room.
Hermione
followed him to the door furiously shouting. “Don’t you dare think you’re not
cleaning this up, you flaming ponce!” She hollered shaking her fist at his
retreating back. Her only reply was his slamming door that echoed through the
common room.
She mumbled
a quick cleaning spell while thinking of other hexes to toss at him tomorrow.
“Racist little bugger..” She grumbled. The red stains faded away and she looked
up at Viktor who refused to meet her gaze, opting instead to scowl at her
dresser. “For the last time, you take my bed. I’ll sleep in the common room
tonight and, if you like, we’ll talk about this in the morning.” She instructed
tiredly.
Viktor shifted about uncomfortably
at the idea. “Do not vant to burden you-”
“Burdening me would be not taking the bed and making me
worry about you all night and forcing me to loose sleep over it.” She
interrupted waving him off. “I got some of these for you.” She said holding out
what he could now see to be a roll of bandages. “Since you’re so keen on
nursing yourself back to health I take it you’ll want to do this on your
own as well?”
He nodded
silently, taking the offering with gratitude. “Thank you, Hermy-own-ninny.”
“Its alright.” She yawned, too exhausted to deal with any
more nonsense. “You can use anything in here so long as you put it back. I’ll
be just out there if you need me.” She explained moving towards the door.
“Goodnight Viktor.”
“Goodnight Hermy-own-ninny.” He said watching her close the
door, hearing it close with a short ‘click’, suddenly feeling very much alone
again.
------------------------------------------------------------
Okay so what’d you think? There really aren’t enough Viktor
fics out there and I always thought he was such an interesting and malleable
character to play with. I’ve never written two on-going fics at a time before,
mostly because I suck at multitasking and time management. But this will be an
on going fic, unfortunately my first one ‘Blinding Oedipus’ will have to take
first priority since I started it first so updates on this fic will be rather
sporadic. Some new chaps will come sooner than others, as it were. N.E.wayz, I
hope you enjoyed what I’ve got so far!
Much luv
The Deni Pie
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