The Girl Next Door

The Murder

People say I'm no good. Write me off, oh yes they should. - - - - 'em they're just sick in the head. They're writing my history, think somebody should've asked me. Everyone was safe in their beds. And I said I won't live, won't live like them. Everyone, they're all seeing red.

- Sick in the Head by the Lumineers

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WARNING: This chapter contains abuse. If you think that you might get upset, please be careful!

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How fitting that it should rain. The wind and water pour down around my mother and I as we hurry from the Knight Bus with our heads bowed and the hoods of our cloaks pulled up to cover our faces. I hold the door of the Leaky Cauldron open for Mother, and stand in a shivering puddle as she purchases Flu Powder from Tom. This is it... we're really going back to Malfoy Manor. Just a few more moments, and we'll be stepping right back into my father's vindictive grasp.

I wonder what he'll do first. Beat my mother, perhaps? Or maybe he'll go straight for me. He might choose to use his typical leather strap, but then again, he might desire something a little more "hands on". Perhaps he'll chain me in the downstairs dungeon and simply punch and hit me until I'm black and blue. Or he might decide to cut to the chase and start things out with a simple Cruciatus. I wouldn't put it past him.

Mother beckons me forward, reaching with a trembling hand into Tom the Barkeeper's small satchel and drawing out a fistful of shimmering powder. "Go right after me, Draco. Don't wait too long—just until the fire goes back to normal, alright dear?"

"Yeah. Sure." I shrug, trying to mask my terror with indifference. She takes a deep breath and tosses the powder into the roaring fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. The flames spiral upwards in a green wall, and she steps into their midst with a look of pale determination.

"Malfoy Manor." My mother is engulfed in the fire, and a few moments later I know that it's my turn.

I can't help but think, as I take a handful of the Flu Powder and slowly approach the grate, about what condition Mother might be in by the time I make the journey. Father works with fast brutality, and in the few minutes time that will occur between her arrival and mine, he could easily knock her senseless, or worse. I let the glittery dust fall from my fingers, and it almost seems to work in slow motion, turning each individual flame green with breathtakingly precise downtempo. I close my eyes and walk straight into the enormous fireplace, ignoring the gentle flutter of the harmless fire as I struggle to form the words that I know I must speak. "Malfoy Manor." I manage, and immediately find myself being whirled along at a dizzying pace.

With a thud, the grate coughs me up and I find myself standing in the ashes of my old parlor fireplace. Mother sits on the black leather easy chair before me, with my father's hands clasped firmly around her mouth to prevent her from crying out. "Hello, son." His voice is horrible—so smooth and manipulative, but dangerous enough to kill.

"Good evening, Father." I brush off my cloak, coughing up a small amount of soot but still managing to sound steady.

"Sit down." He gestures to the long couch beside my mother's seat and I stride over to it, keeping my pace as grand and even as possible. "Let's talk about your little escapades this past week, shall we Narcissa?" Father raises his eyebrows slightly, looking down into my mother's teary face with a sadistic smile. She nods in weak consent beneath his restraining fingers. "You and your ####### little son thought that you could escape me—your rightful owner and protector—didn't you?" Mother doesn't move. Father wheels on me with a look of ferocity, his long sliver-blond hair swinging slightly as his grey eyes narrow. "Since this useless woman seems to have been struck not only dumb but also incapable of movement, you can have the pleasure of answering me Draco."