Rather proud of this one
This is something of a departure for me, as it's D/G. Written for a contest. I don't think I won, but I don't know who did.
Title: Encircled
Author: Quin Firefrorefiddle
Word Count: 682
Rating: PG
Summary: There was one world where I was stillborn. I liked it so much I didn’t allow myself to go back.
***
What would they think of me now? The broken wreck I’ve become, that I know I’ve become, that I see in the mirror each morning, what would they think of this person I am now? Mum, Dad, Ron, Harry, the twins, Hermione... all of them, if they could see me now, what would they think?
What would they think of me if they knew I’m glad to be alive, even if this is my life? A concubine to Draco Malfoy, a pretty toy he likes to take out and play with every so often, that he uses to torture his pernicious wife with. Ginny Weasley, now just Ginny- he refuses to allow me to acknowledge any other name, as he hates Weasley and would never and could never grace me with the Malfoy name- reduced to this shell, and yet grateful for each breath? Ensorcelled- not quite literally, more like encircled- by a man that I despise, and yet value? Loathe, and yet depend on for this life I still allow myself to have, for reasons I only rarely comprehend?
Where is my Gryffindor courage now? Why haven’t I done the honorable thing and killed myself, death before dishonor, etc? There are so many ways, I could break the mirror or a window, I could throw myself from the balcony, hang myself with... a sheet, perhaps, the few scraps of clothing I have would never hold my weight. So much for courage. Why can’t I let myself die?
Most of my days I spend dreaming, fantasizing, in one of the thousands of imaginary worlds I’ve concocted for myself. Would it surprise them to know that not all of those worlds are happy? That not all of them survived the War in some of the worlds? That none of them survived the War in some of the worlds? My daydreams range from a Potter/Weasley wedding, in which I spend half the time deciding the flower arrangements, to a world where I’ve supplanted her as Draco’s wife. From Ron’s life being spared entirely to his sentence being mercifully cut short by Lord Voldemort, and he’s allowed to die after only two months of torture and servitude at the hands of the Lestranges. From the light in Harry’s eyes to the darkness in my own. I’ve explored the confines of my chambers as carefully as is possible, now all that is left is the depths of my own soul.
There was one world where I was stillborn. I liked it so much I didn’t allow myself to go back. It still haunts me.
It’s gotten to the point where I wait for each meal like a child on Christmas morning. I make little bets with myself about what the food will be, Brie or Camembert, rye or wheat, pork or chicken. I try to make eye contact with the house-elf of the day, but they never let me. He is the only one allowed to talk to me, have any real contact with me at all. His wife occasionally shoots me a death glare on the few occasions we meet, but that is as far as she is allowed.
I am his prize, his trophy, the last Weasley, the last of the Order, he has earned me and will keep me. He says so on a regular basis. Sometimes in front of his wife. I treasure each time he does that, it’s another victory over her. I have far more of him than she does already, I know. He chooses to keep me, he has to keep her. He spites her on a regular basis with me, never does the same to me with her. It’s easier to think of her as the enemy instead of him, it makes this life, this existence easier. It’s easier to think that in some twisted and inherently evil way he cares for me just a little. It helps pass the days, the moments.
I think I’d be able to kill myself if I ever started looking forward to his visits. I think so. I hope so.
I wish.
Title: Encircled
Author: Quin Firefrorefiddle
Word Count: 682
Rating: PG
Summary: There was one world where I was stillborn. I liked it so much I didn’t allow myself to go back.
***
What would they think of me now? The broken wreck I’ve become, that I know I’ve become, that I see in the mirror each morning, what would they think of this person I am now? Mum, Dad, Ron, Harry, the twins, Hermione... all of them, if they could see me now, what would they think?
What would they think of me if they knew I’m glad to be alive, even if this is my life? A concubine to Draco Malfoy, a pretty toy he likes to take out and play with every so often, that he uses to torture his pernicious wife with. Ginny Weasley, now just Ginny- he refuses to allow me to acknowledge any other name, as he hates Weasley and would never and could never grace me with the Malfoy name- reduced to this shell, and yet grateful for each breath? Ensorcelled- not quite literally, more like encircled- by a man that I despise, and yet value? Loathe, and yet depend on for this life I still allow myself to have, for reasons I only rarely comprehend?
Where is my Gryffindor courage now? Why haven’t I done the honorable thing and killed myself, death before dishonor, etc? There are so many ways, I could break the mirror or a window, I could throw myself from the balcony, hang myself with... a sheet, perhaps, the few scraps of clothing I have would never hold my weight. So much for courage. Why can’t I let myself die?
Most of my days I spend dreaming, fantasizing, in one of the thousands of imaginary worlds I’ve concocted for myself. Would it surprise them to know that not all of those worlds are happy? That not all of them survived the War in some of the worlds? That none of them survived the War in some of the worlds? My daydreams range from a Potter/Weasley wedding, in which I spend half the time deciding the flower arrangements, to a world where I’ve supplanted her as Draco’s wife. From Ron’s life being spared entirely to his sentence being mercifully cut short by Lord Voldemort, and he’s allowed to die after only two months of torture and servitude at the hands of the Lestranges. From the light in Harry’s eyes to the darkness in my own. I’ve explored the confines of my chambers as carefully as is possible, now all that is left is the depths of my own soul.
There was one world where I was stillborn. I liked it so much I didn’t allow myself to go back. It still haunts me.
It’s gotten to the point where I wait for each meal like a child on Christmas morning. I make little bets with myself about what the food will be, Brie or Camembert, rye or wheat, pork or chicken. I try to make eye contact with the house-elf of the day, but they never let me. He is the only one allowed to talk to me, have any real contact with me at all. His wife occasionally shoots me a death glare on the few occasions we meet, but that is as far as she is allowed.
I am his prize, his trophy, the last Weasley, the last of the Order, he has earned me and will keep me. He says so on a regular basis. Sometimes in front of his wife. I treasure each time he does that, it’s another victory over her. I have far more of him than she does already, I know. He chooses to keep me, he has to keep her. He spites her on a regular basis with me, never does the same to me with her. It’s easier to think of her as the enemy instead of him, it makes this life, this existence easier. It’s easier to think that in some twisted and inherently evil way he cares for me just a little. It helps pass the days, the moments.
I think I’d be able to kill myself if I ever started looking forward to his visits. I think so. I hope so.
I wish.