Insomnia

Prologue

Insomnia is a solitary complaint, its cause usually known only to the sufferer. But sometimes the ties that bind us together by day, bind us together by night, as well.

Chapter 1 - Narcissa

I'm not just a beautiful face upon your pillow.

I have (had?) hopes, wishes, desires, dreams...

I used to dream of falling in love with someone who would sweep me off my feet and carry me back to his castle and love me for the rest of time. But people like us do not marry for love. Like thoroughbreds, our breeding partners are selected carefully. I was chosen for you before we ever met.

I know I was not the one you wanted...

But I look pretty on your arm. I smile charmingly at all the right people at Ministry functions. I'm useful, in a decorative sort of way.

But when I ask you how I look, you tell me I look beautiful.

When did I go from being pretty to being beautiful? I was pretty--very pretty, when I was younger. Pretty enough that even you seemed pleased to have me. Now I am beautiful. Beautiful like a fine old painting, a finely aged piece of furniture? I still want to be pretty, still want to be pretty for you.

But I'm "still as beautiful as the best cosmetic spells that money can buy." I heard you say that the other night at the dinner party for the Minister of Magic. You didn't think I would hear you--or, more likely, you never even considered whether I would or not. After all, I'm just the beautiful, fine old painting hanging on the wall, the beautiful piece of finely aged furniture standing in the corner of the dining room.

I used to wish, hope, I would see love in your eyes... Now I wish I'd at least see disgust, wish I would see hatred, wish I would see something. Rage at me, beat me, punish me for not being the one you wanted! But don't just accept me, accept my presence as you would accept the necessary--if prosaic--presence of a chair, a table, a bed...

Sometimes I wish you would care enough to kill me.

Sometimes I hate you, hate you for what I have become---beautiful, "as beautiful as the best cosmetic spells that money can buy."

Sometimes I hate you, hate you for what you would have my Draco become. My Draco, not yours, never yours.

Sometimes when I look at Draco, I see you, see you when we first met, see you when I wasn't the one you wanted, see you when I was still pretty...

But he is not you, can never be you, must never be you.

You are so cruel to him. He wants so very much to please you, tries so very hard to be everything you want him to be, but you barely see him. You flay him with your indifference more severely than with your cane.

He used to ask me if Father loved him---even a little.

At first, I lied to him, told him of course, you loved him--very much. Later, I said yes, you loved him--in your own way.

He no longer asks.

I'd like to say it is because he sees the love you bear him shining from your eyes when you look upon him.

I'd like to say it is because he hears the fondness in your voice when you praise him for a small thing done well.

I'd like to say it is because he feels the tenderness in your touch when you put your arm around him to comfort him when he is hurt.

But I know it is because he sees the disappointment in your eyes when you look at him.

I know it is because he hears the distaste in your voice when you snap at him for a small thing done wrong.

I know it is because he feels the disgust in your touch when you beat him when he is hurt, when he shows any sign of weakness.

He no longer asks because he knows. At least I no longer have to lie to him.

Sometimes I hate you, hate you because in spite of everything I love you.

Sometimes I hate myself, hate myself because in spite of everything I love you.

Sometimes I just hate.

But most of the time I just am.

I'm the beautiful ornament on your arm. I'm the charming smile for your guests.

Most of the time I'm just the beautiful face upon your pillow.

Chapter 2 - Draco

I'm not just my father's son.

I'm not just a younger version of the illustrious Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater Extraordinaire!

I have hopes of my own, wishes of my own, dreams of my own, desires of my own.

He wants me to become like him, serve the Dark Lord, become a Death Eater (Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Extraordinaire!). It is my destiny. It is what I was made for. I knew there had to be a reason I was made. It couldn't have been because my parents wanted me!

No, that's not true. My mother wanted me, wants me, loves me. She used to hold me so close when I was hurt, when I came to her after Father beat me. She would kiss my tears and tell me she loved me. She would stroke my hair and tell me I was her Draco, her only love. Did I love her? Did her dearest Draco love her? She even used to lie to me and tell me Father loved me!

But my father hates me. Most of the time he ignores me, but I think he works at that a bit, puts extra effort in to appear indifferent. Because sometimes he beats me. You don't beat someone you don't care about one way or the other. He says he beats me for my own good, to make me stronger, to help me overcome my weaknesses--to help me learn to survive.

I guess if I've learned anything from Father, it's how to survive! But then, I've learned so much from Father.

Essay: Ten Things I've Learned from My Father, by Draco Malfoy

At least Father never beats Mother for showing emotion, for showing weakness. She's not truly a Malfoy so she doesn't have to meet his exacting standards. She's just his wife, a pretty thing to be possessed, to be shown off upon the right occasions--and to be put back on the shelf, ignored until needed or wanted the next time.

I guess he doesn't beat her because you don't bother to destroy a particularly pretty painting by ripping it to shreds just because you find a tiny piece of the paint has chipped--you just put it in the back of the cupboard and ignore it until you feel like looking at it again.

Maybe it would be better if he beat her.

Pain can make you numb.

But sometimes I feel...feel so deeply and desperately that even the pain of Crucio can't numb me!

Sometimes my feelings, my dreams, my desires hurt so badly they wake me in the night. Forbidden dreams; forbidden desires. Sometimes I see her face, her eyes filled with dislike (not hatred, not enough noticing to hate). I hear her voice, her words filled with distaste (not enough caring, even, for contempt).

She doesn't know, never will understand. Never because I'll never tell her--not even under the threat of the Killing Curse!

It would kill Mother if she knew--she'd never understand how I could love anyone but her.

Father would kill me if he knew--a Malfoy hates anything that is not pure; a Malfoy never disgraces his name or his house. Those are absolutes; there are no exceptions permitted.

Sometimes I hate him, hate him for what he is.

Sometimes I hate him, hate him for what he wants me to become.

Sometimes I hate him, hate him because I still want so very much to please him--even though I know that I never will.

Sometimes I hate him, hate him because in spite of everything, I love him.

Sometimes I hate myself, hate myself because in spite of everything I love him.

Sometimes I just hate.

But most of the time, I'm just numb.

Most of the time, I'm just my father's son.

Chapter 3 - Lucius

I hate to wake up in the middle of the night.

The darkness can be so illuminating, making me see things I'd rather remained hidden.

The darkness can be so anonymous, permitting me the freedom to remember things I'd rather forget.

The darkness can be so sensual, making me feel things I'd....well, I'd just rather not feel anything...

But once... once I did feel...

...felt so deeply it filled me with joy, felt so deeply it hurt.

...felt the unbounded joy of looking with love into eyes that loved me back.

...felt the oneness of a joining not just of body, not just of heart, but of soul.

...felt the unlimited possibilities of sharing hopes, dreams, desires...

Sometimes it felt like flying; sometimes it felt like dying--but it always felt.

But a Malfoy never disgraces his name or his house...

Father beat me when he found out.

"A Malfoy never disgraces his name or his house!"

He beat me within an inch of my life.

"There is never any excuse for weakness!"

I can still remember the taste of the blood I coughed up for two days from the broken ribs. I can still remember the look in his eyes when he saw my bruised face, my eyes nearly swollen shut. I can still remember the look in his eyes when I turned away from him for the first time, turned away from him for the last time.

Shortly afterwards, Narcissa and I were married.

"A Malfoy never disgraces his name or his house!"

Shortly afterwards, Draco was born...

Sometimes I hate them, hate them for the pain I see in their eyes when they think I'm not looking, when they think I don't see them.

Sometimes I hate them, hate them for the love I see in their eyes when they think I'm not looking, when they think I'm indifferent to their very existence.

Sometimes I hate myself, hate myself for the love I cannot feel, cannot give them in return.

Sometimes I just hate.

But hate is a weakness, too. It makes you vulnerable, makes you lose control.

And it all comes down to control, doesn't it? And control yields power. The Dark Lord and I are in unison on this core issue--it's why I took his mark in the first place. We each understand that without control--control over others, but mostly control over yourself, you can have no power. And without power, you can have no control.

Pain is power; pain is control.

I try to make Draco understand this, the need to control his emotions, control his weaknesses. There can be no room for weakness in our world. Even the smallest crack in the façade has the power to bring down the entire fortress!

Of course, he dos not understand. He has not yet learned to harness the pain, make it his own, control it, turn it to power.

Sometimes I fear for him, fear for him as any father fears for his child. I fear that he will not be strong enough, will succumb to his emotions, to his weaknesses. I fear that he will not survive...

And sometimes I fear that he will.

I hate to wake up in the middle of night! It makes me so damned introspective I could vomit!

But most of the time, I think I just hate to wake up.