He Never Used to Notice Me

He never used to notice me.

I stand in my bathroom, grateful that there are no mirrors. Even if there were I couldn't bring myself to look in them because no matter how much I wash I'll never be clean. I disgust myself.

I was always just there: an inconvenience. I would often wonder why he had ever had children when he obviously didn't want them. I used to think that it was because he needed an heir, someone to carry on the Malfoy name. Now I wonder if that was his only reason.

Every year, when I'd arrive home for the summer he would make a point of seeing me. I started to look forward to coming home just for that half hour when my father acted like I was someone who deserved his attention.

"You've lost weight," he would nearly always say.

"Yes Father," I would agree.

"You should look after yourself better. I hear that Granger was top of the class again."

"Yes Father."

"You'll have to work harder next year."

It was never positive but I didn't care. Negative attention was better than no attention at all. After that conversation he would always go back to whatever he was doing.

At the end of the summer he would take me to Knockturn Alley; he said I needed to learn how to be a Malfoy. That it obviously didn't come naturally to me. He would always insult me. My grades were never good enough; I was too thin; I wasn't Slytherin enough; I was a disgrace to the family. Of course he never noticed me for anything positive, only the negative.

He never used to notice me.

Until the day I arrived home after my fifth year at Hogwarts. As usual he was waiting for me when I got back.

"You've grown," he said.

"Yes Father."

"And your hair is different."

"Yes Father, I've been growing it." It wasn't long but longer than it had been.

"I like it like that."

There it was. The first compliment I'd ever received from my father.

"Thank you, Father."

That night, I was in bed when he came to see me. He didn't knock; he never did. It was his house and he would do as he pleased. He came and sat on my bed. He began to stroke my hair. So tenderly, so unlike my father. He'd never shown any affection before, and I didn't know how to react.

"Relax Draco. It will be so much easier if you just relax."

"What will be easier father?"

He never replied. He tilted my head up towards him and kissed me. It wasn't a tender kiss, it was violent and forceful. Just like my father.

Everything was over so quickly it seemed. I remember how much it hurt, like someone was ripping me apart. Afterwards, he lay with me for a while, stroking my hair and telling me that the pain would go away. It was only physical pain, and Malfoys were strong. He made me promise that I'd never tell anyone.

Of course I would never tell anyone. I'd never do that to my father. I'd never do that to myself. Imagine what people would think if they knew. No. He's right; no one can ever know. Although I'm sure my mother knows, how can she not know? It scares me to think that she does know, not because of what she would think but because she hasn't done anything to help me. Why hasn't my mother tried to help me? Is she scared? Maybe of my father and what he would do to her, maybe of what people would say about us if they found out; or maybe it's just easier to ignore it.

It's always the same now. He comes into my room. He fucks me. It can't be called rape anymore. The first time, yes. Maybe even the second and third, but after that I was always willing. What's the point in fighting him? Part of me takes a perverse pleasure in these nights spent with my father. Don't think I don't feel guilty about this-I do. I know I shouldn't enjoy it; I know it shouldn't happen. But it does, and as long as no one ever finds out then it will be all right. Sometimes I can convince myself that it doesn't happen, during term time when I don't see him. But it's always the same when I go home.

At least now he notices me.