Dying By Degrees Remix fic
Sep. 5th, 2006 08:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlite_trystI've noticed folks posting their ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hd_remix fics on their Lj's. Here's mine. I had the pleasure of remixing ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mizbean's Prelude Series. Specifically my take on events between Acts One and Two.
Title: Dying By Degrees
Author:lusiology
Pairing: DM/IM, DM/HP
Rating: soft R
Genre: Angst!
Word Count: 1,730
Disclaimer No ownership, no money.
Summary: What do you do when you discover your husband has always loved somebody else?
A/N: ”Az ördög vigyen el, Draco Malfoy,”, literally translates to "May the devil take you with him, Draco Malfoy."
A soft sigh of resignation disturbed Ilona Malfoy’s troubled thoughts. She felt the imperceptible dip of the mattress to the right of her, as Draco swung his legs over the side, and rose from the bed. Ilona lay perfectly still: face turned away, eyes closed, feigning sleep. Her duty successfully done, she hoped Draco would show no further hesitation, and finally leave both her bedroom and her alone.
It was with some relief that she heard the rustling silk of his robe and quick footfalls receding across the room followed, a moment later, by the quiet click of the door. Now, safe in the sanctuary that only privacy afforded a Malfoy, she could end this ridiculous charade; the illusion of normalcy that hung between them since that night, last week at the restaurant, when the walls of her supposedly ideal marriage had tumbled down around her.
The night she had seen him.
Ilona curled into a tight ball amidst the tangled, stained sheets – the evidence of their coupling minutes before still drying beside her, and allowed herself the luxury of tears. Harsh sobs tore from her mouth, racking her slim frame and echoing around the room. Sobs filled with anger, bitterness and resentment.
Anger because she had, despite her best intentions, fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. Ilona hadn’t expected much from their arranged marriage - except a small vault at Gringotts to give her an element of financial independence, frequent ‘attention’ from her husband until she provided that precious Malfoy heir, and a modicum of civility.
Draco had surprised her: making an effort to get to know her, seeking her out to talk to her, even asking her opinion on a wide variety of subjects. And, when duty called, he had proved himself to be a most considerate lover; knowing how, with his deft fingers and persuasive tongue, to render her defenceless: completely open and giving, experiencing pleasure she hadn’t known was possible.
That had been her undoing.
Arranged marriages are not known for their fairy tale endings, and the veil of ‘happy ever after’ had been ripped from Ilona’s eyes the moment she looked into his, saw his love for Draco, his pain laid bare before her. Something unfamiliar stirred deep within her, dark and poisonous. Each time Ilona thought of them together: talking, laughing, touching, fucking, the blackness reached out, wrapping a little more of her heart in its chilling embrace.
Now, in the cold light of passion spent, Ilona finally realised that, despite appearances to the contrary, she was little more than a brood mare in a gilded cage – a respected, well cared for brood mare, but a brood mare just the same. Happy Christmas, Ilona.
Never, in her teenage virginal daydreams, had she thought that making love could have such exquisite pleasure wrapped in such exquisite pain. La petite mort, the French called it.
The little death.
And she was dying - dying by degrees. Ilona now knew that a tiny piece of her heart, her soul, would shrivel in the dark depths of her jealousy until it became a lifeless husk each time she allowed herself to follow the siren song of her husband’s gentle touches and warm mouth, until he made her blood race and every cell of her body sing in ecstasy – stopping both time and breath. In those moments of pure bliss he did not exist, but afterwards…
“Why does his touch leave me begging for more, even now?” Ilona cried into the pillow. Because, you fool, she thought after a moment, he’s not making love to you in his head; he’s making love to him.
The pain of that realisation had ripped through her like a jagged knife. Ilona sobbed her regret into the wet pillow, fervently wishing she could get her hands on one of the fabled Time-Turners, and go back to the moment she began to see Draco as more than just the man she lived with, to quash such foolish romantic notions. But it was too late. Each time during the last year that Draco came to her bed, she had gifted him a little more of her heart, never dreaming that one day he would crush it, and leave it bleeding in the wreckage of their marriage.
One cruel truth repeated itself over and over again in her head: Draco was in love with someone else, with him. Ilona suddenly realised that she resented Draco’s cowardice most of all, because he refused to admit that fact, or do something about it, thereby ending three people’s misery – to hell with duty.
"Az ördög vigyen el, Draco Malfoy," Ilona cried, as she pummelled her pillow repeatedly with her fists, “for making me love you!”
Ilona’s bitter tears finally subsided into quiet sniffles, and a strange sense of peace stole over her. She suddenly sat up and cleaned her face on one of the rumpled sheets. Getting off the bed, Ilona reached for her wand and satin robe, and crossed the room to the French doors that opened on to the balcony.
She stepped outside into the cold December air. In the diminishing light she could just about make out the outlines of numerous paths and shrubs now buried under the snow that had been steadily falling during the afternoon. The garden looked as though it had been transformed into a fantasy land of white icing. Turning her face toward the delicate snowflakes drifting down from the slate grey sky, it occurred to her that here was something else beautiful in appearance, but in reality quite deadly – just like Draco.
Ilona cast a Warming Charm, then leaned against the snow covered balcony rail, and gazed pensively across the winter landscape below for several minutes to clear her mind. “God, what a mess,” she said, to the snowflakes that floated before her eyes, studies of symmetry seemingly in chaos. After taking several deep calming breaths, Ilona turned and went back inside. The Malfoy matriarch was holding a reception later that evening at the Manor. There were preparations to make beforehand.
~*~
Sitting at her dressing table, Ilona was tying an elegant bow around a small velvet box, when a soft knock at the door informed her that Draco had arrived to escort her to Narcissa’s soiree, where they would be expected to play Mr and Mrs ‘Perfect Couple’ for the evening.
“Come in,” she called out. Draco stepped through the door and walked towards her, frowning slightly. Ilona struggled to tear her eyes away from the vision reflected in the mirror before her dressed in a midnight blue, calf length formal dress robe, edged with a silver Celtic interlace design, and tailored trousers.
“Merlin, Ilona. Please tell me that you are not going to Mother’s reception dressed like that,” he said.
“Quite right, Draco, I am not,” she replied without looking up from the bow she was finishing off.
“Well, you’d better get changed, and quickly, or we’ll be late. You know how Mother loathes such tawdry behaviour.” He sounded irritated.
Ilona looked up and gazed into the reflection of Draco’s storm grey eyes. “You misunderstood me, my love. When I said ‘I am not’, I meant that I am not going to the reception.”
Draco’s frown deepened. “Why on earth not? It’s expected that we’ll both be there.”
“Oh, I know what’s expected, Draco. I’m constantly reminded of it by both your mother, and mine.”
Draco looked in the mirror and raised a hand to his hair. “So…”
“So I’m leaving you, Draco.”
Draco paused mid preen, and stared intently at her, an expression of confusion on his face. “You’re what?”
“I said, I’m leaving you.”
Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but Ilona held up her hand to silence him. She turned around on the stool, and looked up at him with a determined expression on her face.
“Let me have my say first, and don’t interrupt. You, Draco Malfoy, are a coward. You give the appearance of being quite happy to sit back and let three people, yourself included, live in abject misery, because you lack the courage to follow your heart and do what is necessary.”
Draco had paled noticeably while she spoke. “Three people? I… I don’t know what you mean, Ilona.”
“Draco! Stop lying to yourself, and to me. It’s an insult to us both. I know."
“Know? Know what?”
Ilona sighed in exasperation. She rose from the stool, and closed the distance between them. Gently cupping the side of Draco’s face with one hand, she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “About him, Draco. I know about Harry Potter.”
Draco recoiled from her touch, as though her hand was made of ice, and took several steps back until he felt the edge of the bed against the backs of his knees. He sat on the bed, and put his head in his hands. “How?”
“Last week at the restaurant,” Ilona replied in a quiet voice. “I was there, remember. I saw the look in his eyes when he left you standing by the bar.” Ilona stepped forward, and stopped directly in front of Draco. He didn’t look up, so she continued. “More to the point, I saw your face, and I knew then, in that moment, that you loved him in a way you could never love me.”
Draco looked up, his face a study in misery. “I’m sorry, Ilona. I…”
“Shhhh.” Ilona knelt before Draco and placed a finger on his lips. “Now, you must realise that this situation can’t continue.” Draco grasped her fingers.
“It’s over, Ilona. He…”
“No, Draco. Listen to me,” she said softly. It may be over in both your heads, but it will never be over in your hearts, and I won’t be second best. I deserve more than that.” Ilona stood, and kissed him briefly on the cheek. “That’s why I’m leaving you.” She turned his hand over and placed the small velvet box in it. “Happy Christmas, Draco,” she whispered, before walking away.
Ilona picked up her shrunken luggage close to the door. She stopped in the doorway, and looked back at Draco still sat, immobilised in shocked silence, on her bed. “By the way, Draco…” Ilona paused, until Draco looked up at her, his eyes overly bright. Willing herself not to break down, or give in to what her heart desired most, she said in a controlled voice, “The box contains something I’m returning to you. I don’t need it any more.”
~*~
Any fans out there of Tomorrow Belongs To Me? You must readcoffeejunkii's wonderful remix, from Harry's POV: Twenty Years (the forever and beyond remix).
hd_remix fics on their Lj's. Here's mine. I had the pleasure of remixing mizbean's Prelude Series. Specifically my take on events between Acts One and Two. Title: Dying By Degrees
Author:
lusiologyPairing: DM/IM, DM/HP
Rating: soft R
Genre: Angst!
Word Count: 1,730
Disclaimer No ownership, no money.
Summary: What do you do when you discover your husband has always loved somebody else?
A/N: ”Az ördög vigyen el, Draco Malfoy,”, literally translates to "May the devil take you with him, Draco Malfoy."
A soft sigh of resignation disturbed Ilona Malfoy’s troubled thoughts. She felt the imperceptible dip of the mattress to the right of her, as Draco swung his legs over the side, and rose from the bed. Ilona lay perfectly still: face turned away, eyes closed, feigning sleep. Her duty successfully done, she hoped Draco would show no further hesitation, and finally leave both her bedroom and her alone.
It was with some relief that she heard the rustling silk of his robe and quick footfalls receding across the room followed, a moment later, by the quiet click of the door. Now, safe in the sanctuary that only privacy afforded a Malfoy, she could end this ridiculous charade; the illusion of normalcy that hung between them since that night, last week at the restaurant, when the walls of her supposedly ideal marriage had tumbled down around her.
The night she had seen him.
Ilona curled into a tight ball amidst the tangled, stained sheets – the evidence of their coupling minutes before still drying beside her, and allowed herself the luxury of tears. Harsh sobs tore from her mouth, racking her slim frame and echoing around the room. Sobs filled with anger, bitterness and resentment.
Anger because she had, despite her best intentions, fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. Ilona hadn’t expected much from their arranged marriage - except a small vault at Gringotts to give her an element of financial independence, frequent ‘attention’ from her husband until she provided that precious Malfoy heir, and a modicum of civility.
Draco had surprised her: making an effort to get to know her, seeking her out to talk to her, even asking her opinion on a wide variety of subjects. And, when duty called, he had proved himself to be a most considerate lover; knowing how, with his deft fingers and persuasive tongue, to render her defenceless: completely open and giving, experiencing pleasure she hadn’t known was possible.
That had been her undoing.
Arranged marriages are not known for their fairy tale endings, and the veil of ‘happy ever after’ had been ripped from Ilona’s eyes the moment she looked into his, saw his love for Draco, his pain laid bare before her. Something unfamiliar stirred deep within her, dark and poisonous. Each time Ilona thought of them together: talking, laughing, touching, fucking, the blackness reached out, wrapping a little more of her heart in its chilling embrace.
Now, in the cold light of passion spent, Ilona finally realised that, despite appearances to the contrary, she was little more than a brood mare in a gilded cage – a respected, well cared for brood mare, but a brood mare just the same. Happy Christmas, Ilona.
Never, in her teenage virginal daydreams, had she thought that making love could have such exquisite pleasure wrapped in such exquisite pain. La petite mort, the French called it.
The little death.
And she was dying - dying by degrees. Ilona now knew that a tiny piece of her heart, her soul, would shrivel in the dark depths of her jealousy until it became a lifeless husk each time she allowed herself to follow the siren song of her husband’s gentle touches and warm mouth, until he made her blood race and every cell of her body sing in ecstasy – stopping both time and breath. In those moments of pure bliss he did not exist, but afterwards…
“Why does his touch leave me begging for more, even now?” Ilona cried into the pillow. Because, you fool, she thought after a moment, he’s not making love to you in his head; he’s making love to him.
The pain of that realisation had ripped through her like a jagged knife. Ilona sobbed her regret into the wet pillow, fervently wishing she could get her hands on one of the fabled Time-Turners, and go back to the moment she began to see Draco as more than just the man she lived with, to quash such foolish romantic notions. But it was too late. Each time during the last year that Draco came to her bed, she had gifted him a little more of her heart, never dreaming that one day he would crush it, and leave it bleeding in the wreckage of their marriage.
One cruel truth repeated itself over and over again in her head: Draco was in love with someone else, with him. Ilona suddenly realised that she resented Draco’s cowardice most of all, because he refused to admit that fact, or do something about it, thereby ending three people’s misery – to hell with duty.
"Az ördög vigyen el, Draco Malfoy," Ilona cried, as she pummelled her pillow repeatedly with her fists, “for making me love you!”
Ilona’s bitter tears finally subsided into quiet sniffles, and a strange sense of peace stole over her. She suddenly sat up and cleaned her face on one of the rumpled sheets. Getting off the bed, Ilona reached for her wand and satin robe, and crossed the room to the French doors that opened on to the balcony.
She stepped outside into the cold December air. In the diminishing light she could just about make out the outlines of numerous paths and shrubs now buried under the snow that had been steadily falling during the afternoon. The garden looked as though it had been transformed into a fantasy land of white icing. Turning her face toward the delicate snowflakes drifting down from the slate grey sky, it occurred to her that here was something else beautiful in appearance, but in reality quite deadly – just like Draco.
Ilona cast a Warming Charm, then leaned against the snow covered balcony rail, and gazed pensively across the winter landscape below for several minutes to clear her mind. “God, what a mess,” she said, to the snowflakes that floated before her eyes, studies of symmetry seemingly in chaos. After taking several deep calming breaths, Ilona turned and went back inside. The Malfoy matriarch was holding a reception later that evening at the Manor. There were preparations to make beforehand.
Sitting at her dressing table, Ilona was tying an elegant bow around a small velvet box, when a soft knock at the door informed her that Draco had arrived to escort her to Narcissa’s soiree, where they would be expected to play Mr and Mrs ‘Perfect Couple’ for the evening.
“Come in,” she called out. Draco stepped through the door and walked towards her, frowning slightly. Ilona struggled to tear her eyes away from the vision reflected in the mirror before her dressed in a midnight blue, calf length formal dress robe, edged with a silver Celtic interlace design, and tailored trousers.
“Merlin, Ilona. Please tell me that you are not going to Mother’s reception dressed like that,” he said.
“Quite right, Draco, I am not,” she replied without looking up from the bow she was finishing off.
“Well, you’d better get changed, and quickly, or we’ll be late. You know how Mother loathes such tawdry behaviour.” He sounded irritated.
Ilona looked up and gazed into the reflection of Draco’s storm grey eyes. “You misunderstood me, my love. When I said ‘I am not’, I meant that I am not going to the reception.”
Draco’s frown deepened. “Why on earth not? It’s expected that we’ll both be there.”
“Oh, I know what’s expected, Draco. I’m constantly reminded of it by both your mother, and mine.”
Draco looked in the mirror and raised a hand to his hair. “So…”
“So I’m leaving you, Draco.”
Draco paused mid preen, and stared intently at her, an expression of confusion on his face. “You’re what?”
“I said, I’m leaving you.”
Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but Ilona held up her hand to silence him. She turned around on the stool, and looked up at him with a determined expression on her face.
“Let me have my say first, and don’t interrupt. You, Draco Malfoy, are a coward. You give the appearance of being quite happy to sit back and let three people, yourself included, live in abject misery, because you lack the courage to follow your heart and do what is necessary.”
Draco had paled noticeably while she spoke. “Three people? I… I don’t know what you mean, Ilona.”
“Draco! Stop lying to yourself, and to me. It’s an insult to us both. I know."
“Know? Know what?”
Ilona sighed in exasperation. She rose from the stool, and closed the distance between them. Gently cupping the side of Draco’s face with one hand, she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “About him, Draco. I know about Harry Potter.”
Draco recoiled from her touch, as though her hand was made of ice, and took several steps back until he felt the edge of the bed against the backs of his knees. He sat on the bed, and put his head in his hands. “How?”
“Last week at the restaurant,” Ilona replied in a quiet voice. “I was there, remember. I saw the look in his eyes when he left you standing by the bar.” Ilona stepped forward, and stopped directly in front of Draco. He didn’t look up, so she continued. “More to the point, I saw your face, and I knew then, in that moment, that you loved him in a way you could never love me.”
Draco looked up, his face a study in misery. “I’m sorry, Ilona. I…”
“Shhhh.” Ilona knelt before Draco and placed a finger on his lips. “Now, you must realise that this situation can’t continue.” Draco grasped her fingers.
“It’s over, Ilona. He…”
“No, Draco. Listen to me,” she said softly. It may be over in both your heads, but it will never be over in your hearts, and I won’t be second best. I deserve more than that.” Ilona stood, and kissed him briefly on the cheek. “That’s why I’m leaving you.” She turned his hand over and placed the small velvet box in it. “Happy Christmas, Draco,” she whispered, before walking away.
Ilona picked up her shrunken luggage close to the door. She stopped in the doorway, and looked back at Draco still sat, immobilised in shocked silence, on her bed. “By the way, Draco…” Ilona paused, until Draco looked up at her, his eyes overly bright. Willing herself not to break down, or give in to what her heart desired most, she said in a controlled voice, “The box contains something I’m returning to you. I don’t need it any more.”
Any fans out there of Tomorrow Belongs To Me? You must read
coffeejunkii's wonderful remix, from Harry's POV: Twenty Years (the forever and beyond remix).
