Notes: Yeah, I know I’ve kept you waiting a little with this one. You should know that this is the
third draft of this chapter because… *breaks into song* I can’t get no satisfaction! *stops* Aaaaah!
When did I start memorizing Britney Spears lyrics?

Shameless Plug: This story is projected to be thirteen or fourteen chapters, and thus I have started work
on my next story, Damsontongue, an HP fic about why Lucius is the way that he is. Romance/Drama,
PG13 or R. Multi-chaptered.

For Earth is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky

by Pata
 
 

Chapter 8
Stained Glass
 

My father took his seat, a quiet look of contained rage painted across his features. He folded his
hands into his lap, shooting a venomous glare across the courtroom at Hermione.

One of the judges adjusted his spectacles on his nose, sifting through some paperwork. He cleared
his throat and looked up at me. "Alright then, Mr. Malfoy, we will continue."

The words were barely out of his mouth when everything in the courtroom went blurry and out
of focus, and I could feel the unnerving sense of someone shifting thoughts around inside my head.
I tried vainly to bring the image of Harry and Hermione back to clarity – at least it would keep me
from thinking about which horrid memory would arise next – but I couldn’t rid myself of the judges’
presence.

Finally, they were done, the memory selected, and the world returned to focus. I blinked several
times as the color slowly filled in on the memory playing out before myself and everyone else in the
courtroom.

*

I was nine, very petit, silver hair combed and parted neatly so that it fell down on either side of my
face. I was sitting on a street corner - in Diagon Alley, perhaps? – eating something. Something that
I could taste, in the memory, an arsenal of different flavors.

As the picture faded into focus, the label could be clearly read on the bag: Bertie Bott’s Every
Flavor Beans.

As I ate, a shadow loomed over me. Nine-year-old me didn’t notice, not just yet. At the tapping
of a boot, I looked up, and a small squeal escaped my throat.

*

Oh, dear God. It was that memory. My first taste of disobeying my father. The incident that had
ultimately resulted in this.

My father knew it too. His face was contorted in a kind of mental agony at having to witness a
memory that would surely incriminate him.

I stared, willing the picture to stop or at least slow, but it continued. My heart seemed filled with
lead as I watched, helpless as to my own fate.

*

The bag of jellybeans fell to the floor, scattering the colorful candies across the sidewalk. My father
grabbed my arm, cursing loudly and cuffing me sharply on the back of the head.

"I can’t believe you!" he raged, his voice every bit as loud and fear-inducing as it had been nine
years ago on that very day. "I told you not to buy those, and what do you do? You deliberately
disobey me! You disrespectful little whelp!"

I was crying. My pleas were laced by sobs and therefore wholly incomprehensible. Unintelligible
strings of words escaped my mouth. "Father, no, don’t, please, never again, I’ll be good! Why, why
do you…! You’re so mean - "

He cut me off, still angry. "Don’t you insult me! You have idea what it’s like to be me! That’s awful
talk for someone still wet behind the ears!"

His hand came down across my jowl, snapping my head hard to the side. The crack of bones in
my neck was loud enough to hear even over my implorations. I let out only a small whimper of pain;
anything more would get me beaten harder.

*

At this, my father stood.

"This is foolish, Justice!" He protested. "We have seen enough to know - "

"Shut up, Lucius," the judge snarled. "You are at fault here. You will do well to consider yourself
as much on trial as your son."

Silenced but not defeated, my father took his seat.

*

As the red imprint of my father’s hand became clearly visible on my tear-traced cheek, I sat down
hard on the pavement, stifling a scream of rage and pain. He hit me again, this time kicking me hard
in the side with his boot.

My cries stopped because I was unable to breathe. I clutched at the site of the injury, and my hand
pulled back with a thick coating of red blood.

*

Unconsciously, my hand fell to my side, brushing against the scar. I shook my head, refusing to
believe that this was really my memory being played.

No. No.

It can’t be.

Make it stop.

As if in answer to my unspoken pleas, the head judge said, "We have seen enough to judge
Lucius’ influence on this crime. It is not to our advantage to put Mr. Malfoy to any more emotional
or physical pain. We will move on to the next memory."

Oh, I feel so much better, I thought sarcastically as I felt the probing minds of the judges inside
my own. They left almost as suddenly as they had come, and the memory began to play.

*

It was just a day or two after my incident on the rock when Hermione had broken my nose and I
had nearly drowned her. I was leaving the infirmary, with Hermione just a few steps behind. I was
very aware of her presence behind me for some reason.

I turned a corner, and she followed. Suddenly and irrationally angry, I stopped abruptly in midstride
and she crashed into me with a small cry of shock.

"Why are you following me?" I demanded, whirling around.

She took a few steps backward, making direct eye contact. "You intrigue me, Malfoy."

"Really, is that so?" I snapped, turning on my heel and heading back down the hallway. "Why
don’t you go look me up in a book!"

She caught up with me, walking alongside. "You don’t get it! You and I…we’re alike."

"I have nothing in common with a Muggle-born."

"You have more in common with me that you would like to think, Draco Malfoy," she drawled
ominously.

I thought about her words, but then shook my head gently. "No," I whispered. "No, we’re not
alike. You’re wrong this time, Granger. We’re different. We’re complete opposites. We’re…
we’re…"

She looked at me, and those beautiful eyes betrayed exactly what she was thinking.

*

Everybody in the courtroom felt the strange flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach, the first
sensations of a dangerous attraction.

My father was watching the picture intently; he could feel it too, and clearly it angered him greatly.
He looked ready to speak, but seemed to change his mind and held his tongue. The memory
continued, heeding not to my desperate mental begging for it to cease.

*

I shook my head vigorously from side to side, trying to clear it. "Well, then, I guess I’ll go," I said,
nervous for some reason.

"Yeah," she replied, but her voice was distant and her eyes clouded.

"So…bye. I’ll see you for tutoring on Wednesday."

"Okay. Bye."

As I left, I stole a quick glance back at her. The sunlight pouring in from the stained glass windows
in the hall played all the colors of the rainbow across her face, and I sighed to myself as I let the
strange, alien feeling of genuine attraction wash over me.

She stood there in the hall, not appearing to move, not appearing to breathe, and watched me until
I disappeared behind the wall on my way to the Slytherin common room.
 
 
 

Back to Chapter 7
Chapter 9