Forsake Thy Son ((Damien))

[Dakota Fox S6]

The sky, overcast and wrought with grey, loomed ominously outside protective panes of glass. Dakota stared up blankly, past the Common Room windows, lips pressed into a thin line and hands jittery against her thigh. It was not yet midnight, but time still ticked by, twilight hour drawing ever nearer. Still, sleep eluded Dakota, as it had eluded her for almost a year, ever since...

A violent shudder shook Dakota's spine, dark eyes clamping shut, unable to turn away the images. Screams that could only be heard within her mind echoed, haunting like the four ghosts of each Hogwarts house, and Dakota could do nothing - nothing - to banish them. She had tried everything - potions, spells, even Muggle drugs. None had worked, and as each day wore her through like a used and failing rag, her resolve stuttered to stops and could fight no longer. Dakota didn't want to try anymore. If sleep would not come, then so be it.

Sometimes, sleep itself was a nightmare too. Dreams of shadows and shattering, and Dakota waking up, scream stuck in her throat, unable to fall out of her open, terrified mouth, just like...

"Don't."

Her lips barely parted, her voice scratchy, but the command filled the emptiness of the darkly lit Common Room. Dakota's eyes opened once more, this time a pained, bitter expression screwed into her face. Shadows lingered under her lashes, bright against alabaster skin that had paled into green with malnourishment of both food and sanity.

The rare times Dakota found any trace of solace from the darkness wound tight within her were the times she would break from sorrow. The raw, needy cry of an infant; the scratch of a newborn finger. Tears would run floods as Dakota held onto anything that would even remotely ground her - the pillow, the sheets, the bed, her skin (and flesh, and blood). Dakota was not only losing her fight against Stephen; she was losing her fight against herself.

"No." Dakota didn't even acknowledge her spoken word; merely stood up from the couch and moved stiffly, wildly, towards the lowering embers of the hearth. Her eyes glowed gold in the orange firelight, reflecting tears she blinked away with furious tenacity. Not now, not today, her mind chanted. Not ever again. She could not touch her son; not a touch of the hand, nor a touch of the mind.

Footsteps broke Dakota's determination, and she swung around, alert and frightened, her whole body poised to flee. As a figure moved into the room, her nerves rippled through her limbs, her breath caught. "Who is it?" she declared, quiet but echoing, attempting stature and finding fear. "Show yourself." As light fell onto a familiar face, Dakota's frown deepened, and she took a wary step back. She knew this boy, he was in her year, she was sure of it, but his name... She had forgotten his name. Once upon a time she could name every individual body in the school; but no more. "Who are you?" Dakota demanded, fearful but standing her ground.

[Damien Lennox S7]

Mmm. Damien stretched lithely, feeling his muscles tense and then restfully settle back into place. There was nothing quite like a near-midnight tryst that had originally started as an afternoon date to leave his brain feeling delightfully refreshed even though his body wanted nothing more than to melt into a thoroughly satiated pool of sleepy Damien. “You were good,” he complimented his unconscious companion offhandedly, reaching out one hand to carelessly pull the duvet over to better cover the sleeping Ravenclaw boy. There wasn’t any affection in the gesture, but rather an instinctive thoughtful consideration for someone who had given Damien nearly as much pleasure as he received in return. Another day, another conquest. Another person to gleefully, playfully taunt Carlin about because he was still three points, or people, ahead of her in their game and there was no way that she could catch up to him any time soon unless she doubled her efforts and his cousin would never do that; Carlin took the game seriously but not the pawns that they both manipulated expertly. That was why she always fell short. Damien knew how to make people feel like he invested something in them; he prided himself on evoking that feeling within people. Carlin merely had the talent to make her conquests feel worthless. It did make some of them fawn over her even more intently though, Damien mused thoughtfully. Perhaps he should try it sometime.

The moonlight lit his way back to the Slytherin common room helpfully, regardless of the fact that he knew the route back there without even thinking about it. This wasn’t the first time that Damien had made such a trip under the cover of relative darkness, nor was it likely to be the last. The prefects rarely ever caught him out and about when he shouldn’t have been and, well, the ones that did often found themselves amenable to a bit of persuasion to overlook the incident. Damien could be very persuasive when he wished to be. Absent-mindedly correcting the wrongly buttoned shirt around his torso, Damien strolled into the common room without care for how he must look, with haphazard clothing, mussed hair and the self-satisfied smirk on his face that only ever appeared when he had managed to best Carlin. As much as he loved his cousin, the girl was his rival in almost everything, which confused matters since she also acted as his sister and confidante when she wasn’t in one of her bad mood. Only the younger students wouldn’t know what he had been up to, but they should be in bed already. Young eyes and minds weren’t yet prepared for things that happened after dark, even if they also occurred during daylight too.

“Don’t be so jumpy, sweetheart,” Damien chuckled lightly, almost instantly recognising the voice and then the body that his eyes rested upon in the faint light. Her reaction to his unexpected appearance wasn’t exceptionally odd, not in his mind. The dark played tricks on people’s minds, confused them until they couldn’t be entirely sure which direction was up and the other down. It was, however, slightly offensive that she hadn’t recognised him. He didn’t care if something was wrong with her or if she had been blinded by a freak accident; he was Damien Lennox and he deserved instantaneous identification. Dakota shared a room with his cousin, they had both been in Slytherin for six years and she was attractive enough to have attracted his flirtatious attention more than once. “It’s me,” he added after a moment, rolling his eyes and slumping into an armchair with a tired yawn. “Damien Lennox. You might not remember me,” Damien mocked scathingly, “because it’s not like we’ve both been Slytherins for the past six years or anything like that. What are you doing up so late anyway? I’m guessing we don’t share the same reasons for not yet being asleep.”

[Dakota Fox S6]

How can I not be jumpy when slimy men such as yourself creep around in the dark after midnight? almost leapt off Dakota's tongue, but it stayed paralysed and dry in her mouth, kept tightly shut. The feisty spark of the old days came and went, faded like a sinking ship, leaving Dakota staring at the boy, still and silent. And then he gave his name, a name familiar but in more ways than one, and Dakota's blood ran cold - colder than before, colder than the chill of the night. Damien, her mind whispered. Damien.

First, a barrage of memories, of Damien, this Damien, offered itself, burst into her mind without invitation. Dakota remembered the years gone by, with innocent flirtatious between them, their strange relationship that would've constituted a friendship thanks to their similar personalities if they had not been from such different social circles. Still, Dakota had respected Damien, had harmlessly flirted with him when she was bored, had even found him considerably attractive. But he was not to be played, and that was why she had never made him one to keep around her little finger. Dakota had liked toys; and Damien Lennox didn't like to be - would not be - toyed with.

And then, sounds of a baby's cry, and the face of her son swam into view, amongst the tears and the chokes caught in her throat. Her child - Damien. Why had she named him that? She hadn't named him after Damien; she had forgotten Damien even existed, pushed to the wayside along with every other insignificant other, to focus on breaking down inside herself. Her son's name had been chosen for the shared initial of D, the shared number of letters; in a way, it was the male version of 'Dakota'.

But remembering her past self, the one that flirted and cooed with Damien, this Damien, who was confident and self-assured and oh so naive, made Dakota's heart hurt; and the loss of her son even more so, an echo at every beat. "Da..." Dakota couldn't say it; couldn't say his name, it was so painful on her lips, an ever-present reminder about her son, her baby boy. "Wha... That's none of your business," she eventually snapped, voice wavering and beginning to break. "You and I share very little," she added fiercely, fist curling in on itself as she pressed her back against the wall and avoided looking at Damien's inquisitive, feral gaze.

Dakota was torn between storming out of the room, running away from Damien's unwelcome presence, and staying standing, the glow of dead flames warming her chilled fingertips and staring into the face of the past and her son. Dakota knew Damien well, truthfully; knew he was a fiend inside, just like herself, and knew he would not resist her being here. However, if she ran, he would catch her; he was in the way, blocking the entrance up the stairs to her dorm with his taller, stronger figure. Fright flickered through Dakota's hollow eyes, and she resigned herself to staying, if for a few moments more, so she would not have to come any closer to Damien. "I would ask to be left alone," she stated emptily, eyes downcast and averted from her company, "but I know it would be in vain. Just don't come any closer, Lennox," she added with a warning hiss. "I'm not in the mood for your games tonight."

[Damien Lennox S7]

How interesting. How very, very interesting. Damien slanted his head to the left, scrutinising Dakota with inquisitive intensity. He didn’t know Dakota very well, though Damien had never been entirely certain whether that had been out of choice or necessity; she preferred boys who would conform to her every wish whereas Damien had a taste for those who weren’t so controlling. They simply didn’t suit each other, though that had never stopped them from flirting with each other. It was a harmless way to pass the time, at least for him. He would never have called them friends; his only friend was Carlin and that was the way that Damien liked it. A cousin, a sister, a friend, a rival and a playmate, all twisted together into a charming, manipulative long-limbed package; that was Carlin all right. For his cousin, he was the same confusing tangle of whatever she needed him to be at the time. They were all the other needed; everyone else was just a pleasant, all too fleeting distraction. Including Dakota. And that would, most likely, have never been enough for her. She was somewhat like himself; they couldn’t come last, probably didn’t even enjoy being placed second. The point was: Dakota wasn’t acting like her usual, attention-grabbing self. In days gone past, his blue-eyed gaze would have strayed to Dakota with mild amusement and perhaps a sliver of entertainment at some point if they were in the same room. Tonight, if she had not spoken up, he probably would not have even noticed her. Her inner fire had burnt out to low embers, leaving her dull and motionless to his eyes.

“Stumbling over my name?” Damien teased with a short laugh, his sharp mind slowly waking from the thought of slumber at the idea of a potential mystery. He enjoyed puzzles, took pleasure in picking apart people’s almost unnoticeable mistakes and flaws until he could dissect them almost completely. It made them easier to comprehend and therefore manipulate. The idea of prying into Dakota Fox’s pretty little mind was intriguing. He didn’t like even the thought of losing, not at anything or to anyone; every extra piece of knowledge was an advantage even when he didn’t know when he could use it or against who. “Does this mean that you’ve fallen for my irresistible charms at long last? You can tell me the truth; I promise I won’t laugh. I’ll even treat you reasonably well, I suppose.” So many differences between them; was this Dakota, the one who stumbled over her words as if she didn’t know what she wanted to say, truly the same fearlessly confident girl who had flirted with him, giggled and batted her eyelashes at him mockingly? Maybe she was just tired, temporarily weary of an endless game. Or perhaps that was him. It was true enough, though not completely. Damien sometimes needed a break from the game between him and Carlin; this was the one time that he was far enough ahead of her in terms of points that he could afford to take a short rest and focus on something other than seduction and competition. Dakota could be a nice distraction for a while, if she played the game right.

Damn her, this pitifully hollow figurine that was posing as Dakota and falling miserably short of her radiance. Damn him, with his inexplicable urge to help her, maybe fix her and, by doing so, learn more about her, learn something that he could possibly use against her or against someone else. It wasn’t his fault; he was the youngest child, the spoilt child who was expected to do nothing but wanted everything. “No games,” Damien offered seriously. “No games, no coming closer. But you’ll owe me something for this, Dakota.” His smile, half-hearted and far from reaching his eyes, softened the unsympathetic bargain slightly. “You know how much I enjoy invading people’s personal space. It might be hard for me to sit in one place for longer than a few minutes. So entertain me. Smile, pirouette, tell a joke or a story. Be yourself – or someone else! Be someone pleasant; that would be an interesting change to your usual self.”

[Dakota Fox S6]

A sneer for a retort was instinctive, even for a damaged, broken Dakota. "Not likely, Lennox. Don't get your hopes up. I don't need men like you. I don't men, full stop." Her malicious, bitter tone was evident, and her hand shook as it made its way to the pocket of her dressing gown. A few fumbles later, she withdrew a cigarette. Ignoring Damien, Dakota held the tip to the edge of the remnants of the fire to light it, then pulled it clumsily to her lips. Her movements were slow, frantic, desperate; she needed to forget, she needed to feel numb, nothing. If she didn't calm her nerves against Damien, didn't stop the thoughts of the past and the future of her son, she would lose control, and Dakota could not afford that, ever.

Taking a deep drag of the cigarette, Dakota's eyes could level with Damien's once more. A year ago, Dakota had not been a smoker. She had tried it a few times, and when she felt like it she would take a puff, but nothing more than for recreational, social purposes. Recently, though, it was becoming more of a habit, something reliable and soothing to turn to when things became too much to handle. The obvious choice was booze, but Dakota had learnt the lesson the hard way with Stephen Donahue; she hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since, she was so terrified of reliving that night, a night where she was helpless and had no control whatsoever. Drugs were also out of the question; they too provided a loss of control. Dakota could not have that.

The smoke from the cigarette wafted around her space. Dakota sucked the tip of it hungrily, before letting it dangle from her fingers. For a brief moment, Damien seemed almost human, almost trustworthy; but then Dakota remembered Stephen, remembered everything. Damien's added mention of owing him only caused her to turn away more, and her eyes narrowed into distrustful flints. It took a long silence and several inhalations of her cigarette until Dakota was able to provide Damien with a reply. Finally, she began. "I am not a toy or a game, so I can't be of any entertainment value," she said, voice deadpan, sombre and serious with a hint of derision kicked in. "I can no longer smile, I can no longer dance, and I am not funny."

Dakota dropped into an armchair and turned away from Damien, cigarette resting against the edge of her mouth as she continued to speak quietly. "I have a lot of stories, none of which are for you to hear or know. I can't be anyone else; I have never been pleasant, nor will I ever be pleasant. You should know this. You and I do share some similarities, after all." Despite her slight offence towards Damien meant in her words, Dakota did not even grace him with a glance; she merely stared ahead, eyes blank, smoke curling away from her neglected cigarette. "And I'm sorry to disappoint, but I can no longer be myself either. I have not been myself for a long, long time. And you know what?" Dakota did not wait for an answer, but gave a dark, hollow chuckle. "I'm tired. I'm tired of not knowing who the [expletive] I am."

A short silence followed, before Dakota finally returned to look at Damien over her shoulder. "So you see, Lennox," she said calmly, "I'm afraid I can't be of any use to you tonight at all. It would be best if you pretended I didn't even exist right now." Dakota inhaled her cigarette deeply, her eyes fluttered shut for a moment from the smoke engulfing her lungs, and she breathed. "It seems like you're not going to leave, though." Dakota's stare found Damien's again, and she did not like what she saw. "Whatever you think 'my usual self' is," she found herself saying in a hollow voice, "that no longer exists. So I would appreciate it if you would stop looking at me as though you think you know me."