Demetrius Eli Morgan Junior was born the first and only child to Demetrius Eli Morgan Senior and his wife, Desdemona Valentine Morgan [nee Yaxley]. He was as good of a baby as any, who cried when he needed to be fed, changed or desired attention. Most of his attention came from his father or the wet nurse, the nanny or eventually the governess. Desdemona had no intentions of giving her infant son any love or attention, as she was completely apathetic towards her son and her life in general. Desdemona could care naught about any aspect of her life- whether she was healthy or ill, whether chicken was for dinner all the time or never, whether her son cried out all the time or never cried at all. She had shown zero emotion when she was married, zero emotion when she discovered she was pregnant and hardly cried out from pain when she was in labor with her son. No one understood why Desdemona was the way she was, but no one really cared. She adhered to the rules of society and upper class, and never put up a fuss, so no one made it a point to try and figure out why Desdemona didn’t care about anything. She had always been that way, so her parents were quite used to it by this point, and her husband cared naught about the affect of his wife, so long as she put up a good front and stuck to the boundaries and limits society had set for her.
Demetrius would quickly become Dem to everyone around him, as to not be confused with his father. He was a child with a fare amount of energy, and would love to run around. By the time he was two, he was loved by everyone for his energy and innocence. Much of that stopped, however, before Dem’s third birthday. At his third birthday party, Demetrius’s whole demeanor had changed. He went from being an upbeat, loving, energetic and funny child, to someone who was morose and internal, who seemed to want no contact from anyone. He opened his gifts and showed no caring towards what they held inside, and many began to worry that he was becoming like his mother. What no one knew was the fact that Demetrius’s father had begun to abuse him sexually.
As the years went by, Demetrius didn’t get better. If anything, he got worse. There were few children from his childhood he could stand, and most of them were men. In his own life experiences, Dem knew that anyone without a penis couldn’t care and anyone with a penis would touch his own to show he cared. After all, Dem’s father would touch him there, continually reiterating how much he loved his son. Although Dem subconsciously didn't enjoy being touched by his father, he knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Dem was small, and his father was so large. Demetrius thought that he enjoyed it, because it was love, wasn’t it? His father would touch him in all sorts of different ways, and would make Dem touch him in all sorts of ways. He spoke of times when Dem would be old enough, more well developed, when they could pleasure each other in ways that Dem couldn’t take at such a small age.
When this started to happen, Demetrius shut down. He wanted nothing to do with people, and he stored his emotions tightly into a box that he never opened. When he was eight, Demetrius was introduced to something that would help him better deal with his emotions- art. His governess took him to a museum in muggle London, in order to give him a well rounded education. From that day one, Dem was no longer a boxed up little being. While he was still less social than he had once been, art helped him release emotions that would otherwise plague him day in and day out. When Dem was feeling something that he would otherwise lock away, instead of locking it away, he would paint it. Most of his art had no real value or meaning, and most people couldn’t figure out if the things on the page were blobs of color or some form of abstract art, but Dem got it. It helped him live through his own personal hell day in and day out. It helped him express his thoughts, his feelings… he learned to tell his story through the medium of art. He didn’t care if no one could read it, because it didn’t matter if anyone could read it. All that mattered was that the story was told.
By the time he went to school. Demetrius was a lot more socially adept than he had been for most of his childhood. He was sorted into Slytherin only after what seemed to be eons of debate on the Hat’s part. It hadn’t been able to decide whether to place Dem in Ravenclaw or Slytherin. He was witty and intelligent, but far more dark, brooding and angry than was common for Ravenclaw. However, his intelligence far surpassed that of most Slytherins, and he was nowhere near as judging. In the end, the hat placed Demetrius in Slytherin, figuring the strange boy would do well to be there.
And well he did. Demetrius excelled in most of his classes, though his social life was pretty close to nonexistent. No one quite understood him, and many didn’t want to befriend the strange boy who never felt and couldn’t be bothered to even try to keep up a friendship. In all honesty, Demetrius didn’t know how to. He only knew how to discuss certain things, art being one of them. He understood art. He understood school. Those were the few things in life that he understood. He thought he understood love and compassion, but felt as though no one cared about him since no one showed him love and compassion… that was until fourth year.
In his fourth year, a student one year Demetrius’s senior began to take advantage of him. Unaware of what the other gentleman was really doing, Demetrius let him continue to touch him. It wasn’t the first time he had sex with a man. The prior summer had been the first time he had sex with his father. His father viewed it as a right of passage, of sorts, and it had been what his father had spoken to him about for years, since he was a small boy. At that point, Dem had finally gone through puberty. He could use and control his penis, and he would be able to take one, as well. He and his father had numerous trysts that summer. That summer Demetrius also found out that his mother had known about everything that had happened in the years long since past. With his father he had been both the “pitcher” and the “catcher,” so to speak, and understood exactly what to do when the fifth year Slytherin boy had put the moves on him. He felt more comfortable with himself after that interaction, though the year continued to be a confusing one for him. He realized that consciously he was not attracted to men, and was actually aroused by women. He didn’t understand how to deal with this new feeling, and once again withdrew from the social scene and dove back into his dark, twisted art.
He got through the rest of school perfectly fine, submerged into his studies. As it would turn out, Demetrius was brilliant when it came to street smarts, but he really had to work when it came to book smarts. The boy could do the work, and if he focused, he understood it well enough, but he could never come out on top. He was in the top quarter of his class, but just barely, and that was with hours upon hours dedicated to studying. He passed his OWLs, all of them, but not with flying colours. He slid past, with some ‘exceeds expectations’ and mostly ‘acceptables’ but not a single ‘outstanding’ in sight. The summer after his fifth year was the only summer to date that Dem received nothing from his father, as though his father knew that Dem processed sexual abuse as love. It was a sick cycle, and something within Dem broke that summer. His art became darker, more twisted. There were shadows of people lurking in the corners, but never any actual people. He showed his art to no one, hiding in wherever he could in whatever way he could. He wasn’t embarrassed by his artwork, but he certainly didn’t want people to see the all of a sudden dark, sexual nature his art took on. He studied harder than he ever had and managed to obtain all ‘exceeds expectations’ and one ‘outstanding’ (defense against the dark arts) on his NEWT exams.
After school, Dem was expected to work for the ministry. It was never something he wanted to do, but something he was expected to do. His father had secured him a place in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, despite Demetrius’s complete lack of enthusiasm towards it. He had received sex from his father for his decision to comply, and when September after he graduated hit, Dem had gone off to work. He lived a miserable life for years, until something strange happened. His worked hard to ensure that his father would never know. What his father didn’t know was that Demetrius had actually found some way to have some sort of semblance of a real life, a life with light in it.
An artist always needs his muse. For most of his life, Dem’s had come in the form of his father, and his art had always depicted what he thought to be a representation of his soul- dark, deformed, mangled, twisted. All it took was one person, one beautiful person to turn his whole life’s perspective around. He no longer worked for his father, but he worked to better himself for her. He no longer thought that life was actually a faction of hell, but it became a place where good things existed. Although they had only known each other for a few short months, she made Demetrius feel as though he were good, and as though he had something to contribute to the world. He no longer just lived life as an empty shell, but he was learning to feel, to open. With her, his art took a new form. There was a playfulness to what he painted or sketched when he was around her. It felt good to be happy.
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