Darling

The next few days went fast. Draco kept his head down, avoiding confrontations with Death Eaters at all costs, dodging any situation that would leave him alone with his father. The day after he'd gone off on Liddy, he was called into a meeting with a few of the older members of the club, apparently not having been either sullen or impossible enough to avoid the DL putting him to good use. He sat in the back, trying to be invisible and avoid any sort of leadership role, but Mouldy Voldy wasn't even in attendance. He paid attention for the first few minutes, long enough to find out that they were planning some sort of Muggle harassing exercise that didn't even register on his scale of evil now that he'd done such delightful things as get Headmasters killed and kidnap retarded blokes' mums. He didn't care any more, so long as he wasn't supposed to really do anything. It'd keep him out of his father's path, at any rate. But then his father'd stormed into the room and started arguing in hissing tones with the guy in charge ten minutes into the meeting. Draco's heart plummeted into his stomach like a lead weight, but before his father could find an excuse to drag him from the room, Professor Snape had appeared to usher him out into the corridor unobtrusively and pull him into a corner.

"Here," he said unkindly, shoving a vial into Draco's hand. "If you can't keep your temper well enough to keep from destroying your inheritance, can you at least refrain from injuring yourself every time no one's keeping a mindful eye on you?" He took Draco's chin in his vise-like grasp and turned his purpling jaw toward him. Then he jerked Draco back to face him and narrowed his eyes, the way he did when he was trying to discern something.

Snape was a pretty good Legilimens, Draco remembered, too late. But he didn't feel the tell-tale signs of someone trying to skim his mind. All the same, he had this paranoid notion that everyone knew without having been told. He certainly hadn't spread around that his own father had backhanded him like a wayward house elf, but somehow, he knew that everyone knew. He managed to hold Snape's gaze for only a couple of moments before he had to look away, embarrassment flaming in his cheeks.

"Thank you," he'd said shortly, wresting his chin out of Snape's grasp. He looked back toward the room. "I..."

"You're excused," Snape barked. "You're far more useful in the library, where you're well out of the way of being so dreadfully underfoot."

Draco narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth up in foul temper. "Suits me just fine," he spat, and limped off toward his schoolwork.

He didn't get tapped for any more missions after that, though his attitude obviously wasn't the issue so much as the notion that they were all gearing up for something far more important than "accidentally" knocking off the Malfoy heir. So long as it didn't involve him, he didn't care. He set his mind to his studies, putting up an alarm so he'd have plenty of time to change and take his tonic before dinner. Otherwise, he took breakfast and lunch in the library. He spent a good half an afternoon wondering why he hadn't thought of spending most of his time in the library before, since he was left well alone there, before he realised that he'd up til then been clinging to some stupid idea that it was still his house.

That had been four days ago.

Now, however, he couldn't keep up the aloof façade any longer. Things were going on in his house! He needed to know. Draco ventured from the library tentatively around three o'clock in the afternoon. There'd been a flurry of excitement, and while he tried to be unobtrusive about listening in, he'd been caught and summarily escorted from the room. Something big was going on, but from what he gleaned, nothing with Potter could happen until August for some reason and that was still a week away. Draco gave up trying to eavesdrop, took a plate of sandwiches, and retired into the library to catch himself up on his Transfiguration technique, after visiting his mother to check on her. His wand technique had atrophied a bit more than he wanted to admit, after spending all of his time not practicing it during Sixth Year.

Everyone was gone on the secret mission or whatever it was by six o'clock, which Draco could tell only because an eerie calm had fallen over his home, a calm which should have been welcome, but which instead only made the place feel empty and cold. He worked diligently, because there wasn't much else to do, and because he really needed to catch up before school started in mere weeks, and because the silence of the Manor creeped him out after so long in the company of dozens of Death Eaters coming in and out like it was some sort of Floo station. He murmured to himself as he practiced wand movements. No, that wasn't right. He peered at his text again, then turned the book upside down and quirked a smile in understanding. He was in the upswing of the proper arc when his hand was caught.

"So sweet, the little student hard at work," Lucius drawled.

Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. "Father," he said, his mouth dry. "I thought you were out."

"Ah... no. I was not."

Draco tried to keep his breathing even. That bit from a few days ago, it was just his father in a foul mood. Because of Burbage, because of the strain of having the Dark Lord in their house. No need to worry. Only, why wasn't he letting go his hand, then?

"You're not... on the mission, then?" Draco said stupidly. And oh, how stupid it was. His father's face grew dark.

"How could I be?" he murmured dangerously. "I haven't got a wand." His eyes flicked to the wand in Draco's hand, and Draco thought rebelliously, Well I have, and I intend to use it!

As if reading his mind, his father tightened his grip and bent Draco's wrist back a bit. Draco winced, against his will. "The Dark Lord hadn't need of me," Lucius continued. His eyes were black with anger. "Stay and mind your boy, he said. Mind he keeps his head, he said. Why must you always be so difficult!" In a deft movement, Lucius had wrested Draco's wand from him had it pointed at the double doors leading to the corridor. "Muffliato," he murmured, then pointed the wand at Draco. "This is my wand now, do you hear me?"

Draco lifted his chin and stared at the point of his own wand, swallowing roughly. Grow a backbone! "Apologies, Father," he tried, infusing the word with as much respect as he could muster. "But that wand belongs to me. Could I have it back, please." He held out his hand for it half-heartedly, like trying to get a mean-tempered dog to sniff you without savaging you.

The mad dog would have none of it. Lucius grabbed his hand and bent it back, pressing the point of his wand into the vulnerable underside of his wrist. "I think not," he said, eyes sparkling. "You'll never hold a wand again." He murmured something that Draco didn't catch, as half a moment later there was a sickening crack and pain blossomed from his wrist and radiated down his arm. He cried out, but Lucius didn't let go.

"Couldn't handle a boy who only learned magic exists six years ago," he repeated, twisting. Draco yelped again and clutched at his father's shirtfront, leaning forward in his chair.

"Father, please," he gasped.

"Please, Draco? I think we're a bit beyond that now. Let's see... Couldn't get him to shake your hand -" And Lucius did, emphatically. Draco felt sick at the movement, his vision swimming a bit as his eyes welled. "Couldn't best him in a duel. Shall we see whether it was my new wand that failed? Stand up!"

Draco shook his head and whimpered into his father's shirt. "It's not yours," he bit out, clinging to some shred of bratty backbone. "It's mine."

Lucius ignored him, tilting Draco's wand and murmuring Imperio, then he said again, "Stand up!"

The blanket of Imperious lay over Draco like a thick fog, and he was compelled to his feet, though he protested. "Father, please," he backpeddled. I'll never disrespect you again, I'll never - I swear. But those words, he couldn't make come out. Just Father, please, like a whinging little whelp. God. He watched dully as his father adopted a dueling pose, arm thrown up behind him comically.

"Serpensortia!" he cackled, and Draco flinched as the snake was expelled from the tip of his wand and flew at him, hissing and spitting and fighting mad. He threw an arm up to fend it off, but the thing only wound itself around his injured arm and sank its teeth into his forearm. Draco fell to his knees, shaking. He held his arm out, frozen in fear and trying desperately to figure out what he was supposed to do. Funny, he'd have thought knowing what to do in case of snake bite would have been the first thing taught in Death Eater 101. He laughed giddily at his own stupid joke, seriously hoping he'd cracked and that none of this was really happening. I've gone insane, he cackled roundly in his head. I've gone mad, and I'm really in a nice white room at St Mungo's, with kind Medi-wizards shaking their heads sadly at me. Dear God. The snake undulated as snakes do, working its fangs a bit as Draco whimpered and tried not to vomit. He restrained himself from saying please again, but it was the only thing he could think of to say.

"What do you know, it worked..." Lucius said something else that washed right out of Draco's hearing, but the result was that the snake was gone. The detached part of his mind reasoned that it must have been Evanesco or some flavour of it, and cataloguing that away was some small comfort to the part of his mind which was certain he'd gone spare. Draco clutched his bleeding, broken arm to himself and stared at the carpet, taking great shuddering breaths. "And what was that I heard about last year?" His father's voice was low and smooth, gently teasing his prey in a way that Draco had often gloried in, but never imagined would be on the receiving end of. "Draco Malfoy tried to cast an Unforgiveable curse at the Harry Potter? I should have liked to have seen that. Tell me, how did it work?"

"H-How did you hear about that," Draco mumbled, trying for rebellious and missing by a wide margin.

"Sorry? Can't hear you." He tilted Draco's wand again. "Tell me how you fared, my boy."

"I didn't - didn't get it off," he said more loudly, wavering on his knees a little.

"Certainly not the wand, right?"

"No, Father. I just wasn't fast enough." It pained him to admit it, but he couldn't bring himself to play into Lucius' little game.

"Let's just check," he murmured, and Draco tensed just a split second before the curse hit him.

And then he was on the ground, Lucius' Crucio ringing in his mind as every nerve in his body sent distress signals to his brain. It was unbearable, he thought - until it was over and he found he'd borne it, albeit as a puddle of sobbing teenager on the floor of his father's library.

Still.

When the second Crucio curled him up on the floor, he tried to focus on the Lucius that was - the one who'd been a not great but not evil father before Azkaban. This isn't him, this isn't him. And Mother's going to hear - only, no one was going to save him, no one could hear, and he wasn't even screaming anyway, because he couldn't breathe, because he wasn't in control of his own rebellious muscles which seemed to be trying to tear themselves off of bones too stubborn to break. And even the ones that had already been broken - the wash of pain was merciful enough, at least, to completely overwhelm that of his broken wrist.

And then that one was over as well.

"Father, please," he said again, and immediately regretted it.

"Father, please!" Lucius snarled, and put all the energy he had into a third and hopefully final curse. Draco didn't even remember it, except that he was hoarse when it was over, and imagined he had given up trying to scream with air and had managed it with pure strength of desperation instead. He lay limply on the floor as his father stalked around him like he was circling prey. Draco stared at nothing. Lucius pushed him from his side onto his back with a foot, then knelt beside him. Draco shuddered when his father's hand tugged at his shirt, pulling the buttons free.

"And what was it," he murmured, "that he bested you with so handily...?" He traced a couple of inches of the thin white scar that started at Draco's collarbone and swept down across his chest like a brand.

"... no," Draco breathed.

"Tell me, Draco." He tilted Draco's wand, pressing the blanket of Imperius more firmly into place.

Draco sighed a half-sob and blinked quickly. He'd never forget those words. "... Sectum... sempra..." he breathed.

His father smiled down at him and stood, swishing the wand delicately. "Sectum... sempra."

##

Snape swept into the parlour on a mission. A grand mission, of wine bottle proportions. He didn't ordinarily drink, especially while "on duty," but the events of the night rather warranted it, he thought. And he needed to check on Lucius; the man had been strangely cheerful by the end of the meeting, and it was worrying.

He found Narcissa relaxing in the parlour in front of the blazing fireplace, despite the summer heat outside.

"Narcissa," he murmured. "You're up late."

Narcissa looked up at him. "Oh Severus. You've come back. How did-"

"We shouldn't talk about it," he interrupted. "Our Lord won't be returning tonight, I'm afraid." He could see in her face that it was all the answer she cared for. "I'd meant to look for Lucius. Have you spoken with him since the meeting?"

She shook her head. "I haven't." She smiled weakly and waved a hand. She'd clearly hit a bit of the bottle herself. "You know how it is," she said wispishly. "I've left him to his own devices."

"His own devices?" Snape frowned. The trouble a Malfoy on a rampage could get into-

"The last I saw him," she said thoughtfully, "he was going to the library to help Draco with his school work."

Snape's frown deepened. "How long ago?" he asked, his voice chilly. It hadn't escaped his notice that Draco'd been avoiding his father for the last week. The stupid boy probably thought he'd been hiding it well. But of course, it was Snape's job to notice things like that, things that threatened certain safeties, a post he was particularly suited for. Draco wasn't a murderer; he'd proved that on the Tower. It was Snape's duty to help innocent children not become victims, even if the innocent children weren't so very innocent as all of that, or indeed, still children.

"A couple of hours ago," she said, alarmed. "Severus-"

"Stay here," he said smoothly. "I'll just go see how they're getting on." As soon as he was out of sight of the parlour, he broke into a run and crossed the wide foyer between wings in record time for a geezer of his certain age. He burst into the library and stopped short at the scene before him.

Lucius sat mumbling to himself on the low sofa, tears streaming down his face. Snape rushed to him.

"Lucius!" He shook him gently, until the man lifted his eyes to meet Snape's worried gaze. "What happened? Lucius."

Lucius didn't answer, just laughed softly and looked back over Snape's shoulder. Snape took a deep breath and prepared himself before glancing backward. When he did, he muttered an uncharacteristic "Oh balls," and swept toward the bloodied, twitching boy on the floor. "Mr Malfoy. Draco."

Draco didn't reply, though his eyelids fluttered, hopefully acknowledging that he could hear and was conscious. His hands and feet twitched convulsively, and he was covered in blood from a familiar curse. That damnedable curse of Snape's own design - it seemed neither of them had been able to escape it that night. How Lucius had known about it- "Mr Malfoy, answer me," he said again.

"Draco," Lucius murmured sternly from the sofa. "Say hello to Professor Snape."

Draco whimpered, then, so softly Snape had to lean in to hear it, said, "...h'llo... p'fess'r..."

Snape looked back at Lucius in alarm, then narrowed his eyes at the wand in his hand, tilted downward in command. "Hand it over," he demanded, bringing his own wand to bear.

"Now see here, Severus. This is my house," Lucius began, getting to his feet. "That is my son, and I will punish him as I see fit!"

"Punish him? This isn't punishment, you insufferable imbecile!" Snape stood and had stalked toward him only a step before Draco whimpered again. Lucius stopped his impending tirade short, his angry gaze snapping to his son's twitching body and instantly dropping into stung concern, eyes filling with tears again and spilling over. He handed the wand over without another word. Snape turned his back on the muttering man and murmured the countercurse to lift the probable Imperius before starting the much longer countercurse to stop the bleeding. Except that the carpet was soaked through red, and who knew how long Lucius had been sitting, watching his son bleed to death. "Draco, stay with me," he murmured.

"I d-don't need," Draco hiccupped breathily, and even through the pain and blood loss, Snape could see the trademark beginnings of a Malfoy temper tantrum.

"You do need," he assured silkily, moving his arms to his sides in order to remove the tattered remains of his shirt. Draco yelped and arched his back, and Snape frowned. He shushed the boy, trying to sound kind, but he knew he hadn't pulled it off when Draco just started sobbing silently, tears rolling from his eyes into the sweat-damp, crimson-spattered hair at his temples. Instead of trying to be kind, then, he just set about being as gentle as possible as he performed the countercurse again and again, until he thought Draco was put-together well enough to stand being transported to his rooms.

"M-mad, 've gone mad," Draco murmured giddily, stuttering in concert with the twitching of his hands, a by-product of... what Snape suddenly realised must have been several instances of the Cruciatus. The boy's eyelids fluttered as he tried to retain consciousness and finally failed. Worry bloomed cold in Snape's chest, even as his logical mind reminded him that passing out was probably a blessing, to everyone involved.

"Lucius," he commanded, stuffing Draco's wand into his sleeve. "You'll come help me, now."

Lucius obeyed - somewhat dully, Snape thought. Perhaps the man had really snapped.

~~~

Author's Notes: I know what you're going to say. There is no evidence that Lucius is an abusive father. I don't think he is either! But he is a man who always has a plan, even if the details of it are distorted by extended time in Azkaban. Rest assured, my Lucius loves his son very much.