Shatter Like Glass

* * *


The cell was dark, save for a tiny patch of striped moonlight that streamed in through the barred window set high in the cell wall, a tantalizing glimpse of unattainable freedom. The slender boy curled up in the corner allowed himself a brief glance at that pearly whiteness before burying his face in the crook of his arm with a shudder, unable to stand any sign of the outside world when it was forbidden to him. It would drive him mad, sensing the open fields and fresh air lurking just outside of that window when he was securely locked in this damp, cold prison with only his thoughts for company, knowing that the only way he would ever get out was if his father decided he had suffered enough, been shamed and tortured enough. And knowing his father, he would be down here for a very long time.

He shifted, making the coarse fabric of his r! obes rub against the raw welts on his back. He couldn't quite suppress a tiny whimper at the sharp darts of pain that ran through his nerves at the contact, but he fiercely kept the tears starting to sting in his eyes at bay. He would not cry. He would not give his father the power of making him cry. Not ever.

But he couldn't hold back the wave of heartfelt misery that rose up out of his very soul, swamping and engulfing him as the knowledge that he was alone, totally alone, came once more to the forefront of his thoughts. That no one loved him or cared enough about him to feel any worry that he spent months at a time locked up in the dungeons beneath Malfoy Manor, subject to all kinds of torture and abuse. That his own father had no qualms about using the Unforgivable Curses on his only child and probably wouldn't care all that much if he killed him. Or rather, he'd care, but only because he was losing his heir. Not becaus! e he was losing his son. And no one would care that he'd been raped and used endlessly by whomever his father chose to give him to without any regard for his feelings. That his mother feared his father's rage so much that she would never dare to defend him. And no one else would ever bother even considering lifting a hand to save him.

No one.

* * *

The clock over the dining room fireplace was just starting to chime eight o'clock, it's crystal notes seeming to be deafeningly loud in the silence of the cavernous room, when Lucius Malfoy crossed his fork and knife on his plate, signaling the end of the evening meal. House elves lurking in the shadows near the walls came scurrying forward instantly, clearing the impressive oaken table of dirty plates and glasses in a matter of seconds, then quickly rubbing it's gleaming surface with rags to ensure that no spills ! would defile it's perfection. One of them offered a snuff box to Lucius, practically quaking in fear at being so close to the master, but he just waved it away idly. The elf gave a very deep bow, the tip of it's long nose touching the floor, before scurrying off the rest of them, their feet pattering softly in the silence after the clock's echoes had died away. A few moments later the ponderous doors shut with a distinct click.

For a moment there was complete silence. Then Lucius sighed and stood up to stretch long and luxuriously, every little movement expressing arrogance and power, his eyes shut as he gave in to the sensation of his muscles loosening. It was like watching a lion after it's just brought down its prey and is savoring the victory, confidently secure in its own superiority, knowing that it is feared and will be obeyed without question by those beasts who are lesser in strength and might. Such was Lucius: powerful, arrogant! , cruel, and feared - not someone to be taken lightly, not someone to befriend and trust. Someone to watch, in case you don't see the knife at your throat before it's too late. Someone dangerous.

His eyes flickered open, their steel gaze fixing on Narcissa, the only other person in the room although the table could easily have seated seventy-five. She was sitting at her place the way she always did, pale and shapely hands folded in front of her, pale blue eyes downcast and avoiding his stare. He took a moment to look at her. She really was lovely, her delicate features all so perfectly shaped and aligned, framed by a mane of gently rippling pale gold hair. Her body tall and slender with the figure of a Greek goddess in antiquity. She was almost unbelievably perfect, like something carved by a master sculptor instead of born of flesh and blood like everyone else. But so fragile. So fragile. It would be so easy to just break her, shatter her fo! rever if the urge to do so ever came upon him.

But it was she who broke the silence, her voice little more than a whisper.

"When are you going to let him go?"

Lucius smiled grimly. "When I decide that he's had enough."

She drew a sharp breath, making a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, a quiet noise of distress. "Lucius, he's seventeen! Just a boy. What if -"

"Oh, there's no need to worry, Narcissa." He cut her off sharply, his voice a cold and impersonal drawl. "If I wanted him dead, I would just kill him outright. What I'm doing to him now is all in his best interests - it will make him strong, stronger than he would be if I let you coddle him. It will make him a Malfoy."

He leaned closer to her, his face only inches from her rigid profile. They had had this conversation so many times, he wondered why s! he bothered. It always ended the same way, every single time. "You do know how important it is for him to be able to follow me, don't you, Narcissa? Draco is the only son you were able to give me - my only heir. One day he will be head of the Malfoy family and in the inner circle of the Dark Lord himself; he needs to be able to live up to what's expected of him or he'll shame us all one day. He needs to be strong, not weak. Not prone to breaking under the first blows that land on him."

Her voice was faint, holding only the weakest of protests. "But you're so hard on him, Lucius, so hard."

He laughed mirthlessly. "He needs to learn to be a Malfoy. By any means necessary."

She shut her eyes , shoulders slumping in defeat as the last of her will to resist left her. She'd never had the strength to oppose him for long; in the end she always gave in. She was so frail, lacking the! power to stand up to anyone. Very pretty, but easily crushed. A nice decoration, no more.

"Of course, if you think that that's what's best..."

"I do," he said softly, his tone icy and leaving no room for argument. "He needs this, Narcissa. Needs it."

She didn't say anything to that, just lapsed back into her silence, her eyes distant and unfocused.Lucius ignored her; if she wanted to live in her own dream world where kindness and tenderness were the greatest character builders then fine; let her. He knew better. Draco needed to be cold and ruthless, cunning and cruel, willing to use any means necessary to achieve his ends without any regard for others, able to withstand the most intense mental and physical torment. That was why he did what he did. To make his son strong, strong enough to live the life of a Death Eater in the service of Lord Voldemort. The life he had been chose! n to live from the day he was born.

Or at least that was what Lucius told himself.

But deep down inside he knew that there were other reasons.

He loved the feeling of power that raced through his veins when he saw Draco crouching before him, naked and trembling, totally defenseless. He loved knowing that this was his creature, to treat however he wanted to, formed out of his own flesh and blood and in the very image of himself at seventeen only so much weaker. So much more vulnerable. And so he beat him, talking a savage delight in watching the beautiful crimson blood spill down that pale skin in such a marvelous contrast of color. He would smile in satisfaction as he heard his son's little choked whimpers torn out of his throat, seeing a flush of misery rise in those pale cheeks at the shame of having cried out. It only made him hit harder. It was soothing to him, knowing the power that he had over the life of an! other human being, and his own son at that.

And it was more than that. It was intoxicating. It was wonderful.

He could almost see Draco now in his mind's eye, huddled up in the cell he'd been confined to for the past two weeks. His pale skin mottled with dark purple and blue bruises and streaked with dried and fresh blood leaking from his half-healed wounds, storm gray eyes skittering nervously from side to side. Deliciously frightened and tense. Just the way he liked him.

Lucius felt his lips curve up into a sly smile as he felt a dreamy sort of anticipation course through his body. He turned back to his wife and pulled her to her feet in an abrupt gesture, smirking slightly as he felt her muscles tense at the contact, pulling her so close that his lips brushed her ear.

"I'm going to leave you now, my dear. I wish you - a pleasant evening."

He pressed his lips to hers in a short, unlov! ing kiss before pulling away, giving her what would have been a smile had it been on someone else's face. Narcissa was staring fixedly at the pattern of dragons embroidered on the rug in rich, vibrant silks, unwilling to meet her husband's cold eyes. She didn't look up until she heard the doors shut behind him.

Theirs had not been a marriage made out of love but rather out of ambition and a lust for power from both of their families. On the surface it couldn't have been more perfect - both the Malfoys and the Querengeley's were pureblood families carrying a lot of wealth and influence among the highest officials in the wizarding world; a union between the two would be the best alliance that either could possibly hope to make. So their parents had arranged it all during their seventh year at Hogwarts without the knowledge of their children and without either of them really knowing the other - Narcissa had been in Slytherin, of course, al! l of her family had been, but she had never really wanted to get to know Lucius Malfoy. He was always so proud, so icy, so unpleasant to everyone. He'd always been one for tormenting anyone he considered to be inferior to himself, for using people ruthlessly in his own twisted purposes and then throwing them to the wolves, laughing at other people's miseries, and generally being as malicious as he could possibly be. She'd been rather relieved at knowing that after graduation she would never have to see Lucius Malfoy again - until, of course, the message had come telling her that she was going to be marrying him that summer.

She'd been furious. When she went home for the winter holidays that year she'd wept and begged and threatened, all to no avail. Her family had offered her no sympathy, only told her coldly that done was done, they were certainly not going to go back on their word, and that she ought to be grateful that she was mar! rying into one of the most prestigious families of wizards. It was a very great honor and she was being extremely ungrateful. Did she realize what it meant, joining with the Malfoys? Why was she being so selfish? etc., etc.

And so in the end all her pleadings and tears were useless. The summer that she finally graduated from Hogwarts, Narcissa Querengley married Lucius Malfoy and went off to live in his bleak manor, feeling like the sun would never shine again.

The first two years had been hell. Lucius had made it perfectly clear from the start that he cared nothing whatsoever for his wife and was only after her money and family connections, not bothering to make her feel the least bit comfortable or welcome. He'd watched her struggle to fit in with the Malfoy clan with a sneer plastered all over his perfect features, throwing out taunts about her, how she had once tutored a Mudblood at school, how she'd cared for hurt animals she found ins! tead of just killing them. How she wasn't a proper Slytherin at all and had only been accepted there on account of her blood, as if being in that particular house was a supreme honor. Privately, Narcissa always felt that that jibe actually had a grain of truth in it - she really hadn't been Slytherin material and probably had only gone there because of her bloodline. But among her new family it was seen as something to be horrified at, that she wasn't properly evil. Lucius called her weakling and fool, sneering that he wished she'd died before their wedding had ever taken place.


When she'd finally demanded of him why he didn't just divorce her his answer had made her want to vomit.

"You're a pureblood," he'd said coldly. "And I need a pureblood heir."

He'd never touched her until then. But that night he'd practically raped her, forcing himself ! on her with his hands over her mouth so she couldn't cry out. It had been rough and brutal, with none of the pleasure she'd been told could come of it, just pain and terror and shame. After that she'd just submitted without any struggling, hoping desperately that she would get pregnant with a son so that it would end. And then he'd never come to her bed again.

When Draco was finally born she felt some small bit of happiness within her. He was her baby, her joy, her beautiful child; she adored him above everything else. She would watch him for hours whether he was awake or sleeping, marveling at his innocence, his beauty, the delight he took in the simplest of everyday things. He was her light, the one thing she had to love. And then Lucius took him away from her.

He was only four when Lucius came up to them in the rose garden where they were laughing and smiling and had grabbed his son's hand, dragging him back to the Manor! , the little boy trying to get free. Draco had cried out for his mother and Narcissa had immediately started after him but then her husband gave her one of his best icy glares which she knew so well, warning her not to interfere. Telling her that although she was his mother, had carried him to birth, Draco was his heir. So she stood there and watched helplessly as her son was ripped away from her.

From that day on he was never hers again. Lucius had managed to sever that bond between them, estranging them forever, so she could only watch mutely as Draco changed from that glowing child to a bitter, sarcastic young man under his father's influence. She watched silently as Lucius had his way with him, feeling her heart break but knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop it. She watched Draco grow defensive and cold to the world, always guarding his true feelings. Always keeping himself hidden.

But Lucius could break him. Over an! d over and over.

And she couldn't stop it.

So they wandered alone in their own inner darkness, unable to reach each other ever again when they had once been so close.

* * *

Lucius descended the steep stone steps leading to the dungeons, the familiar chill starting to permeate the air as he went deeper into the earth, the flicker of the torches casting eerie shadows onto his face. They were his favorite place in the entire Manor, grim and foreboding, a testament to the power of the Malfoy clan built in stone and sealed in blood, full of the ghostly whimpers and screams of pain that their occupants had chosen to utter in their captivity. When he was in his dungeons beholding the suffering of others he felt complete in a way he wasn't when he was anywhere else - he was a sadist and places of misery and torture suited him.

He stopped outside of one particularly heavy iron-bound door, gent! ly tapping his wand against the lock and murmuring, "Alohomora.' The door swung open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges and Lucius stepped through.

Draco was there, his head lifting up from his knees as he heard his father enter the cell, a pair of silver eyes looking out guardedly from behind a fringe of whitish hair. At the sight of Lucius he seemed to become even smaller, curling up into an even tighter ball in the corner, arms wrapped defensively around himself in a futile attempt at protection from what he knew was coming. Lucius smiled humorlessly at the sight, a predatory gleam entering his eyes as he grabbed his son's slender wrist and yanked him roughly to his feet, gripping his shoulders too tightly for escape.

He let his eyes travel over the trembling body, taking in the torn robes, the assortment of bruises, livid on that white skin, the streaks of dried blood forming obscure patterns against Draco's flesh. But abo! ve all he could feel the sense of fear that was radiating from him in waves, so intense it was almost palpable. Lucius closed his eyes and savored it, exulting in his power, feeling that slow tide of desire building in him once again. Then he grabbed Draco's chin with iron fingers and forced his head up, their gazes meeting and locking.

"Had enough, boy?"

No reply. Draco just remained tense in his father's grasp, looking like a deer trapped in the full glare of oncoming headlights. Lucius backhanded him viciously, then stepped back to regard his son. A slow smile spread over his features.

"I thought not."

Moving quickly, he pinned Draco against the wall, forcing his body onto his son's. He let his hands wander slowly, almost caressingly over the frantically quivering form, taking his time in undoing the boy's robes and letting them fall to the floor in a heap. He returned his attentions to! the naked body in front of him, taking an obscene pleasure in the feel of bare flesh beneath his fingertips, biting it just hard enough to draw blood and then licking it up, smiling inwardly as he sensed Draco's mounting fear and disgust.

By now his veins felt like they were on fire, his twisted desire pounding through his body ever more urgently, making him want to scream. He made short work of his own robes and turned Draco around in one quick movement, shoving his face up against the wall harshly, noticing with satisfaction the dull stripes on his son's back. He'd be feeling those for a while.

And then he was inside Draco's body, not bothering to take the slightest care in what he was doing and offering no gentleness, just thrusting against him brutally, biting viciously into that pale neck and sucking deeply at the coppery taste of blood. He forced himself even deeper into his son, taking a sick enjoyment in hearing the ! boy's sharp cries and pain and protest.

"Stop...please..."

But Lucius didn't, just drove himself in harder until he came, releasing his seed into the very person created of it. He withdrew without trying to be gentle about it, pulling his robes back on and watching in satisfaction as Draco fell to the floor, curling in on himself in misery, a small stream of blood leaking out of his abused opening as he sobbed quietly in pain and humiliation. Lucius reached out and flipped him over onto his back, noticing the deep scratches oozing blood from where his face had been shoved against the rough stone wall with pleasure. He reached out one long-fingered hand and stroked Draco's cheek with a pretense of gentleness, smiling cruelly as the boy flinched away from the contact.

"Sleep well, Draco." And he was gone.

Draco gave in to the deep, heart wrenching sobs welling up within him, his weakened body shak! ing uncontrollably from their force. It felt like he was going to break apart. He just sobbed and sobbed, knowing nothing but his own agony, his own weakness, and the all-consuming blackness that so often reached out to engulf him.