Alrighty then, why don't we start with warnings. Seeing as how this is posted on fanfition I don't really feel the need to say I don't own shit. I feel as though that's pretty obvious.
Secondly this fic contains very gay, very graphic things. And if you don't like that then, well, I'm at a loss. Why would you look up this pairing, under this category, under this rating?
Truly baffling.
But yeah. Enjoy! And please comment.
I am finally going back to this story! I have just re-read all seven books for inspiration, and I am happy to announce that there shall be more chapters soon, after many, many requests! I'm re-working the original chapters first though, so here's the new Cht. 1!
The war was over. The dark lord had been dead for barely over six months and the wizarding world was
already settling into their peaceful little lives. The grief over the dead was already dulling, and they were
rejoicing in their new freedom. The aurors had rounded up nearly all of the death eaters that had fled; all except
one family.
No one really knew what to do about the Malfoys. They had been death eaters, terrible ones, in the past. But in
the final battle they had not fought, one could even say that Narcissa Malfoy helped the chosen one in the end.
Yet they had committed horrible crimes. In the end they were left alone, sitting by themselves in the great hall,
outsiders to both death eaters and those that apposed them. They had gone back to their mansion and no one
tried to stop them.
Yet there were still those that mistrusted the family. There were wizards who believed they should still be
watched. Even if they hadn't fought in that last gruesome battle, the Malfoys were still dark wizards, no doubt
hoarding dark artifacts in that dark old mansion covered in ghostly white birds…
***
A terrible scream tore through the air, causing elegant white peacocks to take flight in alarm. Inside the drafty
manor, in a room lit only by a fire in the grate, a slender body hit the floor with a dull thud. Weak panting issued
from the boy on the ground, his slight form trembling feebly.
"Get up." The voice was cool and soft, barely more than a whisper. But the boy heard it and struggled to get
his thin arms under his body. Slowly he raised himself off the cold stone floor, white gold hair falling in a
shielding curtain around his pointed, pale face.
"I told you to be in here at precisely one o'clock pm. It is now one eleven pm. You are late." The man's voice
was dangerously calm as his cold grey eyes watched the youth struggle to his knees. The boy's hands were
clenched tightly in his lap, and his eyes were fixed on the floor. The man lifted his wand; a new wand, for his
old one had been destroyed, and pointed it at the boy again. "Crucio."
The boy's screams tore through the air once more. His slim body curled in on itself, shaking violently as his
screams ripped his throat. Tears streamed down his face unnoticed as pain seemed to shred his small form
apart. He was going to die. He was sure of it. Then the man lifted his wand and the pain ceased. The boy lay
on the floor, shaking harder than ever, his breathing shallow and uneven.
"Get up." the man said for the second time that day, and for the second time the boy forced himself slowly
onto his knees. "Now… Have you learned your lesson for being late Draco? Or do I have to punish you again?
Look at me!"
Draco Malfoy lifted his head, his sweat dampened, white-gold hair falling around his deathly pale face. It took
all the will he had to raise his ghostly grey eyes to the man's. When he spoke his voice cracked, weak and
feeble from screaming.
"No father, I have learned my lesson."
"Good." A dark smile curved across Lucius Malfoy's thin lips.
Draco watched as a smile crawled onto his father's mouth. He knelt on the icy stone floor at the man's feet,
trying to control his body's trembling. He watched as his father rid himself of his cloak, and then undo the
buttons of his black pants. Draco nearly winced when the man spoke again, but he suppressed the sign of
weakness, his face remaining blank and impassive. Throughout his life he had become a master of concealment.
Though for some reason it had been much harder recently to keep his mask in place. He could feel it slipping
more and more everyday...
"Undress, Draco."
The boy obeyed, his barely trembling fingers fumbling has he stripped down. Every article of clothing that he
peeled off his sweaty skin he folded neatly and placed in a pile near the wall, as he had been taught. The last
thing to be placed on the pile was his underwear, and then he glided slowly back to kneel before his father once
more, chilly air caressing his naked flesh. He tried to keep his mind empty, free of thoughts. That always
helped.
He heard his father shift, stepping nearer to him, his footsteps echoing softly through the barren stone room.
A cold hand wound itself painfully in the boy's un-greased hair, pulling his head back sharply. Draco swallowed
back a cry of pain. Inches from his face his father stood ready for him.
"Begin." Lucius' voice was steady, almost bored sounding. As Draco leaned forward, his lips just touching his
father's tip, the man released his hair, letting his hand fall casually to his side. For the next few minutes there
was silence, as Draco's mouth work slowly back and forth, back and forth. Then Lucius' hand moved and
Draco closed his eyes, waiting for what he knew would come next.
"No." There was a soft bang and Draco's cry of pain was choked down by the cock still in his mouth. The
skin behind his ear ached sharply from the cigarette like burn his father had just given him. "No wonder I have
been getting less requests for your mouth than I used to... Have you forgotten everything that you were taught,
you stupid boy?" He pressed his wand to the skin behind the boy's ear once more, and with another soft bang
burned his son a second time.
"You forget that simply moving your mouth is not good enough. You must move your tongue as well, and your
lips. Do not just move your head back and forth. Take your mouth away for a moment. Run your tongue along
the shaft and around the head. Now, try again you idiotic thing..."
And again Draco obeyed, doing everything his father had told him. His was angry at himself, and ashamed.
How could he have forgotten those simple things? They were the first things he had ever learned, before how to
use hands along with his mouth. Before he learned how to move his body in just the right way during sex so as
to ensure his partners greatest arousal. How could he have forgotten such simple little tricks? He needn't have
been burnt at all…
He needn't have disappointed his father at all. His father, who fed and protected him. Who kept him well
dressed and clean. Who bought him nearly anything his heart desired; not, as the boy thought, because he
loved Draco even though he was worthless, but to keep the boy silent, and give the appearance to the rest of
the world that he was actually spoiled. That Draco was actually loved...
Draco couldn't even remember when his father had begun to train him in the ways of sex. He had been very
young. He knew that the wizarding world believed his family's wealth came from old fortune. A lot of it did. But
they would never have been as rich as they were if not for him. His father was a terribly greedy man, desiring
wealth and power over all other things. The man had noticed when his son was very young how perfect he truly
was. Slender and fair, with skin like a porcelain doll's and hair like white gold woven into the finest silk.
He had trained his son, molding him into the perfect plaything. He had made the lessons stick with pain, but he
was always careful not to leave any visible mark. The Cruciatus Curse was one of his favorites; his second
favorite the little burns littered across the back of his son's neck. He had always made sure to keep the boy's
hair long enough to cover those marks, and forced him to gel it down whenever he left the manor, so that no
breath of wind could reveal his abuse. But he made sure to leave those scars for his boy, to remind him of how
he would never be perfect. Always be deformed and unlovable...
Men paid heaps of gold for the boy's mouth alone, and hundreds of Galleons more for his whole body. The
rest of the wizarding world knew nothing of the Malfoys' secret, and Draco had always been determined to
keep it that way. He wore a mask of arrogant coldness outside this manor. A mask kept firmly in place to hide
his shame, and to keep anyone from accidentally liking him, unworthy as he was…
Draco closed his eyes as warm salty liquid filled his mouth, trying desperately to hold back sudden unbidden
tears that burned behind his closed lids. His knees ached painfully from his long kneel on the hard rough stone.
He forced himself to swallow his father's cum as the man sighed indecently. And then, to the boy's horror, a
tear escaped from his tightly shut eyes, and he knew that his father had seen it. Knew his father had seen the
small, disgusting sign of weakness and imperfection...
Pain erupted cross his left cheek and he was thrown to the floor. He gasped as his head it the stone; he knew
what was coming… He was never, never supposed to cry! It was the worst thing he could do! And in his
father's righteous anger the man had struck him. There would be a bruise. A bruise that would raise questions
at St. Mungo's or an outside healer, and that no one in the house knew how to heal mend. And a bruise meant
that he wasn't flawless. Not being flawless would mean that no one would pay for him. Which meant that his
father wouldn't make any money off him until his face had healed. Which meant that the man's anger would
now be rage…
"CRUCIO!"
Draco screamed. His body was being torn apart. He was losing his mind. He was dying…