Pain. It was something that never bothered him before. He could put up with such an inconceivable amount of it that it became intoxicating. He'd gone through things no one had ever heard of, nor would the ever believe it. His father was one of the cruelest people on the face of the Earth, no matter which world you were referring to. He'd been through it all.
Draco Malfoy laid on his bed, the white sheet tossed over his body. Upon seeing him, you would take him to be dead. He wasn't, though. Close, but not quite dead. He could barely open his eyes. He didn't even try to move, the pain still pulsating throughout his body. Numb. That was the only word you could use to describe Draco Malfoy. Everything was spinning, and he hadn't even opened his eyes again – mainly due to fear of his attacker still being in the room, waiting for him to stir. To show signs of vulnerability. The windows were shut, and the door was bolted closed. There were no signs of movement within the entire room. No sound was made, with the exception of the rain beating on the stone roof of the manor.
Images of the battle pierced his mind constantly. Flashbacks of previous attacks would haunt his memory occasionally.
---
The chair that he once sat in, moments ago, was just thrown to the side. The door snapped shut and the windows were blocked by the large shutters. He was crouched in the corner, trying to make himself one with the wall, to become invisible, to get away from his father. Lucius stood just in front of the door, glaring.
The Ministry had checks on individual employees and he was fined five thousand galleons for the possession of Dark Magic items, as well as the aforementioned items being in the possible possession of a minor wizard. He was infuriated with the Ministry; the Minister especially. Shacklebolt had never been one of Lucius' favorite members of the ministry, and now, after all these fines, he could not even begin to fathom what he was trying to pull.
"Draco," the man said, the name slithering off his tongue. There was no movement as Draco still hid in the corner trying to escape the wrath of his father.
"Draco," the blond-haired man called out again. His son's name was twisted with frustration and rage as it emerged from Lucius' lips. Picking up one of Draco's school shoes, he hurtled it at the boy in the corner, cowering like a pathetic dog.
For a seventeen year old boy, Draco was no weakling. The five previous years of Quidditch at school had aided the toning of his frame. No matter how fit or strong he may be, his body and his six years of education were no match to the brutal mass of his father. He pushed himself against the wall harder, desperately trying to get away from him, to melt into the wall, anything to escape the eminent exploitation.
"Draco, I am in no mood to play games. Either you come out of your refuge or I will show you what it is like to live in Hell," he hissed.
Draco slowly stood, knowing his father meant every one of those words. His eyes were dilated, fear visibly showing in his visage. His lip was quivering, and his entire body shaking.
"Father, stop. I have done nothing to you" he argued. For the first time, he fought back. A vein in Lucius' forehead throbbed as his son retorted, and he stormed over to his only heir, cracking his ebony cane over his back.
"How dare you," he spat, striking the boy once more in the shins. "How dare you speak to me with that tone."
Draco's body flailed as the rod struck his body twice. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the cane rising for a third blow.
"Please father. P-please stop this. I haven't d-done anyt-thing to you."
He was pleading. He'd gone through this too many times before. Each time became progressively worse than the last. His body sunk against the wall as Lucius extracted his wand from his robes, pointing it directly as his child's throat. He tried to call out for his mother to come for him, but it was useless. He knew his mother could do nothing for him.
Mangled shouts of horror and gasps of agony slipped from Draco's lips as he was bludgeoned with a torrent of curses. Before he could absorb what was happening to him, his body was twisting into shapes that could only be dreamed of by a sick individual. His screams became cries for help and whimpers as the pain became more and more unbearable. It had felt like he had been kicked in the chest by a steel-toed boot repeatedly.
Before he could breathe properly, his father had dropped his wand. His chest heaved rapidly and irregularly, trying to regain and stabilize his breath. Before he could calm down and wipe the tears from his cheeks, Lucius was picking him up by his neck, one hand clenched around the collar of Draco's shirt. He threw him up against the wall, and Draco lost any air he had regained in his lungs when his father's fist collided with his gut.
He slid down the wall, clinging to his sides. He had never been hit before; by anyone. He thought it was over when his father dropped his wand. The physical abuse was over-whelming to Draco, and he could feel himself slipping out of consciousness. Only when he felt the toe of his father's black shoes hit his side was he jolted back into reality. He was wrong before, a steel-toed boot was drastically more painful compared to one of his father's curses. He could hear his ribs cracking, his chest cavity on the verge of caving.
He could no longer think. Images just became blurred and held no meaning to him. He finally blacked out. His limp body lay on the floor, Lucius Malfoy still beating him senseless. When the whole thing was over, he shook his head at the unconscious boy.
"Useless," he scoffed, pushing the boy's blond hair off his face with the sole of his shoe. His face was swollen and bleeding from a gash on his forehead that would probably require stitches. He turned and left the boy in the corner f the room, and strutted out of the room, cracking his knuckles and muttering something along the lines of a "job well done."
Narcissa, who had been watching from the doorway, had her arms clenched around her sides, tears streaming down her face. She knew she could not help Draco. Lucius would kill her if she tried, but she could not stand pretending everyone was alright while she made dinner at the other end of the house.
As Lucius stormed out of the room, Narcissa rushed in to her baby boy's side. She shook his limp body, trying to bring him back into consciousness. Not wanting to bring Lucius back into the room, she picked him up, with a little help from her wand, and lay him in his bed, drawing the sheet up over his head.
She left the room hesitantly, though she knew that she had to find Lucius and make sure that he had calmed down. Furthermore, she needed to make dinner so he wouldn't be set off once more at the lack of food.
Silence filled the room, almost to the point of it being eerie. Draco's eyelids fluttered briefly, but he refused to open them for his world felt like it was spinning erratically.
---
The beatings became more and more regular. He could still hear his father's voice ringing in his ears. "You said you wanted to spend time with Daddy, Draco? Here. This can be our special time together. Isn't that what you want?" he would say every time he would hurt him. It was becoming too much for him. A seventeen year old boy can only handle so much abuse before he finally snaps.
Draco slowly opened his eyes. The sheet startled him. He had forgotten he was knocked out by his own father just hours before. Hours? Was it even that long ago? It felt like it was just minutes ago. It felt like a truck had just run over Draco's body multiple times. He bent his fingers, trying to gain a sense of what hurt, and what he could move. Slowly, he moved the sheet off his body, and stood up. He looked around his room, and it looked like a battle had taken place between the Death Eaters and the Order.
The anger he felt towards his father was something he couldn't express with words. He slammed his fist against the wall he stood next to, knocking a bronze plaque from its nail. His hand numbed instantly, and he couldn't believe how hard he must have hit the wall. A photo next to him fell off his dresser, and the glass shattered on the floor. He picked up the picture and stared at it. It was one of his family on vacation in the Philippines. He looked at his father, and then at his mother. His mother was holding Draco; looking at him and smiling. Lucius just stared at the camera, a smile nowhere to be seen.
Draco felt a burning hatred towards his father, and tore the picture in half and in half again. He threw it to the floor where he noticed the broken glass on the floor. He had to clean it up before his father came back. If he saw the mess of broken glass, he'd surely beat Draco again. He knew he couldn't take another beating tonight. He wouldn't make it.
He got to his knees and started pushing the glass in a pile. His hand slipped and he cut himself on his index finger. He stopped. He'd never made himself bleed before, and he couldn't remember the last time he bled at all, to be honest. He stared at the blood as it pooled on the tip of his finger, and slowly began to slide down the length of his finger, to the skin between his middle and index fingers. It almost intrigued him. He looked back at the glass while he stuck the bleeding finger in his mouth, and cleaned the cut. He tasted incredibly metallic, almost to the point where it made him wonder if it was normal to taste that close to metal.
He eyed a larger piece of the glass and picked it up. Draco stood and walked back towards his bed. Checking his door, he noticed the door was bolted shut. His father's doing. He clearly wasn't to leave his room for any reason. If staying in his room meant he was farther from his father, then by all means bolt the door. He glanced back at the door before pulling his shirt off his body and throwing it to the side of the bed.
He picked the piece of glass up from his bed and glanced down at his body. He undid the button to his black jeans, and unzipped them part way. Pulling the right side of his jeans down a short way, he looked at the skin just below his hip bone. He was so pale – a sign that he rarely exposed this part of his body to the sun.
He looked at the glass one more time before putting it on the skin he had been so proud of. Skin that had been, up until now, perfectly flawless. Something he had inherited from his mother. Something he had been so proud of, until now. Now he was ashamed to be related to his father in anyway. He took a second to breathe and then pressed the glass into his skin and pulled it across his hip, scratching at the flesh beneath the glass.
At first, it looked stupid and worthless, a small scratch rose from his skin. It took a second to bleed, but the red pooled more and more until it began to run off his leg onto the sheet he laid under several minutes ago. He let out a whimper as he dragged the jagged fragment of glass across his skin a second and third time. He'd never thought of doing something so cruel to himself.
The blood was becoming too much for him, and it was beginning to stain his sheets; something he was not looking forward to explaining to Lucius, should he return that evening. He wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone. He didn't care. It made him feel better. He dragged it over his thigh again. One for every fucking year I've lived with that bastard of a father, he thought to himself as he dragged the shard of glass over his body a repeated number of times; until the streaks of blood and fragmented glass totaled seventeen.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His leg and bed sheet littered with his own blood. He almost felt like he was going to be sick, but for some reason he felt proud? He was about to start on the other leg when he heard a noise – something from his door. He looked up, his eyes huge. Someone was coming in. He dropped the glass and tried to pull his jeans up in time. Before he knew it, Lucius Malfoy was staring at him, glass, blood, and all.