AN: Hi! This is my first one-shot so any feedback would be much appreciated, you can never be too honest.

I have been training as a figure skater for years now (damn you early morning practices!) so this fic kind of combines 2 things very dear to me: the ice and my absolute favourite character in the whole HP franchise.

Warning: Descriptions of child abuse

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters… if I did there would be a lot more ice skating :)

Hope you enjoy!

Ice was in many ways everything Draco had once hoped to be: cold, beautiful and quietly dangerous. Draco was pretty sure that if it had been possible his father probably would have tried to replace him with a block of flawless ice.

He snorted in a very un-Malfoy-ish manner at the thought of his father presenting the Dark Lord, "No. Voldemort." the little voice in his head corrected, with a carved block of ice instead of a living, imperfect child. He wondered whether they would have tried to brand the ice anyway, they'd certainly been unnecessarily eager to stick the mark on his arm.

Now that he thought about it, his father had always had a penchant for ice, especially for use in punishments. Draco thought back to his first memory of any feeling about ice, it wasn't hugely clear but what he could remember was unusually vivid considering that he'd only been, what, six years old? "Five" whispered that voice again; it didn't surprise Draco; his father had always believed that it was best to start as early as possible, get rid of the weakness before anyone can notice it, before the child learns that it's not normal for a four-year-old to be locked outside in the cold overnight.

"Yes! That was it" Draco thought, he remembered it now, in perfectly painful detail:

The small child had been rescued from the horrors lurking in his dreamful sleep by an abrupt awakening. He'd sprang into a sitting position immediately, eyes darting frantically over his room and ears on high alert for anything they could pick up.

Once he had done an initial check to make sure he really was awake and not still trapped in the terror of his subconscious, Draco tried to lie back down and get back to sleep. He lay still for a few seconds before snapping back up again, sure he'd heard something; in this half dark state the shadows danced like flames, shape-shifting into monster after monster until Draco couldn't take it anymore… he had to get out.

The small child tumbled out of the ridiculously large bed and onto the cold floor. He sprang to his feet and fled from the cursed room. The corridors, designed to keep him trapped in his wing of the manor, confused the boy; all he knew was that he couldn't be in that room any longer, he just couldn't!

He finally reached the cliff edge of his chambers and stopped, unsure; there were three options – three corridors he could take: Mother, Father or the elves. Anyone of them had its dangers and absolutely none of them were at all reliable… taking the wrong one really was like taking a reckless step off a cliff.

Mother was a confusing option: catch her in the right mood and she could make you feel like the most important, most special person in the world, "how're you my little dragon?" she'd coo; catch her in the wrong mood and she made you feel responsible for sins you hadn't even known about. She didn't get angry the same way father did, but even at four Draco could see the fury that built every day as she mourned what her life could have been. It was his fault, he knew that much – she'd told him that much, his fault that she was trapped in this dark scary manor with a husband who barely knew her name while her friends went out and enjoyed themselves. "No," Draco decided… Mother was clearly not the right choice – too unpredictable.

So it was between the elves and father: the elves were kind, they seemed to like him, although Father said that that was their job – "Disgraceful" he'd spat one lonely afternoon, "playing with the house elves? Did you really think they liked you? Idiot. That's their job, they don't really like you, after all how could anything like something as useless as you?" Draco had never played with elves again. "No," the elves couldn't be trusted either – they'd lied to him about being his friends and anyway, they might tell Father that he'd gone to them again.

He'd decided, he would go to Father. So the scared boy stumbled to his father's chambers, but when he arrived he found them empty. It was then that he heard a light thud from downstairs, so, back through the corridors and down the main stairs into one of the sitting rooms, he ran. It was there that he found Lucius – sprawled on an elegant sofa, looking uncharacteristically ruffled. An almost empty bottle of Fire Whisky sat on the coffee table next to him. Looking back Draco wished he'd known then that spotting any sign of Fire Whisky meant that he should put as much distance as possible between him and his father. But at four years old he didn't know this, so instead of retreating back upstairs the timid boy crept forwards.

"Father?" he whispered hesitantly.

There was no reply.

"Father?" he tried again and this time it was met with an irritated groan.

"Go 'way" Lucius muttered.

"But there are monsters in my room!" Draco pleaded.

Again he was met with silence.

"Daddy… please… I, I'm, I'm scared." He begged.

At this Lucius leapt to his feet and grabbed the nervous boy by the uncomfortably stiff collar of his pyjamas. Lucius carried the child through the house towards the doors which led out onto the rest of the vast Malfoy estate.

"Spoilt little brat," he rambled, "This'll teach you not to disturb me with such pathetic matters!"

With that he swung open the doors and casually tossed the child out into the gardens; Draco gazed up at him in dazed disbelief as his father slammed the door shut, locked it and walked away as if nothing had happened – as if he hadn't just left an infant alone outside in the middle of a frigid December night.

"Father?" the boy had whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked around and shivered, it truly was cold.

The winter had not been a kind one and, although it had left the Malfoy Gardens looking spectacularly beautiful it had also brought a cold that chilled past the bones and into the soul. The stars glared through the perfectly clear, frozen sky and bounced off the solid lake whilst the trees struggled to hold the weight of the frost and snow that fell from the cruel angels in controlled flurries.

Draco curled in on himself before deciding to seek shelter under one of the burdened trees. He crept towards them, wincing with every step as the snow cut into his little feet. He sat under one and brought his knees to his chest. He stared longingly at the Manor and willed the cold to hurry up and numb him, at least then it would stop its relentless biting.

Eventually his gaze fell from the manor – his father clearly wasn't planning a reappearance anytime soon. It wandered to the frozen lake and its mystical lights. He crawled forwards to touch them and almost screamed in anger and distress when even they moved to avoid him. He struggled to his feet and took a few tentative steps forwards, onto the lake.

He managed to reach the middle before a terrible "Crack" was heard and he heard himself scream as menacing lines spread across the ice – conquering everywhere they invaded. The cracks got closer and closer, like the monsters in his dream, they were coming for him.

Suddenly he heard a shout and felt himself being hoisted into the air and away from the treacherous ice. He was dropped back onto land by his father, who, it turned out had arrived just in time to lift Draco onto safety (with his cane of course, Lucius never like to touch Draco when he didn't need to).

Lucius picked up the whimpering child and took him straight back up to Draco's bedchamber where he tucked the child back into bed with heating charms and a heavy dose of dreamless sleep potion.

He never punished Draco like that again.

Draco sighed, it had been that ordeal which had put him off winter, at least until he got to Hogwarts and realised that it was the endless summer months that were truly the ones to be feared. Indeed, it was the events of the summer before sixth year which would lead to his next ice-related memory.

That summer had been the worst of his life, he'd sat in his room, trapped by the wails of those dying a few floors below him and the low level death eaters that had been ordered not to let him leave "under any circumstances".

And then there had been That Evening: he'd been ordered to attend dinner with his parents, the inner circle and of course The Dark Lord himself… Draco had never actually gotten through dinner, he'd had to throw up halfway through the grand reveal of what his future would look like.

By the end of dinner, it had been established: he would take the mark and kill Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards alive, or his mother would be slowly tortured to death.

He remembered being shocked at his mother's face as this was explained; she wasn't upset or scared, instead she seemed to graciously accept it, as if she'd always known that this was what it would come to.

So it wasn't anything unexpected when three months later Draco found himself in Hogsmeade, getting ready to assassinate the sole wizard who could scare the monster that his parents had sold him to.

Draco's eyes darted around the cosy inn, he watched as cheerful Hogwarts students chatted and drank their butterbeers. He wondered for how much longer they would be laughing.

In that moment he wished for anger or fear, anything that would make the constant numb, emptiness cease. He wished for an expected emotion or one he could understand because this, this cold apathy terrified him. It was exactly what his father had always wanted him to feel and that made him hate it all the more.

He silently stalked through the crowded inn until he got to the bar. His eyes locked on Rosmerta, he knew the curse had to be put on her, no one else made sense, but how? How could he even hope to do something like that in such a public space?

An idea flashed through his head and he quickly bought a drink which he walked to a more secluded corner of the inn with. He glanced around and, when he was sure no one was watching, casually dropped the glass as though it were a piece of rubbish.

"smash!" The glass splintered into hundreds of tiny knives as the frothy drink it had once held tumbled over it.

Rosmerta sighed, but grabbed her wand and made her way over to Draco's corner. He smirked, it was all going to plan.

Once she reached him she pulled out her wand and, with a tone of annoyance, cleaned up the mess.

With her back turned to him Draco had his perfect opportunity:

"Imperio," he whispered and when the barmaid turned to face him he smiled proudly at her glazed-over eyes.

He handed her a carefully wrapped package and gave her his orders:

"Take this and give it to the first Hogwarts student you can get alone, tell them it's for Professor Dumbledore… do not touch it under any circumstances."

She didn't reply, instead she took the package and walked away serenely.

Draco grinned, but it wasn't a cruel smile, it was one of desperate relief…. Dumbledore would die and then his parents would be safe. He didn't enjoy killing but it simply had to be done, he would not condemn his parents to that maniac's wrath just to save the headmaster who'd never given a damn about him.

The ground crunched beneath him; it was only October but winter and its entourage seemed to have set up camp. Windows frosted over, the Hogwarts grounds were deserted in favour of warm common rooms and students had been warned to watch where they stepped after a sudden increase in hospital wing visits caused by icy slips.

Despite this the students had turned out in great numbers for the first Hogsmeade visit of the year. Draco didn't quite feel like having to share space with the crowds of them so he took a more remote route back up to the school.

He was only about halfway up when a scream of utter agony was heard. It was unlike anything he'd heard that summer in the manor, it wasn't a cry for mercy or hatred, no, this was the scream of pure betrayal.

He shrivelled as soon as he heard it and then, he ran. Ran until he was safe in his bed with silencing charms and drawn curtains to keep the malicious world out.

It had only been after years and a lot of deep soul-searching that he realised exactly why the scream had been so terrible – after all it wasn't like he'd never heard someone being tortured before, but that scream… that scream had chilled him more than the icy weather ever could have, because that scream was his.

It was the scream of crushed hope that "he didn't mean it… he was just a little angry…. It won't happen again… never again" but of course it did, it always did.

He shook his head and tried to get it out of his mind… he didn't need that rubbish right now.

He felt a slight tug on his shirt sleeve and he looked down with a careful smile.

"Daddy?" Scorpius moaned, "Can we go now?"

Draco grinned at that name: "Daddy" he would have never dared to be anywhere that informal with his own father so that Scorpius used it so casually with him made him feel like he must be doing something right at least.

"Daddy!" the boy demanded as he stomped his foot.

They were at a muggle ice rink… it had been Astoria's idea.

"Reprogram your memories" she'd said, so that was what they were doing. Draco glanced over at Astoria and she beamed supportively at him.

She took his hand and let Scorpius lead the three of them onto the ice.

It was crowded, and although Draco was over all that blood purity rubbish the sheer amount of muggles around scared him. But if he was ever going to get over his fear of ice, now was the time, so he allowed himself to stop, just stop and live for a minute.

Sandwiched between Astoria, who was looking around with the same unfamiliar wariness as he was, and Scorpius who was so excited he'd fallen over twice before they'd even gotten on the ice.

Slowly the three of them began to find their feet and the waddling turned to a careful walk before it became a slightly awkward glide.

There were, of course falls but it was worth it for Scorpius' boisterous laughter and Astoria's gentle smile.

Draco had never had such happy bruises.

Wow, that was quite a bit longer than I thought it'd be :)

I hope you enjoyed reading it, the magic of ice never seems to fade for me.

Please review, I'd love to hear what you think.