Title: Our Family
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters portrayed in this story.
Summary: How far will parents go for their child? Lucius and Narcissa are pushed beyond their limits. One-shot.
Beta: Un-betaed. All grammatical and spelling errors are mine. I take full credit.
There was something wrong.
"Draco?" Narcissa called out worriedly. The door to his chambers stood ajar. Narcissa gave a brief courtesy knock, pushing it open without waiting for an invitation. It didn't matter. There was something wrong.
"Draco?" she tried again.
The sitting area was dark, the lack fire in the hearth and unlit candles made her hesitate. But she didn't turn back. Not yet. Not until she had checked. She had to be sure; just a quick look.
Draco's bedroom door was closed but Narcissa didn't bother knocking this time. If he was in, he would have greeted her already. The door swung easily under her touch. Like the living room, Draco's bedroom remained in the dark. But unlike the living room – it was occupied.
There was a huddled lump crouched on the bed. Soft sounds were coming from the lump; wet, gasping breaths that hitched every few seconds. The air in the room was thick with a familiar smell; the floor was littered with small, unidentifiable lumps.
"Draco?" Narcissa said cautiously. "What are you doing here in the dark, darling? You need light –"
"NO!"
The broken, hoarse voice shocked her. But it was the deep, primal fear that stopped her.
"Draco, what's wrong?" Narcissa rushed to her son. "Darling?"
She reached out her hand, barely brushing his shoulder when he screamed, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
"Draco –" Narcissa said, the edge of panic creeping close. She rose, pulled out her wand, hesitating for the briefest moment before – "Lumos."
Bright light shone at the tip of her wand illuminating the figure it was pointed at.
"NO! NO!" Draco tried to cower under the covers but Narcissa had seen.
Blood. Blood all over his covers. And Draco –
"What –" Narcissa gasped. But she didn't need to ask. Her sharp eyes understood it all. The mussed hair, the red, puffy eyes, the bruised lips, the few marks she could see on his neck and the red bruises blooming around his wrists where his pyjamas had pulled up.
She spun, terrifying in her fury, and a white figure erupted from the end of her wand, soaring through the wall. Then, just as quickly, she dropped back to her son's beside.
"Hush, darling, hush," she said. "I'm here. Mommy's here. Everything will be all right."
Draco was sobbing in earnest now. The quiet gasps had turn into large sobs, full of hitched breaths and deep gulps of air.
"Shh, shh..." Narcissa soothed, wishing fiercely that she could hold him but had to restrain herself. "It's all right. Mommy wouldn't let anything happen to you. Darling, look at mommy."
Draco only buried his face deeper in his hands, refusing to respond to her mother. Narcissa kept cooing. But inside, she burned to know who had dared touch her son. She had always feared for her family, ever since the Dark Lord moved – no, invaded – her house. Her fears were always simple, always the same. Every night she dreamt of displeasing the Dark Lord; of pain and torture and worse – of death. Every morning, she'd watch the sun peak over the grounds, thankful they had survived another day.
But she had been wrong. Oh so, so wrong. The danger lurked in another form. A form she hadn't seen coming. And now her son paid the price.
But she was a Malfoy; and a Black above all. She'd make sure, she'd swear even to her grave, she'd make the perpetrator pay. Narcissa's mind flitted quickly, finding and discarding possible suspects. But there were too many. Ever since the Dark Lord turned their house into a headquarters, Death Eaters had walked in and out freely.
She needed help; she needed Lucius.
So she simmered, coaxed her son, and watched the door. At length there came a soft sound from the outer chamber and Narcissa knew her husband had arrived.
"Mommy's going to the outer chamber for a while," she said, rising quickly. She caught Lucius as he was about to enter the room and pushed him back firmly, shutting the door behind him.
"What is going on," Lucius drawled. Then, he took a good look at her face. Under the dim illumination of her Lumos, she looked positively terrifying. "Narcissa?"
"Draco –" she managed before she gave a large painful gasp.
"NO!" Lucius said, fearing the worst, scrabbling madly for the door.
"He is alive, Lucius!" Narcissa said, grabbing his arm desperately.
"Then, what?" he demanded.
"Lucius – oh, Merlin – Lucius," she sobbed. Her husband clutched her, both to support her and himself.
At length, Narcissa managed to compose herself.
"Someone has been in his room, Lucius. In his bed," she said quietly.
The implications were not lost on Lucius. The deep fear that had always existed since the Dark Lord had risen gave way to all sorts of horror for his son; his only heir.
"Is he –"
Lucius didn't manage to finish the sentence before he whirled around and flew into Draco's room. Narcissa didn't stop him. She had said her part. She had prepared him the best she could. She could only trail behind him into Draco's room.
The lights were lit now. Lucius had spelled all the candles. In the light, the room looked worse. Furniture was overturned, clothes ripped and strewn on the floor. There was a spot of blood on the carpet but more on the bed. And that was what the familiar smell was, Narcissa realised. She should have known really, after these long horrible months – blood.
"Draco," Lucius sternly addressed the lump under the blanket. "Look at me."
The lump shivered but didn't move.
"Look. At. Me," he commanded. Then he broke. "Draco, please."
Narcissa had never heard that tone. That quiet, pleading tone. Even when he had held her close after the Dark Lord had tortured them, even after he was forced to watch his son torture Death Eaters, Lucius had always stayed cold.
"Draco," Lucius said again and gently touched the duvet. He peeled the cover back without any resistance.
There, curled up in a small, small ball was Draco, her dragon. It broke Narcissa's heart to see him fully. Under the light it looked worse. He had been bleeding a lot. His pyjamas stuck to him on his chest, his shoulder and... his bottom.
Narcissa felt sick. But she made herself look. This was her dragon. She had failed him, but she will not turn away from him.
"Draco," Lucius said in the same quiet, pleading tone. His hand hovered about him, close but not touching. "Look at me."
Finally, finally his son looked up. Lucius felt a great wrench of anger, guilt and fear at the look in his son's eyes. Anger for whoever that did this; guilt that he couldn't protect his own; and fear – fear because he knew somewhere deep down it could happen again.
His family name had no power now, no respect. The Death Eaters mocked him daily, the Dark Lord turned to them for his sadistic amusement, his own house, their ancestral manor had turned into some hotel for his Lord. What could he do?
"I'm here, Draco," he said. And he meant it. He may have lost his honour and his power but he was still a father, first and foremost.
Draco gave a small sob and threw himself into his father's arms. Lucius did not expect that but he managed to brace himself as his son clung on desperately.
"Hush, hush. I'm here, Draco," he patted his son's head. Narcissa was hovering nearby. Lucius knew she wanted to touch Draco but his fear kept her at bay. So he said instead, "We're here."
Narcissa moved to sit on the bed in front of them, keeping close but never touching. And they stayed like that, a family. Together.
"Who did this, Draco," Lucius asked when the worst of the shaking had subsided. At once, Draco started shivering violently and shook his head.
"No, no," he whimpered.
"It's all right, darling." Narcissa cooed, reaching over to tentatively pat his head. "We wouldn't make you tell."
"Cissa, we can't –," Lucius hissed then quickly turned his attention to his son. "Draco, you must tell me who did this – Draco... please... for the sake of the family. For the family honour."
Draco stopped shaking his head but he was still shivering violently. He gasped something, then choked and then tried again.
"D-D –" Draco choked.
"D..Dolohov?" Lucius asked, shaking slightly in fury.
Draco shook his head furiously and tried again.
"Dar –" he choked, buried his head in his father's shoulder and then, in a burst of fear said, "Him."
Him.
There was no question who him was. There was only one man who could command so much fear and respect in that one word; one man who had no fear of crossing the Malfoy family.
Narcissa pressed a hand to her mouth and pushed the hysterical sob bubbling in the throat back. What could they do? What could they say? They couldn't even protest, fight back or scream.
Narcissa closed her eyes and felt a large, terrible burden fall on her shoulders. In front of her, Lucius looked like those ten months in Azkaban were catching up on him.
"Please..." Draco said softly, voice cracked and hoarse. At once, Narcissa and Lucius pressed closer. "Please, don't. It's – it's nothing. Daddy – F-Father, just – just ignore –" his voice broke, shrill and painful.
"Shh," Narcissa cooed instantly. "It's all right, darling. We're here. We'll stay."
Draco gave a small sob and flung himself at his mother. Narcissa clung on just as desperately, basking in the comfortable solid presence of her son.
Lucius stood up once his burden was removed.
"D-Daddy? Wh-Where are you going?" Draco hiccoughed.
"Just to get something clean," he said. "Do you want a change of clothes?"
"Y-Yes," Draco whispered.
Lucius nodded and whipped out his wand. A few quick flicks got rid of the bed sheets and new ones replaced them. The carpet was scorgified, the furniture rearranged and a new set of pyjamas settled into his hands.
"I'd like to go to the bathroom, please," Draco swallowed when his father passed him his clothes.
"Certainly. Take as long as you like, dragon," Narcissa said, gently untangling her son.
Draco got up and instantly, he winced. Both parents tensed but said nothing. It took a long time for Draco to make his way to the bathroom. He limped badly and could barely walk. Narcissa had to restrain herself from helping him.
Lucius watched. He forced himself to take in his son's slight and battered form – the small, limping steps and the dark spots of blood. Then, he committed it to memory.
Draco took a long time but both parents waited, tensed and barely speaking. Finally when the door opened, Draco limped out again. His eyes were redder than before and they knew he had been crying. His skin was red and on his shoulder, a red spot was beginning to blossom on his emerald green pyjamas.
"Draco –" Narcissa came forward and touched the wet spot. Her son refused to look into her eyes so she sighed and took out her wand, chanting a healing spell on him. Then, she led him gently to her bed.
"No! Not there!" Draco pulled away. Then he cried out in pain as he felt the pull of the torn skin on his backside.
"Hush. No, not there. Not there," Narcissa said.
"May I stay with you tonight?" Draco asked in a small voice.
"Yes, darling," Narcissa said, cradling her son gently. "Whatever you want."
They brought him to their rooms, encircling him protectively between them. Their wands were out, ready and cautious. Their house wasn't safe anymore. It was no longer theirs; it was the enemy's. The doors of their rooms were spelled and warded. Lucius drew blood on his hand and called upon the powerful ancestral wards. Then they retired to the bedroom.
Draco refused to let go. He pulled both his parents to the bed with him, panicking if either of them left.
"Don't leave me alone. Please, don't," he begged.
They didn't. They will never leave him alone – not anymore. And as they lay together, arms linked and encircling each other until Draco's breath evened and he fell into fitful sleep, Lucius and Narcissa stared into each other's eyes.
In their depths, a promise of vengeance burned. They will make him pay.
A/N: This story was meant to be a multi-shot but I couldn't do that without ignoring some facts in HBP and DH so I decided to keep it to a one-shot. Besides, I've a terrible history for updating. Very terrible – trust me.