*Authors Note* This was going to be the last chapter but, while writing it, I decided to split it into two, mostly because it's midnight here and I have to leave town tomorrow. Look forward to the final chapter of Sold! followed by my own synopsis and analysis of the story within the next few days! Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Chapter Eleven
Draco's hands were stiff and clammy, his legs and knees tired and aching. He'd been standing in the same position for nearly an hour while. Although he'd never been in this particular part of the Ministry of Magic before, he didn't seem to have the curiosity to look around and explore. Instead, he maintained his statue like posture, facing forward towards the door his mother had disappeared through, his eyes on the knob as if daring it to turn.
He made for a smart but solemn figure, dressed in his finest clothes and his finest robes, black velvet trimmed in silver. He'd combed his hair, slicking it back neatly into place. Every now and then a group of witches and wizards would pass by. Whenever they did, they always peeked into his room,, peeked at him standing so still and proud, and shook their heads. All of them knew exactly what he was doing here, saying his goodbyes to his doomed, Death Eater father.
Finally, the door Draco had been staring at cracked open and his mother stepped out meekly, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. He scowled, not being able to help himself from doing so. She was dressed all in black as if his father were already dead. "He's asking for you, Draco." She told him and took hold of his shoulders as he came closer. She released a trembling sigh and touched his cheeks, lifted her hands to smooth out his hair, and kissed his forehead. "Be brave," She ordered in a soft but stern voice.
Draco glowered and pulled away from her hands. "I don't need to," he replied in a cool voice, rubbing away the spots on his face that she'd touched with her fingers and lips. "It's not like he's going to Azkaban forever. Just a few days, probably, he told me." He paused in the doorway that would lead him to his father and looked back at Narcissa. "It's a useless hold now, anyway. The Dementors won't guard it." His eyes lashed over her as she turned away from him, lifting her hands to her face and crying into them. "Stupid woman." He muttered under his breath and then stepping into the same room as his father, he closed the door.
Lucius was waiting for him, looking proud even though he was already a prisoner. He stood tall, his shoulders squared, watching Draco like a bug as he closed the door, leaned back against it, and looked up at him. "Come here, boy." Lucius finally spoke, lifting a hand to beckon his son closer.
Obedient, even to the last day, Draco bowed his head slightly and moved closer to his father and his outstretched hand. Lucius watched him as he approached, blinking slowly, and then put his hand on top of his son's head. Draco kept his head bowed as his father touched him, smoothed back his hair and took the side of his face, gently rubbing his thumb over his cheek.
Finally, Draco couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the silence or the way his father was touching him, so soft and gentle, touches he hadn't received from his father since he was a very small boy. He bit his lower lip, his shoulders trembling. He couldn't start crying now. He was fifteen years old, almost sixteen. He was nearly a man, and men didn't cry.
Lucius seemed to sense the emotion in him and a smile curled his lips. With a short laugh his fingers drifted away and he didn't touch his son anymore.
"How long?" Draco asked, once he trusted his voice to be solid enough to maintain speech. "How long are you going to be gone?"
"For a long time, it seems," Lucius replied, his voice steady. "The Ministry thinks to make an example out of me, I suppose. They are embarrassed by their own inability to see the return of the Dark Lord, embarrassed after the failure of Azkaban. As a second war seems so obvious now, Fudge needs to show wizarding London that he is still strong, still capable. He needs to give them faith in order to control panic and fear. Most importantly he needs to give them revenge for a hundred murdered fathers, mothers, and children."
Draco listened to everything his father said with narrowed eyes. He didn't understand. What was he saying? Was he trying to explain that there would be no escape from Azkaban this time? That all of his fame and wealth and power amounted to nothing the moment it was most needed? "When will you be out?" Draco asked again, this time more firmly.
"Idiot boy." Lucius smiled slowly, his gray gaze locked on Draco's form, memorizing his son's features, words, and sound. Memorizing everything about him.
Draco's hands clenched into tight fists, his glassy nails digging half moons into the soft skin of his palms. Lucius was looking at him like he never expected to see him again! He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut a second later, rage and anger boiling up on his insides like a kettle about to explode. "It's all Potter's fault!" He seethed suddenly, his voice hot and angry as it slithered past his clenched teeth. "I'm going to make him pay for this! I'm going to make him wish he were never born! You'll see, father!" His head snapped up to look Lucius directly in the eye but all he was greeted with was the back of his father's hand.
As he was hit, the smaller blonde clapped both of his hands over the side of his face. The salt from his fingers bit into the split in his lip left by his father's unforgiving knuckles. Pain and outrage pricked at the corners of his eyes. In all of his fifteen years his father had never hit him before, not ever!
"I've told you, Draco," Lucius began, his mouth and eyes cold and unforgiving in a way Draco knew was impossible to melt. "Over and over I've instructed and guided and advised you but don't seem to listen. I have told you everything that I can, there is nothing left for me to say to you. I won't be there from now on for you to complain and whine to. From now on, you must think and act for yourself. From now on, you are alone."
There wasn't anything left to say between them after that. Draco stood his ground, held his face, and watched his father. Both of them remained silent until an Auror came to lead Lucius Malfoy away, away from his family, his future, his freedom.
****
The only way Harry knew he still had hands was to stretch his head back and follow the line of his arms and to the appendages at their ends. Of course, his hands didn't even look like hands anymore. His nimble seeker's fingers were thick and swollen, purple with trapped blood, numb and cold. He wasn't sure how long he'd been hanging there in the center of the room, but it felt like forever.
Hermione and Ron were quiet against the wall, the girl with her head tilted against his best friend's shoulder looking peaceful in her sleep, detached from the horror of her waking surroundings. Ron also had his eyes closed but Harry knew he wasn't asleep.
He wanted to say something to them, offer some words of encouragment or bravery to keep their spirits up but everything he could think of sounded phoney and lame, like something he'd seen at the end of some tacky romantic-comedy on television. He hoped they could be happy together after all of this was over, though. Sooner or later, hopefully sooner, all of this would end one way or another. At its denouement, more than anything, Harry wanted to see his two best friends walk away hand in hand.
At the thought of escaping with the one you cared about, Harry's eyes rolled towards Draco. Green met gray. Draco had woken up some time before, managed to sit up slowly and leaned his back against the wall. Harry was a bit startled to discover that Draco had been watching him, but was pleased none the less.
"It's alright, Harry," Draco said slowly. Harry nodded slowly, glad to be able to take some amount of relief from those words, spoken so calmly, even if there was nothing behind them. "It'll all be over soon."
"What do you mean," Harry asked. Against the wall, Ron lifted his head and looked over towards Draco soundlessly. "Do you have a plan?"
Reluctant at first, slowly Draco began to nod. "I have a plan," He said finally and a smile crept over his face, one Harry no longer thought of as snide or mean. "If you can trust me, if you can just hold on, I have a plan."
It suddenly didn't matter that he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, hope surged through Harry's body and he nodded quickly. "I trust y-" He began, but before he could finish a searing pain ripped through Harry's body. It originated from a white-hot spot on his forehead and shot out like electricity to every extremity in his body, even into his dead feeling hands.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron asked loudly, sitting up straight, tense. The motion upset Hermione who also gasped, starting awake, her eyes darting around quickly.
"What's going on?" She asked in a shaking voice.
"It's Voldemort!" Harry gasped, gritting his teeth. He'd never felt his scar throb this badly before, and his mind was swimming with murky images of a ring of Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy, and Roldolphus Lestrange happily bouncing around Voldemort babbling about how he'd captured Harry Potter. "He's coming!" Harry gulped out. "He's coming here, right now! He's so close!"
When the door swung open, Ron leaned away from it and into Hermione as if trying to block her from sight. Harry couldn't see anything, his world twisting and spinning from the pain of his scar. When had Voldemort become this strong? "Bring me my gift." An oily voice said that Harry recognized immediatly.
As the pain in his head began to fizzle and drift away, Harry turned his groggy eyes towards the trio of dark wizards who entered. Voldemort, naturally. He was flanked by a very excited Rodolphus Lestrange, and a man that made Harry's insides twitch with repulsion and anger. Lucius Malfoy.
"F-Father!" Draco had seen him too, and gasped, his eyes wide as he stared at the older version of himself. Lucius didn't say anything though and remained behind the others in the doorway. His eyes flickered briefly to his son and then away again.
Harry could tell Lucius been in Azkaban, he could see it in his eyes. He'd seen it in Hagrid's eyes before, and Sirius' after that. "Lucius, collect your son." Voldemort ordered and only then did he move forward, around the Dark Lord and Lestrange like a puppy afraid of being hit.
Removing his wand, Lucius severed the ropes that bound his son and then pulled Draco to his feet. "Come along now," he said in a voice that Draco didn't recognize. "Don't say anything." Lucius touched a finger to his lips to signal quiet before leading the way back to Voldemort's side.
Draco followed, keeping his head down. As he past Harry, The Gryffindor made a small, desperate noise, his green eyes intense and willing Draco to turn around, just to turn around and look at him. He did, though slowly, and looked up at the suspended boy. When he looked at him, Harry saw that his eyes were full of fear. Draco stopped walking.
"Lucius," Voldemort complained quietly. "My time is precious."
Lucius jumped at the admonishment and turned back to Draco, grabbing his son by the arm and pulling him away. "Wait!" Draco snapped and ripped his arm back. "Just wait one bleeding second!" He scurried away from Lucius, who tried rather unsuccessfully to grab him again, and back to Harry.
With shaking white hands, Draco lifted his fingers to touch the other boy's cheeks. Although his touch was cold like ice, Draco's lips, as they pushed against Harry's, were still warm and alive.
"Hey! Hey, hey now!" Ron shouted loudly, staring at the pair as if the world were ending and they had caused it.
Draco didn't care, though. He drifted back from Harry slowly and into his father's arms. Lucius pulled Draco away, dragging his son away from Harry and towards the door. "Trust me," Draco protested as he was pulled away. "Harry, please trust me!" Before he could say anything else, Lucius had pulled him from the room and they disappeared down the hall.
"Now what to do with you," There was a certain amount of glee in Voldemort's voice that Harry knew was directed towards him. "Finally I have you, here you are."
"Oh! Oh!" Lestrange began to hop up and down next to the Dark Lord.
"I suppose," Voldemort continued as if he didn't see his disciple, a gray hand shaking free of the dark sleeves of his robes. Harry saw, with no small amount of fear, the long, dark wand he held clutched in his fingers. He knew what waited for him at the end of that instrument of death.
"Oh! Oh!" Lestrange continued dancing around his master.
Twirling his wand methodically in his fingers, Voldemort approached his elusive captive and Harry glared at him, silent and infuriated. "I've seen that look before," the Dark Lord began and lifted his wand to push Harry's unruly hair aside and reveal his scar. "Your father had the same look when he faced me. He had so much to protect. His wife. His child. His precious friends." The tip of his wand traced the zig zag line on Harry's forehead, making him lean away. "No matter what was behind him though, couldn't keep him from dying just like the rest of them. He died so easily. It was as if he were simply giving up his life to me. Maybe it's what he wanted, after all."
"Shut up!" Harry roared suddenly, and from his hanging position, he swung back to kick Voldemort as hard as he could. He'd make that snake shut up!
The effort was short lived and Voldemort batted him away like he would a fly. "Crucio," he hissed. Harry felt like he was being torn in half. Agony blinded his eyes, even with his glasses, and his ears filled with gut wrenching screams that he realized, in shock and horror, were his own.
"Oh! Oh!" Lestrange wrapped his arms around Harry's twitching body, lending his weight to the suspended prisoner. Although Harry couldn't feel it through the thunderous pain of the curse, his wrists broke under the pressure. "Please can I have him? Please?" Lestrange shouted above Harry's screams.
As quickly as it came, the curse was released. Harry could still feel it rippling through his body, making him twist and jerk. "Please can I have him," Lestrange moaned.
Voldemort was quiet for some time, watching with a pleased smile as the last vestiges of Crucio rolled through his nemisis' body, tapping the end of his wand lightly against his chin. "Alright, Lestrange," he said finally in a low, silky voice. "As a reward for serving me so loyally, for finally bringing me what no one before could bring, I'll allow you to have him. Do all your damage today, however. At sunset tomorrow, he will be murdered."
"Thank you, my lord!" Rodolphus exclaimed and threw himself on the ground, bowing so low that his forehead touched the ground. He remained like that even after Voldemort had left.
"Roddie," Rabastan drawled from the doorframe sometime later. "He's gone, you can get up now."
"Don't call me that!" Rodolphus whined, snapping his head up with a glare at his brother. "I told you a million times never to call me that!"
Bellatrix, who had her arms locked around Rabastan's waist, giggled softly at her husband, prostrate on the ground. "My idiot husband. He wishes, someday, the pleasure of suckling our Lord's toes, I think."
Rodolphus looked sulky as he got to his feet. "Say whatever you want," he muttered. "I have what I want. The Dark Lord gave me exactly what I want."
"Of course he did, heart of my heart." Bellatrix said slowly, drawing slow circles over Rabastan's abdomen. "Because you're such a good boy."
Rodolphus watched his wife as she stroked his brother and then marched forward and grabbed her around the wrist, pulling her away. "What are you doing with him?" He demanded in a harsh voice.
Bellatrix laughed again as she was pulled around. "Relax, brother," Rabastan answered for her as he leaned against the doorframe. "I only had an itch."
"You're so silly, my darling husband." Bellatrix pulled her grip from Rodolphus' hand and slapped him across the face. Rodolphus looked stunned, but before he could say anything, she took hold his jaw and drew him close. "But I'm so very proud of you."
"O-oh?" Rodolphus stammered, a quirky smile twisting the corners of his lips. He looked dazed. Lovesick.
"Of course I am, heart of my heart." She purred and closed her eyes, kissing him deeply. Rodolphus was so stunned, he hardly had time to react before she drew back from him again. "I've never been more proud of you." Bellatrix continued, stroking his cheeks and then down to his chest. "I want you to have all the fun with him that you can. You deserve it!"
Rodolphus was smiling broadly now and he lunged at her to wrap his arms around her waist and hug her but she skirted out of his grasp and away. "Now, darling," she teased as Rabastan caught her, resting his hands firmly on her hips. "You know how I despise public displays of affection." She batted her eyelashes at him as she continued, "I'm afraid everyone would laugh at me if they saw me blush just because you touched me. I'm so in love with you."
"I understand!" Rodolphus replied instantly, glowing from head to toe.
"Say, dear husband." Bellatrix continued a moment later and stepped forward towards him. "Since you have your pet, do you think that you could give the other two to us? Rabastan and I would like to have some fun also."
Rodolphus' icy eyes turned towards Ron and Hermione, leaning against the wall. Hermione was scared, he thought he saw tears in her eyes, and Ron had risen slightly on his knee as if he were going to defend her. "I really wanted them to watch," he said finally.
"Please, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix continued, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she moved close again, her voice pouting. "Can we have them?"
All it took was another bat of her dark lashes before Rodolphus gave in entirely. "Of course you can have them! My most precious wife-" He marched over towards Ron and Hermione and grabbed the latter by her hair, pushing her towards his brother and wife. "Take her, as my gift to you, Rabastan. And you, Bella," He pitched Ron in her direction. "You can have this boy. Please enjoy them as I'll enjoy my own!"
Hermione began to cry as Rabastan caught her and Ron collapsed when Bellatrix punched him in the nose. Harry watched them, silently hanging. He had to trust Draco, he knew. Draco was the only one who could get them out of this. His friends would be alright, he told himself, looking away as they were dragged from the room, Hermione screaming his name.
Please, Draco, he pleaded in his mind. Please hurry up.
****
"Boy, just what were you doing?" By the time Draco and his father had reached their destination, a room that had at one time been a study, Lucius was riled and bad tempered. "Kissing that boy! You kissed that boy! You kissed a boy! You kissed Harry Potter!"
"I'm quite aware of this," Draco said icily. "I was there, if you don't recall."
Lucius' hand struck Draco harshly across the face, flinging his head to the side and breaking skin. There had never been abuse like this in his family. Not until Lucius had been sent to Azkaban and now twice, twice his father had spilled his blood! "You think you can talk back to me, boy? I am your father, or have you forgotten?"
"It's difficult to forget the largest source of shame in my life, father." Draco enunciated the last word of his sentence bloodily as he straightened, wiping across his split lip with a hand and sending a knife like glare into the man before him.
"Brat," Lucius hissed and grabbed Draco by the hair. He didn't struggle as his father hit him again, he only wiped his mouth again, straightened, and glared. This seemed to spur Lucius on and he hit Draco again and again and again until he fell under the quick repetition of blows.
Draco was panting as he sat on the ground, holding himself up with his hands. Blood drooled from his mouth and dripped to the floor and he imagined a few of his teeth were loose. However, it wasn't something he couldn't repair with a few simple spells, he knew. He looked up at his father who was also breathing heavily, looking at his hand as if it were something possessed and detached from his body. Draco smiled.
"You look old, father." He said slowly pushing himself to his feet and painfully wiping blood away from his mouth with his sleeve. "Azkaban wasn't very kind to you."
"No," Lucius said, his voice quiet and afraid as he looked past his gnarled hands at his son and his bleeding mouth. "No it wasn't." He reached out for Draco again and took hold of him when the boy shied away. Reaching into his pocket, Lucius withdrew a handkerchief and while holding Draco firmly by the back of his head, he began to dab at the cuts he'd left on his mouth. "Tell me about Narcissa. You've seen your mother, haven't you?"
"She's a loon." Draco replied waspishly and felt good at the sick look that jolted across his father's face, as if he'd been struck by lightening. "She's a complete babbling lunatic."
"I see," Lucius said quietly and lowered the now red-spotted handkerchief to his side. Draco's mouth kept bleeding.
Draco didn't need his father's gentle administrations though. He turned away from him, holding the sleeve of his robes to his mouth to wait out the leaking blood. "You're really pathetic, do you know that?" He asked, casting a furtive look at his once proud, head of house.
Lucius didn't say anything, his distant eyes searching the handkerchief in his hand as if looking for some sort of hidden clue or meaning in the blooming, poppy like stains on the folds of white silk.
"You've told me so much, father." Draco leaned smugly against the wall of the room next to the door, his arms folded over his chest as the bleeding finally lessened and ceased. "You used to give me so much advice, so many lectures, so many instructions on how to live and act, how to handle every situation I presented you with. You kept telling me the same thing over and over and over. You didn't think I retained anything of it. You didn't even think I listened."
Finally, Lucius tossed the handkerchief to the ground, looking up at his son.
"But I was listening," Draco persisted. "I listened to and absorbed every word you ever told me. I knew all of your speeches by heart, I used to recite them to myself at school when I wasn't sure what I should do next, if you can believe it." The younger Malfoy laughed quietly, his thoughts amusing him as he watched his father's bewildered expression. "Although I think the best piece of advice you ever gave me was right before they hauled you off to Azkaban. Do you remember what you told me back then, father?"
"No." Lucius admitted in a quiet, defeated voice. He seemed to know exaclty where this conversation was headed.
"Well isn't that ironic." Draco rolled his eyes with a smirk and slowly shook his head. "Allow me to remind you. You retired yourself from your position as my fountain of knowledge. You told me from then on that I must learn to think for myself." Lucius nodded slowly. "So that's what I did," Draco continued briskly. "I learned to think for myself. Do you want to know what I've decided?"
Lucius sighed, bowing his head. He lifted a hand to catch his forehead, rubbing against his white skin slowly. "What did you decide, Dragon?"
"I decided that you were a fool." He said crisply, delighted at the response of anger he saw flickering in his father's eyes. "I decided that if I listened to all of your advice, if I did everything that you told me to, I would end up exactly like you are: a poor, pathetic bastard, a stepping stone, a groveling idiot with a future of zero. Whereas that may be all that you hope to gain out of life, father, my aims are much higher. I refuse to be a mindless, bumbling servant of the Dark Lord. Me, I've decided that I'm going to make something out of myself."
Lucius sat down heavily on the floor and Draco sighed, walking towards him. He crouched in front of his father and took his face in his hands, lifting his head. The smile he sent down to the wasted figure held in his grip was one of mock sympathy and pity. "You poor man," Draco sighed outwardly. "But you should be proud of me." He leaned forward and slowly put his mouth to his father's. The kiss was brief and soft and tainted with Draco's coppery life. "Your only boy is going to be a big success! Tomorrow, father, the sun will rise to me."
Chapter Eleven
Draco's hands were stiff and clammy, his legs and knees tired and aching. He'd been standing in the same position for nearly an hour while. Although he'd never been in this particular part of the Ministry of Magic before, he didn't seem to have the curiosity to look around and explore. Instead, he maintained his statue like posture, facing forward towards the door his mother had disappeared through, his eyes on the knob as if daring it to turn.
He made for a smart but solemn figure, dressed in his finest clothes and his finest robes, black velvet trimmed in silver. He'd combed his hair, slicking it back neatly into place. Every now and then a group of witches and wizards would pass by. Whenever they did, they always peeked into his room,, peeked at him standing so still and proud, and shook their heads. All of them knew exactly what he was doing here, saying his goodbyes to his doomed, Death Eater father.
Finally, the door Draco had been staring at cracked open and his mother stepped out meekly, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. He scowled, not being able to help himself from doing so. She was dressed all in black as if his father were already dead. "He's asking for you, Draco." She told him and took hold of his shoulders as he came closer. She released a trembling sigh and touched his cheeks, lifted her hands to smooth out his hair, and kissed his forehead. "Be brave," She ordered in a soft but stern voice.
Draco glowered and pulled away from her hands. "I don't need to," he replied in a cool voice, rubbing away the spots on his face that she'd touched with her fingers and lips. "It's not like he's going to Azkaban forever. Just a few days, probably, he told me." He paused in the doorway that would lead him to his father and looked back at Narcissa. "It's a useless hold now, anyway. The Dementors won't guard it." His eyes lashed over her as she turned away from him, lifting her hands to her face and crying into them. "Stupid woman." He muttered under his breath and then stepping into the same room as his father, he closed the door.
Lucius was waiting for him, looking proud even though he was already a prisoner. He stood tall, his shoulders squared, watching Draco like a bug as he closed the door, leaned back against it, and looked up at him. "Come here, boy." Lucius finally spoke, lifting a hand to beckon his son closer.
Obedient, even to the last day, Draco bowed his head slightly and moved closer to his father and his outstretched hand. Lucius watched him as he approached, blinking slowly, and then put his hand on top of his son's head. Draco kept his head bowed as his father touched him, smoothed back his hair and took the side of his face, gently rubbing his thumb over his cheek.
Finally, Draco couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the silence or the way his father was touching him, so soft and gentle, touches he hadn't received from his father since he was a very small boy. He bit his lower lip, his shoulders trembling. He couldn't start crying now. He was fifteen years old, almost sixteen. He was nearly a man, and men didn't cry.
Lucius seemed to sense the emotion in him and a smile curled his lips. With a short laugh his fingers drifted away and he didn't touch his son anymore.
"How long?" Draco asked, once he trusted his voice to be solid enough to maintain speech. "How long are you going to be gone?"
"For a long time, it seems," Lucius replied, his voice steady. "The Ministry thinks to make an example out of me, I suppose. They are embarrassed by their own inability to see the return of the Dark Lord, embarrassed after the failure of Azkaban. As a second war seems so obvious now, Fudge needs to show wizarding London that he is still strong, still capable. He needs to give them faith in order to control panic and fear. Most importantly he needs to give them revenge for a hundred murdered fathers, mothers, and children."
Draco listened to everything his father said with narrowed eyes. He didn't understand. What was he saying? Was he trying to explain that there would be no escape from Azkaban this time? That all of his fame and wealth and power amounted to nothing the moment it was most needed? "When will you be out?" Draco asked again, this time more firmly.
"Idiot boy." Lucius smiled slowly, his gray gaze locked on Draco's form, memorizing his son's features, words, and sound. Memorizing everything about him.
Draco's hands clenched into tight fists, his glassy nails digging half moons into the soft skin of his palms. Lucius was looking at him like he never expected to see him again! He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut a second later, rage and anger boiling up on his insides like a kettle about to explode. "It's all Potter's fault!" He seethed suddenly, his voice hot and angry as it slithered past his clenched teeth. "I'm going to make him pay for this! I'm going to make him wish he were never born! You'll see, father!" His head snapped up to look Lucius directly in the eye but all he was greeted with was the back of his father's hand.
As he was hit, the smaller blonde clapped both of his hands over the side of his face. The salt from his fingers bit into the split in his lip left by his father's unforgiving knuckles. Pain and outrage pricked at the corners of his eyes. In all of his fifteen years his father had never hit him before, not ever!
"I've told you, Draco," Lucius began, his mouth and eyes cold and unforgiving in a way Draco knew was impossible to melt. "Over and over I've instructed and guided and advised you but don't seem to listen. I have told you everything that I can, there is nothing left for me to say to you. I won't be there from now on for you to complain and whine to. From now on, you must think and act for yourself. From now on, you are alone."
There wasn't anything left to say between them after that. Draco stood his ground, held his face, and watched his father. Both of them remained silent until an Auror came to lead Lucius Malfoy away, away from his family, his future, his freedom.
****
The only way Harry knew he still had hands was to stretch his head back and follow the line of his arms and to the appendages at their ends. Of course, his hands didn't even look like hands anymore. His nimble seeker's fingers were thick and swollen, purple with trapped blood, numb and cold. He wasn't sure how long he'd been hanging there in the center of the room, but it felt like forever.
Hermione and Ron were quiet against the wall, the girl with her head tilted against his best friend's shoulder looking peaceful in her sleep, detached from the horror of her waking surroundings. Ron also had his eyes closed but Harry knew he wasn't asleep.
He wanted to say something to them, offer some words of encouragment or bravery to keep their spirits up but everything he could think of sounded phoney and lame, like something he'd seen at the end of some tacky romantic-comedy on television. He hoped they could be happy together after all of this was over, though. Sooner or later, hopefully sooner, all of this would end one way or another. At its denouement, more than anything, Harry wanted to see his two best friends walk away hand in hand.
At the thought of escaping with the one you cared about, Harry's eyes rolled towards Draco. Green met gray. Draco had woken up some time before, managed to sit up slowly and leaned his back against the wall. Harry was a bit startled to discover that Draco had been watching him, but was pleased none the less.
"It's alright, Harry," Draco said slowly. Harry nodded slowly, glad to be able to take some amount of relief from those words, spoken so calmly, even if there was nothing behind them. "It'll all be over soon."
"What do you mean," Harry asked. Against the wall, Ron lifted his head and looked over towards Draco soundlessly. "Do you have a plan?"
Reluctant at first, slowly Draco began to nod. "I have a plan," He said finally and a smile crept over his face, one Harry no longer thought of as snide or mean. "If you can trust me, if you can just hold on, I have a plan."
It suddenly didn't matter that he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, hope surged through Harry's body and he nodded quickly. "I trust y-" He began, but before he could finish a searing pain ripped through Harry's body. It originated from a white-hot spot on his forehead and shot out like electricity to every extremity in his body, even into his dead feeling hands.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron asked loudly, sitting up straight, tense. The motion upset Hermione who also gasped, starting awake, her eyes darting around quickly.
"What's going on?" She asked in a shaking voice.
"It's Voldemort!" Harry gasped, gritting his teeth. He'd never felt his scar throb this badly before, and his mind was swimming with murky images of a ring of Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy, and Roldolphus Lestrange happily bouncing around Voldemort babbling about how he'd captured Harry Potter. "He's coming!" Harry gulped out. "He's coming here, right now! He's so close!"
When the door swung open, Ron leaned away from it and into Hermione as if trying to block her from sight. Harry couldn't see anything, his world twisting and spinning from the pain of his scar. When had Voldemort become this strong? "Bring me my gift." An oily voice said that Harry recognized immediatly.
As the pain in his head began to fizzle and drift away, Harry turned his groggy eyes towards the trio of dark wizards who entered. Voldemort, naturally. He was flanked by a very excited Rodolphus Lestrange, and a man that made Harry's insides twitch with repulsion and anger. Lucius Malfoy.
"F-Father!" Draco had seen him too, and gasped, his eyes wide as he stared at the older version of himself. Lucius didn't say anything though and remained behind the others in the doorway. His eyes flickered briefly to his son and then away again.
Harry could tell Lucius been in Azkaban, he could see it in his eyes. He'd seen it in Hagrid's eyes before, and Sirius' after that. "Lucius, collect your son." Voldemort ordered and only then did he move forward, around the Dark Lord and Lestrange like a puppy afraid of being hit.
Removing his wand, Lucius severed the ropes that bound his son and then pulled Draco to his feet. "Come along now," he said in a voice that Draco didn't recognize. "Don't say anything." Lucius touched a finger to his lips to signal quiet before leading the way back to Voldemort's side.
Draco followed, keeping his head down. As he past Harry, The Gryffindor made a small, desperate noise, his green eyes intense and willing Draco to turn around, just to turn around and look at him. He did, though slowly, and looked up at the suspended boy. When he looked at him, Harry saw that his eyes were full of fear. Draco stopped walking.
"Lucius," Voldemort complained quietly. "My time is precious."
Lucius jumped at the admonishment and turned back to Draco, grabbing his son by the arm and pulling him away. "Wait!" Draco snapped and ripped his arm back. "Just wait one bleeding second!" He scurried away from Lucius, who tried rather unsuccessfully to grab him again, and back to Harry.
With shaking white hands, Draco lifted his fingers to touch the other boy's cheeks. Although his touch was cold like ice, Draco's lips, as they pushed against Harry's, were still warm and alive.
"Hey! Hey, hey now!" Ron shouted loudly, staring at the pair as if the world were ending and they had caused it.
Draco didn't care, though. He drifted back from Harry slowly and into his father's arms. Lucius pulled Draco away, dragging his son away from Harry and towards the door. "Trust me," Draco protested as he was pulled away. "Harry, please trust me!" Before he could say anything else, Lucius had pulled him from the room and they disappeared down the hall.
"Now what to do with you," There was a certain amount of glee in Voldemort's voice that Harry knew was directed towards him. "Finally I have you, here you are."
"Oh! Oh!" Lestrange began to hop up and down next to the Dark Lord.
"I suppose," Voldemort continued as if he didn't see his disciple, a gray hand shaking free of the dark sleeves of his robes. Harry saw, with no small amount of fear, the long, dark wand he held clutched in his fingers. He knew what waited for him at the end of that instrument of death.
"Oh! Oh!" Lestrange continued dancing around his master.
Twirling his wand methodically in his fingers, Voldemort approached his elusive captive and Harry glared at him, silent and infuriated. "I've seen that look before," the Dark Lord began and lifted his wand to push Harry's unruly hair aside and reveal his scar. "Your father had the same look when he faced me. He had so much to protect. His wife. His child. His precious friends." The tip of his wand traced the zig zag line on Harry's forehead, making him lean away. "No matter what was behind him though, couldn't keep him from dying just like the rest of them. He died so easily. It was as if he were simply giving up his life to me. Maybe it's what he wanted, after all."
"Shut up!" Harry roared suddenly, and from his hanging position, he swung back to kick Voldemort as hard as he could. He'd make that snake shut up!
The effort was short lived and Voldemort batted him away like he would a fly. "Crucio," he hissed. Harry felt like he was being torn in half. Agony blinded his eyes, even with his glasses, and his ears filled with gut wrenching screams that he realized, in shock and horror, were his own.
"Oh! Oh!" Lestrange wrapped his arms around Harry's twitching body, lending his weight to the suspended prisoner. Although Harry couldn't feel it through the thunderous pain of the curse, his wrists broke under the pressure. "Please can I have him? Please?" Lestrange shouted above Harry's screams.
As quickly as it came, the curse was released. Harry could still feel it rippling through his body, making him twist and jerk. "Please can I have him," Lestrange moaned.
Voldemort was quiet for some time, watching with a pleased smile as the last vestiges of Crucio rolled through his nemisis' body, tapping the end of his wand lightly against his chin. "Alright, Lestrange," he said finally in a low, silky voice. "As a reward for serving me so loyally, for finally bringing me what no one before could bring, I'll allow you to have him. Do all your damage today, however. At sunset tomorrow, he will be murdered."
"Thank you, my lord!" Rodolphus exclaimed and threw himself on the ground, bowing so low that his forehead touched the ground. He remained like that even after Voldemort had left.
"Roddie," Rabastan drawled from the doorframe sometime later. "He's gone, you can get up now."
"Don't call me that!" Rodolphus whined, snapping his head up with a glare at his brother. "I told you a million times never to call me that!"
Bellatrix, who had her arms locked around Rabastan's waist, giggled softly at her husband, prostrate on the ground. "My idiot husband. He wishes, someday, the pleasure of suckling our Lord's toes, I think."
Rodolphus looked sulky as he got to his feet. "Say whatever you want," he muttered. "I have what I want. The Dark Lord gave me exactly what I want."
"Of course he did, heart of my heart." Bellatrix said slowly, drawing slow circles over Rabastan's abdomen. "Because you're such a good boy."
Rodolphus watched his wife as she stroked his brother and then marched forward and grabbed her around the wrist, pulling her away. "What are you doing with him?" He demanded in a harsh voice.
Bellatrix laughed again as she was pulled around. "Relax, brother," Rabastan answered for her as he leaned against the doorframe. "I only had an itch."
"You're so silly, my darling husband." Bellatrix pulled her grip from Rodolphus' hand and slapped him across the face. Rodolphus looked stunned, but before he could say anything, she took hold his jaw and drew him close. "But I'm so very proud of you."
"O-oh?" Rodolphus stammered, a quirky smile twisting the corners of his lips. He looked dazed. Lovesick.
"Of course I am, heart of my heart." She purred and closed her eyes, kissing him deeply. Rodolphus was so stunned, he hardly had time to react before she drew back from him again. "I've never been more proud of you." Bellatrix continued, stroking his cheeks and then down to his chest. "I want you to have all the fun with him that you can. You deserve it!"
Rodolphus was smiling broadly now and he lunged at her to wrap his arms around her waist and hug her but she skirted out of his grasp and away. "Now, darling," she teased as Rabastan caught her, resting his hands firmly on her hips. "You know how I despise public displays of affection." She batted her eyelashes at him as she continued, "I'm afraid everyone would laugh at me if they saw me blush just because you touched me. I'm so in love with you."
"I understand!" Rodolphus replied instantly, glowing from head to toe.
"Say, dear husband." Bellatrix continued a moment later and stepped forward towards him. "Since you have your pet, do you think that you could give the other two to us? Rabastan and I would like to have some fun also."
Rodolphus' icy eyes turned towards Ron and Hermione, leaning against the wall. Hermione was scared, he thought he saw tears in her eyes, and Ron had risen slightly on his knee as if he were going to defend her. "I really wanted them to watch," he said finally.
"Please, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix continued, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she moved close again, her voice pouting. "Can we have them?"
All it took was another bat of her dark lashes before Rodolphus gave in entirely. "Of course you can have them! My most precious wife-" He marched over towards Ron and Hermione and grabbed the latter by her hair, pushing her towards his brother and wife. "Take her, as my gift to you, Rabastan. And you, Bella," He pitched Ron in her direction. "You can have this boy. Please enjoy them as I'll enjoy my own!"
Hermione began to cry as Rabastan caught her and Ron collapsed when Bellatrix punched him in the nose. Harry watched them, silently hanging. He had to trust Draco, he knew. Draco was the only one who could get them out of this. His friends would be alright, he told himself, looking away as they were dragged from the room, Hermione screaming his name.
Please, Draco, he pleaded in his mind. Please hurry up.
****
"Boy, just what were you doing?" By the time Draco and his father had reached their destination, a room that had at one time been a study, Lucius was riled and bad tempered. "Kissing that boy! You kissed that boy! You kissed a boy! You kissed Harry Potter!"
"I'm quite aware of this," Draco said icily. "I was there, if you don't recall."
Lucius' hand struck Draco harshly across the face, flinging his head to the side and breaking skin. There had never been abuse like this in his family. Not until Lucius had been sent to Azkaban and now twice, twice his father had spilled his blood! "You think you can talk back to me, boy? I am your father, or have you forgotten?"
"It's difficult to forget the largest source of shame in my life, father." Draco enunciated the last word of his sentence bloodily as he straightened, wiping across his split lip with a hand and sending a knife like glare into the man before him.
"Brat," Lucius hissed and grabbed Draco by the hair. He didn't struggle as his father hit him again, he only wiped his mouth again, straightened, and glared. This seemed to spur Lucius on and he hit Draco again and again and again until he fell under the quick repetition of blows.
Draco was panting as he sat on the ground, holding himself up with his hands. Blood drooled from his mouth and dripped to the floor and he imagined a few of his teeth were loose. However, it wasn't something he couldn't repair with a few simple spells, he knew. He looked up at his father who was also breathing heavily, looking at his hand as if it were something possessed and detached from his body. Draco smiled.
"You look old, father." He said slowly pushing himself to his feet and painfully wiping blood away from his mouth with his sleeve. "Azkaban wasn't very kind to you."
"No," Lucius said, his voice quiet and afraid as he looked past his gnarled hands at his son and his bleeding mouth. "No it wasn't." He reached out for Draco again and took hold of him when the boy shied away. Reaching into his pocket, Lucius withdrew a handkerchief and while holding Draco firmly by the back of his head, he began to dab at the cuts he'd left on his mouth. "Tell me about Narcissa. You've seen your mother, haven't you?"
"She's a loon." Draco replied waspishly and felt good at the sick look that jolted across his father's face, as if he'd been struck by lightening. "She's a complete babbling lunatic."
"I see," Lucius said quietly and lowered the now red-spotted handkerchief to his side. Draco's mouth kept bleeding.
Draco didn't need his father's gentle administrations though. He turned away from him, holding the sleeve of his robes to his mouth to wait out the leaking blood. "You're really pathetic, do you know that?" He asked, casting a furtive look at his once proud, head of house.
Lucius didn't say anything, his distant eyes searching the handkerchief in his hand as if looking for some sort of hidden clue or meaning in the blooming, poppy like stains on the folds of white silk.
"You've told me so much, father." Draco leaned smugly against the wall of the room next to the door, his arms folded over his chest as the bleeding finally lessened and ceased. "You used to give me so much advice, so many lectures, so many instructions on how to live and act, how to handle every situation I presented you with. You kept telling me the same thing over and over and over. You didn't think I retained anything of it. You didn't even think I listened."
Finally, Lucius tossed the handkerchief to the ground, looking up at his son.
"But I was listening," Draco persisted. "I listened to and absorbed every word you ever told me. I knew all of your speeches by heart, I used to recite them to myself at school when I wasn't sure what I should do next, if you can believe it." The younger Malfoy laughed quietly, his thoughts amusing him as he watched his father's bewildered expression. "Although I think the best piece of advice you ever gave me was right before they hauled you off to Azkaban. Do you remember what you told me back then, father?"
"No." Lucius admitted in a quiet, defeated voice. He seemed to know exaclty where this conversation was headed.
"Well isn't that ironic." Draco rolled his eyes with a smirk and slowly shook his head. "Allow me to remind you. You retired yourself from your position as my fountain of knowledge. You told me from then on that I must learn to think for myself." Lucius nodded slowly. "So that's what I did," Draco continued briskly. "I learned to think for myself. Do you want to know what I've decided?"
Lucius sighed, bowing his head. He lifted a hand to catch his forehead, rubbing against his white skin slowly. "What did you decide, Dragon?"
"I decided that you were a fool." He said crisply, delighted at the response of anger he saw flickering in his father's eyes. "I decided that if I listened to all of your advice, if I did everything that you told me to, I would end up exactly like you are: a poor, pathetic bastard, a stepping stone, a groveling idiot with a future of zero. Whereas that may be all that you hope to gain out of life, father, my aims are much higher. I refuse to be a mindless, bumbling servant of the Dark Lord. Me, I've decided that I'm going to make something out of myself."
Lucius sat down heavily on the floor and Draco sighed, walking towards him. He crouched in front of his father and took his face in his hands, lifting his head. The smile he sent down to the wasted figure held in his grip was one of mock sympathy and pity. "You poor man," Draco sighed outwardly. "But you should be proud of me." He leaned forward and slowly put his mouth to his father's. The kiss was brief and soft and tainted with Draco's coppery life. "Your only boy is going to be a big success! Tomorrow, father, the sun will rise to me."