Title: Refuge
Summary: Suddenly, Draco felt as if he had been forced to grow up too fast.
"Draco... do you know the consequences of failing me?" In his pocket, he clutched his slick fingers around his wand, fully aware that he didn't stand a chance.
"N-no, my Lord. I- I tried, but Snape interrupted..."
"Such lies, Draco... Severus tells me you were unable to commit the act you so confidently assured me you were more than capable of just a year ago...Had he not stepped in, Dumbledore may still have been alive. What say you, Draco?"
"I am sorry. I can only beg for your forgiveness, My Lord, a-and ask that you allow me to show you what I am truly capable of."
"Your words have a decidedly practised air, Draco. Did you fear this moment even as you stood before Dumbledore?"
Draco swallowed and looked at his master's feet, unwilling to make eye contact with the terrible red eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, although he felt that no words could save him now, but he was interrupted:
"You have very little to fear, Draco –" His tone implied the exact opposite, "for I am a merciful Lord. Severus assures me that you will not fail me again; he has begged forgiveness on your part. My, how people fawn over you, Draco. I, for one, cannot fathom it. However, it is obvious to me that you wish to please me, and so I shall, very generously, allow you the opportunity to prove yourself to me again."
"Thank you, thank you, My Lord... Y-your mercifulness is... unprecedented."
"How alike you and your father are, both so eloquent. I can only hope, for your sake, that you will not disappoint me as he has."
"I – I won't," Draco stuttered, and then attempted to strengthen his resolve, "I will not fail you."
"Good. Now, I have a task for you. I assume you are at least capable of the Cruciatus Curse?"
"Yes, of course, My Lord."
"Excellent. You have cast it before?"
"N-no, but I can do it. Aunt Bellatrix taught me."
"Ah, there are very few more accomplished than dear Bellatrix. Lucky for you, I am one of them. How would you like me to teach you, Draco?"
Draco was bewildered by the sudden switch from threats to benevolence. "Y-yes, um, I would be most grateful, My Lord."
Lord Voldemort smiled, a cruel contortion of the mouth that had the bile rising in Draco's throat. "It is settled, then. Let us begin. Crucio!"
And Draco fell to the cold stone floor, but it could not soothe the agony. He was on fire. A million white-hot knives were being thrust into his skin, over and over. He was being drowned in bubbling hot oil. He was being crushed by an impossible weight, his bones breaking and snapping, but he could not pass out from the paroxysms of pain. It came at him again, and again, until he was sure that he would die on the unforgiving stone floor of his own house, never to see the light of day again.
After a lifetime of it, Draco could feel it ebbing away. It did not stop immediately like Aunt Bella had said it would, but slowly faded away, taunting him.
"There, Draco. How was that?" Draco was panting for breath. "What is this, Draco? Did your mother not teach you to say thank you? It seems I have more to teach you than I expected..."
"Th-thank you, My Lord," Draco breathed.
"Better, Draco, although you do not sound as grateful as I would like. Perhaps I should show you again. CRUCIO!"
And this time it was a million times worse. He could not think of a human torture to describe the pain that gripped every atom of his being, forcing its way to the darkest corners of his consciousness. And then came a terrible, high laugh that mingled with the pain, compounding it.
Draco could barely remember his name as it ended, the pain lingering in his extremities. He lay in silence for five or so minutes, gulping for air.
"Tut, tut, Draco. It seems you have not learned your lesson. I am a man of manners; next time you will thank me for teaching you. It seems I will have to show you again."
The third time, Draco could not contain himself, as much as he willed himself to. His lips parted to let loose a soul-shattering scream. And the Dark Lord laughed, forming a sinister symphony that echoed through the halls of Malfoy Manor.
Draco had been in bed since nine o'clock, but could not sleep for the screaming he heard coming from the basement. He made his way to his father's study, intending to help himself to some Firewhisky to aid his sleep, but had stumbled upon his parents, sitting silently in the light emanating from the fireplace. Why were they awake at such an ungodly hour?
"Lucius." Draco heard his mother whisper. "Come, we should sleep." Through the crack in the door, Draco saw his father lean forward in his armchair and rest his head in his hands.
His mother stood up fluidly and rested a hand on her husband's shoulder, all the while staring speculatively at the door Draco was hiding behind. Draco cringed back, hoping that she could not see him for the darkness – and then she lifted her other hand, motioning at the door. Draco's stomach sank as he realised that she was beckoning for him to come in.
"Good evening, Mother, Father," he said, attempting to sound blasé. He simply sounded exhausted. His mother smiled, a minute uplift of the corners of her mouth, and his father straightened and nodded at him.
"Draco," he acknowledged, and motioned lazily for Draco to seat himself in a nearby armchair. He did not ask why Draco was wandering about at two in the morning.
"How are you this evening?" his mother asked nonchalantly, but Draco knew that she was concerned about his health after his afternoon with the Dark Lord.
"Fine." Draco knew she would understand his meaning. From a young age she had taught him that only common-people who had little else to say said that they were "fine". She nodded and seated herself in between her husband and son. The three of them sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
"We should be proud to have the Dark Lord using our home as a base," she said after a while. Lucius turned his head to look at his wife, the slightest hint of disbelief etched on his face. "There is no higher honour."
Simultaneously, father and son understood. Narcissa was trying to show them how to behave whilst the Dark Lord was ruling their household, even if their true feelings opposed their vocal sentiments.
"But of course, Narcissa," Lucius said smoothly. Draco simply nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.
"We must do everything we can to redeem ourselves in his eyes," she continued, staring into the fireplace.
Lucius exhaled heavily, and Draco had the curious sensation that his father was contemplating his son in that moment. Suddenly, Draco wished more than ever that he had been able to complete his task, if only to witness pride in his father's eyes.
With great effort, Lucius stood and moved towards the drinks cabinet. He filled three crystal tumblers with decanted Firewhisky, and handed them to his wife and son. Draco found it odd that his father did not call a House Elf to do it, but perhaps he preferred to keep their late-night rendezvous secret.
"To the Dark Lord," Draco said, mentally adding: to His departure.
"To Pureblood supremacy," Lucius said, seemingly concurring with Draco's feelings.
"To family," Narcissa whispered, and the small family threw back the drink like heathens in the Hog's Head.
Draco sat alone in his bedroom, which, over the past few weeks, had become his refuge. It was a large, plush room, located on the first floor of the west wing of the Manor. He leaned back in his favourite armchair and sighed.
When he was still very young, Draco's room had been on the top floor of the west wing, near his parents' bedroom. One Sunday morning, he had heard a colossal crash from down the hall, and, his childish curiosity peaked, he padded his way down the carpeted hallway to his parents' bedroom, where the sound seemed to have emanated. Hesitant, he pushed the door open slightly, afraid to be caught spying. There was stained glass scattered across the wooden floor, undoubtedly a hazard to any barefooted wizard within. He spied his mum and dad standing across the room, next to the window, wearing expressions of amused surprise.
"That was an heirloom," Mum reprimanded.
"Cissa, we could buy a hundred thousand vases of exactly the same design, if you wished, and it would not even dent the vault at Gringotts," Dad said easily, and Draco was impressed by how rich and powerful his dad was.
"You have no understanding of sentimental value, Lucius," Mum teased, "There were many memories attached to that vase."
"In that case, I shall have to make more memories today to compensate." And then Dad lifted Mum up in his arms and walked carefully over the glass. How strong his dad was!
"Lucius! Why not use your wand to clean up? Or are we living like Muggles today?" Mum protested.
"Because, Cissa, it is across the room," he said, "As is our son." And then Draco knew his parents had seen him, and it was too late to run away. Dad reached the door and pulled it open (Draco marvelled at how he managed to hold Mum up and open the door) and looked down at his son.
"Eavesdropping, Draco, is frowned upon by most people," his dad said, and Draco blushed. "But, today I shall forgive you." Dad put Mum down and picked Draco up in her stead.
"Come, Draco, we are going out today. Where shall we go? Paris? Venice? It's your choice."
It had been ages since his family had seemed so carefree, so intimate. Suddenly, he felt as if he had been forced to grow up too fast. But you always wanted to be grown up, Draco thought deprecatingly.
Since Potter's successful transfer to the Weasley's dump, the Dark Lord had been in a foul mood, and had a penchant for relieving his stress by forcing Draco to torture those who displeased him. It was on occasions such as those that Draco found himself taking a shot or two of Firewhisky to steel himself.
Not that it does anything, he thought bitterly, it's still as bad as it was the first time. Father, in a rare display of sympathy, had handed Draco a bottle after that first occasion, and nodded in understanding. It was at that point that Draco realised that his powerful, strong Father, was perhaps not as tough as he seemed.
"Aren't we all?" Draco wondered aloud.
There it is, a glimpse into the family life of the Malfoys. Hope the interlude between Narcissa and Lucius with the broken glass isn't too fluffy. I figure that, at home, they do actually display affection. And it was during the height of their power, so I think they would have been quite carefree.
I am in need of some reviews here, because I have no idea what I'm doing.