Chapter 10

For as long as Draco could remember, summers at Malfoy Manor had always been a reprieve from the pressures of Hogwarts. They were filled with quiet luxury, days spent lounging in the sun-soaked gardens or hosting lavish gatherings of pureblood families. Draco had always looked forward to returning home, away from the competitive grind of school, to the comfort of his mother's doting and his father's distant but steady presence.

But this summer was different.

It wasn't just the house that felt darker, colder—it was Lucius. Ever since the Dark Lord had returned, his father had changed. Lucius had always been strict, with his relentless expectations and cold demeanor, but there had still been moments of reprieve. Now, however, the man Draco had known all his life seemed almost unrecognizable. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself—everything had grown sharper, crueler.

Draco had never lived through Voldemort's reign. He'd grown up hearing stories of the Dark Lord's power, of how the wizarding world had been shaped by fear and control, but those had always felt like distant tales. To Draco, it was history—a world he hadn't been part of. So, despite the whispers of the Dark Lord's return at the end of last term, Draco had thought this summer would be like any other. He had expected days spent relaxing, practicing his Quidditch, maybe even getting a new broom if he could convince his mother.

Instead, the house felt like it was holding its breath.

Lucius had become more severe than Draco had ever seen him. The punishments were harsher, the demands more unrelenting, and the air around them carried an almost suffocating tension. The Dark Lord's return had changed his father in ways that Draco wasn't prepared for.

It was late afternoon when Draco found himself standing in the drawing room, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Lucius. The familiar ticking of the grandfather clock filled the silence, but it did nothing to ease the knot of dread twisting in Draco's stomach.

His father entered the room without a word, his footsteps eerily quiet as he moved toward the fireplace. He didn't look at Draco right away, but the coldness in his presence was palpable. Draco kept his eyes straight ahead, his mind racing. He hadn't done anything wrong—at least, nothing that he could pinpoint—but the way Lucius had summoned him left no room for comfort.

Lucius finally turned, his gaze settling on Draco with an intensity that made the younger Malfoy feel like he was being scrutinized down to his very bones.

"You've failed again," Lucius said, his voice quiet but carrying a weight that made Draco's heart lurch. "Hermione Granger, Top of the class."

Draco's stomach tightened. He had expected this to come up eventually. Granger was always top of their year, and while it bothered Draco, it had never been something his father harped on before. But now, with Voldemort's return looming over them, Lucius seemed to take it as a personal insult.

"A mudblood," Lucius spat, the word dripping with venom. "And you—my son—let her best you, again."

Draco's throat felt tight. He had no defense. Granger had always been clever, always worked harder than anyone else, but none of that mattered to Lucius. In his father's eyes, letting a mudblood outshine a Malfoy was the gravest of failures.

"I've done my best," Draco finally managed, though the words felt hollow even to him.

Lucius's eyes narrowed, his lip curling in disgust. "Your best?" he repeated, the words practically a sneer. "Your best has never been good enough, Draco."

Before Draco could respond, Lucius stepped forward, his hand closing around Draco's arm with a vice-like grip. "You have no idea what's at stake now, do you? You've lived your entire life in comfort, unaware of the sacrifices that must be made. The Dark Lord is back, and this is not a game. Your failures reflect on this family, on me."

Draco winced at the grip but remained silent. He could feel the heat of his father's anger building, but there was nothing he could say to stop it.

"You are going to learn," Lucius said darkly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You are going to understand what it means to carry the Malfoy name—and if I have to beat it into you, so be it."

Before Draco could react, Lucius's hand lashed out, striking him hard across the face. The impact sent a shock through Draco's body, and he stumbled backward, more out of shock than pain. His hand instinctively went to his cheek, feeling the sting of his father's blow.

He stared at Lucius, his mind racing. His father had never struck him before. He had always been harsh with words, but this... this was something new.

"Do you think this is a game?" Lucius snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. "Do you think you can afford to be weak now that the Dark Lord has returned?"

Draco didn't answer. His heart was pounding in his chest, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly afraid of his father. Lucius had always been an imposing figure, but this was different. This was cruelty, unfiltered and raw.

Lucius's wand was out in an instant, pointed directly at Draco. "You will learn. Crucio."

The pain hit Draco like a lightning bolt, every nerve in his body screaming in agony. He collapsed to the floor, his hands clawing at the marble as he tried to breathe, but the pain was all-consuming. It burned through him, twisting his muscles and making his vision blur with white-hot intensity.

It felt like hours before the curse lifted, though Draco knew it had only been a few seconds. He lay on the floor, gasping for breath, his body trembling as the last echoes of the Cruciatus Curse faded.

Lucius stood over him, his face a mask of cold indifference. "This is your last chance, Draco," he said quietly, his voice cutting through the haze of pain. "You will be trained. You will become strong. Or you will fall."

Draco lay there, unable to respond. His entire body ached, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to be anywhere but here—anywhere but under his father's gaze, in this dark house where cruelty seemed to be the only language they spoke.

Lucius turned and left the room without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Draco stayed on the floor, his body too weak to move, his mind racing with a thousand conflicting thoughts.

He had always known his father was strict, but this... this was different. This wasn't discipline—this was punishment. Draco had thought the stories of Voldemort's cruelty were distant, something from a past he hadn't been part of. But now, seeing the way his father had changed, the way he had become so vicious, Draco realized just how real it was.

It was late when Narcissa found him.

Draco had managed to crawl to the edge of the room, pulling himself into a sitting position against the wall. His head throbbed, and his body still ached from the curse, but more than anything, he felt cold. Hollow. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, staring at nothing, when he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching.

"Draco," Narcissa whispered, her voice soft and trembling as she knelt beside him. "What happened?"

Her hands hovered over him, gentle but hesitant. Draco looked up at her, seeing the concern in her eyes, but also the fear. She knew what had happened. Of course she knew. Lucius had always been the one to wield the power in their family, and Narcissa... she had always stood on the sidelines, watching.

"He's punishing me," Draco muttered, his voice hoarse. "For failing."

Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, as if the sight of her son bruised and broken was too much to bear. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I... I can't stop him."

Draco felt a pang of disappointment, but it wasn't unexpected. He had always known his mother was more passive, more willing to bend to Lucius's will. But it still hurt, knowing that she wouldn't stand up for him—not even now.

"Please, Draco," she said, her voice trembling. "Just do what he says. Stay out of trouble. Don't... don't make it worse."

Draco didn't respond. He couldn't. His chest was tight, and for the first time, he felt truly alone. His mother cared for him, he knew that. But she wouldn't stand between him and his father. She wouldn't protect him.

Narcissa touched his face lightly, her fingers brushing over the bruise on his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, before standing and leaving the room.

Draco watched her go, feeling the weight of her absence settle over him like a heavy cloak. She was his mother. She loved him, but she wouldn't fight for him.

Draco sat there long after his mother had left, the silence of the Manor pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. His body ached from the punishment, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness he felt inside. He wanted to hate his mother for not stepping in, for letting Lucius do this to him, but the hatred wouldn't come. Instead, there was only disappointment—a bitter, hollow feeling that seemed to settle in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the floor, before he finally forced himself to move. Slowly, painfully, he stood, leaning heavily on the wall for support. His legs were shaky, his body weak from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, but he couldn't stay here any longer. The walls of the drawing room felt like they were closing in on him, suffocating him.

Draco made his way down the long, dimly lit hallway, each step sending sharp jolts of pain through his body. He needed to rest, and anywhere was better than being trapped in that room.

The night passed slowly, dragging on as though the darkness itself had taken root in Draco's mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of the day's events—his father's cold gaze, the sharp sting of the curses, his mother's quiet retreat. He couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, the growing sense that everything was slipping further out of his control.

The first light of morning crept into his room, Draco sat up in bed, his body aching from the remnants of his father's punishment. His head throbbed, and he could feel the stiffness in his limbs, a cruel reminder of the Cruciatus Curse that had left him trembling on the floor the day before. He rubbed his temples, trying to push the pain away, but the heaviness in his chest remained.

Lucius had always been strict, but now his cruelty had a new edge. Every mistake felt like a failure of epic proportions, a personal insult to the Malfoy name. And Draco was no longer just a schoolboy in his father's eyes—he was a soldier-in-training, expected to meet the impossible standards of the Dark Lord's regime.

Draco stood slowly, wincing as the aches in his muscles flared up. He wasn't sure what the day would bring, but he knew one thing: his father wouldn't let up. Lucius would continue to push him, to punish him for any perceived failure, until Draco became the weapon he wanted.

But Draco wasn't sure he could take much more of this.

Later that day, after enduring another terse encounter with Lucius, Draco found himself sitting in the drawing room, staring into the flames of the fireplace. The low crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, but it did little to ease the growing tension in his chest. He needed to clear his head, but every time he tried, his father's words echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting.

The quiet knock on the door broke his thoughts.

"Come in," Draco said, his voice low and tired.

Blaise and Theo stepped inside, their usual casual demeanors noticeably absent. Blaise's gaze swept over Draco, his usual smirk faltering ever so slightly when he saw the state Draco was in.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Blaise drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. But there was no amusement in his tone.

Theo's expression was harder to read, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn't move from where he stood near the doorway, his eyes lingering on the bruises Draco tried not to show.

"Rough night?" Theo finally asked, his voice quiet, as though treading carefully on ground he knew was treacherous.

Draco clenched his jaw, not meeting their eyes. "You could say that."

Blaise moved into the room, taking a seat on the edge of Draco's desk. "You look like you've been run over by a Hippogriff," he remarked, his voice light, though his eyes were anything but. "Twice."

Draco forced a smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Feels like it."

The tension in the room was palpable, a heaviness hanging between them that no amount of sarcasm could lift. Blaise and Theo had seen Draco bruised before—there had been duels, scuffles, the usual schoolboy battles—but this was different. The marks on his skin were darker, more severe. This wasn't the result of a fight with Potter or some Quidditch injury. This was something far more sinister.

Theo finally moved from the doorway, stepping closer but keeping his distance. "Did he..How bad was it?"

Draco didn't answer immediately, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. His fingers traced the edge of the bruise on his forearm, the one his father had left when he'd grabbed him too hard, too roughly, before the real punishment had begun. He could still feel the ghost of Lucius's wand pressed against his skin, the burning pain of the Cruciatus Curse twisting through him.

"It's... not getting better," Draco said, his voice flat.

Blaise's eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening. "He's pushing you harder than usual."

It wasn't a question, and Draco didn't bother pretending otherwise. "You know how he is," Draco muttered, shrugging it off, though every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his body.

Theo crossed his arms, his eyes sharp. "We do. But this—" He gestured vaguely toward Draco, his tone colder than usual. "This is beyond his usual... discipline."

Draco didn't respond, but the bitterness in his expression said enough.

Blaise leaned back, his arms crossed, the usual nonchalance in his posture gone. "You know, you don't have to take it lying down, Draco."

Draco raised an eyebrow, though the effort made his head throb. "And what would you have me do, Blaise? Defy him?"

Blaise's smirk returned, though it was sharper now, less playful. "I didn't say that. But you're not some helpless little first-year anymore. You're his son. That should mean something."

Draco looked away, his jaw tightening. He hated that Blaise was right. He was Lucius's heir, the future of the Malfoy line, and yet here he was, being beaten down like he was nothing more than a disappointment.

"I don't think Lucius sees it that way anymore," Draco muttered, the bitterness creeping into his voice.

Theo exchanged a glance with Blaise, but neither of them said anything right away. They didn't need to. The silence said enough—Lucius had crossed a line, and they both knew it.

"Look," Blaise said after a moment, his voice quieter but no less serious. "We know things are... different now. The Dark Lord's back, and all of our families are feeling the pressure. But this—" He gestured to Draco. "This isn't right."

Draco let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Since when has anything been 'right' in our world, Blaise? This is what it is. It's what's expected."

Theo shook his head, his expression hardening. "Expected or not, you're not a punching bag."

Draco felt a flicker of something close to gratitude at Theo's words, though he quickly buried it. He didn't need their pity. He didn't want it. But he couldn't deny the truth of what they were saying.

Blaise studied Draco for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating. "You're better than this, Draco," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "We've known you our whole lives. You've always been the one who held your ground, who didn't let anyone push you around. Not at school, not here."

"And look where that got me," Draco muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Theo's eyes flickered with something like frustration. "Draco, this isn't about being tough. This is about survival. You've got to play it smarter than this."

"Smarter?" Draco's voice sharpened, his temper flaring despite the exhaustion weighing him down. "You think I'm not playing it smart, Theo? What do you expect me to do? Stand up to him? Challenge Lucius Fucking Malfoy?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with something darker. "Not in the way you're thinking. But you're not powerless, Draco. You've got more influence than you think."

Draco's jaw clenched. He knew Blaise was right. He had always had more sway in the Malfoy household than he wanted to admit. But Lucius was different now. Colder. Crueler. The return of the Dark Lord had sharpened the edges of his father's already rigid discipline, and Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out under the pressure.

Theo's voice broke through Draco's thoughts, softer this time, but no less intense. "He's trying to turn you into something you're not. Don't let him."

Draco looked up, meeting Theo's gaze. There was something raw in his friend's eyes, something that made Draco's chest tighten. He had always been the leader of their little group, the one who kept his head above water even when things got tough. But now, with everything crumbling around him, he wasn't sure he could keep that up anymore.

"I don't know how to stop it," Draco admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words felt like a betrayal, but they were the truth. He had always prided himself on being strong, on being able to handle whatever life threw at him. But this... this was different. His father's punishments, the expectations, the looming shadow of the Dark Lord—it was all too much.

Blaise's smirk faded, replaced by something harder, more serious. "You don't have to stop it on your own. That's what we're here for."

Theo nodded, his expression steady. "We've got your back, Draco. No matter what."

Draco didn't respond, but the tightness in his chest loosened ever so slightly. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, or how he was going to navigate the mess his life had become, but knowing that Blaise and Theo were still there, still on his side... it made the weight of it all just a little bit easier to bear.

Blaise stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "You should get some rest. You look like hell."

Draco managed a small, tired smile. "Thanks for the reminder."

Theo smirked, though his eyes were still filled with concern. "We'll be back tomorrow. Try not to get yourself killed in the meantime."

As Blaise and Theo made their way out of the room, the silence that followed wasn't as oppressive as it had been before. Draco still felt the weight of his father's expectations, the looming shadow of the Dark Lord, but for the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe.