"Pain. It was something that never bothered him before. He could put up with so much of it that it became intoxicating. He’d gone through things no one had ever heard of, nor would they ever beli...
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor to claim to own, the characters within this story. It is a work of fiction, and any coincidences are completely coincidental. The characters in this story are property of JK Rowling.
Pain. It was something that never bothered him before. He could put up with so much of it that it became intoxicating. He'd gone through things no one had ever heard of, nor would they ever believe it. His father was one of the cruelest people on the face of the Earth, no matter which world you were referring to. He'd been through it all.
Draco Malfoy laid on his bed, the white sheet tossed over his body. Upon seeing him, you would think he was dead. He wasn't, though. Close, but not quite dead. He could barely open his eyes. He didn't even try to move, the pain still pulsating throughout his body. Numb. That was the only word you could use to describe Draco Malfoy in one word. Everything was spinning, and he hadn't even opened his eyes again. Mainly due to fear of his attacker still being in the room, waiting for him to stir. To show signs of vulnerability. The windows were shut, and the door was bolted shut. There were no signs of movement within the entire room. No sound was made, with the exception of the rain beating on the stone roof of the manor.
Images of the battle pierced his mind constantly. Flashbacks of previous attacks would haunt his memory occasionally.
The chair that he once sat in, moments ago, was just thrown to the side. The door snapped shut and the windows were blocked by the large shutters. He was crouched in the corner, trying to make himself one with the wall, to become invisible, to get away from his father. Lucius stood just in front of the door, glaring. The Ministry had checks on individual employees and he was fined five thousand galleons for the possession of Dark Magic items, as well as the aforementioned items being in the possible possession of a minor wizard. He was infuriated with the Ministry. With the Minister especially. Shacklebolt had never been one of Lucius' favorite members of the ministry, and now, after all these fines, he could not believe that he was trying to pull.
"Draco, come here. Now!" He screamed, his blonde hair falling in his face.
There was no movement as Draco still hid in the corner trying to escape the wrath of his father. Sure, he was seventeen, but anyone would have to be a regular at St. Mungo's to want the treatment he knew was coming. He pushed himself harder against the wall, desperately trying to get away from him. There was nothing he could do. It was hopeless.
"Draco, I am in no mood to play games. Either you come out of your refuge or expect tonight to be much worse that you've ever had it. I can promise you that."
Draco slowly stood, knowing his father meant every one of those words. His eyes were several sizes larger than usual, his lip almost quivering, and his entire body shaking.
"P-please father. D-Don't d-d-do this to m-me. I haven't d-done any-anything to y-you."
He was pleading. He'd gone through this too many times before. Each time getting progressively worse than the last. He flinched at the action of his father taking his wand out and pointing it at Draco. He tried to call out for his mother to come for him, but he knew his mother could do nothing for him. He shouted out as the first of many curses hit his body. Before he could absorb what was happening to him, his body was twisting in shapes no human could imagine, or expect their body to be capable of. He screamed in agony as his father repeatedly abused his son like this. Before he could breathe properly, his father had dropped his wand, and was picking his son up by his neck, one hand clenched around the collar of Draco's shirt. He threw him up against the wall, and Draco lost any air he still had in his lungs with his father's fist collided with his gut.
He slid down the wall, clinging to his sides. He had never been physically abused by his father. By anyone. He thought it was over. His father gone, only when he felt the toe of his father's black shoes hit his side, his face, his back, chest, and head. He could no longer think. Images just became moving images with no meaning to him. He finally blacked out. Something new to Draco as well. Never had he fallen unconscious from his father's abuse. His limp body lay on the floor, Lucius Malfoy still beating him senseless. When the whole thing was over, he laid his body on the bed and threw a sheet over it, so the image wouldn't frighten Narcissa is she was to come in the room before Lucius could tell her otherwise.
He was growing to expect the beatings now. They became a regular thing. He could still hear his father's voice ringing in his ears. "You said you wanted to spend time with me, Draco? Here. This can be our special bonding time," he would say. Every time he would hurt him. It was becoming to much for him. There is only so much a seventeen year old boy can handle before he finally snaps.
Draco slowly opened his eyes. The sheet startled him. He had forgotten he was knocked out by his own father just hours before. Hours? Was it even that long ago? It felt like it was just minutes ago. It also felt like a truck had just run over Draco's body multiple times. He bent his fingers, trying to gain a sense of what hurt, and what he could move. Slowly, he moved the sheet off his body, and stood up. He looked around his room, and it looked like the battle of Hogwarts had just taken place there. He almost expected to see Bellatrix and Voldemort lying there, dead.
The anger he felt towards his father was something he couldn't express with words. He slammed his fist against the wall he stood next to. His hand numbed instantly, and he couldn't believe how hard he must have hit the wall. A photo next to him fell off his dresser, and the glass shattered on the floor. He picked up the picture and stared at it. It was one of his family n vacation in the Philippines. He looked at his father, and then at his mother. His mother was holding Draco; looking at him, and smiling. Lucius just stared at the camera, a smile nowhere to bee seen near him. Draco felt a burning hatred towards his father, and tore the picture in half, and in half again. He threw it to the floor where he noticed the broken glass on the floor. He had to clean it up before his father came back. If he saw the mess of broken glass, he'd surely beat Draco again. He knew he couldn't take another beating tonight. He wouldn't make it.
He got to his knees and started pushing the glass in a pile. His hand slipped and he cut himself on the index finger. He stopped. He'd never made himself bleed. Draco couldn't remember the last time he bled, to be honest. He stared at the blood as it pooled and slowly began to slide down is finger, to the skin between his middle finger. It almost intrigued him. He looked back at the glass while he stuck the bleeding finger in his mouth, and cleaned the cut. He tasted incredibly metallic. Almost to a point where it made him wonder if it was normal to taste that close to metal.
He eyed a larger piece of the glass and picked it up. Draco stood and walked back towards his bed. Checking his door, he noticed the door was bolted shut. His father's doing. He clearly wasn't to leave his room for any reason. If staying in his room meant he was farther from his father, he was all for it. He glanced back at the door before pulling his shirt off his body and throwing it to the side of the bed. He picked the piece of glass up form his bed and glanced down at his body. He undid the button to his black jeans, and unzipped them part way. Pulling the right side of his jeans down a short way, he looked at the skin just below his hip bone. He was so pale. A sign that he rarely exposed this part of his body to the sun. A good sign.
He looked at the glass one more time before putting it on the skin he had been so proud of. Skin that had been, up until now, perfectly flawless. Something he had inherited from his mother. Something he had been so proud of. Until now. Now he was ashamed to be related to his father in anyway. He took a second to breathe and then pressed the glass into his skin and pulled it across his hip, a thin line forming. IT took a second to bleed, but the red pooled more and more until it began to run off his leg onto the sheet he laid under several minutes ago. He let out a whimper as he did it a second, and third time. He'd never thought of doing something so cruel to himself.
The blood was becoming too much for him, and it was starting to spot his sheet all over. He wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone. He didn't care. It made him feel better. He dragged it over his thigh again. One for every fucking year I've lived with that bastard of a father, he thought to himself as he dragged the shard of glass over his body nineteen times. He looked at himself in the mirror. His leg and bed sheet littered with his own blood. He almost felt like he was going to be sick. But for some reason he felt.. Proud. He was about to start on the other leg when he heard a noise. Something form his door. He looked up, his eyes huge. Someone was coming in. He dropped the glass and tried to pull his jeans up in time. Before he knew it, Lucius Malfoy was staring at him, glass and blood stains in front of him.