please stay
Draco didn't sleep well that night.
He tossed and turned restlessly, his body arching or spasms of trembles running through his shoulders whenever his scarred back touched the mattress a bit too off, even if it was one of the softest things he lied on. It couldn’t fight with the bed he had in the manor, though.
The duvet was really comfortable, he couldn’t lie, and he brought it up all over to his chin inhaling sharply, curling in on himself underneath it.
He was petrifyingly terrified, though, every smallest sound making his breath quicken and heart skip beats, as if there was something or someone to barge in any given moment and try to hurt him, touch him, tell him to keep quiet and just be a good boy.
The pounding of his own heartbeat echoed loudly in his head, feeling like a lump in his throat, choking him.
In the dark, he stared fixatedly at the wall, trying to calm the swirling darkness behind his eyes, though he was utterly exhausted. He feared that if he fell asleep, he might never wake up again.
The wolf plush beside him beckoned, but Draco resisted the urge to stroke its soft fur - he wasn't a pathetic baby who needed toys.
His mind whirled with thoughts, shadows looming around him, making him feel lost, helpless and confused.
He longed to return to the manor, because even if they took good care of him in the hospital, even if Black was so incredibly nice that it made him cringe, and he hasn’t been hit once for the time being yet, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t his place to be.
At least there, he knew his place, even if his father's affection was distant. Everyone was jumping around him, as if he was handicapped, to say at least. But he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he was fine, and he could go back to his father; with hope that he missed him, at least a bit.
Draco never doubted that his father loved him, even though the man had a hard time expressing affection or showing that he genuinely cared for his son. He was a rather cold person, with a clear vision of what he wanted and his own unique way of thinking and acting. Draco couldn't help but admire him, at least at some point in his life.
Yet to this day, Draco still craved him whenever he hit the deep bottom, because father was always there. Not for him, but he was there.
The man had high expectations of him, but always made sure to push him in the right direction when he failed, or punish him if he didn't try hard enough, all in the hopes of helping him do better.
The punishments hurt, but Draco knew they were necessary.
Even when his stomach begged for food after going hungry for hours, or when he felt increasingly isolated from the outside world as his phone was taken away and he had to study things he already knew for yet another time, or how his father's harsh words and cutting insults would tear into him.
“You stupid, pathetic boy. Can’t even do one thing right, can you? Good for nothing… I’m trying to help you here, Draco, I really am, but it just seems that you’re too, asinine, perhaps, to cooperate with me. Do you really think that you’ll be able to achieve anything with an attitude like that?”
It hurt, made his chest ache, but it was all to make him better, even if it was a troublesome process.
The belt licks broke the skin on his back, but served as a reminder of the consequences of his actions; leaving him to nurse the scarlet blood dripping from his porcelain skin all alone.
The strikes of the cane made his legs tremble horribly, made him grit his teeth and buckle his knees, yet he eventually learned to endure it like a man, even if wearing shorts was something he couldn’t do because of his poor behavior.
But there were times when father was kind, in the same way that Black was, even if it happened less and less frequently.
It was an even more terrifying concept.
The blond instinctually curled up on himself, sniffling as he tried to hold back tears of infirmity and despair. The dog/wolf’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight, as if empathizing with his turmoil.
When father wasn't striking him with a ruler or scolding him in that harsh tone, there were rare moments when he would look at him with such a miserable look in his eyes that made Draco naive enough to believe he might reach out and touch him without the intention to hurt again, ever.
Maybe hold him like he did when Draco was just a little boy - tuck him safely under his chin and quietly apologize for breaking that glass, for yelling and scaring him, because it wasn’t Draco’s fault, never his.
Even if the man’s muscles were stiff and he barely contained a frown of disgust as his son’s tears and snot soiled his expensive shirt, he would murmur soothing words, gently rock, and stroke Draco’s back, promising to never act that way again, to do better.
These tender moments felt so unreal, as they hadn't happened since Draco was a toddler. He knew it was all just a silly dream that could never happen again.
And father apparently never truly been honest, because things had only gotten progressively worse over time, until everything eventually did became Draco's fault.
His facade finally crumbled, and he mustered the courage to bring the wolf plush close to his chest, muffling his sobs as they wracked through his body.
He felt so incredibly lost, and that part of him, the little boy he once was, buried deep within him, wondered what had happened to the dad he once knew, too.
He must have eventually fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, maybe cried himself to sleep.
He woke up a few more times, jolting in pain from his wounds or due to nightmares he couldn't recall, his silent screams dying on his lips.
The time he woke up for good, the first thing he became aware of was a rather annoying, loud alarm clock as the sun was just peeking through the window, accompanied by a throbbing headache.
He frowned, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and instinctively yawned, stretching his arms overhead. But the movement sent sharp pains rippling through his body, from his shoulder blades down to his hips, where the painful welts remained stubbornly engraved in his skin.
The alarm clock continued to blare, probably without any intention of stopping in the early future. It made him instantly irritated.
He slowly sat up, casting a hazy glance around the room, only to realize he was still in the same space from the day prior, lying in the same bed, with the mutt plush tucked under his arm.
He frantically tossed it, as if it burned, his face a mix of hurt and disgust as the memories from the previous day flooded back.
The plush fell to the floor with a dull thud as the blond curled in on himself, his hands traveling up to tug at his hair.
No. No no. Nononono no.
The glimmer of hope that it had all been just a fever dream died within him as the alarm finally fell silent, and Draco realized it was coming from Potter's room.
No.
Just-, fucking no.
It was the only thought swirling through his mind. Father would have surely washed his mouth out with soap for uttering such language, but in that moment, it didn't matter, because father wasn't there.
He wasn’t there, Draco was all alone at Grimmauld with his ex-family member, the man's boyfriend, fiancé even, which was even worse, and The Golden Boy, who was as overly enthusiastic about their further life together as Draco was, which meant not at all.
Was he allowed to leave the room? He wanted to go and find something tall to throw himself off of.
He didn't recognize Black categorically telling him no - that's how it had been at the manor, whether he was grounded or his father simply didn't want him interfering with meetings. He'd just been told to not set foot outside the threshold until someone came to retrieve him.
Now, he was utterly lost, with no idea how to be good and obey.
He was screwed, he was fucked, and he would die sooner than expected.
The worst part was that he had no idea what was going to happen that day. At least Potter and Lupin would likely be at school, but he couldn't be sure about Black. Did the man have a job? Draco desperately hoped so, and that he'd leave, so they wouldn't be left alone in Grimmauld together.
Though, the man seemed eager to spend time with him, which didn't sit well with the teenager.
Draco slumped back down onto the mattress, carefully resting on his side and burying himself under the covers. His arm slipped out, groping blindly for the plush toy. Despite everything, the poor animal didn't deserve to be treated so poorly.
He tucked it under his chin comfortably again, ignoring the phantom pain in his hands urging him to throw it away, destroy it. He sniffled into the gray fur. He gazed ahead, his pupils dilating somewhere towards the wardrobe.
He could hear Potter moving in and out of his room, and the muffled sounds of Lupin and Black talking and laughing, but nothing could drown out his own swirling thoughts.
Tears fell from his eyes but not from any real emotion, but simply because he hadn't blinked in his haze. He was perfectly fine.
Yeah.
There was a knock at his door, who knows how long later.
He immediately shot up, as if the sound had flipped a switch, roughly pulling him out of his head. He hastily buried the plush toy deep under the covers and tried to make his bed as neatly as possible in the split seconds, while also attempting to make himself look more presentable, even if his eyes were still wide and bloodshot.
As expected, it was Black who stepped into the room, and Draco scrambled out of the bed, getting to his feet even as the room swayed around him.
The man entered with a somewhat happy expression, but it faltered momentarily upon seeing the blond. "Ah-, you're awake," he said softly, his brows furrowing in a gentle frown. Draco wasn't sure if that was a good sign.
The teenager's shoulders hunched and his posture tensed as he nodded absently, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie and tugging it downwards to cover himself as best he could. He felt exposed in just his sleepwear, especially since the boxers quite clearly showed his skinny, bruised legs. But he certainly wasn't trying to seduce the man - he never did, yet knowing how things had escalated before from something so seemingly innocent, he knew if anything did happen, it would be his own fault.
Black leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a soft huff of laughter, though Draco could easily spot the sadness in his grayish blue eyes. The man didn't allow his gaze to wander down the teenager’s body, instead trying to catch the boy's gaze and study his face, which Draco was grateful for, even if it was still deeply uncomfortable.
"I wanted to let you sleep in longer today, but guess that didn't work out, huh," Black said.
Draco blinked up at him, confusion coloring his face for a moment before he quickly averted his gaze again, lips pursing softly.
Black ran a hand through his unruly hair, tossing it to one side. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with what Draco assumed was a logo of a rock band, which only showcased the man's sleeves of tattoos more. The boy couldn't help but glance at the scars which adorned his arms as well, though he didn't want to be caught staring.
"How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"
Draco could only manage a shrug in response, shuffling his feet.
Black's gaze also involuntarily shifted in that direction, breath hitching and his smile twitching downwards.
Draco’s twisted ankle was still a bit swollen, with a yellowish bruise climbing up his leg from under his socks. Though it didn't hurt anymore, not really, it still definitely looked concerning.
There were also several light pink cane marks on his calves, a punishment for something along the lines of being disrespectful towards his father's colleagues. His upper thighs weren't spared either, though those wounds were barely visible nowadays.
"Oh," Black exclaimed quietly, and it was enough to make Draco feel both hot and cold at the same time, his stomach churning uncomfortably.
The man surely would now think of him as an insolent brat who just needed to be disciplined, and Draco would hurt again, because that was what he truly deserved. Black just didn't know that. Yet.
"Hey, no no no, stay with me, kid," the man quickly breathed out. "You don't have to be ashamed, it's not your fault."
Draco's eyes remained fixed on his feet as he tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Now, really, does it hurt? It surely looks like it does," Black said after a moment of silence.
The teenager shook his head, even though it was pretty much a lie. They both ignored it.
Black sighed softly, passing his body weight to his other leg. "Does anything else hurt, then?"
Except for the growing migraine, his whole back feeling as if it was belted all over again whenever it touched any surface, and his aching joints and ribs, everything was perfectly fine, so Draco shook his head.
"Okay, though, if anything does actually hurt, don't hesitate to come to me, alright?" Black exhaled softly. "Dealing with it yourself won't do you any good. You can't just-," another sigh. "You can't just ignore the pain."
Draco nodded, as if there was another answer to that question, but he felt like a burden.
The man scratched his neck in a dog-like manner, letting his eyes gaze around the room. It wasn't an ideal situation for him, either, yet he knew that he needed to be there for the boy in that moment.
His lips twitched awkwardly. "I know it's not easy, but I'm gonna say it again, and as many times as I will need; what happened to you was wrong, and no one deserves that." His voice was gentle, his eyes filled with understanding - something that Draco didn't comprehend himself.
It's not like he had a choice, but he remained silent, his gaze still lowered. He felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and the thought of opening up to the basically stranger, who was known to him only as an almost convicted murderer and a disgrace to the family, terrified him.
"Look, I'm not going to force you to talk about it, or anything else for that matter, if you're not ready." Sirius paused, swallowing as he had to think about his next words. "Just-, I want you to know that I'm here, whenever you need someone to listen."
He may have been repeating himself, yet he desperately hoped that he was doing the right thing, saying the right words. He was never the one for verbal comfort, physical, maybe, or rather the first to propose to beat up whoever hurt the ones he cared for. As much as he wanted to punch Malfoy Sr. in the face, that would have to wait, because Draco was way more important.
"You've been through something terrible, but you're not alone. We're going to get through this, one step at a time, okay?" He exhaled, as if saying those things was exhausting. It was more stressful, though, looking for a reaction in the teenager, at the same time trying not to make him feel hemmed in.
Draco didn't look up. A small part of him, the naive little boy, wanted to believe the man's words, to trust that he truly meant what he said. But it was so, so hard.
"Okay?" Sirius repeated, his voice filled with concern.
Of course, he awaited a reaction, so the blond nodded. Maybe lying to himself would convince him eventually.
Sirius nodded, glancing around the room and pursing his lips. He tried to think of how to put into words what he wanted to say.
"I was also wondering if you would like to have breakfast with me downstairs." There, he said it. "Though I understand if you don't want to, it's perfectly fine. I don't want to overwhelm you, but it also gets quite lonely when Moony and Harry are away, so, maybe just us, we could try to spend some time together? Or, at least I'll show you that I really don't mean you any harm. I promise," he chuckled awkwardly, his eyes jumping back to the teenager.
Draco froze, glancing up at Sirius warily. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no sound came out again.
In that moment, all he wanted was to go back to bed and that hazy state where time passed more quickly.
Though he knew it wasn't a healthy way to spend his time, that he should be more productive; at least try, because it wasn’t like he couldn’t.
Plus, if Black was to murder him, it might as well be now, right?
And, he couldn't bring himself to outright refuse the man's offer, it wouldn’t be polite, so he just shrugged his shoulders, to which Black let out a soft snort.
"I'll take that as a yes, alright? Though, take your time, of course," he quickly assured, glancing at how Draco kept trying to cover himself with the hoodie as best as he could. "Get dressed, or, don't. That's up to you. If you feel like pajamas the whole day, that's totally cool too."
Draco nodded softly, though he knew he wouldn't take advantage of the offer. It just didn't feel right, totally not because he would've been punished for even thinking of leaving his bedroom in his pajamas back at the manor.
"And for breakfast, are you feeling pancakes?" the blond didn't seem too disgusted by the idea, but Sirius figured he wouldn't turn down anything given to him, really. "Moony actually prepared some before he left, but if you want anything else, the kitchen's open."
Draco thought for a moment, before tilting his head in a maybe gesture. His stomach finally answered positively to the prospect of food and nutrition. The unfinished meal from yesterday still stood at his desk, yet he hoped Black hadn't noticed it.
"Okay, pancakes it is then." the man gently clasped his hands together. "Soo, I'll be downstairs, yeah? Probably in the living room, you should get there quickly enough." Draco nodded, his eyes still averted.
Sirius nodded back, pushing himself off the wall. "Take your phone with ya, please." he said, his lips pursing into a smile.
Draco nodded, finally soughing the courage to look up at him, trying his best to not look uncomfortable or let his dismay be known.
Black nodded back and left.
Yet, right outside the door, he screamed at himself internally, sure that his once removed cousin must despise him even more now, and that he had done nothing to assure him he wouldn't hurt him, but quite the opposite.
Draco stared at the closed door for a second, finally letting go of the hem of his hoodie and plopping back down onto the bed, fighting with himself not to cry again.
After managing to get himself together, he reached into the garbage bag that would serve as his wardrobe, since he absolutely refused to unpack. It took him a moment to fumble with it, as it was difficult to open with only one hand able to move, but he eventually succeeded.
He carefully took out a pair of black suit trousers and a matching dress shirt with a white collar peeking from underneath. The crumpled, undignified state of the material itched the back of his brain and made him want to rip it to shreds because it just looked so not dignified, yet it smelled like the one specific flowery laundry detergent they had at the manor, the one of which his mother’s old dresses still had the scent of, and it made him want to sob immensely.
But he didn’t, instead standing up from the bed rather abruptly, ignoring the world swirling around him, and approached the wardrobe.
He gathered some clean underwear from the closet, taking a bit longer than expected because his fingers started tapping a soft beat on one of the empty shelves while grazing the surface of it and it just so happened that his pupils dilated again.
When he finally headed towards the door, a sense of panic washed over him. But after deciding he had nothing to lose, anyway, he cautiously stepped out into the quiet hallway and made his way to the bathroom.
Once inside, he made sure the door was properly locked before stripping off his pajamas. He spent a fair amount of time examining his reflection in the mirror, picking at his skin and gently stroking his face, shoulders and from his rib cage all the way down to his waist, his movements controlled as if by someone else, mimicking.
Eventually, he changed into the clean clothes, nearly having a meltdown while trying to button up the shirt with one hand. But he managed, the familiar scent of the laundry detergent both comforting and distressing.
His movements were automatic as he went through his routine - washing his face, fixing his hair, brushing his teeth, even though it was a grueling task. Returning to the bedroom, he neatly made the bed, making sure to hide the plushie deep under the pillow, and put away his pajamas in the wardrobe.
He stared out the window, reluctantly reminding himself of his sole purpose and what he was supposed to do now that he was dressed.
Oh, how he didn't want to.
He was alone with Black at Grimmauld.
The man may have been kind, and comforting, and as gentle with him as he could, yet that didn’t change the fact that Draco was alone with him, and Black would eventually get tired of him, as every person did.
He hated it, hated Black, hated Grimmauld, hated everything surrounding him and had to stop himself from banging his head against the wall in hopes that it would finally take him out of this world.
Shaking himself out of his gaze, Draco tentatively reached for his phone, unplugging it from the charger. His shaky, injured hand made it difficult to type in the passwords, but he eventually managed to turn the device back on.
After he turned the data on, it instantly buzzed with notifications, and he mindlessly scrolled through them, his eyes darkening with each one.
There were messages from his friends, both separately and on the ridiculous group chat Pansy created. Draco had to leave it on a daily basis to avoid his father seeing the content of it, as the man would likely destroy his phone if he did.
Right.
Right.
His friends.
Hundreds, if not more, messages from Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and a few other people he didn't regularly speak to, which concerned him even more.
How long had he been unconscious for?
He cringed inwardly as he brought his casted hand up to lightly tap his chin nervously. He couldn't even bring himself to scold and fix himself in that moment.
His goddamn friends, who were far too good to him. The prospect of even having them still seemed quite surprising to him. All of the people he was allowed to associate with had to be very throughly looked over by his father first. Though, if Lucius knew how they really acted in private, they would all be beheaded.
Draco was grateful that he didn't know, though, as they indeed turned out to be the right sort for him, at least for the teenager personally. They cared for him, though sometimes in an annoyingly persistent way, constantly calling and texting if he didn't respond. They even went so far as to show up at the manor one time and ask the servants if Draco could join them on an outing, much to Lucius' apparent approval.
The four of them had spent an actually pleasant, enjoyable evening together.
Draco didn't tell them about the punishment he received when he returned home.
But he knew they sensed something was wrong.
They always seemed to know, that skill be damned.
He scrolled through his chat with Pansy first, to check off when he stopped answering, and his blood ran cold after checking the date.
The beginning, maybe half of March. Now, April was coming to an end, leaving him feeling so empty with its contents.
In the kitchen, Sirius hummed along to Uptown Girl playing on the radio as he quickly and meticulously cleaned up the remnants of breakfast, just wanting to occupy himself with something, anything.
He had finished heating their meal just moments ago, setting it on the coffee table in the living room. As promised, he prepared the pancakes, topping them with sliced bananas and strawberries. He had also brewed a fresh pot of coffee for himself and poured a glass of water for Draco.
He needed the boy to eat something, even if it was just a small slice of a banana. He saw how little Draco had actually ate the previous day, and with how thin the teenager was, it was quite worrying. Not unusual amongst the bourgeois families, yet still worrying. Sirius tried to tell himself it was just nerves that were causing the blond’s lack of appetite, but he knew that wasn't the whole story.
He was also aware that Draco had not slept the night before, but Sirius didn't have the heart to burden the boy with more worry. He could only hope the teenager had managed to get some rest later on, though the dark circles under his eyes suggested otherwise.
Sirius only hoped that the plush served its purpose, at least, managing to help when he himself couldn’t, yet.
Draco stared blankly at the text messages from Pansy, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of everything. But he couldn't.
It had been mid-March, presumably a Sunday, when he stopped answering. Yet, the girl never ceased reaching out; the last messages she sent were just a few days prior.
Pansy:
- please
- just
- be okay
- don’t you dare die on me
- you bastard
- please
It seemed so broken, desperate, and Draco knew his best friend all too well. Pansy wasn’t the sentimental type of a person, so he knew that the situation had to be even more troublesome than it appeared.
Somewhere previously, out of nowhere, she basically frantically begged him to answer their texts, let them know that he was at least alive. It broke his heart.
Draco was so lost. He couldn't remember how this whole mess had started or why it had happened - his mind was a blank canvas, his thoughts only beginning to form anew from a sudden moment in the hospital.
Furrowing his brows, he went to check the contents of their fabulous groupchat called PANST STOP CHANGING THE NAME which summed their whole friendship dynamic closely enough.
He was quite surprised to find out that there weren’t actually too many new texts there, even if Theo and Pansy couldn’t normally shut their mouths about the most random shit that happened in their lives and just had to share it with them. Now, it seemed as if they just disappeared from the conversation.
Draco held his breath as he read through the worried texts, his absolutely far too good friends concerned about him.
At first, they had constantly tagged him, calling and spamming messages, assuming he was simply ignoring them as usual or that his father had taken his phone again, which was followed by curses towards Lucius.
Closely enough, though, happened the thing that he probably feared the most.
GET OUT
- OMFG NO W
- NO WAY
- GUYS GUSTS
- GUSY
- THERES
- DTAVO
- LCUISU IS ON TV????
- @blaise @theo
- THE MALFO YMAJORRR
As much as Pansy had problems with spelling while writing digitally, it wasn’t really hard to understand what she meant.
And Draco felt his head spinning.
cutie pie princess🎀✨🦢
- ????
- Pansy what
GET OUT
- IM TELLNG YOU
- user GET OUT sent a picture
*A photo of a TV showing the news playing, with a scene of Lucius being led out of the Malfoy Manor in handcuffs
Draco’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the scene before him, his phone nearly slipping from his grip.
the third chipmunk🥰
- WHAT TYE FUCK
cutie pie princess🎀✨🦢
- NO WAY
GET OUT
- WAY
- TURN ON YHE NESTS
- RIGHT YNWO
Draco had to switch the device off and simply stare blankly ahead to soothe himself.
So that’s what happened, huh. Well, that would explain it.
Googling the godforsaken name was enough for him to start trembling even more.
He hurriedly read through every possible article about the incident, his eyes frantic and hands shaking.
Anti-Terrorists Raid and Betrayal: What Really Happened at the Malfoy Manor?
Breaking News: Lucius Malfoy and his colleagues arrested!
Scandalous Secrets: The come back of the Dark Lord, or only his followers?
Headlines like this screamed at him, and Draco wanted to scream, too.
In the early hours of Sunday changing into Monday, an anti-terrorist raid on The Malfoy Manor uncovered illegal firearms, drugs, and resulted in multiple arrests.
(…)
One of a few people still awaiting their trial is Lucius Malfoy, the owner of said Manor, who was brought into the police custody right after the incident. It isn’t yet known; evidence and witnesses are still being gathered, yet even without it, it’s clear he will be spending a lifelong in prison.
The condition of the man's teenage son, who was found wounded and unconscious in one of the grand rooms and immediately rushed to the hospital, remains unknown.
He really wanted to scream, yet only a pathetic whine escaped his throat, burning its way through.
He turned off his phone, tossing it to the other side of the bed, covering his mouth with his healthy hand and biting onto his finger to stifle any further sounds.
How dare they write about him, about them?
Who gave them the right to interfere in their private lives?
He was alright, very much alive, and everything was fine.
Till it wasn’t, because father was under fucking arrest.