South Loop Summer
The train station around him is bustling with students, parents, and the occasional child. As the train's doors close, and it departs, the crowd starts to thin. He stands still and waits.
Two months. Draco only needs to get through the next two months, and then he’ll be back. It’s hard to remind himself that when his parents are walking up to him, and his thoughts slipping away.
“Draco.” His mother places a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches. Her eyes narrow, and her hand tightens around his shoulder.
“Your mother and I have decided,” Lucius says slowly, “it’s time to bring you to a meeting.”
“A meeting?” Draco’s voice raises high, and someone looks over at them.
His father puts an arm around his shoulder. Not in the comforting way. It’s a warning. “Yes, at my job. We thought you may want to begin exploring some… career options.”
Draco takes it in silently. His ears ring. He can nearly feel the liquid adrenaline being pumped through his body. He’s going to attend a Death Eater meeting.
His parents apparate home, leaving Draco to walk. One foot after another, the concrete pathway stays unchanging for miles. Dirtied by fallen leaves and footsteps, one linear crack in its exterior every few steps. He doesn’t bother to lift his head to look at the surroundings, even when the pathway fades into stone and as he steps into the towering shadow of the Malfoy manor.
The moment his hand touches the door handle, a shudder runs through him. He can’t tell if it’s from its ice-cold touch, or from the fact that he is home once again. “Home” isn’t the word to describe this place though. It’s more of a house than a home, and calling it a house is generous.
He steps inside.
It’s even darker and sparser here than he remembered. There are only two chairs, rigid and metal, and the rack at the entrance is bare, not even a speck of dust or a jacket hung on it. There is not a single flaw in each black stroke of paint on the wall or each tile on the floor. The only thing that is out of place here is him.
His father strides towards Draco and whips out his wand.
“Stupefy,” he snarls.
Draco flicks his wand and shouts, “Protego!” but he’s too late. The shield goes up a moment after the spell hits him, and he falls to the floor. His wand clatters to the ground beside him.
“Rennervate.” When Draco doesn’t sit up right away, his father kicks him. He quickly stands to his feet after a second sharp quick jab in his rib. “You’ve gotten slower, Draco. You look disgusting. People will think we don’t feed you.”
Draco picks up his wand but keeps his eyes on Lucius. “I’m not slower, father.”
“Maybe not.” His father laughs. “You were always slow. Weak. Pathetic.” His lip curls slightly as he shouts, “Narcissa!”
He grabs Malfoy by the collar and drags him to the kitchen. “Narcissa. People will talk if we don’t do something about this. He looks starved. Give him something to eat.”
Malfoy glares. “I do not. I’ve eaten plenty.”
Narcissa hands Lucius a dish.
“I don’t care whether you’ve eaten or not,” Lucius snaps. “I care whether you look like you are cared for or not.”
He pushes a plate of shepherd’s pie and tripe towards Draco, and the boy shoves it back. “Cast a glamour spell then.”
His father pushes it towards him, this time more aggressively. “Have you learned nothing at Hogwarts, boy? Glamour spells are easily detectable and will gather far more suspicion than having you look like this.”
Draco stands to his feet as the plate comes sliding towards him from across the table. It clatters to the floor and shatters. He turns away. “Your reputation means nothing to me.”
He braces himself for yelling. He braces himself for a Crucio spell. Or a punch to his skull. He doesn’t brace himself for silence.
The room is silent.
Until there’s the quiet sound of pieces of ceramic glass clinking against one another. And a sting in his shoulder blade, followed by the sensation of hot liquid dripping down his back.
“Maybe this will matter to you then.” His father drags a shard of the broken plate down his body, not wavering as Draco writhes. As the boy tries to scramble away, Lucius grips his shoulder and holds tight. His mother steps away and leaves the room without speaking a word.
He’s cut before. He’s been cut before. Deeper. More. But this is more terrifying than any way he’s ever hurt himself because before, he was in control. Before, it was his choice. This is the opposite.
This hurts, and it’s not because he wants to hurt. It’s because his father wants him to.
Draco shrieks, the noise far higher and farther away than anything he’s heard escape his mouth before. The stinging sensation grows deeper until the pain is heavy and dull. He thought of ‘dull’ pain as soft, in the past. Light. Less. But those words describe nothing like this. It feels as if someone is sawing through his bones, and as if his bones are screaming in return.
As he fades into uneasy darkness, he hears Lucius speak one final time.
“The meeting is next week. I’ll heal you by tomorrow, and we will begin training. I expect you to have gained at least an ounce of respect by then.”
Draco tries to open his eyes and push himself off the ground, but his body isn’t in his control any longer. He falls unconscious.