A Second Too Late
“Up you go,” his mother’s voice is the first thing he hears, even before his eyes open. She’s tugging his arm gently, urging him to sit up, her hand clasped right around one of his wounds. Draco winces and yanks his arm away. Every inch of his skin and muscle burn as her hand brushes down his forearm.
It’s still slightly dark outside. Around 5 in the morning, he guesses. A little later than the usual time for his training.
“Is he waiting in the hall or outside?” he asks. His voice comes out raspy, and he hacks out a cough. The slight pain in his chest he’s felt with each breath amplifies tenfold.
“Outside.”
Draco nods mutely and gets up. A bandage is wrapped across his chest and back, covering the deepest wounds from last night. He flexes his hand slightly, clasping his fingers in his palm and feeling the way his heart beats. This isn’t the work of potions; someone’s cast a few healing spells. From how it feels, Episkey and maybe a hastily done Vulnera Sanentur. He’s all too familiar with healing spells and potions by now.
He puts on fresh robes as quickly as he can, without causing damage or too much pain. His lower back is slightly stiff, and his arms are hard to raise, he notes.
As he heads out the back door, a cold blast of wind slaps him in the face, and he reels back slightly. His father was right, he’s weak. Pathetic.
Draco clenches one fist and starts forward. The healing job was more rushed than usual. A trickle of blood starts dripping down his back, and his hands shake. The grass is covered in frost, and his breath comes out in small, visible puffs of air. Even in the summer, the field behind this estate always starts with chilly mornings. It’ll warm up quickly, though, so he tries to appreciate the cold air.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Draco,” his father greets him. It’s better than a Stunning spell, at least. “We’re starting with defense, then Legilimency.”
Draco stop breathing for a moment. They weren’t meant to start Legilimency for at least another year.
“Nothing too difficult, Draco. No need to be so afraid.” His father smiles. It’s an eerie smile. Much more terrifying than when he’s angry or upset. “If you’re obedient, you have nothing to be wary of. I can expect you to be obedient, yes?”
“Yes, father.”
“Then, I suspect you’ll have no protests to doing Legilimency first,” Lucius says, his eyes flicking slightly downwards to meet Draco’s. As if someone is shoving their hands into his mind, Draco feels pressure fill his temples, and someone else’s consciousness fills his own.
His father flicks through each of his memories, then tosses each one aside carelessly. The last Potions exam, the walk home, his conversation with Snape.. His conversation with Snape. Draco desperately tries to get Lucius to move past it, but his attempts are as feeble as a kitten pawing at a dragon. Lucius shoves him aside, and the memory plays.
___
“I don’t want to leave Hogwarts for the holidays. Professor, please.” Draco’s voice sounds even more childish than he remembered.
“Were you listening?” Professor Snape’s hand slams down onto his desk, and he says his next words slower. More deliberately. “I owe a much greater deal of respect to your parents than to you.”
Draco’s eyes are frantic as he pleads, “I can’t go back. I can’t. Snape–”
Snape’s hand slaps Draco across the face. “I told you to call me sir.”
___
Lucius pulling out of his mind feels like a blade exiting from a fresh wound. It’s nearly as painful as it was when he entered. When Draco’s vision clears, the first thing he sees is his father’s face. There’s a hint of something smug and more than a hint of anger.
He raises his eyebrow, staring at Draco as if looking for an explanation. When Draco doesn’t provide one, he speaks.
“I thought you were looking forward to your training, Draco,” his father says in a low, hushed voice. His jaw is clenched, and his teeth slightly bared. The glint in Lucius’ eyes and the twitch in his fingers is enough to know that he’s aware of Draco despising his training. And that he doesn’t care. “Begging. From a Malfoy? You know better. This time, I expect you to block me out.”
Draco opens his mouth to explain, but his father looks into his eyes and pushes back in. He can’t tell whether it’s searing cold or burning hot as his father shoves his way through. He desperately tries to push Lucius back, but Draco can’t seem to reach him. His memories are tangled. His mind is akin to a library where none of its books are on the shelves, and half of them are muddied or waterlogged.
His father’s visit. Dobby. Potter and Weasley’s Polyjuice fiasco. His self-harm.
Lucius lingers for a moment longer on the last one, and Draco feels something along the lines of disgust ripple through him. In a moment of desperation, he grabs at his father’s presence and rips it away.
He opens his eyes with a jolt.
“To steer me away from the memories you don’t want me to see, you must lead me towards something… else.” His voice is slow and deliberate. “A memory I might believe you want to hide. Maybe something you are ashamed of, or something that appears to be noteworthy.”
Draco nods, swaying on his feet. He can barely process what he’s heard.
“Moving on,” his father says, whipping out his wand, “Cru-”
“Expelliarmus!” Draco yells on instinct, raising his arm to catch his father’s wand as it soars toward him. He’s slightly stunned that this was his immediate reaction. Maybe he’s been watching Potter too much.
“Everte Statum,” Draco says, barely missing as his father barrels into him. His feet are swept out from under him, and he lands hard on the floor, the breath knocked out of his lungs. As he lays winded, his father’s wand falls from his hand, and Lucius is quick to grab it.
“Oppugno!” Lucius directs the spell towards a bird overhead, and it dives towards Draco. He is close enough to see the glint in its eyes and the hooked end of its sharp beak when he rolls to the side, and it crashes into the ground.
“Episkey,” Draco mumbles, watching as the bird slowly picks itself off of the ground and lets out a weak caw. It’s a weak healing spell, but it’ll keep the little guy alive. Lucius watches for a moment, on the verge of laughter.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees a wand pointing toward him and begins scrambling to his feet. He’s too late. “You’re too slow, Draco. Crucio!”
The spell slams into him, lifting him off the ground and slicing through him. His back arches in response, his body twitching uncontrollably as the pain rips through him and takes away any control he might’ve once had over his limbs.
“Get up, Draco,” his father tuts. “Get up.”
The moment before his feet are planted on the ground, Lucius flicks his wand. “Arresto Momentum.” As the boy’s movements slow, he circles him. “You need to be more decisive. Leave the bird alone next time, get on your feet, and use a spell that would do more than tickle your opponent or make them roll around a few times.”
With a flick of his wand, the spell is released, and Draco falls to his knees. He pushes himself off the ground and hesitates. “Crucio!”
His father looks at him with an unbothered gaze, almost bored.
“You need to mean it, Draco.”
“I do.” Draco stares back at him. “I mean it.”
Lucius snaps back, “Then do it right. The wand movement is simple, the pronunciation is straightforward, and there is no possibility of you being even more of an idiot than I think.”
Draco glares at him, looks him in the eye, and feels red-hot anger rush through him.
“Crucio!” Draco screams. His father’s face contorts in agony as his legs shiver and collapse beneath him. Shocked, Draco freezes for a moment before starting forward.
Lucius smiles. “Stupefy!” He revives Draco just as the boy tumbles down, “Rennervate.”
“As much as I’m sure you felt angry, I don’t think you quite meant it.” He apparates away, leaving Draco to pick himself up and walk back to the house alone.