#lucius whumper

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

The Need of Malfoy Men to Please Their Fathers Was Not Only Pathological, It Was Magical

((Content warning: Child abuse, mind control / conditioning, chid whumpee, domination ))

((Promptspiration: @week-of-whump 2023: October 13: Child Whump

the idea of this Au backstory is @thebestieyoureinlovewith's (here) With apologies; I think I made the parents a little darker than intended...))

Whumpee: Draco

Whumper: Lucius

Caretaker: --

Whump type: Mental / Domination

Fic type: Weird AU (Malfoy Blood Magic)

((words: ~1000))

------------------------------------

Narcissa dragged the crying, uncooperative boy into the study by the arm, tugging firmly when he squirmed yet again and redoubled his sobbing, digging in his feet on the carpet.

"Lucius, if you're going to punish him," she gritted out between her teeth, "you deal with it."

Lucius glanced up mildly from his papers. "Just leave him in his room."

"If that worked, I would have done it," she snapped. "It has been three hours. Either let him go or keep him yourself." She pushed Draco up beside the desk. He squirmed in her hands to try to turn away, but she held him firmly.

The look he gave her was indulgent; he didn't think this was necessary, but if she was demanding it... He turned toward the end of the desk and crossed his legs. "Draco."

Draco faced him with his head hanging, refusing to look, clumsy hands clutching and yanking at the front of his shirt, still sobbing. There were no actual tears, of course; he'd been 'crying' so long that he'd used them all up, and left just the emotion and the noise.

"Draco," he repeated severely, and the boy squirmed his face away into his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"

He yanked hard on his clothes. "It hurts!" he yelled.

"No, it doesn't," he corrected patiently. The boy didn't really have the words; he wasn't quite four, so it was reasonable, he supposed. A little disappointing, though. "It feels bad. That isn't pain."

"No! It hurts!"

"Are you talking back to me?"

Draco flinched and sobbed harder.

Lucius tapped his foot lightly. Draco squirmed to resist and when he figured out he couldn't, that his mother was still blocking him from running away, he flung himself down on the floor at his father's feet with a petulant sob.

"Why does it feel bad?"

"Because you're mad at me!" he wailed. Above him, Narcissa pressed her eyes closed and took a deep, sharp breath, rubbing her temple.

"No, I am not," he corrected calmly. "If I were angry with you, it would be pain." Not intentionally, of course; it wasn't as though he would be, say, Crucioing him. But the magic that bound them together responded to emotion. "I am disappointed."

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't beg," he said coolly. "You are a Malfoy." His disapproval naturally heightened the unpleasant feeling playing through Draco's nerves, and the boy shrieked and kicked at the floor.

"Lucius," Narcissa said tightly. "This is unbearable. You should have either activated this curse years ago, or waited until he was old enough to be reasonable."

"It isn't a curse," he said mildly.

"It is a curse to me," she snapped. "This is not 'handling it'."

"You have to be patient. It is a process. Draco." The boy flinched at the sound of his name, and he didn't care for that. "Look at me."

Draco shook his head wildly. Lucius patiently put his foot out to stop the motion of his head, then when he got him still, laid his toe under his chin and turned his face up to make him look. "Good," he said, the mildest of praise. "That feels better, doesn't it?"

"No," he sniffled petulantly.

"Yes, it does," he corrected. He knew it did; Draco was hardly the first Malfoy boy to be bound by this spell. It had existed in their family so long it wasn't even really a spell, per se, but some of that 'old magic' that seemed built into the fabric of the world. He knew exactly how Draco felt. But Draco was such a stubborn and wildly emotional child who seemed to revel in his sulking, he wouldn't even admit to relief. "Do you know why it feels better?"

"No..."

"Because you did as I said. Do you understand?"

Draco sniffled without responding.

"Do something I don't like..." he prompted.

He squirmed and tried to take his head back, but Lucius kept his foot under his jaw so he couldn't. "It feels bad," Draco finally said in a small voice.

"Good. And to feel better..."

"Do as you say..."

"Correct." He took his foot back. "If you ever manage to please me, it will feel good." It wasn't easy to obtain, but the feel of your father's pride was intoxicating. They'd see if Draco ever managed it.

Draco sat down firmly on his butt and sniffled again.

Lucius tapped the floor with his foot again for his attention. "What do I want you to do?"

"I don't know," he sniffled petulantly.

"I told you."

"I don't know!"

Well, he was young. He supposed he couldn't hold too many things in his mind for that long. "I want you to thank me properly."

It was a classic test. Moreover, it was a highly effective trial, for them. Malfoy boys were so proud -- as they should be, of course -- that they had to really commit to do any such thing. It helped them understand their place, and effectively demonstrated the possible rewards for doing what their father wanted instead of what their instincts were telling them.

Draco yanked at his shirt again, looking up at him with big, wet eyes.

"Say 'thank you'."

"Thank you..." Draco echoed.

"'Sir'."

"Sir." He tapped his foot on the carpet, and Draco looked at it, then back up at him. "Thank you, sir?" he repeated tenatively.

He didn't need to smile at that; the way Draco gasped when the unpleasant feeling abruptly transmuted to a good, warming tingle that couldn't properly be described said it all. The sobbing and sniffling stopped as suddenly as if they were an act he forgot he was putting on.

He was actually surprised, himself, at how satisfying it felt to be on the receiving end of that submission. He wondered for the first time if perhaps the ancient magic went both ways.

"Finally," Narcissa sighed. "I am going to have a nap. Don't make him cry again if you can help it."

"I doubt you have to worry." He turned back to his desk, and glanced down at Draco. He was looking up at him now with a sort of wonder. "You can stay," he said magnanimously.

[splendidissimus]

late 2001 - Petty

((Content warning: kidnapping, implied torture, caretaker turned whumper, whumper turned whumpee))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 20: "You're going to regret touching him." ))

((In response to the escaped Death Eater incident.))

Genre: whump

Romance level: none

Angst level: 1/5

Draco's headspace: --

((words: ~500))

------------------------------------

"I should thank you," Lucius said in the darkness, "for demonstrating just how simple it is to get a person out of Azkaban, now that the guards are merely human." 

He lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling. Dim firelight descended on the low earthen room, casting eerie shadows over Rowle, who was just starting to sit up in bleary confusion. Lucius stood on the bottom stair, looking down on him. 

Rowle looked around quickly to get his bearings, and recognition came with a hiss. The lamp was new, but otherwise the cellar was perfectly familiar. "Lucius." He clambered to his feet, but, unarmed, was too wary to advance yet.

Thorfinn Rowle was a Nordic giant of a man, with several inches on Lucius and built to match. The sight of it stoked the furnace of cold fury inside him. He had turned that strength wholly against a man fifteen years his junior and half his size… desperately ill… deprived of his medications… terrified, starved, neglected, physically weak and mentally fragile…

"It might interest you to know what your life is worth," he said mildly, savouring the anger like an old wine, letting it swirl around his mind and colour his perceptions. "Well, not your life; that has no value. But the going price of an Azkaban guard with the skill and leeway to extract a prisoner." 

"It doesn't matter, Malfoy. You've got your kid, let's just—"

He interrupted like he couldn't even hear him wheedling. "Fifteen thousand galleons." 

Rowle jerked taut and snarled. "You petty ponce—"

As well he might. He had been demanding only ten thousand in ransom for Draco. 

"The word you're looking for is 'angry'," he said coldly. "Very, very angry." 

Rowle was realising his situation now, recognising that he needed to try to escape. His eyes darted over the room, found only the stairs, and calculated that he might be able to make it; he lunged suddenly, aiming to knock him aside and run. Probably much like Draco must have done when he first found himself here. With an almost languid flick, Lucius lifted his wand and froze Rowle in place. 

Although, the wand was not his, precisely — there were some things it wouldn't do to have traceable back to one's own wand. 

"Twenty-nine days," he said, as he stepped off the stair. Rowle could hear and watched him with only his eyes, but could not move as he approached. "Twenty-nine days you held my son in this," he glanced around with the mildest sneer, "wretched hole. Yet he managed to survive you. What do you think that's worth?" He spun the disposable wand lightly against his fingertip, looking him over. 

"Twenty-nine hours of the Cruciatus?" Rowle's eyes took on a frantic look, darting around the cellar. 

"Twenty-nine pieces of you that don't need to be attached?" Rowle's eyes flinched back toward him, fear feigning defiance. 

"Or shall we just see if you can make it to thirty?" 

[lifblogs]

The Queer Books I Want to Read From @themargherita-s’ List:

Mangos and Mistletoe by Adriana Herrera

The Orchid & The Lion by Gabriel Hargrave

Angels Before Man by Rafael Nicolás

Let’s Bake a Deal by J. D. Cadmon

Do You Ship Us? by Claire Rosalind

They Call Him Lucius by L. B. Shimaira

A Veil of Gods and Kings by Nicole Bailey

Shake Things Up by Skye Kilaen

Always Be Your Baby by illustraice

I’m wary of The Orchid & The Lion because it’s getting bad reviews from sex workers, and the main character is supposed to be a sex worker. I’m honestly just curious at this point.

Whumpers, They Call Him Lucius looks like a whumper’s dream come true!

[flowerpetalprincess]

Whump Of May || Day 30 - Stepped On

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Whumpee should fight back, she could fight back! She could take this stupid twig easy!

Yet she hadn't. As much as Whumpee thought herself a skilled swordswoman, Whumper was better. As much as Whumpee thought herself strong and fierce and fearless...

Whumper was stronger, fiercer, and the very thing to fear.

It's why when he overpowered her, and demanded she kneel.... she had no choice.

-

Wolve has a large ego, but that doesn't mean she can't learn her place.

Lucius, of course, is more than happy to take her down a peg.

-

Near the end of the month! I'm incredibly excited to work on more personal projects such as my book, but this was definitely a blast!

It's not over yet however, last post will be queued for tomorrow :)

Unless of course I'm overwhelmed by irl but that hasn't stopped me yet.

List I'm using.

-

Wolve and Lucius belong to me.

Do not steal, repost, or alter my art in any way.

[splendidissimus]

You thought person B was Theo, but no! It was Lucius! Surprise!

I actually really love my Lucius when he's not being just the worst. What a magnificent bastard.

Person A: “….Did you really have to go that far?”

Person B: “Yes…. because now they’ll never be able to hurt you ever again.”

[shywhumpauthor]

Evil anon likes the wholesome times with Lucius very much ! And I was also wondering if Oakley played hide and seek or the tag game with tiny Lucius .

-evil anon

Oh they absolutely do, more likely hide and seek than tag (after one very unfortunate incident with one of Misses Clara’s nice vases). It gives Oakley a chance to do some of their chores, and a bit of time free from the adorable terror.

They always remember to go find him, though.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Prompt request

Fandom: Harry Potter ; Whumpee: Draco or Lucius Malfoy

Setting / Situation: Something with male vampire whumper

Day 4: Post a whump prompt for someone else to fill on Day 28

Create a whump prompt for a fellow Whumpmas in July participant to fill for Day 28! You can use the prompt given below if you'd like, but feel free to expand on it or not use it at all! Keep in mind that whump prompts may be filled by any media type (art, writing, collage, etc), and your prompt can be as specific or as broad as you'd like! WHUMPMAS IN JULY DAY 4 PROMPT TEMPLATE

⛄Fandom or whumper/whumpee details: 🎁Type of whump/tropes desired: 🎄Setting/Situation:

You can reblog this post with your introduction, or make your own post (there’s a banner available on our blog at #wijbanner if you’d like)! Make sure to use the tags #whumpmasinjuly2024 and #wij24day1 so that others can find your post, and be sure to check out the tags to see all the awesome works this month! Make sure to tag @whumpmasinjuly-archive so your works can be featured on our official archive blog!

[herb-whump]

Don't ever get far away, Precious

Im not dead i promise, but in between getting a heatstroke, mental breakdowns, school starting again, I've been just way to busy and just burned out. As im writing this im sitting in school, before my classes so excuse weird formatting, mobile is an ass (´;︵;`)

Taglist: @albino-whumpee @torture-as-lovely-as-you

CW// dub con, bone breaking, emotional whump, dehumanization, threats, manipulation, whumper in love with whumpee, Stockholm syndrome, aks to tag more

Ezekiel slowly opened the door, making sure Azel wasn't around anymore. He was scared he would make too much sound but it seems the doctor was already behind the sound proof walls of his bedroom lab.

Lucius noticed him quickly though, looking at him through tears.

- P..p-plea...se.. - he barely could say a word. He was choking on his own tears and snot.

The intern took pity on him. For the first time. Maybe because Pango did the same for him. It moved him a bit.

Slowly but surely he made his way next to Lucius' bed, knowing exactly where the first aid kit in his room was. Sir Azel asked him to put it there after all. The blonde boy needed more though, but this was enough for him to make it through the night with at least a bit of sleep.

- it's going to hurt, b-but i promise I'm trying to help. - Lucius noded, still with a pained grimace.

Ezekiel took out bandages and wound desinfectant, and some painkillers. But the bone was outside of the skin anyway. He gulped. He knew Lucius could easily develop a bone infection this way, but Ezekiel was no way qualified to operate and take care of a compound fracture. He soaked the bandages with the desinfectant, wrapping them around the exposed bone and broken skin. The boy was about to scream, from the painful sensation but the brunette muffled him with his hand.

- if he hears you, we're both as good as dead... If I don't do this, best case scenario you lose your arm, worst? You die. - Ez said quietly. It didn't calm down Lucius, it rather made him more anxious, but the fear caused him to bite down on his tounge and not say a thing. - What... Did you do? What could you have done that he did this... To You? - finally Ezekiel asked, tying the knot on the bandage.

- i... - Ezekiel wiped away the boy's tears with a tissue from the bedside. - i w-went to Sir's b-bedroom without a blindfold...

- That... That's it?

- I saw this b-boy half skinned... I got scared an-and Sir Azel came in, I didn't know... What to do... - He had a hard time speaking, Ezekiel knew he shouldn't press on anymore.

He barely stood up himself, and put a blanket over Lucius.

- You should rest... I hope he will stitch you up in the morning... - He sighed, brushing through the boy's hair gently, before leaving. He was just closing the door, when his eyes met with those of Sir Azel's.

Fuck

That's the only thing Ezekiel could think before Azel spoke.

- Well... I was just going to take care of my beloved but you were faster. Don't look at me like that, he did wrong, he knows he has to be punished. - He chuckled, while Ez was still stunned in front of the door way. - What? You think I'm gonna kill you or something? I know you all too well, Ezekiel. You act all desensitized and emotionless, but you're still the same as you we're when you were a teen. Just deep inside. That's why i will break you more. Until you're nothing but an obedient dog, ready to follow wherever i go.

The words Azel spoke with such a calm, a bit giggly voice, were those that Ezekiel feared the most. Sir Azel wasn't giving up on him, no, he was planning quite a lot for him. But those weren't the nicest plans.

He felt like w scared child, awaiting punishment from their parents, he felt like curling up on the floor, trying to protect himself. He turned away his face, hiding it in his arms, sheltering his only not bruised and scarred skin, but all that came, was a laugh.

- You never ever change do you. Well. Meet me in my bedroom lab tomorrow at 10 am. - Ezekiel was pushed out of the way, and Azel entered his Precious' bedroom.

At the mere sight of Azel, Lucius now shrieked and cried, extending his arms out, pleading for the doctor to hug him. He sat down next to the boy on the bed, taking him in his arms gently.

- Will you be a good boy now? - He smiled at Lucius, who noded anxiously.

- P-please d-don't leave me... - the blonde sniffled, trying to grab Azel's coat with his small hands.

- You're just like a little puppy aren't you. - The doctor chuckled and brushed through his hair, pushing it out of his face. - You're my precious. I would never leave you my Dear.

It was like someone just flipped a switch on the doc, turning him from the sadistic hot-headed maniac, to a gentle, caring soul.

- p-please... - Lucius asked, reaching out for him more, he grabbed his collar and tugged on it until Azel got closer.

Sir Azel cupped his face in his hands and slowly kissed the boy, who this time, seemed to consent. The tears have stopped along with the tugging. Azel thought it was the cutest thing. Broken, beaten up, but begging to be hugged and kissed, begging to be loved by the same person who hurt him. That's why Lucius stole the doctor's heart from the beginning, such a pitiful sight sends his heart racing.

He smiled gently after breaking up the kiss, saliva sliding out of the corner of the boy's mouth, he himself looking dazed, but much calmer than he was before. He took his hand in his, locking their fingers together, tightening the grip... Until finally he snapped four fingers at their base, making the boy scream in agony.

- Don't you ever tug on my collar like that again. I hate it. - He kissed his broken fingers - But come, I will take care of you, Precious.

[whump-then-fall]

The Merry Whump of May

Day 17 - Let’s go back inside

Content warnings: mcd, male whumpees, multiple whumpees, male whumper, forced to watch, non-con touch (just carrying, not sexual), referenced branding, referenced restraints, camera, foiled escape attempt - let me know if I missed any!

Sawyer found out.

Of course Sawyer found out. Sawyer always found out. Sawyer had found out about Cassie, however much Zach tried to prevent it. He’d found out everything to do with her from Zach. He’d found out everything about Zach. Sawyer was good at finding things out. 

But this. 

Sawyer had to admit, even he hadn’t expected this. 

He’d still found out, though. He’d got a security camera, just to stop Zach trying to escape. He liked watching him from work, as well. But one morning, he’d been sat in the office, watching Zach squirm uncomfortably after the branding. Lucius had walked in. Sawyer had been proud of him for a few seconds. He knew Lucius hated what he did, and he was proud his little brother had finally embraced it. 

That is, until he realised what was actually happening. 

He watched Lucius take out food. Bandages. Medicine. Watched him unlatch Zach’s shackles and help him apply some kind of cream to his back. Watched it all without them knowing. 

He’d watched Zach try to escape again, later on that day. He’d decided that might be a good time to let him know about the security camera. 

Within minutes Sawyer was back at home, watching Zach scramble out of a window in the basement. He strolled down the stairs at the side of the house, meeting him just as he pulled himself through. 

“Let’s get back inside.” Sawyer had grabbed him round the waist, ignoring his struggling, and carried him back in. 

“What are you gonna do to me this time? I’m not scared of the whip.” Zach flinched as he said it, giving himself away. 

“I’ve got a better punishment than the whip for you this time.” 

Sawyer had dragged Zach back down to a room he saved for very special occasions. All this room had in it was a singular iron pole with a singular iron collar and a singular iron screw to tighten the iron collar. Sawyer had placed Zach on the floor opposite the device. Then he’d grabbed Lucius. Dragged him in by the hair. Zach had watched Sawyer fit the collar round Lucius’ neck. Watched him slowly, slowly tighten the screw. Watched Lucius’ eyes close, his head fall to his chest, his breathing stop. Zach said nothing. He didn’t know what there was to say. Not any more. 

@themerrywhumpofmay

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Teaching Moment

((Content warning: Beating, Control / Forced violence))

((Promptspiration: @week-of-whump 2023: October 11: Reluctant Whumper / "Hit them harder." ))

Whumpee: Draco // Lucius

Whumper: Lucius // Voldemort

Caretaker: --

Whump type: Beating / Domination / Psychological

Fic type: "Prisoners in Malfoy Manor" alternate history

((words: ~1600))

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"It seems the boy doesn't learn. Lucius?"

There was a sensation of laughter around the table of Death Eaters, although nothing quite audible, more of a smirk hanging in the air. Silently, he pushed himself to his feet. He saw Draco clench his jaw, but he didn't try to argue his way out of it. Maybe he actually was learning.

He quietly held out his hand for Narcissa's wand. She was resistant; she didn't want to contribute to Draco's torture. He couldn't blame her, but they both knew he had no choice. If he didn't, someone else would do something much worse. She did finally pull her wand from her sleeve after a delay that, hopefully, the others around the table didn't notice.

Their master interrupted. "That won't be necessary, Lucius."

He stopped with his hand just on her wand and looked up. "My lord...?"

"You won't need that." He tilted his head slightly toward the wand. "Punish him."

Lucius went still. Punish him. He meant 'hit him'.

"You're familiar, aren't you?" His voice was coldly amused. Privately amused; the Dark Lord and Narcissa were the only ones in the room who knew exactly how familiar he was with the concept. "Or do you need a reminder? Mulciber?" He glanced down the table toward their smirking Imperius specialist.

...It would be easier to be Imperiused. He wouldn't have to know what he was doing. Maybe he should let them...

But Mulciber had been a sadist with the Imperius even before he went to Azkaban for fifteen years; his creative tortures were what he was known for during the first war. Now, after giving Dementors fifteen years of his life, he was broken in some way, little more now than a vehicle for sadism. There was no telling what he might make him do if he had him under his control.

"No," he said, and stepped around the table.

Draco was controlling his reactions, but had still developed a little frown between his brows. He was an admittedly-spoiled boy from a good Pureblood family, sheltered and insulated from the dirty realities of a rougher life. He had seen and experienced terrible, bloody, even unforgivable curses... but physical violence? Even when he saw it, it was something that belonged to the Muggles and the brutes, not their kind. It was so far outside his reality he couldn't even comprehend. He didn't even really understand to be afraid.

Lucius wished that didn't have to change.

He stepped in front of Draco. Draco took a subtle breath and lifted his chin, trying to say he was ready. He didn't realise this would be easier for him if he didn't try to be strong.

He backhanded Draco across the face without giving him any more time to prepare.

Draco gasped sharply and held his face, turned away, while the others in the room cheered or jeered. Someone hooted, but Bellatrix called out "Weak!"

In a second, Draco recovered his wits and stood straight again; he sought his eyes again, but this time he seemed uncertain, seeking reassurance he only wished he could provide. There was a smear of blood and an uneven scratch on Draco's cheekbone; it seemed his ring, the same signet ring Draco wore, had caught into his cheek and cut him. It was unintentional, but maybe that blood would satisfy them...

"Well?" The Dark Lord behind him sounded almost bored.

Of course. Because he didn't mean 'hit him'. He meant 'hit him until I tell you to stop'.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning his ring around to face his palm in the only act of mercy he could provide.

It had to be real; there were enough of them there that would know if it were not. So he didn't hold back, much, when he punched Draco in the stomach. He caught him by the shoulder when he doubled over, wheezing, forced him back up and held him in place so he could punch him in the face. Now the Death Eaters were entertained.

It wasn't a fair contest. Even if Draco were fighting back -- even if Draco knew how to fight back -- he was smaller, weaker, softer. He might not be a child anymore, but he wasn't a man, either; he was just a boy taking his first exploratory steps into a life of violence he thought he wanted, without a real appreciation of what it meant. Stress had made him sickly, and, if it could be said Azkaban had done the same to his father, well, they hadn't been starting from the same place.

Draco twisted out of his hand, backing away a step, holding his stomach and ducking his head, trying to catch his breath. He kept one arm raised defensively, like he could hide behind it. Apparently they had already found the limit of his resolve.

"I get it," Draco panted. "I won't do it again." Behind them, one of the Lestranges laughed something about his endurance, and Draco flushed, but didn't look.

"What do you think, Lucius?" the Dark Lord asked languidly. "Has he learned his lesson?"

He watched Draco expressionlessly; Draco was looking at him furtively, like he didn't want to be seen watching. "I believe so, my lord," he said evenly.

"Do you?" He knew by the amused tone that that was the wrong answer. "I doubt it."

He didn't have to be directed to carry on. And Draco was smart enough to understand it. He stepped up to grab him, and Draco automatically tried to step back out of his reach, but he wasn't quick enough. He grabbed his arm and yanked him back into his fist. He tried to avoid his face, but when Draco doubled over to protect his ribs he didn't have much choice.

Their audience laughed and cheered. "Maybe the old Lucius is still in there," Rabastan commented. "Underneath all that domestication."

Draco managed to pull away from him, sporting a split lip and a livid red mark over the side of his face that would bruise spectacularly. "Stop!" he snapped, backing away, because his instinct when he couldn't handle something was to try to give orders. That was a bad instinct here.

His walking stick was flicked to him; he caught it by instinct, and then he stared at it in his hand. And so it was -- the transformation was complete. If he followed through with this silent command, the Dark Lord had fully turned him into his father.

Draco shook his head, pulling away. "Don't..." he begged quietly.

He would give anything to have a choice.

There was the slightest tremble in his hand holding the stick, until he willed it away. He had to focus not on that he couldn't be doing this, but that he must.

He brought the cane down across his ribs. Draco didn't have the experience or the instincts to properly protect himself; he kept leaving himself open, exposing vulnerable points that must occasionally be exploited. Finally, Draco fell to his knees and half sprawled on the floor under a final blow that clipped him in the side of the head.

Stay down, he pleaded mentally. Stay down and let this be over.

But he didn't. Draco slowly pushed himself up on his arms, breath shaking and keeping his face down, but still trying. He was too stubborn.

Or too dutiful... He thought that getting up again was what was expected of him. A strangling hand clenched around Lucius' heart.

The only thing he could think to do to keep him down, he stepped firmly on his hand, and at Draco's pained hiss, he brought the stick down across his side and back again. There was a wet crunch he felt more than heard; it had happened too quickly, he didn't know if it was his hand or his arm, but something had broken.

With a cry, Draco bowed tightly over his hand toward the floor, shielding his head, no longer trying.

The stick came down on the exposed back of his neck, for good measure.

"That will do, Lucius," the Dark Lord interrupted, tone light and amused. "We can't have you killing the boy." Bellatrix tittered amongst the other amused reactions; that sound in particular grated.

"As you wish, my lord." His voice sounded empty to his own ears. He stepped back. Draco didn't move. He was huddled on the floor, hiding his head, trying to be a small target -- he was learning after all. A few drops of blood were appearing on the floor in front of him.

There was no consideration of helping him, even to stand. Any hint of kindness toward his son would be weakness for them to exploit. Any, any emotion would give them a way in. He couldn't give them that. He couldn't show anything. All of the hatred, the rage, the dark memories, the disgust and shame and fear and looming despair that turned his blood to ice, he methodically isolated and packed away into a small corner of his mind where even the Dark Lord would have to try to find it, where he could hold it at bay and focus. Where they could not make his hands shake or make him sick or make him hit something far more deserving.

If they could be convinced that he did not care, they would have no reason to do it again.

Calling on thirty years of Occlumency and forty years of self-restraint, he calmly wiped blood from the serpent-handle of the cane and his ring which had worked its way back around at some point, and turned away from Draco.

His hands ached.

[splendidissimus]

November 1999 - "You're doing it to yourself."

((Content warning: sleep deprivation, hallucination, abusive parent))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 2: Delirium ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: negligible

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: depressed / passive

((words: ~1000))

------------------------------------

Draco had been staring through the same page of a book on his desk for some time, the words drifting around unsteadily while he didn't even try to comprehend them, when a familiar voice gnawed at the edge of his attention. He raised his head, blinking, trying to pinpoint it.

Just as he resigned himself to giving up and started to drop his head again, there it was, under the sound of the rustling book pages. He could swear he heard Theo calling his name. 

"Theo?" He pushed away from the desk and stood stiffly, rubbing his aching shoulder. He wasn't supposed to be here. It was months since Father made them part ways, and he would be furious if he caught him here. But coming back against explicit orders and implicit threats just because he wanted to sounded exactly like something Theo would do. Theo who had shown up at the gate calling to see him despite the Death Eaters in the house. Theo who bartered with him in public over kisses because it made him forget he was ill.

He didn't think he heard an answer, but he had to find him before someone else did and send him away where it was safe. 

Outside his door, he paused, listening, but didn't hear him again, so he went for the stairs, figuring he would be downstairs somewhere.

He didn't hear Theo again; he spent a while checking, but there wasn't any sign of him, and eventually he started to wonder what he had actually heard. 

It felt too exhausting to go back upstairs immediately, so he ended up staring out the bay window at the garden. There was a young peacock there, scratching at the edge of a flowerbed, shining white in the watery sunlight. He watched it for a while, not thinking anything, but vaguely relaxed. 

A shifting in the shadows caught his eye, and he was trying to focus on it when iit suddenly resolved into Nagini — striking out with lightning speed to seize his peacock. "No!" He hit the window like that could stop it. 

Then between one blink and the next it was gone. The peacock was looking up at the window in cautious alarm, but there was no snake. 

And of course there couldn't be, anyway. Nagini was dead, he'd seen the body and the head spread across the Hogwarts lawn. She was as dead as her master. He knew that. 

"What are you doing?" 

His shoulders tensed at his father's voice behind him. He wished he had a good answer. "I apologise," he said properly, turning around and looking toward his father's feet.

"That wasn't the question."

He stole a glance back toward the window. Still no undead snake. The peacock was ripping down a flower with its talons now, to try to get the fairy sitting on the top of it. "I thought I saw…" Nothing. He clenched his hands behind his back. "I think something's wrong." He dragged the words out past a mind that didn't want to say them, looking back at his father's face. "I keep seeing things that aren't possible." 

His father studied him. "Like what?" 

"I thought I saw Nagini going after the peacock. Or heard… somebody… in the house." 

"The snake is dead, and no one has been here."

"I know." 

His father came closer to look out the window, then looked him over, studying him for a long minute. "How long has it been since you slept?"

"Not that long," he said quietly, but his hard eyes demanded an answer. "I think Friday," he admitted, even more quietly.

"For Merlin's sake." His voice was sneering and his expression impatient. "If you haven't been to bed in five days, of course you're seeing things. You're not ill, you're doing it to yourself." 

Draco didn't respond. He didn't have any excuse. He looked into the middle distance, his father's words sinking in without resistance.

The lack of reaction seemed to be even more irritating. "Am I supposed to believe," he snapped, "that you need a nurse to tell you not just to eat, which you've obviously not been doing, but also to sleep now? You are a grown man. Even toddlers know to go to sleep when they're tired. Do you need to be told to use the lavatory too?"

He continued to stare impassively, until his father grabbed his jaw and lifted his face, forcing him to answer the rhetorical question. "No," he said, insides crawling with shame. 

"What a positively minimal accomplishment." He threw down his face. "Elf!"

Tolly appeared beside his foot, cringing a look up at him. "Master?"

"Until further notice, Draco's bedtime is ten o'clock. You will put him to sleep at precisely that time, regardless of where he is or what he's doing."

"Don't," Draco pleaded quietly. 

Finally getting a reaction gave his voice an edge of satisfaction. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," the elf squeaked promptly. "Tolly will make sure Master Draco sleeps." 

"Good. Shall we have her feed you as well?"

"No." 

"No? Are you certain it isn't too much responsibility for you?"

"Please." 

That display of submission seemed to mollify him. His father didn't respond, but walked away with contempt dripping from his voice. "Grow up." 

Tolly vanished and swiftly spirited a tea tray into the window to try to make Draco feel better. 

Draco didn't move. He stood there in front of the window, staring at the floor, fighting off every physical reaction he wanted to do. He wanted to mess with his hair, grab his head, clench his fists — he carefully took all of it, all of the energy behind those urges, and pushed it down, down until it was buried and he didn't react at all.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

((contents: emotional whump, child whumpee, child emotional abuse, domination, mind control / conditioning))

Promptspiration: @thebestieyoureinlovewith ask; same universe as this fic.

Whumpee: Draco Whumper: Lucius Caretaker: Snape Fic type: Hogwarts first year, weird AU (Malfoy blood magic AU)

((words: ~2300))

-------------

The morning after the detention in the Forbidden Forest, Draco came to breakfast armed with a lengthy, caustic letter home, lovingly detailing the myriad failings and incompetencies of the staff and systems of the school, that they would send him to such an unthinkable, moronic punishment, for the mere crime of trying to make sure that everyone was following the rules. Even people who thought they were something special, but utterly weren't.

He accepted his mother's semiweekly note and care package from Hermes with less interest than he normally had, gave the owl a sausage for it to savage, and took immense pleasure in sending it back with his missive. His parents were going to be so outraged. His father was going to take this to the board of governors as more evidence of how incompetent Dumbledore was, it was going to be the final bit he needed to finally get him sacked like he'd always wanted...

The satisfaction of that was still hovering in the back of his mind when he went to class, and he didn't even mind that it was Transfiguration with McGonagall and the Gryffindors, and that carried him through the day.

It was easy for him to tell when his father read his letter, after lunch, because that feeling evaporated and turned into something that was almost pain. His spoon fell clattering against the side of his cauldron as he clutched at his chest with a quiet whimper.

The pain wasn't actually in his chest, of course. It wasn't in his body, but it was very real. For as long as he could remember, he'd felt these things that told him how his father was feeling toward him, so he always knew how to do what he wanted. Even across the distance between Scotland and Wiltshire, or London, or wherever his father was today. He'd expected the warm, giddy feeling of his father being pleased with what he'd done -- not this! It was like someone had grabbed hold of his heart and was pulling it out, leaving an empty hole that ached.

It actually hurt. His father was actually angry with him. But why?! Telling him how terrible Dumbledore allowed the school to be run was supposed to make him happy! What did he do wrong? How did he fix it?!

"Did you eat too much?" Goyle wondered sympathetically. "That's what makes me do that. Next time try to drink something between plates."

"No-- shut up..." He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the feeling to pass and his father to not be angry with him.

--

The only vaguely interesting thing first year Potions had for its professor was the many and various ways the little idiots tried to kill themselves, each other, or him. It was a very irritating combination of the height of tedium and constant, low-level anxiety as he had to be eternally vigilant for some new innovation in incompetence that would prematurely end two dozen very promising careers as manual labourers and petty bureaucrats.

A few minutes before the blessed end of his torture, as he patrolled the room to ensure none of the dimwits had created anything too poisonous, he picked up the always-troubling sounds of sniggering from the most disruptive table in the room. Potter's, of course. "Maybe Malfoy ate one of the leeches," Weasley was saying hopefully, and Longbottom chuckled nervously.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he said casually as he passed. "You don't have the time to be concerned about other tables when your potion is that shade of orange."

He could fairly hear them scowling at his back. He supposed these classes weren't all bad.

Weasley wasn't wrong about Draco, though. Draco was one of the perhaps four students in the classroom he would say showed any promise at all in the subject, and it wasn't like him to be standing blankly over his cauldron when he still had to turn in his work. He had his eyes closed under a furrowed brow and was holding the edge of his workstation with a white-knuckled grip, barely breathing.

Clearly symptoms of something, but nothing in their cure for boils should have been able to cause that. Then again... He must, reluctantly, admit that his own house held the worst offenders for sheer incompetence this year.

"Draco," he drawled. "Did you happen to taste Goyle's mixture while you were doing his work for him?"

"No..." Draco took a breath and bit his lip to stifle a barely-audible whimper.

Goyle looked quizzically at his noxiously steaming cauldron, and he could see on his face the moment he had the brilliant idea to actually taste it. He slapped the spoon out of Goyle's hand without a word before he could get it to his face. That child was a menace.

"Perhaps, then, you would like to visit the nurse."

"No." Draco opened his eyes and looked at him, then dropped his eyes. "I'm fine," he said stubbornly.

"Very well. You have two minutes to leave your potions on my desk, and then you may go," he announced to the class, sweeping away.

Draco brought up his potion and left the room with his station cleaned before most of the rest of the class, and he did not give it much more thought, though the situation remained in the back of his mind.

It did not escape his attention a couple hours later, however, that Draco did not come to dinner, and that fact made a connection he had not thought about in years.

He left the great hall without drawing attention to himself and let himself into the Slytherin common room. The only students there skipping dinner were a pair of seventh years cramming for their N.E.W.T.s, who barely greeted him, and he returned the favour.

He thought at first that the first year dorms were empty, but old instincts made him check further; he found Draco sitting on the floor beside his bed, knees drawn up, holding his hair. When he realised he was found he scrambled to his feet to try to pretend nothing was wrong.

"It's your father, I assume." He didn't bother with any preamble.

"I don't know what you mean," Draco lied badly, staring at the foot of his bed. That was telling; normally he was a very good liar.

"I am aware of your family's magic. I have known your father since he was a student," he reminded him.

Draco looked up at him quickly, his eyes wide -- it was almost a challenge not to see into his mind, but there was very little coherent there, at least on the surface. He was just desperately thinking about his father.

After a second, when he decided he believed him and could trust him, Draco crumpled onto the bed, hunched over and arms wrapped around his stomach like he was about to be sick. "He's angry with me," he admitted in a small voice. "I sent him another owl after classes but he hasn't read it yet..." His voice was miserable. "Or it wasn't right..."

This was... infuriating. Draco had done nothing worthy of actual anger; maybe some annoyance or disappointment, and his experience with Lucius told him neither of those would be so incapacitating. As far as he could tell, Lucius had no reason to be punishing him except for the pleasure of doing so; the boy's father was truly his friend, but he was also truly possessed of some very unflattering qualities.

"Go to the hospital wing," he instructed. "Tell Madame Pomfrey I sent you for a Sleeping Draught; you'll be able to sleep it off."

Draco hunched his shoulders and looked up at him. "I don't need that," he insisted. "I can apologise..."

Infuriating. "It's interfering with your classes," he said, instead of telling him his reaction, his desperate need to be forgiven for nothing he had done wrong, was disgusting. It wasn't his fault, he supposed, but that didn't mean he liked seeing it. "Sleep it off, and inform me if this happens again."

Draco hunched over further, expression stricken with shame, until he hid it.

He could hear more students in the common room; he thought about telling Draco that it was his father who needed to fix this, not him, but he didn't think he would hear it. He turned without another word and left before they could be interrupted by any of the other boys.

Then he used the floo fireplace in his office to throw a note into Malfoy manor, calling for Lucius to come meet him in person.

---

They took a corner table on the upper floor of the Three Broomsticks. He took a single whisky to nurse, largely because he knew it annoyed Rosmerta to no end when he did so, but also because he was still ostensibly on duty at the school. Her table would be well paid-for, anyway; Lucius was hardly chary with his wine.

Whatever Lucius was feeling that was being reflected in Draco, he wasn't showing it. Nor would he expect him to; Lucius' capacity for compartmentalisation was second to none, not even his own. He sat with all the poise and casual good humour natural to Lucius when he was in any situation he controlled, which was by and large all of them.

"Your blood curse is interfering with my teaching," he said, after all the niceties were out of the way.

"It isn't a curse," Lucius said with mild-mannered dismissiveness.

It most certainly was, but there was no sense arguing about it. "Regardless," he said with equal dismissiveness. "It's becoming a problem. I'm sure you don't want attention drawn to it."

Lucius thoughtfully swirled his wine. "He's acting out? He should know better."

He gave him a severe look, quashing his own irritation. Of course he expected the child to hide what was happening. "Not obviously, but he is eleven. He is going to show it when he is in pain."

"I'll have to work on that."

Severus carefully divorced himself from the hints of offended disgust that reaction engendered in him. He didn't know what else he had expected, honestly. "In the meantime, consider rethinking your approach," he said, rationally instead of emotionally. "You may find it satisfying, but leaving him with your anger and no explanation isn't teaching him any lessons; it's just torture."

"You make it sound like a conscious choice to be angry."

"As though you have had a sustained emotion you didn't carefully inspect and consciously allow yourself to indulge in the last twenty years," he said dryly.

Lucius chuckled into his wine and didn't deny it. "He knows what he did wrong."

"I guarantee, if he knew, he would be falling over himself to repent. He wasn't able to eat tonight; I'm sure you remember how that feels." He sipped his whisky for its warming glow. "Personally, I see no cause for your anger either. If this is about his detention, the infraction was minor, merely an instance of being out of bed after curfew. I wouldn't even have bothered with detention for it, if it had been up to me. I hope you're not so draconian you'd hold that against him to this extent."

"He should have known better than to be caught," Lucius pointed out. "But no, that's a learning opportunity. However, he's supposed to be making connections with Harry Potter, not antagonising him and making a fool of himself in front of him."

"Is that all? Draco has the right idea there; Harry Potter is a useless, arrogant little brat."

"That may be, but his actual value has yet to be established."

"None," he asserted, allowing himself a scowl. "There is absolutely nothing special about that boy. There's no point in dragging your name down by forcing your son to associate with him. Even if there were a chance he would be receptive, which there is not."

Lucius considered him thoughtfully over his glass for a long moment while Rosmerta dropped off another and continued until they were alone again. Then he gave a measured shrug. "I trust your judgement," he allowed. "It will be something of a relief if he does turn out to be unsuitable. It does remain that Draco didn't do as he was told, though."

He stared unblinking at him. The most infuriating thing about this situation was that he genuinely believed Lucius didn't actually mean anything by his behaviour. He cared for his son -- loved him, probably even liked him. It was just that petty sadism was his only real vice. Having power over people was intoxicating to him, and when he had it he simply had to flaunt it, sometimes even against his own interests. Even, apparently, when it was his own son. "You don't sound like yourself anymore, Lucius."

Lucius raised a very judgemental eyebrow at him.

"I seem to recall a drunken tirade about the cruelty of being enslaved to one's bloodline not so many years ago."

"A moment of weakness," Lucius said dismissively.

"Indeed." He sipped his whisky distantly. "I wonder what it is about becoming a father that turns men into monsters."

Lucius's eyes narrowed, and he sat his barely-touched glass in the middle of the table. "Well, thank you for the invitation, Severus," he said with bland, cool propriety as he stood. "It's been depressing as always."

"It has," Severus agreed, and didn't watch him as he left. He stayed there for a while, alone, to finish his drink.

---

The next morning, Draco came to breakfast energetic and apparently untroubled, with plenty of appetite, and that was good to see.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpuary 12

Whumpuary prompts should theoretically make up one cohesive narrative, though I'm not currently putting in the effort to flesh out the story around the prompts just yet. I have good intentions to do so eventually. Masterlist. Oh yeah and they're totally out of order, chronologically.

((content warnings: failed escape, injured loved one, being blamed ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 12: Rescue

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy Whumper: Voldemort Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: torture fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

Narcissa tries to save Draco.

words: ~950

-------------------

Draco was woken instantly by the sound of the cellar door opening, and he curled up tighter. No, he'd just gotten back downstairs, they were done with him… They shouldn't come for him again…

But there was something weird about it. It wasn't like normal, Wormtail's businesslike motions that didn't care if they were heard, but it was a subtle click, trying to hide itself. He was tense, not breathing, waiting for whatever fresh hell the unexpected was bringing. 

The door creaked quietly open, but admitted only the barest hint of light down the stairs. It was deep in the night, and whoever was out there hadn't lit their wand. 

"Draco." The voice was barely above a whisper, a subtle undertone, but it was his mother's. He shot painfully upright. 

"Mother…" The dread evaporated into confused gratitude. He pulled his way up the wall and slid along it to the corner below the stairs, looking up at her barely visible silhouette in the slightly lighter darkness above. This was astonishing. He would not have been surprised to learn that she actually didn't know where the manor's kitchen was. She had no use for house elf rooms. 

"Come quickly. Quietly." Her head turned to the side and her face caught a stray bit of moonlight while she cautiously looked after some noise. "You're leaving."

Leaving. Getting out of here. Escaping… Running away from the Dark Lord? Was that even possible? 

If she said it was then it was; his faith in her was so ingrained he didn't even consider otherwise. His heart lifted and he pulled himself up the stairs with all the quiet of his natural penchant for stealth. It was amazing how much easier it was to move when he had a reason to want to. 

She reached out her hand to him and he took it, a few steps from the top, but then he stopped. "Wait…. Ollivander." 

Her hand squeezed his, pulling him up, and he didn't actually have to see her frown to know that she was. "There isn't time." 

Still, he hesitated, and looked back down into the darkness. He'd been locked up with the old man for… He wasn't certain, he had long ago lost track of time in the endless cycle of darkness and punishment, but over a month, certainly. Two? More? It didn't seem right to escape and just leave him behind. 

"I'll spare you the trouble." The quavering voice was barely audible from below. "Any physical feats past standing are completely beyond me. I cannot… Go, and good luck."

"I'm sorry." He took the last few steps. 

His mother closed the door firmly behind him and pulled him away from it. He didn't let go of her hand and she didn't seem inclined to either. 

"The alarms on the garden door are deactivated," she murmured quickly, pulling him to the door in the corner of the room. Not to the outside, though — the doors in the kitchen were much more exposed than the one she mentioned. They would go through the morning room and into the back hall that ran the length of the house, past the back doors to the veranda he didn't dare touch, and then to the corner of the far wing.

His mind raced as they ghosted down the back hall. Where would they go? He couldn't imagine anywhere safe, but she must have made connections… Go into hiding, maybe — did she have a secret-keeper? They could leave the country… but even he'd heard about Igor Karkaroff, that clearly didn't mean safety… 

He realised he hadn't seen Father. He was leaving with them… right?

They were passing behind the main staircase when there were footsteps down the hall. He cringed back when he realised they were caught, hand curled up by his head, mind babbling that he didn't want to be cursed, please don't curse him… he'd stay down where he was supposed to, he'd behave, just don't… don't call Him…

He felt a hand on his arm; his mother pushed him behind her, and he tried to be invisible, and tried to breathe properly.

"Going somewhere?" 

He recognised that voice… Dolohov… Dolohov had every reason to hate him, what the hell was he doing here in the middle of the night…

"That's none of your concern." Her voice was hard and imperious, with no sign of uncertainty, no apology. 

"I don't think you have permission to have him up here, Narcissa…"

"I do not need permission to speak with my son in my own home!" 

"You know that's not true. And I know this isn't 'talking'. You're not leaving." 

There was a sudden flurry of movement as they went for their wands — she managed to draw it, but she wasn't a duellist, she didn't have his reflexes. Before she could get off a spell, a purple flame ripped through the air slammed into her. She crumpled to the floor in eerie silence, but Draco screamed in her place. 

He fell down to his knees with her, and she wasn't moving, there were no obvious marks from that curse but that made it worse, he couldn't tell if she was breathing… Please, please please…

The noise had drawn other people, but no one was helping, he just sensed them around him. And then his father was there — he grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him away from her. Draco fell into Bellatrix's legs in shock. His father gathered his unresponsive mother up in his arms, checking for signs of life. "What did you do?!" He lifted his head over her body and glared at him in naked pain. "What have you done?"

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpuary 2

Whumpuary prompts should theoretically make up one cohesive narrative, though I'm not currently putting in the effort to flesh out the story around the prompts just yet. I have good intentions to do so eventually. Masterlist. Oh yeah and they're totally out of order, chronologically.

((content warnings: parental physical & verbal abuse, parental abandonment, homophobia, mention of Cruciatus torture ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 02: "Get away from me."

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy Whumper: Lucius Malfoy Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: abuse fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

words: ~450

-------------------

"Don't speak to me." 

Draco managed not to flinch by holding onto his arms tightly. The Dark Lord and most of the Death Eaters were gone; he thought that he'd be able to talk to his parents finally. He hadn't even seen his father since he was arrested, over a year, and he'd thought…

But no. His father was so angry. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed halfway down his back so he wouldn't have to look at him. 

He looked… bad. Azkaban clearly hadn't been kind to him. Nor had the Dark Lord. He hadn't even realised… 

His father spun around and the back of his hand slammed across his face and made him stumble. "Did you even once stop to think about what you were doing to us?" he demanded. "Did you think about any of your responsibilities? No, I supposed it suits you to have me punished for your failures, doesn't it?" He stepped closer and Draco fell back a step without even trying to answer. "It's bad enough that you failed as spectacularly as you did, when success was right there. All you had to do was follow through with one spell. You could have been a hero, and you threw it away." Disgust and fury fought across his face and he forced Draco back another step. Draco's heel bumped into the baseboard, and he had nowhere left to go. He gripped his arms more tightly and stared into his father's chest while the words washed over him. 

"Bad enough that you ran from the consequences, leaving us to take your punishment." 

His father grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Draco gasped in pain — every muscle was still tight and aching from all of the Cruciatus over the previous night, and the impact on his back sent pain running down to his fingertips and his toes. "Bad enough you're a fairy.

"But Harry… fucking… Potter…" His voice was as low and dangerous as Snape's, and worse, because that should never have been turned toward him. That voice was for enemies. "You've ruined everything."

He knew that. Didn't he think he already knew that? He lifted his eyes to his face finally, looking at him helplessly. What he'd really wanted, desperately hoped for, was for his father to know how to fix it…

But there was only anger and disgust. There was nothing that could be done, no excuses that could be given, no manipulation, no strategy, no bribery, no way out of it. 

"Stay away from me." His father threw down his shirt with one final shove against the wall and turned his back on him. "You've done plenty." 

Draco gripped his arms and slowly slid down the wall as his father walked away, trembling.

[splendidissimus]

early 2000 - Witness

((Content warning: Cruciatus torture, mind invasion, hair pulling, abusive parent, abused abuser, self loathing))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 6: Made to watch / "It should have been me." ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: none

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: angry -> self-loathing / guilty / depressed

((words: ~550))

------------------------------------

"The only thing you've ever done for me is serve me up to Voldemort!" 

With a flash of anger, his father's hand lashed out, and Draco half-ducked but wasn't quick enough to stop him from grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of his head. His head was yanked up to meet his father's eyes. He could feel the press of his mind and shored up his defences, trying to shove his arm away. "Don't—"

His father was a better Legillimens than he was an Occlumens; the walls around his mind were trampled under, leaving him helpless to hide whatever his father wanted. 

But he wasn't trying to take anything. An isolated vision of Voldemort's face swam in front of him, resolved into Voldemort speaking with his father. "It's a shame about your family, Lucius. Malfoy used to be a noble line. To end with such a whimper… What would your father say?"

It swam away, morphed into a different conversation. Voldemort holding an unfamiliar wand in two fingers. "I have already given you your son. Is Lord Voldemort not magnanimous, Lucius?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And yet, you still believe you deserve more?" He tapped the wand, offered, perhaps seized from a prisoner, to replace the one Voldemort had taken from Lucius. "You would ask another gift?"

"No, my lord. I merely thought—"

Voldemort's finger tapped the wand again, and silence fell abruptly. 

"Perhaps, if you are no longer happy with my gift, it could be arranged… Would you rather have this, Lucius?" 

"No… my lord…"

"No? Perhaps later, then. Do let me know if you change your mind."  

It faded to his father on the floor, with Voldemort and Bellatrix. "Shall we have the boy called home to learn his own lesson? No? Again, Bella." Grinning, she cast the Cruciatus, and he screamed. 

Then Bellatrix was screaming. The memories mashed into each other, one Cruciatus into another. They were in the hall, Voldemort cursing everyone in his anger after Potter escaped them. Draco's mother was trying to get him to stand on the stairs, Voldemort raised his wand to curse them again, and his father forced himself back to his feet near Voldemort's side, saying "No!", drawing his attention long enough to give them time to escape. He was screaming as they ran away.

A fragment of a scene leaked into his mind that he didn't think he was meant to see, a different blond teen with a split lip and bloody face, a much older Malfoy man bringing his walking stick down on him again. 

Then the connection broke with a snap that sent his mind reeling as it tried to remember where he was, and he stumbled backward several steps when his father threw him away. His father left without a single word, and in a moment a door slammed. 

Draco fled outside to the winter garden, holding the back of his head where it ached, trying to hold back the echo of his father's overwhelming rage and thread of self control that was barely keeping him from beating him as his own father had. And the feeling that he deserved it.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

June of Doom 1

@juneofdoom Day 1: "Help me" | Failed Escape | On the Run

(( teen whumpee / parental whumper / abusive parent / parental abandonment / domestic violence / implied incest SA / physical violence / hair pulling / magic whump ))

fandom: Harry Potter words: 450

He ran down the stairs, skidding as the carpet slipped on the marble but barely managed to keep his feet. His father's heavy footsteps weren't far behind, but they weren't completely steady. 

With any luck, the old bastard would fall down the stairs and break his neck. They could call it a terrible drunken accident, then he wouldn't be anyone's problem anymore…

He already had his eyes on the drawing room door, and the floo beyond. Anywhere, he'd be out of this fucking house and figure it out from there.

There was movement behind him, and he ducked on instinct, but that didn't stop the spell from hitting him in the back. His legs instantly turned to jelly and collapsed, spilling him down the last few steps and onto the floor on his face; his arms were scraped on the edge of the steps as he tried in vain to catch himself — he would feel it later, but for now his blood was too up, and he shoved himself over onto his back, fighting to make his jinxed legs move, scrambling for his wand in his pocket to get out the countercurse.

"Insolent shit." Father was halfway down the stairs with his wand still out, glaring down at him. 

"Fuck you!" Insolent because he wasn't going to taken the drunken handsiness anymore, insolent because he'd openly defied him by running instead of hiding like a scared little brat hoping his father would get distracted and stop looking until he sobered up. Insolent because he wasn't going to passively accept his punishment for daring after fourteen years to be sick of it.

He finally yanked his wand out of his pocket and it was immediately blasted from his hand, clattering off along the floor. That was the bastard. just waiting for him to think he had a chance before he ripped it away. 

"Sending you to that school was a mistake." Father listed down the stairs, but his wand hand never wavered. "You're forgetting your place."

He shoved himself back, eyes darting around for a way out, trying to force his uncooperative legs to do anything. 

A pair of eyes met his — his mother was standing in the doorway of her room, looking at him. He stared at her desperately for a long moment. She could just say something, distract him—

She blankly closed the door to block out the noise. 

His father grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up, hot sour breath searing against his face. Lucius twisted to try one last time to get free, and failed.