𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 - 𝐃.𝐌 (on hold)

𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

MENTIONS OF ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR, STRONG LANGUAGE, NON-CONSENT, AND TORTURE. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

DRACO.
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HE PACED back and forth — the room spinning in a constant wheel of dark shades. The black, greys, greens, and beige that coloured his home. Home, if he could even call it that.

All his life was spent in between the walls that surrounded him currently. His father taught him horrible things in this Manor — this graveyard of a childhood that was left haunting him into his teenage years and beyond. Those wrongdoings that were forcefully embedded into his mind still stuck, how couldn't they?

Draco's mother tried her best to keep the corruption from spreading — to keep her baby boy from being involved in the horrid life her husband had brought upon their family.

Lucius was a kind man in his youth. Narcissa could remember a time when he'd surprise her with gifts or kisses on the cheek back in their Hogwarts years. With the wind blowing through her hair, lifting it off her shoulders as he kissed her neck. Those days before he turned into the man he is today — the abusive father, husband, and person.

He hit his son constantly. The first time it happened was after he'd returned from his first year. Draco had been overly excited from the stories he'd get to share with his parents. He'd been eager to explain the fun time he'd received from the castle upon the hill.

The memory suddenly springing to life in his busied head — his thoughts suddenly halting from their swirling position.

"Father, mother!" He'd reached up to his mum's welcoming arms — his favourite place — and grasped her back in a warm embrace.

"Draco, my darling, how was your term?" Her kindling voice echoed through his ears like a sweet symphony played by the most talented orchestra. Her generous smile was implanted in his mind as something that he'd never forget.

"It was wonderful, mother, Hogwarts is just like you explained," Seeing his younger self made him warry of what he'd become — a bully, a fuck boy, and a Death Eater. The last one he wasn't especially proud of — though none of them were incredibly appealing.

When he'd arrived home that day and began his storytelling, he mentioned something about the muggleborn girl, Hermione Granger, who'd seemed overwhelmingly intelligent for her age and upbringing. Draco had been impressed by her lack of idiocy — he'd expected her to be as stupid and unknowledgeable as her father had placed all muggles and mudbloods.

Then, his father politely asked for Draco's appearance in his study, and once they'd made clear of Narcissa's viewing points, Lucius gripped his son's ear and dragged him the rest of the way — up the stairs and down two corridors.

After being forcefully shoved into the chair that sat, lonely in the corner of the darkened room he slapped him — he abused his one and only son because he'd spoken lightly and somewhat kindly of a muggleborn. The echo of skin hitting skin was a sound that frightened Draco — unknown to him at the time, he'd hear and feel the effects of its cause many more times in the next few years.

-

"DRACO COME, you're expected in the dining hall in two minutes," His favourite voice called out to him. He'd stopped pacing ten minutes prior — the harsh memory still fresh in his mind.

"Mmm-hmm,"

Although, instead of dwelling in the past, he should be focusing on what he'd tell the Dark Lord. A meeting had been scheduled between the two of them — Draco and his master — to discuss the matters of his task. The same task that he'd been slacking on for the past few weeks.