Icicle Fingers (Drarry)

Chapter 1

TW: Abuse (let me know if I should anything else)

•Draco•

"Crucio."

A flash of green light, and his entire being was in agony.

Pain shot through him like bullets, but this kind of pain was something that not even thousands of bullets could recreate. It took over his mind, he could not think of or feel anything but the pain coursing through his body.

And so, Draco Malfoy began to scream.

The man in front of him let out a malicious laugh, but he didn't hear it. His ears were filled with his own uncontrollable screaming.

As he writhed on the cold, marble floor, he wished nothing but for the pain to end. He had accepted death as a much better option at this point, hoped for it even. Anything, anything but this pain.

His wish became fulfilled after what felt like several eternities, and so he could think again. The nerve endings in his body could now direct their attention to the many bruises, new and old, pressed against the hard floor.

The large echoing hall of the manor had once again become silent. He had always hated this hall, it felt more like the triforium of a church than a home, the high ceiling leering at him. Reminding him of a birdcage despite the many windows.

The man, his father, broke the silence.

"So, Draco. Have you learnt your lesson now?" A calm yet harsh voice uttered.

Lucius Malfoy's lips were stretched upwards, but it was far from a smile, even though it appeared to be one. It was akin to a dog baring it's teeth.

Draco couldn't bring himself to speak, the only sound coming from his lips being gasps for air.

"This may have seemed harsh Draco, but you brought it upon yourself."
His father spoke again, still with that deadly cool that made his hairs stand up.

"Seeing how you've been behaving lately, you should thank me for being merciful and letting you live."
The fear that had been boiling violently within Draco now froze into sharp ice crystals.

Draco could still not speak, and all of his little remaining energy was spent on keeping his eyes dry. He could not cry, it would only make his father angrier.

His lack of response seemed to have the same effect however, and his father's voice had become drowned in venom.

"Get it together already boy, you're acting like a child."
The contempt and anger in his tone would be enough to make an adult tear up, yet thirteen-year-old Draco still refused to let himself cry.

He peeled himself off the floor inelegantly, feeling as if he would break into thousands of shards. Like the plate he had dropped earlier that day. He swayed slightly as he stood.

"If I'd known you would be this weak of an heir I would've created a replacement. Just a single curse and you can barely stand up. Weakling."

Frustration and shame joined fear in stabbing at his insides.

"M-my apologies, father."
His jaw felt as if it was connected to his skull by rusty gears, that had now been set in motion. He could almost hear the creaking.

His father narrowed his eyes menacingly, but still seemed less agitated.

"Stuttering is for fools Draco, though I suppose you are one. Don't try to convince me otherwise, your grades have told me more than you ever could."

Ah yes, his school results. That's what had started all of this. That blasted Hogwarts letter had arrived during dinner.

First he had gotten that Acceptable in Defense Against The Dark Arts, his father hated that. He tried to explain that his low result was due to Lockharts incompetence, but was met with his fathers cane in the stomach for backtalking.

Then, he had once again fallen second place to Hermione Granger in all of his classes. Well, all except for potions. Not that it mattered to his father, who was outraged that his son could ever lose to a mudblood. That had left him with several bruises, just like it had last year.

Being highly on edge at that point, trying his best to avoid even more punishment, he had made a near fatal mistake. He. Dropped. That. Damned. Plate.

He was dusting the dumb thing, a plate only of ornamental value, stupid concept really. So valuable apparently that his mother didn't trust any of the house-elves with it, and so he had to do the pointless task every evening. Of course it had to slip through his fingers.

As soon as he heard the shatter of it making contact with the mahogany floor, he knew he was in for it. To this degree however? He never would've guessed.

It didn't matter now anyways. It didn't matter that it was his fathers heavy footsteps that startled him into dropping it. It didn't matter that it could easily be repaired. And it surely didn't matter that he had said sorry a hundred times.

He still got dragged out in the hall, yelled at, and beaten. Cursed even.

His father gave him one last look of utter disdain, and a quiet "goodnight", before leaving the hall. His absence made the hall feel even more vast, and silent other than those familiar footsteps.

Still swaying slightly, Draco forced his legs to work. Swearing quietly at every other step, he slowly made his way back to his room.

He felt cold, deep within his stomach. And that was all he felt, other than the pain he was ignoring. The tears that he had been battling against had surrendered long ago, and the fear and anger had stopped trying to tear him in half.

Now he just felt like a shell. This "calm after the storm" was worse than the one before it. The only sound in the ice castle of a manor being his own footsteps. He felt fully alone, but not lonely. He didn't crave human contact, since it always made him feel even emptier, but he craved the presence of another person. The presence of body heat, to thaw the frozen centre of his bones.

He wrapped his own arms around himself as he stumbled up the tremendous staircase. It was elegant when basked in light, but in dark the stairs felt dull. The shining white marble appearing as merely concrete.

His own arms brought him no warmth, so he used them to grip the banister instead. A smart choice, as a stumble almost brought him to the ground seconds after.

Reaching his bedroom, he let his body stop working. He had barely even managed to close the door behind him, before he collapsed onto the soft, green carpet. It hurt, but not as much as walking.

At this point, the emptiness was so overwhelming that he missed the tears. Missed how the burned his eyes, how the emotions were trying to spill over.

Now it was just nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. At times like these he wished he had a cigarette to smoke, or a glass of whiskey to down. Something to burn his lungs, or his throat. Something to fill his empty mind by clouding it.

But all he had was the ceiling, as always.

And so, Draco Malfoy shut his eyes, and fell asleep on the floor.

(AN)
First fanfiction I've written in a while, I'm planning on continuing it but I'm not sure.
No beta sadly, probably would've needed one though.
I'm open to all types of criticism, preferably constructive though.
Thanks for reading!
(1200 words -AN)

/Alex