Chapter Text
All his life, the worst pains he’d experienced were that of which his father brought upon him. The Cruciatus Curse, getting the dark mark. All results of being the son of such an evil man, being the son of Lucius Malfoy.
But this, this pain hurt. He’d heard muggle-borns and half-bloods talk of muggle world pain, but never did he think that he would ever have to experience it. As he held his left forearm still, subjecting it to the repetitive stabs, he let out silent sobs of pain.
And they do this for fun?
“Hey mate, you sure you’re okay?” Draco Malfoy glanced down at the muggle man who drew on his arm with needles of color and pain. With a strained voice, he reassured both the man and himself, although neither believed it.
“Well you’re doing great, you haven’t moved your arm at all. Thanks for that, making my job a whole lot easier.” Draco nodded, afraid of speaking and allowing this stranger to hear the pain that flowed through him. “We can take a break? Get some snacks.”
Draco shook his head at that, he wouldn’t be able to handle the terrifying anticipation that would surely ensure if they stopped now. He’d leave early and never get his arm finished and he needed to finish it. He’d be damned if he went back to school without his arm perfectly decorated in colorful flowers that would conceal the unrelenting death mark that seemed to be engraved in his pale skin.
He’d be damned.
“Well it’s your money, sir,” said the tattoo artist before turning the machine on once again and allowing the needles to pierce through his already terribly tender skin. What a long day this would be.
~
Draco sat in the window sill of his room looking out into the cloudy terrain that the Malfoy Manor watched over. It was going to rain today, just as it had yesterday and the day before. Just as it would tomorrow and the day after.
Because at the Manor, every day following the war, days had been dreary and lonesome. Friends had been scarce and enemies had been far from welcoming. Draco cradled his left arm as he fought with himself on whether or not to send someone an owl. It wasn’t like he had anyone, in particular, to send post to, no, not at all. He just longed for the feeling of waiting to get mail. Longed to look out of the window and wonder when his owl would bring back a reply.
But shortly after, he came to his senses and left his seat at the window. He’d send out no post, and he’d receive not a single letter back until a few weeks before September first when the newest Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sent him his school supply list.
Upon getting said list, he’d sneak out of his house and call for the Knight Bus which would take him to Diagon Ally. He’d get his things and he’d be on his way back to school to finish his stupid school education without the presence of Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One.
Without those blasted Weasley’s or bucktooth Granger or Neville Longbottom. And he would answer no mail from his father nor his mother. And he’d fail to come back to the Manor for any holiday at all. And once he graduated from school, he’d do his best to survive out of his own pocket because he’d surely be disowned once summer rolled around once more.
Only another few weeks.
~
There was a crisp knock on his door that could have only belonged to Narcissa Malfoy. Draco whipped his head around before magicking up a robe and putting it on, hiding the bouquet of pretty, pastel flowers that laced his entire forearm.
“Coming,” he announced and walked over to the large wooden door that he seldom left out of anymore. His mother, tall and scrawny eyed him angrily.
“I’d like to come in, Draco.”
“Draco? What’s happened to ‘Love,’ or ‘Darling,” he asked stepping to the side to allow his mother in his room. His voice matched hers in sharpness and anger. There was quite a bit to be upset about in the Malfoy Manor. Quite a bit.
“You’re father and I are under the impression that you’d like to leave home, darling. ” Narcissa sneered sitting down on Draco’s corner chair. There was once a time when the voices that trailed through the house were happy and cheerful. Other times they were calm and collected and full of plans.
Now they were filled with hatred for each other and everyone else. Draco would have liked to go another seventeen years without hearing such hostility in his mother’s voice when she spoke his own name. He’d have liked to grow old knowing his mother cared for him, about him, no matter what happened.
Unfortunately, children of war don’t get such fortune and favor, especially children in families like his. Families who fought for the wrong side Families who supported the wrong house. Families like Draco’s who never were happy to begin with because their only source of happiness came from serving a Dark Lord so cowardly that he’d hide from an infant.
So many other children had suffered the life he had because of the belief of their parents. But not all children had gone as far as Draco Malfoy. So maybe it wasn’t his parents to blame, but him. For going the distance he had gone.
You’ll do anything for family.
“So wonderful of you to notice, Mother. I am in fact planning on that very thing,” He said, not even caring to look at her anymore. He laid down on his bed, staring into the distance. By now she was just someone he’d known. Someone he’d been close to. After all, she looked at him the very same way. He laid down on his bed, staring into the distance.
“We won’t allow it.”
“Dear, Mother. You don’t control me anymore, I’m seventeen. I’m a man. Magic outside of Hogwarts? Yes. Death Eater at sixteen? Yeah. Don’t think you and Father can boss me around anymore. I’m not some ragdoll or chess piece you can throw around and move at will. I’m a human. I have-”
“That’ll be enough, Draco. We won’t allow it.” Mrs. Malfoy stood and began to approach her son’s bed, only to stop and sit back down. I guess I’m not worth the trouble anymore.
“I don’t care much anymore what you and Father will and will not allow. Whether you like it or not, you don’t control me anymore. I’m no longer a child.” Draco’s words were cold and he truly did hope they froze their way into his Mum’s heart. He hoped they stuck with her for a while.
“You are still a boy! You-”
“I’m not going to subject myself to you and Father’s master plan. It’s quite obvious they don’t turn out. My whole life I was messed over and for what? I’m an adult now and whatever choices I make, are mine now. I won’t get a free pass because I was a kid anymore. I won’t allow you to ruin my life any more than you already have.” Draco was standing up, his entire body exerting all of the rage he’d been holding in for days, weeks, months. Maybe even years.
And both Malfoy’s could feel all of that anger flowing right off of Draco. They could hear the seething in his voice and the anger in his eyes. And naturally, both thought back to a time when this feeling of hatred for one another hadn’t crossed their minds.
While Narcissa sat down staring up at her son, she no longer saw the boy she’d raised and protected and loved. She saw the man she’d married, the man she’d served for years, almost always without consent. The man who forced her baby to join the Death Eaters. The man who showed his true colors from the very beginning, colors she’d chosen to ignore.
The man who’d changed her child.
Draco rolled his eyes and turned away from her, resisting the urge to yet again raise his voice to counter her loud silence.
There was a time, at the end of the war, where the family had hugged and taken in the fact that they were alive. Which of course only led to the realization that they were alive.
Lucius Malfoy was alive, much to the dismay of Narcissa and Draco and the rest of the wizarding world. Draco was alive, much to the dismay of himself.
And now there was no room in the world of the Malfoy’s to relish the living and the dead. There was only room for self-hatred and hostility. For the rest of the world, most would assume that was already the case. For the Malfoy’s, however? It was absolute torture.