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the first time: 1988
Draco was… not scared. Just a little anxious. Definitely. He had been out playing Quidditch for too long with Theo and Blaise, and he had been late to dinner, and tracked mud over his mother's favourite antique Persian rug. His father had simply raised an eyebrow at him and told him to go to his room. Draco had curled up into the tiniest ball he could manage in the corner of his wardrobe, and was simply praying that his father would get drunk and forget. However, it was rather more likely that he would get drunk and remember, and then it would be even worse. He was shaking, he realised. He tried to press himself further into the the corner, but that only made it worse, and his eyes started stinging and suddenly he let out a whimper.
"Draco? Where are you, idiot boy?"
Draco flinched. His father had found him. The door swung open, revealing a trembling Draco and Lucius' irate expression. He slapped him, and Draco almost cried out, but he managed to stifle it behind his hand. His breath reeked of alcohol. Not the expensive wine they kept in the cellars, but something stronger. Lucius grabbed his ear and dragged him out, Draco too scared to do anything but obey.
When they reached his study, Lucius threw him to the floor.
"You stupid, insufferable child! You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name! How could you, such a disobedient son…"
Draco started zoning out. He had heard it all before.
"Boy! Listen to me!"
Draco flinched. He was only ever called that when Lucius was truly angry.
"Look at me!"
Draco unwillingly looked up.
"Listen to me. You are not fit to be a heir. You are worthless. Do you understand me?"
Draco nodded.
"Good."
Lucius unbuckled his belt, laughing at his cowering son. Draco closed his eyes, turned away. It is coming again. The only safe thing to do is to stay silent, choking back his screams.
When it was over, he limped back to his room, dripping blood behind him. He caught sight of himself in the dark mirror, blood dripping from his nose and down his chest. The flickering candlelight made him seem paler than normal, the blood black rivers cutting down his frame. Draco turned away.
the second time: 1991
Draco was so angry. How could the Mudblood girl beat him in every single class? Even Potions? He had been tutored by Snape since he was tall enough to see over a brewing stand! He fumed silently on the train home, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle's dimwitted jokes and Pansy's aggressively overbearing flirting. His fingers were shaking violently, he realised. He sat on his hands. It would not do for the Malfoy heir to be shaking like a leaf because some Mudblood girl beat him in marks.
As the train approached King's Cross, Draco became aware that he was no longer angry, but more scared. Surely his father wouldn't mind that he was second? He laughed even to himself. Lucius would never let it go. He listened to Theo cackle at something sarcastic and witty Blaise said, the other two dimwits next to him laughing stupidly. Pansy fluttered her eyelashes at him. Draco tried not to gag.
As soon as he returned to the Manor, Lucius and Narcissa swept down the hallway, Narcissa wearing her politest society smile, Lucius bearing an expression of the darkest foreboding. Draco flinched slightly, immediately regretting it when Lucius' eyes narrowed.
"Malfoy men do not flinch, Draco." His voice was cold and emotionless. "I hear a Mudblood scored better than you in your exams."
Draco ducked his head.
"Lazy, spoiled, ungrateful brat. Go upstairs."
He nodded mutely, and walked up the stairs.
Draco had only managed to sulk on his bed for a few minutes when his mother walked in. "Mum?" he asked. "Why are you here?" Lucius had always preferred to give his punishments in person.
Narcissa sighed. "You know how much I value your education. Your father simply wants you to be a good Malfoy, and of course that includes being of some intelligence, but your education is important to me. You have to be the best. You are a Malfoy, and you are also Draco. But Draco is worthless if he is not the best."
Draco stared in shock. His mother had never lectured him like this, always stepping between Lucius and her son when she could.
"I fear your father was right. I have been too soft on you. Losing to a Mudblood!"
He winced. His mother never raised her voice.
"Come with me."
Draco was dragged down the corridor until he reached the dungeons. His mother shoved him in unceremoniously, locking and bolting the door behind her.
"Spend a few days in here. You might as well experience what it's like being a Mudblood if you're so insistent on losing to one."
His mouth gaped wide open in shock, but Narcissa simply walked away and left him there. Glancing around, Draco found nothing but a very small pile of tattered rags. Probably left behind by the last person in here. He sank to his knees, fighting the urge to scream. Nobody would hear him. Or, knowing Lucius, he was standing outside, waiting for the screams to start.
the third time: 1996
Draco balled his hands into fists. It was simply so annoying that they kept shaking whenever he was stressed. Or scared. Or utterly fucking terrified, like right now. Lucius had failed during the Department of Mysteries, and had lost to a gang of fifteen year olds. The Dark Lord was not pleased. He was in fact so displeased that Draco was now awaiting either torture, execution or both.
He only realised he had jerked forwards onto his knees when he looked up to see the Dark Lord's snakelike eyes. He suppressed a shiver, forcing his Occlumency walls up. The monster above him cackled. Draco felt hands reaching into his mind, ripping the walls away as though they were empty. They probed into his mind, riffling through his darkest thoughts and fantasies. Laughing with Theo and Blaise in the Slytherin Common Room, flying on his broom above Hogwarts, Granger in the libra-
He was yanked back to the realm of consciousness. The Dark Lord laughed. "Fantasising about the Mudblood, are we?"
Draco stared into his eyes, looking for some sense of humanity. There was none, and he felt sick. Not just morally disgusted sick, but also genuinely ill… He tipped forwards into a pile at the Dark Lord's feet, transfixed by those crimson eyes.
The Dark Lord barked out another laugh. Without warning, he hit Draco with a Crucio. And another one. And another. Draco's never ending quest to not make a sound failed miserably. A scream ripped out of his throat. He felt like his nerves were on fire, like there was something drilling into his brain. Knives scraped down his throat every time he breathed. He could feel himself slamming his skull into the ground, but the only thing he could focus on was the Dark Lord's presence in his mind, examining his thoughts, his memories, until it all stopped.
Then something worse happened. Burning, on his left forearm. Draco didn't have to look. The skull was working its way into his skin. Poisoning his blood, stripping him of every degree of sanity and dignity. His back arched, and he thrashed harder. He distantly noticed begging for salvation - "Please stop I'll do anything please help me mother please HELP ME" - but nobody cared. Then it was over.
He was dismissed. Lucius threw him through the Floo into his room and left him there. After almost an hour, Draco sat up again. His arm was spasming, and he could feel his muscles cramping. He lay back as pain ripped through him. His hand shook so hard not even sitting on them could stop the jerking. Eventually, he gave up. He shook violently for almost a week after.
the fourth time: 1998
Aunt Bella was screaming at him. Potter, the Weasley and Granger had gotten away, and it was his fault. It was always his fault. He vaguely remembered a time when Greyback had failed to carry out a raid. Draco had been locked up in that cell for almost a fortnight. Aunt Bella said something else, and another Crucio ripped through him. While he never got desensitised to it, he had found it would be over quicker if he stayed quiet. He bit his tongue so hard blood flooded his mouth, but he didn't make a sound.
She waved her wand again, but instead of another Crucio, she whispered, "Imperio."
Suddenly, Draco was on his feet. His body protested at the movement, but his mind was blissfully empty. He let his consciousness take him somewhere else. The Hogwarts Library. Granger hunched over an essay, he doing the same. Occasionally stealing glances at each other. Raised eyebrows from her and sharp glares from him. Eyes that asked are you okay? His eyes that said leave me the fuck alone.
Distantly, Draco watched himself walk down to Aunt Bella's room.
Aunt Bella points at a whip. He obeys, taking it off the wall. He begins to strike himself with it. Counting down from 100. When he's done, his back is a tattered mess and blood pours down his legs. Draco picks up a knife, slicing into his skin in neat, parallel lines. Deep enough that yellow globs of fat can be seen. He keep going, turning himself into a mess of blood and tears and sweat. When Aunt Bella releases him from the curse, he can hardly breathe from the pain.
Draco somehow managed to get to his room. He was soaked in blood. His head felt oddly light, as though it was floating somewhere a few metres above his neck. He swayed and collapsed onto his bed.
When he wakes in the middle of the night from a nightmare, his skin is all healed. Not a mark left.
the fifth time: 1998
Draco stared sightlessly at the blank walls of his cell. Another cell. He was reminded bitterly of the very first cell he had been put in, when he was just twelve. Now, he anticipated he would be here for a lot longer than a week. He was going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. He was fine with it. He didn't care.
Some guards walked in. Draco watched them. They did this every time, crowding his space and trying to intimidate them. He just stared at the wall. Normally, they got bored. Not this time. He heard the clinking of belt buckles. They were going to beat him. Nothing he hadn't experienced before. Except the lashes never came. Instead he heard raised voices, arguing. Something about who wanted to go first.
"I want to be the first. I bet his spoilt brat hole has never been used before."
"What about me? He deserves to be punished. I want to use him like a fleshlight. I bet he treated all the girls he killed like that too."
"Maybe he did it when they were dead too."
"I bet he enjoyed that."
Now Draco's listening. He doesn't understand what he's hearing, not really - not being fed for two weeks while awaiting trial will do that to you - but he has a vague sense it wouldn't be good. Probably something worse than they did before. His suspicions are proven right when something shoves inside of him, without any preparation. He wants to scream at the harsh friction - it's too big, and it hurts so much - but he stays quiet and retreats back into his head.
He's looking at Granger. They're in their sixth year, still young enough to be a little shy but old enough that she no longer hates him quite so passionately. He's tired. So tired. They are Potions partners. As Slughorn lectures at the front of the room, she slips him a note. "Are you okay?", it reads. Draco ignores it. She huffs. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. But if you ever do… I'll probably be in the library." He doesn't ignore it this time. He burns it instead. Granger rolls her eyes so loudly he's surprised nobody else noticed.
Draco is pulled out of his mind when he realises that his tormentor has pulled out. Before he can celebrate this update, someone new pushes back inside. Unwillingly, he can feel himself stiffening. It's been so long since he was touched, and even like this he craves more. Before he knows it, it's someone new. And another one. And another one. Until finally he reaches a breaking point and spurts all over himself, and now they're all laughing at him, and they force him to lick himself and clean it all up, and he does it because this is his life now and they would just do worse if he didn't listen.
Later, once he's finally alone, someone gives him a bucket of ice cold water to wash himself with. He scrapes at his skin so hard he bleeds, and the water ends up a rusty red. Nobody is coming for him. Nobody cares.
the sixth time: 1999
Draco could hardly believe his luck. He was standing in a refurbished Hogwarts, thanks to the testimonies given by Potter and Granger resulting in the Wizengamot sentencing him to an extra year of school. He didn't miss the venomous insults thrown his way, or the glares shot by the teachers, but he wasn't in Azkaban. He was as safe as he could possibly be.
He arrives to the feast late, after a very long and excruciatingly boring lecture by McGonnagal. He looks around, seeing Theo's face and heading towards his end of the table. Theo glances at him, looks away, looks at anywhere but his face. Oh. He has no friends to sit with, so he sits at the (mercifully deserted) opposite end of the table.
Draco doesn't listen during the speech. Unity, recovery, healing, whatever. He doesn't care. Nobody cares about him anyways, and if they do, it wasn't the positive kind. He knows it's over when everyone gets up from their chairs, talking loudly about the upcoming year. He keeps his head low, tries to get to the Slytherin Common Room unscathed. He, rather unfortunately, fails miserably.
Theo and Blaise block his path. They are silent, or maybe they're not, but Draco can't hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. They push him to the floor, kick him, punch him. Someone shoves two fingers down his throat and tells him to suck. He obeys. It doesn't matter. Someone else - or is it the same person - tugs his robes off. They tear off his underclothes, leaving him naked in the hallway. He's used to the feeling of being used now, after that brief stint in Azkaban. He lets it happen. He doesn't matter. He's nothing.
Eventually, they get bored and leave him there. He thinks he might be bleeding, but he can't summon the strength to move. As a parting gift, Theo stamps on his chest.
He doesn't know how long it's been. He doesn't really care. He thinks he might just stay there forever. Until he hears a rather loud yelp that's suddenly stifled. He raises his head slightly to see who it is. He freezes, all his muscles locking into place when he meets her eyes. Granger.
Big, worried doe eyes look him over. She crouches next to him, gently lays a hand on his shoulder. He flinches so hard he almost launches himself to the ceiling.
"Hey, hey. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I promise. Here." Her voice is warm. Gentle. Kind, even. She conjures a blanket, wraps it around him so he's covered. She carefully takes his elbow, leads him to her room. She takes the blanket back, and starts murmuring charms. Diagnostics, he thinks, but it's hard to tell, what with the room swimming out of focus every time he blinks. She pinches him. "Stay awake Draco. Please."
She starts healing him, wand moving in practiced motions. His skin knits together, his broken ribs set and heal. When she's done, he doesn't know what to do. His mind is completely blank, stilled by this strange kindness.
"You shouldn't have done that." His voice is dry and damaged.
"Why?" She doesn't sound judgemental, just curious. It helps that she doesn't look at him, busy placing Essence of Dittany into her healing kit.
"Because… because I'm a terrible person. Everything is my fault."
"No. It's not." She doesn't say anything else, but she does touch his arm lightly.
He starts shaking so hard at the touch. The only kind touch he had felt in such a long time. She feels it, feels the trembling. "It's okay. Breathe."
She pulls him into a proper hug, and he breaks apart completely, burying his face in her hair. He still remains unnervingly quiet, but then Draco realises that he isn't alone. That someone came for him.