Draco's Protector

Title: Draco’s Protector
Author: Ras
Archived: This story is not archived elsewhere. You may post it on your own site if you credit me and e-mail me so I know where it is posted.
Summary: Lucius Malfoy demands excellence from his son. When Draco fails to meet his expectations, Draco suffers the consequences. Alone and hurting, Draco turns to his godfather, Severus Snape for comfort. (H/C involving a MINOR) H/C, child abuse, belt, cane.
Rating: Fan Rated Adult Only (equivalent to NC-17) for excessive violence and graphic descriptions of child abuse
Pairings: Severus/Draco (in a parental way, not a sexual way)
Feedback: Please post a review on the board. I’d love to hear your comments!
Author Notes: This story came into my head while watching Chamber of Secrets. I always wanted to know why Draco was whining for attention in the infirmary scene after the Quidditch match. It seemed out of character to me, so I made up my own little story of why he would act like that. Please note that I have taken some liberties with the story, for example deciding the Snape is Draco’s godfather. Also note that the descriptions of child abuse are graphic, so please don’t read this if that is going to bother you.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, Draco, Severus, any HP characters or copyrighted words that appear in this story. I make no money off this story.
No copyright infringement is intended.

Author Notes for Chapter 2—Bring on the comfort :-) This is my favorite part of the story. To all those who are reading, please leave feedback and let me know if you are enjoying the story!

Draco awoke to the lumos flash he had set as an alarm clock to wake him, but no one else. He groaned. Somehow, his body hurt more than it had before he went to sleep. The strains, sprains, and bruises from his fall on the Quidditch field had increased the intensity of their pain having stiffened overnight. His head was throbbing, probably from a concussion. His back and bottom still felt like they were on fire. Draco wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and drift back into the sweet oblivion of sleep, but he reminded himself that he had to get into and out of the shower before any of the other boys woke up. He could feel the dried blood caked in his hair and covering his back side. He couldn’t let anyone see the blood on him, and he certainly couldn’t let anyone see him naked in the shower. So that meant he had to get up extra early before anyone else could possibly be awake.

He slowly rolled to his back and nearly blacked out from the sudden wave of intense pain that flooded over him. He waited until the pain slightly subsided before he attempted to sit up. That made his head hurt worse. He was dizzy, so dizzy, and his bottom hurt so much. The room was spinning around him. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to cover things up this time, but the fear of someone finding out was enough to convince him to move. He slowly dangled his feet over the side of the bed. He took a really long break before he tried standing up, but he did manage to not pass out. He grabbed his personal bathroom items and a change of clothes and slowly walked to the showers.

In the privacy of the bathroom, Draco let himself cry a little with the pain as he peeled his shirt from the raw wounds on his back. He would have to throw out this set of Quidditch robes; he couldn’t chance someone seeing the blood, not even a house elf doing the laundry. Naked, Draco turned the shower on cold. He thought the coolness might be soothing to his back. He stepped into the stream of water and started to wash his front side. The water merged with his tears as they rolled down his cheeks.

He knew he had to clean the blood off his back and head, but he dreaded it because he knew it would be excruciating. He took a deep breath, stepped back from the shower head a little, and turned around. It took a painful second to get the positioning just right, but he was able to have the spray hit the top of his head and then gently roll down the injured parts and trickle down his back. Draco found himself laughing and crying at the same time when he saw that the water running down the drain was crimson red. He lathered shampoo gently into his hair to get the blood out and ignored his body’s cries of pain as he soaped off his back and rear. He didn’t want the wounds getting infected. He stood there for quite a while and let himself cry while he waited for the water to run clear. It never did. Draco decided to settle for a faint pink color.

He was very careful drying himself off to not touch anywhere roughly. He dressed in his clean clothes and hid the soiled robes in the garbage. He groomed himself as he normally did. As he combed his hair he looked at himself in the mirror. Yes, he looked presentable. If anyone passed him in the hall, they wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong with him. Even his father would most likely approve of his appearance. Draco stashed his bathroom stuff in the corner under the sink and hoped that no one would notice. He didn’t want to chance going back to the dorm rooms even just to return his bathroom items, just in case someone woke up early.

Now, he was faced with the decision of where to go. Draco looked at his watch, 7:30 AM. He had a standing brunch date with his godfather every Sunday, but that wasn’t until 10:30 AM. He couldn’t return to the dormitory or stay in the bathroom. Someone was certain to wake before long, and he just couldn’t face the taunting of another Slytherin right then. There was the library, but that was sure to fill up with 5th and 7th years studying for their exams before long. He didn’t want to run into any Gryffindor students either. He could go outside the castle, far away, not to any of the popular places, but somewhere near the forest that was sure to be deserted. That would work; he could find somewhere that no one else would go. Draco quickly realized that he didn’t want to be all alone either, not really. He had had enough time alone with his thoughts last night in that awful room, and he didn’t want to be completely alone anymore now.

Always after his beatings at home, his mother had gone into his room to comfort him. She wasn’t very good at it. She would tell him how bad he had been to anger his father and how he had deserved to be punished. But, after she was done scolding, she would just sit with him and tell him she was sorry he was hurting. Although Draco knew she was mad at him for disappointing the family, at least it felt like she cared about him and his pain. That’s what Draco wanted now, to be in the company of someone that cared about him. He knew there wasn’t anyone who wasn’t furious at him for his mistake on the Quidditch field, but he would be content to be with someone that wouldn’t tease him or hit him.

Draco’s first thought was of course of his godfather. But, Severus wouldn’t be expecting him for hours. He didn’t even know if his godfather would be awake this early. Maybe it would make him angry if he came down early, uninvited. Or, worse . . . what if his father was there? No, he couldn’t go see his godfather now. He would have to go sit outside alone, at least until closer to 10:30. He left the bathroom and began heading towards the entrance hall. His mind kept racing as he walked. Even if he did stay outside in a remote area, he would eventually have to come in past all the other students at 10:30, so he would have to face them after all; unless, he didn’t come in for brunch at all and stayed out there all day. Draco’s heart sank at this thought, and he realized how very much he did want to see his godfather. Before he even knew what he was doing, he found that his feet had taken him outside his godfather’s quarters.

His heart began pounding with fear. What if his father was in there? What if . . . what if his godfather did get mad at him for disturbing him so early? Draco stopped and listened at the door. He didn’t hear talking, so he doubted his father was in there; unless, his godfather had silencing spells around his chambers. Draco didn’t hear anything at all. Maybe his godfather was asleep. He shouldn’t bother him; he should go outside and accept that he was alone. Yet, his hand knocked at the door. For a long time there was no sound at all. Draco contemplated running, but his feet stayed firmly in place. He longed to hear the familiar “come” in his godfather’s soft tone, but no voice came. Instead, the door flew open and there stood his godfather with a very cold and angry face, ready to tear apart whoever had dared disturbed him.

Severus’ eyes narrowed when he saw Draco. Draco was sure he had enraged his godfather, and he was about to get an earful about it. He was very scared and sorry. He hadn’t meant to anger his godfather. He just didn’t want to be alone. Draco decided to stand there and take the berating his godfather was about to give him; it was better than being alone. But the chiding didn’t come. All that his godfather said was “You’re up early,” in a questioning tone.

“I . . . I couldn’t sleep,” Draco whispered. He looked up into his godfather’s face and awaited the angry rebuke he had coming, but again it didn’t come. Severus just motioned inside with a jerk of his head and then turned back into his quarters. That was it then; he was welcome.

“I have tea,” Severus said leading towards the small dining table, “but breakfast won’t be here for some time.” His face had softened. He didn’t seem angry anymore, just his usual to the point self.

“Tea . . . tea would be great,” Draco said.

Severus nodded at a chair opposite the one he had obviously been reading The Daily Prophet at earlier before he was interrupted. Draco braced himself. He knew sitting down would be painful; it always was after whippings. He waited until his godfather had turned to grab the teapot before attempting it. Draco started to sit ever so gently and then gasped and jumped straight up. His bottom was sorer than he had expected, even with lots of experience sitting on a sore bum. Draco found himself flushing with embarrassment and looking down at the table in shame. There was no way his godfather had missed that, even with his back turned.

“Quidditch injury or did your father spank you?” Severus asked indifferently.

Draco wasn’t surprised that his godfather had guessed what was wrong with him. He had confided in him before that sometimes his father “spanked” him when he was bad and that he had been “spanked” pretty severely last summer and that he was afraid of being “spanked” more if he messed up any this year. Draco wasn’t certain, but he was relatively sure his godfather didn’t take the word “spank” literally and knew Draco was referring to far worse. Draco never felt like discussing all of the details, though.

What did surprise Draco was when his godfather shoved a pillow from the couch into his hand for him to sit on. He smiled and whispered a barely audible thank you before he put the pillow on the chair and tried to sit again. It still really hurt, but the cushion made it bearable. Draco kept his eyes downcast in shame until he realized that his godfather was staring at him and was still waiting on an answer to his question.

“Father spanked me,” Draco admitted. He felt his face flush an even brighter red. It was one thing for his godfather to know he was subject to corporal punishment, and quite a more embarrassing thing to sit and talk about a punishment he had just received. Draco waited for Severus to say something like his mother would, something like “Well, you really did deserve a very severe spanking after losing like that. You’re lucky your father only gave you what he did. He’s only looking out for your own good. Still, poor thing, I know you must be very sore. Poor, poor, Draco, you must learn to behave better.” Severus did not say anything like this at all. What he did say flabbergasted Draco.

“I’m sorry, Draco. You didn’t deserve that,” Severus said coolly.

“What?” Draco’s head popped up in shock. “You . . . you mean . . . you don’t hate me for messing up?” Draco wondered if this could really be happening. His godfather . . . he understood? His godfather had always pushed him hard as well, not in the mean way his father did, but he had always wanted Draco to succeed. Was it possible, he wasn’t angry at him for this devastating loss?

“Of course not, Draco. I saw you playing out there. That bludger was clearly charmed into attacking Potter, but you didn’t let that stop you from getting in there to get the snitch. It nearly took off your arm, but you kept trying for it. It’s not your fault that bludger ended up knocking you off your broom.”

“But . . . but, Potter. He managed to catch the snitch and the bludger was after him, too.”

Severus snorted. “You can’t blame yourself for Potter’s damnable good luck.”

“I HATE Potter,” Draco practically spat the name, as he realized his godfather was right. “Potter always gets everything. Dumbledore and McGonagall let him get away with everything. He wins everything out of sheer luck . . .”

“I know, Draco,” Severus said sympathetically.

“If it weren’t for him I . . . my father . . . I . . . I wouldn’t have received any . . .” Draco struggled to find just the right words, “any of the punishments I have. I haven’t done so bad here at Hogwarts. It’s just that Potter’s always around to show me up.”

“I’m sorry your father is so hard on you, Draco. But, what you have to remember is that this is about much more than a Quidditch match to him. To him, it’s about proving pure-blood wizards are better than Mudbloods, and it’s about proving that Potter, the boy who survived Voldemort, really isn’t that special at all. Your beating Potter means everything to him.”

“I know,” Draco whispered. His voice lowered even lower as he shared, “I just wish I didn’t disappoint him so much.”

Severus gently placed his hands on top of Draco’s and squeezed it. “It will be okay, Draco. I’m proud of you, and someday your father will be, too.”

Draco couldn’t believe how wonderful and gentle his godfather was being with him. As if to show that was enough of a heart to heart for now, his godfather’s demeanor changed almost instantly and he said, “Well, come on, we have hours still before breakfast arrives. It’s time to study. I see you didn’t bring your books. You may borrow some of mine.”

Draco and Severus always spent time reading and studying every Sunday after brunch. Severus made sure Draco was up to snuff on his potions before moving on to other topics, but Sunday afternoons were always filled with intense study sessions. Draco groaned. He really didn’t feel up to a study session right then . He was exhausted and sore. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to remember anything, and his godfather would quickly become frustrated with him. What he really wanted right then was just to rest, to enjoy being safe, just for a little while.

“Please, Sir, would it be okay if I didn’t study right now and just . . . rested. I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I . . . I don’t quite feel up to it, Godfather. If I could just rest, only until breakfast, then I’m sure I’d do much better at studying this afternoon.”

Draco waited to be scolded for his laziness. His godfather would never have let him out of a study session ordinarily. He seemed to be about to reprimand Draco, but then changed his mind and sighed. “Very well, Draco. You may rest on the couch while I read, but just until breakfast.”

Draco nodded. That was all he needed, just a little time to rest. Severus sat down with a large book on breaking dark curses that he had been reading and motioned for Draco to sit next to him on the sofa. Draco did. Despite the extra cushioning, he still hissed and grimaced as he sat down. Severus didn’t comment, but gave him a comforting smile.

“You can lay your head down and rest,” his godfather patted his lap.

Draco was very greatful. He laid on his side, off of his injuries, and rested his head in the warmth of his godfather’s lap. Draco closed his eyes and enjoyed the comfort of laying his head in that lap. His godfather had said he was proud of him. No one had ever told Draco that before. It felt wonderful to know that someone did care about him and to be laying in that person’s lap. Most of all it felt wonderful just to feel safe for a few minutes. No one was going to hit him, no one was going to scold him, and no one was going to tease him. He was safe. To Draco’s surprise, Severus began absently running his fingers along Draco’s arm. Most people would not have enjoyed the touch of those long, cold, bony fingers; but to Draco, they felt heavenly. His godfather was caressing him! Draco didn’t even mind when Severus’ hand brushed the injuries on his back. The pain was nothing compared to the wonderful feeling of love those caresses put inside him. Draco started to drift asleep as his godfather petted his hair softly. He was safe and loved, and it felt amazing.

The happiness did not last for long. Severus hand flew away from Draco’s head with a grunt of disgust. Draco’s mind tried to race to consciousness. What had he done to offend his godfather? Why did Severus now have that horrible grimace on his face, and why had he ripped his hand away. Then Draco saw it: blood, his blood.

His godfather had composed himself after the initial shock and now appeared his normal self. “You’re bleeding,” he said calmly.

Draco tried to figure out where the blood had come from. What was the last place his godfather had touched? Draco remembered it was his head. The cuts on the back of his head from being slammed up against the stone wall must not have ever completely closed, and his godfather had put his hand right in the blood. “Quidditch injury” Draco responded quickly. Yes, scratches on his head could be from Quidditch. Draco didn’t want to have to tell his godfather exactly what his father had done to him.

“Madam Pomfrey didn’t do a very thorough job, did she?” Severus said in surprise.

“She was too busy attending to Potter,” Draco accused.

“Well, I think I have a potion to heal small cuts here,” Severus said as he began to search a locked cabinet full of small bottles. “Yes, here it is. A drop or so should do it. Lean your head down for me.”

Draco obeyed. He leant over and let his godfather brush the hair from the oozing wound. He felt a small sting when a couple of drops of the potion hit the back of his head.

“There, that seems to have sealed it,” Severus said while checking the area around the cut for signs of fresh blood. He put his hand lower and was rubbing Draco’s neck and shoulders. Draco thought he was caressing him again, but then he stopped suddenly and Draco realized he was examining him. “You have a bruise in the distinctive pattern of a handprint on the back of your neck.”

Draco bit his lip and tried to think of something to say. Of course, there was nothing he could say. There was no way to cover this injury up with a lie. But, he didn’t want to have to tell his godfather the details. Surely, he knew . . . of course he knew, but . . . he didn’t want to have to tell him about it. “Father . . . father was very rough with me,” he admitted.

“Oh, Draco,” Severus sighed. He sounded very sympathetic, not demeaning or angry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He lowered his hand from the neck to the shoulders and tried to rub soothing circles on Draco’s back. Draco winced when his godfather’s hand brushed a welted area, and his godfather noticed it. Severus’ eyes narrowed, and his face became a firm scowl. “Take off your shirt, Draco,” he commanded.

Tears started streaming down Draco’s face as panic surged within him. “No,” he whimpered. He never would have thought to defy an order from his godfather, but . . . he was so ashamed of what he had made his father do to him. He didn’t want his godfather to see it. He . . . he couldn’t. . . .

But, Draco’s protests did not stop his godfather. He simply lifted Draco’s shirt himself, and he gasped at what he saw. Draco knew what it looked like, because he had looked himself in the bathroom. His entire back was a criss-cross pattern of welts.

“I’ll kill him!”

“No!” Draco yelled, pulling himself out of his godfather’s hands. He turned to face him through the blur of his tears. “I . . . I deserved it. I forced him to do it. I knew what would happen if I lost this game, but I still let everyone down. It’s, it’s my fault . . .” Draco began sobbing.

Warm arms reached around him and Draco found himself held in an embrace with his head resting on his godfather’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“It . . . it is,” Draco blubbered. “I knew Quidditch was as important as the House Cup. I . . . I should have tried harder, I . . . I deserved it . . . if . . . if I weren’t such a failure, he wouldn’t have had to. I . . . I deserved it, I made him have to punish me.”

His godfather held him tight. He lowered his voice from the angry tone he had been using to a calm, reassuring one for Draco’s sake. “It’s okay, Draco. Listen to me, you did NOT deserve this. No, don’t interrupt me. I know it’s hard for you to believe me, but there is nothing that you could have done for you to deserve to be beaten like this. Nothing, okay. What your father did to you was wrong. It’s not your fault.”

Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not his fault? That . . . that wasn’t possible. He had let his father down and had been punished. How could it not be his fault? He had failed. Failure meant punishment.

“Draco, I want to ask you something else. When . . . when you told me earlier this year that your father spanked you for losing the House Cup, is this what you meant?”

“Yes,” Draco squeaked. “But, that time wasn’t quite as bad. But, I should have learned from that time, and I didn’t.”

“Oh, Draco,” Severus was actually shedding a couple of tears in sympathy. “Why didn’t you ever tell me it was this bad? I could have protected you.”

“I thought you knew,” Draco whispered honestly. Snape was his father’s friend after all, and they tortured and killed together. Why wouldn’t he approve of his father’s punishment methods?

Severus shook his head. “I would have protected you if I’d known. I thought . . . I thought you meant he paddled you, or . . . . not this . . .”

Draco’s mind was racing with thought. Was it possible his godfather hadn’t known? And . . . how could he say Draco didn’t deserve it? Slytherins had to win at all cost, and he hadn’t. How could his godfather not approve of him being punished for that? His godfather had been at the manor before when he had been punished for mistakes as a child, but then, they had been lighter punishments back then, and his godfather hadn’t actually witnessed the punishment, just the tears afterward. Had his godfather thought that a mere scolding could bring him to such tears? Then another thought occurred to him. “But, you’ve used corporal punishment on me before.”

Severus’ face contorted so that Draco could tell he was trying to remember what Draco was talking about; then realization dawned on his face. “Draco, that was different. You had gotten into some very dangerous potions on my shelf, and you could have seriously harmed yourself. I gave you a hand spanking, just a few swats to get through to you that you had put yourself in danger. Surely, you can see that was different . . .”

“It was different,” Draco admitted. “You hugged me when you were done. It felt like you cared. All I ever feel from Father is anger.” Severus nodded. “But, I DID deserve this. I failed. And, failure means punishment. You MUST know that.”

Severus was silent for a moment, clearly trying to decide what the best way to handle this was. “I know that in some dark circles failure most certainly does mean punishment. I’ve experienced that first hand. But, that doesn’t mean that it’s an appropriate punishment for a young boy.” Draco was not convinced, but his godfather didn’t give him time to contemplate it anymore.

“Your injuries are very severe, Draco. I’m assuming that they go lower as well?” Severus asked. Draco nodded, now unable to look his godfather in the eye again. “You need a healer,” he said firmly.

“No,” Draco cried in renewed panic. “Please, I don’t want anyone to know. PLEASE!”

“I might be able to persuade Madam Pomfrey to keep it silent,” his godfather was clearly bluffing.

“No, I . . . she handed me over to him, all she cared about was Potter. Please, I don’t want her to see me like this, please . . .”

“If you truly believe your father has done the right thing, Draco, then why are you so ashamed for anyone to know?”

“Because . . . because, I don’t want them to know what I forced him to do to me. I don’t want them to see just how bad I am.”

“Draco,” Severus clearly wanted to somehow break Draco of this way of thinking, but it wouldn’t be possible right then. He moved on. “If not Madam Pomfrey, then a healer at St. Mungo’s . . .”

“No!” Draco said adamantly.

“I have connections; I can get someone that will keep it quiet. I have worked with healers that needed to keep secrets before.” This time, Severus was not bluffing. There were healers that had been Death Eaters, ones that would know better than to cross Lucius Malfoy.

“No,” Draco was actually starting to hyperventilate in panic. “No one . . . please, I don’t want anyone to know about this but you, please . . . please, Godfather.”

“Shh, shhh, Draco,” Severus pulled his godson into another embrace and tried to soothe him, to calm him down. Draco was becoming hysterical at the thought of someone else finding out. “Calm down, Draco. Calm down, I’m not going to do anything without your permission, okay? Take slow, deep breaths. I’m going to be by your side no matter what, and I promise you’re safe. Relax”

Draco let his body collapse into his godfather. He was exhausted, and he didn’t feel like fighting anymore. He just couldn’t let anyone know about this, though.

After Draco’s body relaxed some, Severus tried to gently ease him back into what had to be decided. His voice stayed low and quiet, but pointed. “Listen to me, Draco. Those are not minor cuts on your back. None of the potions I have are going to heal them. You need extremely advanced healing spells performed, and you need them performed by an expert healer.”

“No,” Draco whispered, his body too tired to put up much of a fight.

“Your injuries are too severe, Draco. I can’t heal them. Even if I had Skingrow potion, which I do not because I have given it all to the hospital wing, even if I did have some, you would still need more advance spells to heal the underlying tissue, spells that I am not qualified to perform.”

“No,” Draco whispered his objections again.

“Your only choices are to go to a healer or to leave the injuries the way they are. They are so severe, Draco. They will take forever to heal on their own and it will be extremely painful for you. If you would just let me take you to a healer . . .”

“I don’t want a healer,” Draco said firmly.

Draco half expected his godfather to throw him across his shoulder and haul him to a healer anyway, but he didn’t. Severus simply said, “Okay, then. If that’s your decision,” Draco nodded to confirm that it was. “Then, we need to start helping your body heal on its own. You need rest. I want you to go take a nap in my bed.”

“Okay,” Draco was happy to accept this proposition. He was exhausted, and he wanted to rest somewhere he could feel safe.

His godfather led him into his bedroom. Draco had never been back to the bedroom before. It had a large dark wood four-poster bed with green Slytherin fabric, several more large bookcases, a reading chair, and a small end table. On the end table was a large, mostly empty bottle of clear potion. His godfather picked it up and said, “It will cause you to fall into an immediate dreamless sleep. Would you like some?”

“Yes,” Draco replied with excitement. He would love to get some rest without having to worry about nightmares of his father. He reached for the bottle to take a swig, but his godfather informed him that a drop was all that he needed, and a swig would probably make him sleep a week. Draco suddenly wondered why his godfather had this potion sitting at his bedside, and why such a large bottle was almost empty. It was a thought he didn’t get a chance to linger on long, because his godfather had given him a drop of the potion and was helping him into bed. Before Draco even had a chance to ask about it, he was sound asleep.