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.

Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy took a slow deep breath as he stood outside of Severus Snapes’ private quarters at Hogwarts. Normally he was happy to be able to spend some time with his godfather outside of class, but today was different. Today Draco knew his father was in there waiting on him as well, and that made Draco very, very nervous. He sighed at himself in disgust and told himself he had to calm down. He smoothed his hair so his father wouldn’t complain about him appearing unkempt, forced another deep breath, and then knocked on the door.

“Come” his godfather’s voice called from behind the door.

Draco opened the door and pushed his body in. He smiled when he saw his godfather, but his heart started racing again the instant he saw his father’s face. Lucius Malfoy flashed a fake smile and embraced his son in a hug that would appear genuine and full of love to most of the world.

“How are you doing, son?”

“Fine, Sir,” Draco replied. He wanted so badly to please his father, but he was afraid his father would be disappointed in him again this year. Draco shivered at that thought. His father had always been someone to be respected and feared. However, since Draco’s arrival at Hogwarts, his father’s demands on him had become higher and higher, and the penalties for disappointing him had become more and more severe. His father had nearly flogged him to death last summer when his grades arrived. His grades hadn’t been that bad, mostly in the eighties, but his father had been very displeased and had taken his disappointment out on Draco’s back. Draco feared more than anything that Quidditch was just as important to his father. He took a seat next to his godfather at the breakfast table and tried to force all of the thoughts out of his brain.

“Eat, Draco,” Severus said, passing him a bowl of eggs. “You’ll need energy for the game today.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco nodded. The nerves building up in his stomach made eating the last thing he wanted to do. He felt like he might throw up anything he tried to shove down. But, his godfather was right. He needed strength for the game. Draco spooned some eggs from the serving bowl onto his plate.

“And are you ready for the game today?” his father asked.

“Of course I’m ready; we’re going to kill them,” Draco did feel confident. They had really kicked butt in practice. He’d gotten his time to find the snitch below the Slytherin practice record. Draco was proud of himself; he could do it, as long as he didn’t let his nerves get in the way. This could actually be a chance to please his father and maybe even make him proud.

“Draco beat the Slytherin snitch finding record you set, Lucius,” Severus bragged for him. Draco smiled. He could tell his godfather was proud of him.

“Well, I should hope so,” Lucius replied. “He has the most expensive broom money can buy. Some professional players would kill to have a broom like that.”

Draco’s smile faded, and he ducked his head. Of course, Draco didn’t know why he had even thought for a second his father might be proud of his new record. It was the new expensive broom that had allowed him to get the record, not any skill or hard work Draco had put into it. Still, Draco couldn’t argue his father’s point. Those brooms would probably make a big difference in Slytherin’s chances of winning today, and he was very grateful his father had bought them.

“And how is your coursework going?” his father asked.

“Good, sir. Except, I . . . I think I might be getting a seventy percent in history of magic.”

His father almost snorted his coffee. “History of magic . . . what a stupid, idiotic thing for this school to make my son take,” he commented turning to Severus. “My son knows the only history that matters, the history of pureblood wizards. I’m sure they are making him learn the history of goblins and giants and all sorts of nonsense.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he was off the hook for the poor mark. It was a very stupid class.

“However, you had better get that grade up before report cards. No son of mine is getting a 70% in anything, stupid and worthless class or not.”

“Yes, father,” Draco hung his head further. There was no way he’d be able to get the grade up. It was just too hard for him to remember all of the stupid dates.

“Malfoys always have to be the best, and a seventy percent is not the best, now is it, Draco?”

“No, Sir,” Draco admitted. He didn’t feel like eating anymore. Even if he did do great in the Quidditch game today, his father would always find something else to take fault in. Draco looked up at Severus, his eyes pleading for help.

“Well, Draco is doing very well in my class. He got a one hundred percent on his last potions exam,” Professor Snape added for him.

Draco smiled. He had worked very hard for that one hundred percent. He just hoped that his godfather wouldn’t add that Granger got the extra credit question right and got a one hundred and five percent or that Severus himself had helped Draco study for hours before the exam. Still, he had known all of the answers, and earned that one hundred percent. Potter had only gotten an eighty five percent.

“Good, at least you are doing well in the classes that matter,” Lucius Malfoy added. “And the House Cup, I know it’s early, but how are the points shaping up this year.”

“Very good,” Severus answered this question. As the head of Slytherin, he was very proud of his youngsters’ behavior this year. “The Gryffindors seem to be getting themselves into quite a bit of trouble this year. And, the Slytherins have earned a few bonus points, so we are off to a good start.”

“Very good,” Lucius nodded. “You haven’t lost Slytherin any points have you, Draco?”

“None so far, Sir,” Draco was happy to say. His father had given him a second horrible tanning last year when he found out that Draco got points taken away from Slytherin for following the stupid Gryffindors to Hagrid’s hut. Draco had done it only to get the Gryffindors in trouble, but his father was not satisfied with that explanation.

“Just remember, Draco, the house points are all about who gets caught. Make sure the other houses are caught in their misdeeds, but at no point are you to be caught and have points taken away from your house.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be careful to not get caught.”

“Good,” his father said. “But, of course the most important thing is the Quidditch game right now. You are going to go out there and win at all cost aren’t you, Draco?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said again. Draco wanted to please his father, and they were ready, he knew they were, but his father was putting so much pressure on him. He didn’t know if he could do it.

“He’s ready, Lucius. I’ve seen them in practice; they look amazing. He’s even doing some of the moves I saw you do in your last year at Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Lucius smiled. “I look forward to seeing that.”

Severus glanced at his watch. “You had better get going, Draco. We wouldn’t want you to be late. We’ll be in the Slytherin section watching. I know you will beat them, Draco.”

Draco smiled and nodded, grateful for the little pep talk.

After the Quidditch Match

Well, the Quidditch match did not go as planned. A rogue bludger chased after Harry and Draco through the stands and all over the Quidditch field. There was no way that bludger was hit to fly after them like that; it was possessed by magic. Still, Draco hadn’t wavered. He was sure that bludger was going to kill him and Potter both, but he still relentlessly tore after the snitch. He would let the bludger tear off his head before he’d let the snitch out of his sight. He was sure he could get it. One good bump of Potter and he could have the Gryffindor out of the way and get the snitch for himself, win the game for his team, and finally make his father proud.

Draco would have rather died than disappoint his father, his godfather, his team, and all of Slytherin. But, that was exactly what he did. The bludger knocked him right off his broom at the very end. The landing was rough; Draco had broken his wrist and torn his shoulder on the landing. They had to carry him off the field on a stretcher. And, because of him, his team lost.

In the infirmary, Draco was wishing that the bludger had killed him. He had let everyone down. Most of all, he couldn’t face seeing his father. He was going to kill him for sure. The thrashings Draco had received in the past were nothing compared to what he was certain was in store for him the second his father got his hands on him. Draco groaned; he was a dead man.

Madam Pomfrey was bringing in Potter on a stretcher now with a whole crowd of Gryffindors. Potter had won the game for his team despite being chased by the bludger and falling off his broom as well.

Draco started rocking himself back and forth on the infirmary bed in sheer panic. His father was going to kill him. He couldn’t take it; he couldn’t. Surely, his father couldn’t beat him to death if he stayed in the infirmary. Yes, that was it. He was injured. He could just feign more serious injuries to stay in the infirmary longer. Maybe the broken wrist wasn’t mending properly, or maybe he had broken another bone further up? Maybe Madam Pomfrey would let him stay long enough so that his father would have to return home before getting a chance to attack his son.

“Ohhh, ohhh,” Draco began moaning.

“That’s enough, Mr. Malfoy! You can go,” Madam Pomfrey yelled at him, giving all of her attention to Potter.

“You heard her, Draco. You’re well enough to go. Now come along; let’s get you out of here.”

The voice of his father made Draco’s heart stop. This wasn’t happening. Tears started rolling down his face as he forced himself to get up and join his father. He frantically looked around the room for any way to get out of this, but he found nothing, no one to help him. Everyone was worrying over Potter.

His father quickly dismissed Crabbe and Goyle. “Boys, thank you for staying with my son in there, but we need some father son time now.”

Crabbe and Goyle were stupid enough to believe that was a good thing. They left Draco all alone with his father. Draco’s body began to tremble. It wasn’t a minute before his father’s hand reached around the back of Draco’s neck and gripped it tightly. The fingers were digging in so deep that Draco thought his father might just break his neck, but instead he used the grip to force Draco to move the direction and at the pace that he wanted.

“We have much to discuss, Draco,” his father said as he pushed his son along.

“Yes, Father,” Draco whispered. Lucius was leading them to the grand staircase. Draco hoped that his father was leading him back to Snapes’ quarters. Draco was certain that his godfather wouldn’t let his father flog him too severely right in front of him. His godfather would protect him from being killed by his father, even if he had let him down so badly. And, he was smart enough to know something was wrong if Lucius simply asked to borrow the space for a while. He might escape with nothing more than a paddling and a stern scolding, for the time being anyway.

Draco’s hopes quickly vanished. Instead of pushing Draco down the stairs, he shoved him up the stairs. They continued to the seventh floor. His father stopped right in front of a stone wall. Draco had no idea where his father was taking him, but he knew it couldn’t be good. Draco thought he heard his father whispering “I need a place to punish my son,” and to Draco’s despair a door appeared. Lucius opened the door and shoved his son inside.

It was very dark in the room, but Draco could make out a bed, a desk, a flat-back chair, and . . . some odd x-shaped wooden item with straps. Draco’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. He saw in horror that the entire back wall was covered in instruments of punishment: whips, paddles, straps, and canes of all sizes. Draco had no idea why such a room would exist at Hogwarts. Corporal punishment wasn’t allowed anymore, but it had been at one time. This must have been the room where they punished students for being bad, and his father knew about it. Another wall was covered in shelves; some contained books labeled things like “Magical Punishments, Correcting Without the Paddle” and “The Most Painful Magical Curses.” Other shelves contained potion bottles, the labels were harder to read, but Draco was sure one said “Sting Sap.”

“I have NEVER been so disappointed in you!” Draco’s father yelled. “It sickens me to have to call you my SON!” He gave Draco a hard shove. “WHAT happened out there?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I . . . I was so close to winning, but that bludger . . .” Draco was cut-off by a sharp slap to his face. This shocked Draco. Even during the worst punishments his father had stayed away from his face, he supposed to keep the fact that he was so abused hidden. His father was angrier than he had ever been before and clearly had lost all restraint of his temper.

“Oh, the bludger, the bludger! Bludgers are a part of Quidditch you idiot!” Lucius shoved his son hard into the wall. “Potter dealt with the bludger, and yet he still managed to catch the snitch!” Lucius was repeatedly shoving his son harder and harder into the stone wall. Draco’s head smacked up against the stones with each push. “I thought I had taught you Malfoys are supposed to be winners. Now, was that winning out there? Was it?”

Draco’s head hurt too much to make out most of the words, but he finally realized his father was going to keep pounding his head into the wall until he got a response. “No, Sir,” he whispered.

Lucius gave him one last hard shove and then released him. “I am so disgusted with you; I hardly have the energy to punish you properly. But, you must learn, Draco. Now, strip,” he commanded.

Draco tried to pull himself together enough to obey his father’s orders. His entire body ached already. His head was dripping blood now, and his body did still really hurt from falling off the broom and flipping on the ground. He let the tears roll quietly down his face as he began to take off his robes. Draco began to remind himself that he deserved this. He had let his father down, let his team down, and let all of Slytherin down. It was all his fault. No wonder his father felt he needed to be punished. He did deserve it.

Draco slipped off his shirt and suppressed a sob. Draco knew that crying only made his father punish him worse because it showed weakness. It was really hard to control the crying right then, though. He felt so ashamed of himself, so scared of his father, and he was already in so much pain. He started to panic as he realized his hands were shaking too much to unbutton his pants. Draco couldn’t even imagine the punishment he would get if he had to ask for help unbuttoning his own pants. Finally, the button just popped off completely, and Draco was able to lower his pants and underwear down. He folded them all neatly and placed them in a pile. He didn’t want to give his father any reason to punish him further.

Draco looked up at his father. He was terrified. His father had never been this angry at him. He had no idea what punishment to expect. All of his previous punishments had been terribly severe and nearly unbearable. Sometimes his father employed magical curses to punish him, but more often, his father enjoyed using physical punishment to release his anger. In either case, his father always left Draco in unimaginable pain. Draco wondered if his father really might kill him this time.

“Climb up on the bed, on all fours,” his father commanded.

Draco obeyed as he suppressed even more sobs. He climbed up on the bed and got on his hands and knees. He anticipated his father’s next command and lowered himself to his elbows so that his butt would be in a position more conducive to the thrashing he was about to receive. His father pushed his hand down on the middle of Draco’s back to make him arch his back some more, further presenting his bottom for punishment. Draco cautiously glanced over his shoulder to see what implement his father was selecting to whip him with. Draco was not surprised to see the cane, as it was his father’s favorite for severe punishments. Draco didn’t even want to think about how many licks his butt was going to have to take.

“Why are you being punished, Draco?” his father asked. His voice was cold and distant, as if he didn’t even care that he was about to torture his son.

“Be-be-because, I . . . I lost the game, and I-I let everyone down, and because I-I . . . I’m a loser, unworthy of the Malfoy name,” Draco bawled.

“Yes,” Lucius said with disgust. “Prepare yourself. This punishment will be severe. You are not to cry out or move or I promise you, I will make you regret it.”

Draco shuddered at the words. He had no doubt his father could make him regret it, but he also was certain he wouldn’t be able to accept the entire punishment without crying or moving. He was in for it.

Draco heard the whistle of the cane being pulled back and then unleashed before he felt the first sting on his bottom. The pain was intense; his father had struck the most sensitive part where his bottom met his legs, a move usually reserved for the end of a severe punishment. Still, Draco had learned to suppress his pain and cries from so many previous punishments that he was able to resist screaming and reaching back for his bottom. The second stripe landed directly on top of the first one. Draco was really struggling not to cry; he was beginning to think that his father was going to give him his entire punishment on that one spot. But, the third stroke fell a centimeter above the sore spot. Another lick to the higher spot and his father moved just a tiny bit higher again. So, that was the plan: two strokes to each centimeter of his bottom. It was awful torture, and most young boys would have been howling, but Draco forced the pain inside him. He reminded himself how much he deserved each stroke. He was determined not to scream or move.

It seemed like forever before his father finally reached the top of his bottom with the strokes. Draco knew that his father couldn’t go any higher, so his punishment had to be almost over, at least with this part of it. Maybe he really could make it, and take his punishment properly. But then his father shocked him by moving back down his bottom. Draco let out a scream of both surprise and pain. His father ignored him and continued quickly putting one additional stroke down each line on his backside. Draco realized that he was making his way back down to the sensitive spot, and he knew he couldn’t take any more punishment there.

“Please, Sir, please. Please, no more, Sir . . . please, no . . . Sir, I’m sorry, please . . . I’ll I’ll do better, Sir, please . . . please, please FATHER!” Draco let himself beg. He knew begging had never helped him before, but he couldn’t help himself. He had already taken so much, and although he knew it would never be enough, he couldn’t take anymore.

“My son would know better than to beg and cry,” was the only reply he received.

Draco could feel the blood trickling down his legs now. He wondered if he might possibly pass out before his father was done punishing him anyway. He was starting to feel very woozy. But, he would not be so lucky. His father had reached the extra sensitive spot and was whipping it repeatedly. Draco howled in pain and collapsed on the bed. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

To Draco’s surprise the caning stopped for a moment. Was his father showing some compassion? Draco quickly realized that wasn’t a possibility. His father didn’t have a caring bone in his body. Then, why was he stopping? Was he done? No, he still had to take extra punishment for crying out and moving, he was sure. Draco realized that his father was simply selecting a new implement to punish him with.

“Since you seem incapable of even accepting your punishment properly, you leave me with no choice but to give you extra punishment, as we discussed. I had hoped you could at least take a beating well.”

His father had selected a belt, Draco realized as his father whipped it into his back. It really hurt! Draco just let himself cry freely now. What was the point?

His father started screaming, “I am so ashamed of you! You are a Malfoy. A MALFOY! You are a winner, do you hear me, a winner. And it is time you start acting like it. If I have to whip you to death to teach you, I will. I’d rather do that than let you remain this . . . unworthy loser. Don’t you ever EVER disappoint me again! Do you hear me?”

His father was finally letting his rage loose on his back. The belt was digging in deep, each blow was leaving a deep welt, and some were drawing blood. Draco embraced the pain; his father was right; he did deserve it. Draco felt the blood oozing down his back, on his bottom, and down his thighs. Yes, he was going to bleed to death at his father’s hands.

Suddenly, Lucius stopped. “I can’t stand to look at you anymore. I’m done,” he practically spat the words. “However, since you have proven you need some extra guidance, I feel something else is in order.”

Draco shuddered, wondering what else his father could have in mind. His father was speaking magic, a curse of some sort then. At least it wasn’t more lashes.

“That spell will alert me anytime you make a mistake, be it in Quidditch or in class. I will keep track of your mistakes and punish you properly for them each time we meet. That means that no mistake will go unpunished, whether I am there to witness it or not. I think that should teach you. If you are good, I will consider only a slight paddling for your mistakes. However, if you do not succeed at school and Quidditch for the rest of this year, I will be forced to punish you very severely. Do you understand?” Draco nodded through his tears and sobs. “Good, I would hate to have to use the Cruciatus on my own son. But, I will, if that’s what it takes to improve your behavior.”

Draco couldn’t believe his ears. The Cruciatus. He knew his father performed the Unforgivable Curse to torture his enemies. He had even seen his father use it on the house elves from time to time. He had seen what it had done to the house elves. Would his father really use such an awful torture on him? His son? Draco knew that he would.

“Now,” Lucius instructed his son, “I suggest you pull yourself together and get dressed. I’m sure there are many others that are waiting to share their disappointment with you. The door will disappear on your way out, so don’t leave anything.”

With that his father left. There was no love, no cuddling, no “sorry I had to do that, son.” No, he simply left Draco with his tears and pain. Draco cried on the bed, and slowly rocked himself through the pain. He laid on his side and cuddled his knees up to his chest so that he would have something to hold. He hurt so much, his bottom, his head, his back, but most of all his heart. He started the day off hoping today would be the day he made his father proud and ended up disappointing him worse than ever before.

As the evening wore on, slowly Draco wasn’t able to cry anymore. He calmed his breathing down just enough so that he could stand up through the pain and get dressed. He waited in his little prison until he was sure everyone else would be asleep. He didn’t feel like facing anyone right then. After midnight he snuck back to the Slytherin common room, and then into his bed. He softly cried himself to sleep.