Father Figure - DM/LM/SS - R
Title: Father Figure
Trio-ing: Draco/Lucius/Severus
Rating: R

Challenge: Written for aerynalexander for the Harry Potter Threesomes Ficathon

She asked for :-

Alastor Moody/Albus Dumbledore/Minerva McGonagall
Condition: cannot be rated less than PG-13
or
Draco/Lucius/Severus
Condition: must be hurt/comfort, but I don't care who does what

Well, as a Harry/Ron shipper, and writer of fluffy smut, this was a bit daunting.

I have never written any of these characters before, so I hope she thinks this is ok. I tell you what aerynalexander, don’t look. I’m sure it’s not what you wanted. Let me buy you icon space or something instead. It wasn’t too bad when I started writing, but then I couldn’t stop – the plot wasn’t going anywhere – it’s like writing banananana – it just doesn’t have a natural place to stop.

Anyway, beta-ed by the wonderful rosina_alcona, who got off on my Draco, and made me feel a bit better.

OK, I tried to stay serious, but you can have 10 points if you spot the Rocky Horror reference.



Father Figure

****
Draco thinks that the summer after he left school was the low point of his life. School hadn’t always been a barrel of laughs, but safe in the Slytherin dungeons, surrounded and supported by the sycophantic children of his father’s hangers-on, he had always felt important. Central.

Sixth year had been hell, certainly, with his father in Azkaban, his own prefectship lost over his involvement with Umbridge and the whole Wizarding World following Dumbledore like sheep after he’d been proven right that the Dark Lord had returned. What use was it, being the Prince of Slytherin, when the Gryffindors were strutting round the school like they owned it. At least bloody Potter didn’t have anything to strut about; they’d had their usual share of run-ins, but Potter was so broken up about the death of his stupid Godfather, that he’d seemed barely to care.

Seventh year had been better. Dumbledore’s so-called leadership hadn’t been enough, had it, when the school had been attacked by Death Eaters. So many of his precious Gryffindors had been killed, along with that stupid Hagrid. But no Slytherins; locked safely away in their dungeons. And so what if they hadn’t killed Potter; it had all been a bluff to draw the Aurors away from Azkaban anyway, giving Draco’s father and his friends the opportunity to escape.

So Draco had returned home from the smoking ruins of his school, ready to take his place at his father’s side. Ready to rise to glorious heights as the Dark Lord seized power. But not ready for this.

When the Dark Lord had come to Malfoy Manor that summer and Draco had finally met him, he had been singled out as the son of such a loyal servant. It was a glorious feeling. At school his worth had been noticed by Professor Snape, and Draco had always admired Snape more than anyone, except his father, of course, but the Headmaster had always given preferential treatment to the Gryffindors.

Now, at last, Draco was being treated as he deserved; as the leading wizard of his generation. He and his father would grow powerful at the Dark Lord’s right hand. He would take the dark Mark and fight as a fully qualified wizard. He would fight the Ministry and the foolish Muggle-lovers. He would finally fight Potter with no stupid restrictions. No tickling charms in the real world, Potter.

So Draco stood by the side of the Dark Lord in the grounds of his home, cloaked and hooded. He watched proudly as his father didn’t even flinch when the Dark Lord touched the Mark on Lucius’s arm with one, white, skeletal finger.

With varying popping sounds, Death Eaters Apparated all around them and glided closer to form a silent circle. Draco’s heart thudded in his chest and his nostrils flared as he sucked in calming breaths. At last he would be part of this. Part of the glorious fight his father had always talked about. He would make his father proud.

When the circle was complete, Voldemort pushed back his hood and looked slowly from face to hooded face. “My friends,” he said “we meet today at the home of my loyal servant, Lucius Malfoy, in honour of his son, Draco. Today Draco is to become my first new Death Eater for seventeen years. His father has served me well… since my return, and has taught his boy well. I have been delighted with what I’ve seen of him this summer. I’m sure he will make a loyal servant.”

Draco smiled inside his hood. This was what being a Pureblooded wizard was all about. This was the power he’d dreamt of, he could almost taste it. He fisted and flexed his fingers to drain some of the tension coiling inside his body. He felt full of magic tonight, felt it flowing through his veins.

The Dark Lord continued speaking. “As an indication of what I expect from my followers, I have something unfortunate to clear up before I give Draco his Mark. Something he should see. Step forward Severus.”

Draco saw one of the hooded figures step into the circle and cast back his hood. The familiar features of Professor Severus Snape were revealed. Long, lank hair falling to his shoulders, his dark eyes hooded and calm, his chin lifted as he looked back at Voldemort. “Master”, he said, calmly.

But Draco felt the first uncomfortable prickle of fear. Something was wrong.

“Severus,” Voldemort said again, the sibilant word hissing from his lips, “I saw something interesting this morning. It has been so hard to get a spy inside Dumbledore’s precious Order. Even that insane house-elf was of no further use once Bellatrix overloaded his feeble mind trying to undo Dumbledore’s memory charm.

“But we have had something of a stroke of luck. My friend Antonin captured the Weasley boy on a raid last week, and we have him here at the Manor.”

Draco flinched. Which Weasley was it? That hardly mattered, but why hadn’t he been told? He hoped it was Ron. Maybe once he’d taken the Mark, he’d be allowed in on the interrogation.

“He is proving very stubborn,” continued Voldemort “even under Cruciatus, but he is a feeble Occlumens and I have picked some memories from his mind. It seems he knows nothing of the plans of the order, he hasn’t been allowed to join their meetings, but he has seen the members entering and leaving. And he has very clear memories of when he saw you, Severus. You told me that Dumbledore didn’t trust you, that you couldn’t get in to his meetings. You lied.

“Lucius,” he turned to Draco’s father “you may take him away.”

“No, Master,” Snape started, but Lucius’s hand rose and his wand was pointed at Snape’s face.

“Come, Severus, our dungeons can house more than one.. guest.”

Snape drew his own wand, but was totally surrounded and outnumbered. As he moved towards the Death Eaters, Lucius’s ”Expeliarmus” knocked him back and Voldemort’s ”Crucio” forced him to his knees. He threw his head back and arched his spine. Cords stood out on his neck, but he refused to scream. Voldemort took the curse off of him and he slumped to the ground. At a gesture from Lucius, two hulking figures moved forward and dragged Snape to his feet and out of the circle up to the Manor.

Draco was shaking under his cloak. The man he respected most in the world was a traitor? A spy for Dumbledore? His father had always told him to turn to Professor Snape for help and support, and for seven years his head of house had nurtured and cared for him. He had taken Snape as his role model, had delighted in his baiting of Potter and his cronies. Had hoped to make him proud with his own efforts to torment and destabilise Dumbledore’s golden boy. Every point Slytherin won, every point Gryffindor lost, every game of Quidditch he’d played, with Professor Snape in the Slytherin stands watching him. All a lie?

“I am not sorry you saw that Draco,” said Voldemort. Draco jumped. “You need to know what loyalty to me means. You must be like your father. Lucius trusts me unquestioningly, he has take professor Snape to a cell and we will question him later. You will see what happens to someone who betrays me.”

“Yes, Master,” Draco managed.

“No, Lucius,” continued the dark Lord, “will you please present your son to me, before my Circle?”

“Yes, my Lord,” drawled Lucius, extending one hand to Draco to lead him forward, “this is my son and heir, Draco Orion Malfoy. He stands before you to receive your Mark and offer his unswerving loyalty and devotion.” He undid the clasps on Draco’s cloak and it dropped to the ground.

Draco held his head high and stood naked in the moonlight.

“Are you here of your own free will?” asked Voldemort, looking Draco deep in the eye.

“Yes, my Lord,” recited Draco, but his mind was flickering wildly over what he had just witnessed and his heart was racing.

“Will you serve me and only me?”

“Yes, my Lord,” professor Snape had the Dark Mark, he had taken it straight from school also, he’d told Draco how it felt to be able to fight openly, to face Potter’s father and his arrogant friends as men. It was all Draco had ever wanted. To be like Professor Snape. How could it have been a lie?

“Give me your arm, Draco,” hissed Voldemort.

Draco held out his left arm, proud to see it didn’t tremble, though snakes seemed to be writhing in his stomach and he could hear his blood pounding in his ears. Voldemort took Draco’s arm in his ice cold grasp and pointed at the fine, pale skin of his forearm with the tip of his wand. “Morde Bras he whispered and Draco gasped in agony as the black skull seared into the tender flesh like fire.

Then it was over and his father tenderly placed his cloak around his shoulders and touched his face. Draco closed his eyes and stepped back into the circle at his father’s side. He was finally a death Eater; finally accepted as an adult wizard, able to fight for the Dark Lord; finally had all that he’d ever wanted. How could it be a lie?

****

Draco followed his father down into the dungeons, past ancient wards that flared as that passed and dimmed as their Malfoy blood passed the tests built into the walls of the Manor.

Lucius paused outside the door of the first cell they reached. “Well, Draco,” he said, a cold smile playing about his lips, “you are not the only one of your classmates to take on a man’s role. Let’s hope you are more successful than Mr Weasley.”

At Lucius’s touch the door swung open to show a figure sprawled on the bare floor on the far side of the cell. He was filthy and bruised and his clothes were torn, but his red hair still shone, even in the flickering light that seeped in from the corridor. He raised his head and squinted at them, the weak light hurting his eyes, one of which was swollen shut. He licked his dry, split lips and croaked “Come to gloat, ferret-boy?”

“You are lucky we have bigger fish to fry,” sneered Lucius, “I don’t have time for you tonight. I just wanted Draco to see for himself what careless behaviour can lead to. You were reckless to take on my men by yourself.

“You think you were protecting Potter, but he’d have fared better than you if he’d come out and faced us. You are not strong enough to survive my questioning, are you Mr Weasley? The Dark Lord has seen things in your mind that will lead us straight to your precious Order.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” rasped Ron.

“Crucio,” hissed Lucius, pointing his wand at the prisoner, and Ron’s body jerked on the floor, his face frozen in a rictus of agony. Then it was over and he lay, panting, on the stone floor, gazing balefully at Draco.

Draco looked at the boy on the floor. God, he’d hated Ron Weasley at school. From their first day, when he’d cultivated Potter’s friendship, on his father’s orders. And Potter had chosen this wreck as a friend. This hand-me-down, muggle-loving buffoon. How many times had Weasley humiliated him at school? Him and his fucking brothers and his bitch of a sister? Snape had always belittled the Weasleys and… Snape. Shit. Draco looked away and Ron slumped, boneless on the floor. Father and son left the room and the door swung closed behind them.

In the next cell was Severus Snape, and Draco took a deep breath and clenched his fists inside his cloak, ready to face this.

Lucius opened the cell door.

Snape was sitting calmly against the far wall, his robes arranged neatly in a circle around him. “Lucius,” he said.

“Well, well, Severus,” said Lucius, “what a shame Draco has to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this - Crucio.”

It lasted longer this time and Snape was left sweating and breathing heavily, his hair fallen across his face, but he made no sound.

“Sleep well, Severus,” said Lucius, his expression concerned, and they closed the door once more.

“Is that it?” asked Draco.

“For tonight, Draco. Such a man won’t break in one night. But after a week of torture and no food we’ll have more luck.” And he swept away, up the corridor with his cloak and his troubled son trailing behind him.

****

After a week of late night visits, Severus Snape was thin, bruised and bleeding, with sunken eyes and dried, cracked lips, but he still kept silent.

And later still one night, Draco found himself retracing his steps, alone, back down to the dungeons.

He passed the first cell without sparing it a glance. He hadn’t seen Weasley since the first night; he knew they were just feeding him enough to keep him alive; once they had what they wanted from Snape, then Weasley would make excellent bait. Of course, Potter would come anyway. Weasley dead would enrage him, but how distracted would he be by the suffering of his best friend?

He stopped outside Snape’s door, tapping his fingers nervously on his leg. He didn’t know why he’d come, didn’t know what he could say.

Seeing Snape suffering, and growing weaker had been hard. His father hadn’t shown any emotion, sneering down at his prisoner like he was torturing nothing more important than a cockroach. After so many years of praising the man; of telling Draco that his head of House was a true Slytherin, who would help Draco, train Draco, protect Draco.

And soon, surely, their prisoner would break. He would tell all he knew about the Order, about Dumbledore’s plans. Soon the Dark Lord would return and pick through Snape’s shattered mind for the treasures he sought.

Draco reached out a hand and touched the cell door. Recognising him, it swung open.

Snape was asleep. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. Draco could see the bones in his wrist, his hollow cheeks, the shallow rise and fall of his ribcage.

He’d been doing a hell of a lot of thinking over the last week. Thinking about his father. About the man before him. He admired his father, but Lucius was a very distant man. Draco had ached for his approval, ached to be like him. Had done everything his father had asked of him. But that just meant that they were now equi-distant.

To be honest, hadn’t Snape been more of a father figure to him? For seven years he had seen far more of his teacher than he had of his parents. A common thing at boarding school, of course. He’d seen how the Weasleys were greeted by their family at King’s Cross; like a litter of over-friendly puppies. Squealing ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’ and hugging each other.

Draco had never called his parents anything but ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’. And they did not hug. Well, neither did Snape.

But he looked out for Draco on a daily basis. He praised him. He taught him. Not just potions; he taught him to be a man, to be proud to be a Slytherin, to loathe the Gryffindors, with their shallow, hot-headed, so-called bravery. No subtlety, no depth. He loathed Potter and his cronies, he loathed Dumbledore…. No. He’d never said a word against Dumbledore, had he? Well, he criticised Dumbledore’s partisan support of Potter, but that was because he hated Potter. Hated Potter’s father.

Draco realised that his fingers were curled into fists, his nails carving crescents in his palms. He exhaled loudly and flexed his fingers.

Snape stirred at the noise and blinked up at Draco, trying to see him clearly. “Your turn to come alone, is it, Draco?” he whispered, though dry lips.

Draco came further into the cell and closed the door behind him. A flame flared in the sconce above his head, throwing strange shadows across the room. “My father doesn’t know I’m here. I wanted to see you.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Well, see me, Draco. See me properly. I spent my youth in the Dark Lord’s service, as you have. I did his bidding. But when I thought for myself, look what happened to me.”

“But why, Professor? Why oppose the Dark Lord? Why abandon Slytherin?”

Snape chuckled, and then coughed. “I didn’t abandon Slytherin, Draco. Just because the majority of the Dark Lord’s supporters came from Slytherin, that is not the same as the majority of Slytherins turning to the Dark side. Slytherins think for themselves, I tried to teach you that. They don’t love each other unconditionally like those cursed Gryffindors. They look inside themselves. They have to find out who they are. And I am not a supporter of the Dark Lord. He never lets anyone think for themselves. He doesn’t care who you are, as long as you do what he says.”

“That isn’t what you said at school.”

“Actually, Draco, I was careful never to mention supporting the Dark Lord when you were at school. I had managed to escape his clutches before his downfall at the hands of your dear Mr Potter, but it was hardly common knowledge that I had offered my services to Dumbledore. And even though the Dark Lord had fled, there were too many of his supporters, such as your father, who would have offered me up to him upon his return, or to whichever power crazed wizard set himself up as the next Dark Lord.

“I taught you to be strong. I taught you to think. I hoped you would use your brain for something other than parroting whatever your father said. It seems I was wrong.”

“You should have trusted me, you should have told me.” Draco knelt beside the elder man and helped him to raise his head and shoulders off of the floor. He held a leather water bottle to his lips and let him drink. “My father always told me we were better than everyone else, but I see him torturing Weasley and I see him hurting you, and he doesn’t even think you’re human. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even ask any questions. He just enjoys causing pain. Because causing pain will gain him praise from the Dark Lord. Not because you have done anything to him. And Weasley has done nothing to anyone, he’s nothing. But he’s not getting out of here alive.”

“Where is Weasley?” Snape interrupted.

“In the next cell. He’s in a really bad way. They are keeping him alive just until they can show Potter how much he has suffered.”

Snape smiled up at him and caught his hand. “You said ‘they’, Draco. ‘They’, not ‘we’. You are thinking for yourself, aren’t you? You’re not part of this.”

Draco pulled his hand away. “I am. I have to be. But I don’t like seeing you like this. What can I do?”

Snape tried to sit up and Draco put his arms around him to help. Their eyes met and it was Draco who looked away first, a flush staining his pale cheeks. “I wish I could let you go,” he said, “but Father would know it was me. Only a Malfoy can open these doors. I..I could tell him you over-powered me…”

“You could free both Weasley and myself, and you could come with us, Draco.”

Draco shook his head violently, his hair flying wildly, “Not Weasley, I’m not helping him.”

Snape sighed. “Overpower you?” he asked and held his hands out to Draco. They were covered in dried blood, his palms criss-crossed with cuts, his long elegant fingers had been broken.

The breath caught in Draco’s throat and he took Snape’s hands gently in his own. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes and blinked them away, furiously. He remembered these hands delicately measuring ingredients and stirring cauldrons in Potions. Shit, what a waste.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He took out his wand and cast a Healing Charm. The rawer cuts smoothed over and the freshly broken bones knitted; the older scars remained and badly healed breaks remained unchanged. “I’m so sorry. I’ll…I’ll make it up to you, I’ll help you get out of here.”

“No, Draco. They need too much from me. They’ll never let me go, and they’ll never forgive you if you just let me go. You have to come with me.”

Draco swallowed and ran his fingers over the scars on the older man’s hands. He shook his head. “No, Professor. Severus. I can’t leave. I realise now I won’t have anything as a member of the Dark Lord’s circle. I’m not valued, no one is. But I’d have even less as someone outside Dumbledore’s circle. How can you stand it?”

“You’d have your pride.”

“No. The only pride I have is in my name. In all this.” He gestured vaguely to the Manor. “All I have is this place. The best I can hope for is to be quiet and outlast the war, outlive my father.”

“And when the Dark Lord comes to question me I won’t be able to hold him off. I have no strength left, Draco. What is your quiet place worth in the post-war world if he uses what I know to win the war?”

“I can’t…”

“There is something else you could do.”

“What?”

“You could help me die.”

Draco pulled his hands out of the other man’s grasp. “I can’t.”

Snape snorted. “You’re a Death Eater.”

“Not a very good one. Severus, there has to be another way.”

“Do you want to stop him getting information out of me or not? I can’t go on. I am weak and in pain, and he will come. And he will break me. And he will use what I know to break Dumbledore. If you won’t free me from this place, then free me from this life, this pain.”

“But they’ll know it was me.”

“Give me your wand. I’ll cast a Severing Charm across my throat. There will be a great deal of blood, you can say you panicked, and that it was too late to do anything about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I cannot escape physically, Draco. This is all I have left to me. Please, give me your wand.”

Draco swallowed and nodded. He grasped Snape’s hand in his and shook it. “You’re a braver man than I am, you should have been a Gryffindor.” He held out his wand.

A ghost of a smile crossed Snape’s face and he took the proffered wand. “No, Draco, I know where I belong.” He pointed the wand at his own throat and Draco looked away, unable to watch the spell slice through Snape’s jugular vein. Snape opened his mouth to whisper the spell, and turned the wand on Draco as he spoke. “Stupefy”.

The younger man crumpled to the floor of the cell and Snape got to his feet. Crossing to the seamless cell door he examined it swiftly. As he’d expected, it would only open for a Malfoy. He pointed his purloined wand at Draco once again, murmured “Mobilicorpus” and watched as Draco’s unconscious body rose into the air, head lolling on his shoulders, feet dragging on the floor. Guiding the drifting figure of Draco Malfoy in front of him, he stood aside to let the door open and peered out.

As he stepped into the corridor, his cell door closed behind him.

All was quiet and Snape pushed his marionette up to the door of the cell beside his, and this door swung open for the Heir of the House. A whispered “Lumos” showed him the unconscious figure of Ron Weasley against the far wall. He entered the cell, towing Draco behind him and the cell door closed.

Snape knelt and checked the pulse of the injured young man. It was weak and fluttering under his awkward broken fingers. Snape gathered him into his arms. Luckily he weighed almost nothing, his head falling backwards across Snape’s forearm, his face pale.

With one last look at Draco, bobbing gently in the fetid air in the filthy cell, Snape pictured the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place. He flicked his wand and he and Ron vanished with a crack.

****

Note: well. Bleah. Sorry, [Bad username: ”aerynalexander”], I didn’t leave Draco in a very good place. I meant to have Snape die tragically and Draco wibble pathetically and get pushed aside as a Disappointment and survive the war in one piece. And I would have done, if Ron hadn’t been unconscious in the next cell. I couldn’t leave him there. I know it’s my fault he was there in the first place. I should have made it Seamus, and then I could have left him. Sorry.