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Breaking Point	By : NihilEtNemo Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Narcissa Views: 14700 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter.

Chapter List
- 1-Breaking Point
- 1
TITLE: Breaking
Point
CHAPTER: 1/5ish?
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant ( setosgirl0 /
neferseti0 )
DATE: 1-23-10
FANDOM: Harry Potter
DISCLAIMER:
I don’t own Harry Potter, or make any money from it.
PAIRINGS:
Only some Narcissa/Draco abuse
TYPE: Drama
RATING: PG-13 for
the most part; more scenes of abuse in later chapters
WARNINGS:
themes of sexual child abuse
OCs: none
BETA: none
WORDS:
4754
SUMMARY: Lucius discovers his wife has been abusing his son,
and in the ensuing consequences the Malfoys are pushed to limits they
didn't know they had.
NOTES: I started this as the second chapter
to another story, but it's turned into an expansion and slight
reimagining of the idea from that story instead. That story would be
'Narcissim'( http://hp.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600024386
). Also, I've been watching too much Law & Order: SVU recently;
this is more about the consequences, legal, moral, and psychological,
of the abuse than the abuse itself.

* * *

Breaking Point

Chapter
1

Malfoy manor was silent when its master
Apparated in the foyer.

That was hardly surprising. It wasn't
exactly common for the mansion to ring with noise, and as far as he
knew it might actually be empty. Narcissa didn't care much for
solitude; she might have gone shopping, or seeking the company of her
insane sister. His lip curled a touch as he moved down the hall,
unbuttoning his outer robe to relax. Bellatrix... the Dark Lord's
favorite indeed. She might as well be, she was every ounce as insane
as he, and so much worse at concealing it. Honestly, despite his
wife's protestations about family and whatnot, he hoped she'd be
reapprehended soon and spend the rest of her life in Azkaban, out of
his hair. It would also suit him if she died, of course...

He wondered idly if she would have
taken Draco with her, if she were out. Whether she did seemed to
depend on her mood; if she was with her sister, he hoped not. He
didn't need that kind of influence, the boy had enough problems
controlling his emotions. Too much of that volatile Black blood, he
supposed...

At any rate, if he was home, he was
probably either working on his summer schoolwork or reading from the
library. There was no need, he decided, to trouble either him or
Narcissa, if she was here, with the knowledge that he was home early.
He'd see them at dinner. Until then, he had a letter to write to
assure that pompous little Minister that of course he was right to
ignore all of those pesky signs of Dark Arts, and some interesting
artifacts that wanted his attention...

His train of thought was broken as he
pushed open the door to the drawing room, expecting only to find it
empty. Instead his eyes were arrested by the sight of his son leaning
over the couch by the window with his clothes in disarray, and under
him, hidden but for her bare legs and the flow of her blonde hair by
the angle, was his wife.

The scene shocked him into convulsively
gripping his wand. It was an attack only on his morals, however; as
little as he wanted to see, there was only one interpretation of
their position, only one thing Draco could be doing to her...

He did not know or want to know why,
or the circumstances, or what rationalization he could have... but he
could not help but know that for some unfathomable reason his son was
on top of his wife, kissing, groping...

Lucius had never been a man to lose
control, especially of himself, yet he found himself grabbing his son
by the hair and pulling him backward as hard as he could. He heard a
gasp of pain as Draco fell to the floor; their shocked faces barely
registered on him, and he grabbed the teen's collar and pulled him to
his feet.

Oddly, his mind felt completely clear.
There was no film of rage or undeniable impulse to do as he did, only
a disconnect between his mind and body. He found himself an observer
within his mind as he pulled his son out of the room. Draco stumbled,
but he refused to let him fall or slow to catch his footing. He
realized clinically that he was extremely angry, and disgusted, and
shocked, yet the feelings were distant and only vaguely interesting.

Draco stumbled again as he shoved him
through the next door and let him go, but didn't fall. Instead he
turned around to face him, backing away uncertainly. His pants were
unbuttoned, hanging open, his shirt hiked up to expose half his
stomach, and his robes hanging half off him. His hands looked nervous
as they pulled fruitlessly at the front of his robe as though to
cover him, but his face only showed the shock and uncertainty of a
person caught in the act.

“Your mother, Draco,” he
heard himself say. His voice was low and cold, angry but without
rage. He sounded normal – disappointed, disgusted, but normal.
“Your own mother, how could you? What have you done, Draco?”

Something in Draco broke; he watched it
in his face. His expression cracked and turned into a grimace of
pain; he took another step backward with his head bowed and stumbled
to his knees, yanking his robes tight around him. He doubled over as
though he were going to be sick or was in pain.

He sharply tilted Draco's head back,
and as he met his wet grey eyes it struck him – a wild side
effect of studying Occlumency, he was uncontrollably projecting. A
furious tumult of emotions poured into his mind, and he felt them all
as clearly as if they were his own: pain, betrayal, humiliation, a
powerless hatred and a helpless love, all wrapped so thoroughly in
confusion he couldn't hope to understand them. Draco was much more
emotional than he was by nature, but he knew that even he couldn't
possibly understand what he was feeling... and that was why it
consumed him so.

It severed the disconnect between his
mind and body, and he crouched down in front of his son. As suddenly
as he realized his anger was completely misdirected, it vanished –
not gone, but stored away so that he could deal with it, and his
wife, later. He wrapped his arms around Draco and held him close,
feeling suddenly and incredibly protective and not even bothering to
hide it.

“I'm sorry,” he heard Draco
whisper. Tremors shook the muscles of his back.

“Don't apologize.” He
smoothed out the mussed hair and winced inwardly as he thought of how
he'd just treated him, throwing him around in anger. He was not proud
of that. “I'm sorry. It will be all right, now.”

Draco shook again, then he felt hands
clutching at his robes, and wetness on his shoulder. Draco cried
nearly silent tears and clutched at him for support, and he stayed
and held him.

_ – =*= – _

It had happened quickly, and Draco's
tears also passed quickly. Even though he was emotional for a Malfoy,
he wasn't used to giving in to tears, and the sudden outpouring of
emotion was reigned in within a few minutes.

Lucius spent the interim considering
the situation as coolly as he could. It was actually amazing, as
angry as he was, how rational he felt... and yet, for perhaps the
first time in his life, he couldn't come up with a plan. He had some
very interesting ideas about what to do to her, to be certain, but he
had yet to decide what he was going to do.

Finally, Draco took a hitching breath
and let go of his robes, pulling away from his shoulder and almost
out of his arms. The way he hunched down around himself looked very
uncertain; he looked like he expected to be punished and couldn't
fight it. “I'm sorry,” he murmured with his head bowed,
wiping his sleeve over his eyes to try to erase the tears. “I
couldn't help it...”

Whether he meant the spontaneous
breakdown or what he had been doing with his mother, Lucius didn't
know, but they had the same answer. “Don't apologize,” he
repeated, standing and taking his hands from Draco. He looked
pathetically alone... he wished he knew what to do. There wasn't much
he could, but there was one thing within his area of expertise:
punishment. “Stay here. I'll deal with her.”

Draco looked up. He flinched inwardly
and almost shied away from meeting his son's eyes – not because
he was still projecting, but because of the desperate emotions
written plain across his tear-streaked face. He didn't like dealing
with such unfettered, unrestrained emotions; he wanted to believe his
son was better than that, and yet, as his father, he couldn't fault
him. That made him no more comfortable, however. Emotions on display
like that made his skin crawl.

“Don't hurt her,” Draco
pleaded quietly. The hands gripping his own robes had turned white,
and trembled visibly. “Don't... don't hurt her.”
Realizing he had nothing more rational to add, his expression cracked
again and he bowed his head back toward the floor.

The sight moved him, truly; his disgust
for his wife and uncomfortable sympathy for and anger on behalf of
his son were stronger than ever. He would make no promises, though.
Even he didn't know yet whether he would hurt her or not. “Stay
here,” he repeated, and slipped out of the room, pulling the
door closed behind him.

His face settled back into a cold mask
as he crossed the hall again. There were very few things Lucius
Malfoy actually loved: himself, his son and his wife, and the Malfoy
name and heritage... and Narcissa had just completely and permanently
eradicated herself from that short list. The few things left on it he
would protect mercilessly, even from her.

If she was smart – and he knew
that she was, because he would not have married her if she were not –
she would be gone by now. She had to know he wouldn't stand for this;
he would like to think he did not come off cold enough that anyone
would think he would sanction such heinous treatment of his child,
especially his wife.

Smart as she was, however, he doubted
she would be able to make herself go so suddenly, without
conclusion... without seeing the effects of her actions. She might
want to smirk at him on her way out. She did love attention so.

Even knowing that, it was a surprise to
see her lounging casually on that couch in her indecently sheer
dress. He had never seen the outfit before, he noted distantly... did
she buy lingerie just to seduce their son? His eyes narrowed
unconsciously.

“You didn't hurt the boy, I
hope,” she said, gracefully pushing herself to her feet. She
had no shame, did she? There was absolutely no remorse in her.

“No. That's your doing.” He
stared down at her as she stepped closer, meeting her chilly blue
eyes. He smoothly pushed his mind into hers, so subtly in habit that
she would not even notice. And he found no guilt there either.

“I would never hurt my son... I
love him.”

She managed to say that with a straight
face, and he considered her coolly, reigning back the Legillimency.
In his desk he had disposable wands that he could use to kill her. He
could even set the Dark Mark over her. Multipurpose camouflage like
that appealed to him, making it look less like he had killed her
while making him look less like a Death Eater. The Dark Lord would
probably not fault him for that...

It was, unfortunately, probably not the
best idea.

Her eyebrows rose at his silence.
“What's the matter?” she asked. “I knew you were a
jealous man, but he is your flesh and blood. Surely you won't
begrudge your son his mother's love.”

The sound of his hand hitting her face
surprised even him; her expression was frozen in shock for a long
moment, as the red print of his hand rose on her cheek. He hadn't met
ot hit her, but, in retrospect, it was exactly what that statement
deserved.

She continued to stare at him; he met
her eyes without mercy. “We're getting a divorce,” he
said coldly.

“Divorce?” That roused her
from her shock, and she gave her high laugh, as though it were
absolutely inconceivable he was serious. Somehow she actually thought
their family was going to stay together now; maybe she was every bit
as insane as her sister. “Lucius, you're acting like a Muggle!”

“And you're acting like a whore.”
He spat the word in carefully controlled anger, letting her see just
enough of the disgust she made him feel.

Her breath drew in sharply, then she
straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. Finally, she was
realizing she had made him into her enemy; her expression grew icy
and closed. That quickly she changed from the shallow, superior whore
toying with him to the cold bitch that she truly was. “You may
divorce me,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest and
looking at him with calculated defiance, “but nothing, not even
you, is going to keep me from my son.”

He resisted the urge to lift his own
chin and look even further down at her, tempting as it was to show
her his disdain. Posturing came so naturally to those of their
station... but this was too important for that. “You make that
sound like a threat, Narcissa.”

“Take it as you will. I'm his
mother; he needs me.”
She gave an unpleasant little smile, but he did not doubt for a
moment that she meant what she said... and might even have believed
it.

“He needs to
never see you again – and if I have any say in it, he won't.”

She looked him over without losing her
smile. “You don't understand, do you? It isn't up to you. It's
up to Draco, and he wants to be with me... He loves me.” A
triumphant smirk took over from the smile. “Better than you, I
might add.”

The words were barely out of her mouth
before his wand was set to her throat. Her face went still, eyes
slightly wide, but she didn't pull away and make a move for her own.
Was she afraid of him? She should have known that he wouldn't be so
careless as to do anything to her with his own wand... but perhaps
she was smart to fear, because right now, even he didn't know that
for sure. That statement put him on edge. Was it an implication that
she thought Draco loved her more than he did him? She might have
thought so and it might have been true. Or was it supposed to be a
slight to his ability in bed? That was disgusting and unwarranted –
and he absolutely did not care what a manipulative whore such as his
wife had to say about either of those. It wasn't any meaning of her
words that got to him... No, it was the fact that she would so
casually refer to what she had done to their son that made it so hard
to not simply kill her right here.

“Get dressed,” he said
icily. Despite the rage than made his voice burn cold, his hand
didn't waver, and the tip of his wand pressed steadily, barely
dimpling the fair skin of her throat. “Get out of my house, or
your body will never be
found...”

She searched his
face, her eyes flickering, obviously trying to determine how serious
he was and how much she could get away with; she must have seen how
close he was to the edge, because she said nothing before she turned
her back on him. He kept his wand raised until she was in the
doorway, when she paused and looked back at him. “You're losing
that precious Malfoy control, Lucius.”

He let her have
that victory, though it burned, because it was hard to deny it. “Go,”
he said coldly.

Without another
word, she went.

He followed her far
enough to make sure she went upstairs, then turned back to the room
where he had left Draco.

Draco didn't hear
him slip into the room; he paused, door held partially open, and
looked at him. His son was standing at the window with his arms
crossed, staring out at the sunshine on the gardens. He had seen
Draco agitated before, of course; he would pace, tap his fingers
restlessly, never be still. He did none of those things now, though –
he seemed to have collected himself. All things considered, Lucius
was not certain whether that was a good sign or not.

There was precious
little to be learned from simple observation, though, and too many
questions he needed answers to, even if he didn't want to ask them.
“Draco,” he finally said, closing the door the rest of
the way.

Draco started and
turned around. His expression wasn't as composed as his posture, but
he showed no sign of tears, just a little more paleness than normal,
and the brief flash of a guilty look on his face. His eyes searched
his face nervously. “Where...?”

“She's
leaving,” Lucius assured him, and watched Draco relax visibly.
Was that because she wasn't going to be here any longer, or because
he hadn't given in to the urge to kill her? “I'm divorcing
her... I doubt you'll see her again. You won't if I have anything to
say about it.”

Draco swallowed and
looked down, giving a small nod. He did not look thrilled, however.
Lucius wasn't sure how to read that, but he remembered the confused
mess of emotions that had briefly invaded his mind, and thought he
more or less understood. He both loved and hated his mother, and
never seeing her again would hurt.

That was a pain
Lucius was willing to inflict on him for his own good.

He watched Draco
silently for a few minutes, mentally preparing himself to ask those
awkward questions. The pause allowed Draco to turn back to the window
and grow pensive, but relax, probably adjusting to the new
situation... The last half hour had introduced more tumult into all
of their lives than they had seen since Draco had been a year old,
when the Dark Lord fell...more tumult than Draco had ever seen. He
would deal with it; he was a Malfoy and Malfoys adapted. Yet, it
would not be easy for him.

He continued to
watch Draco's back, and the faint reflection of his face in the
window, as he spoke again. “When did this start?”

Draco stiffened and
looked over his shoulder at him, eyes wide. “You're going to
tell them...”

“Of course
I'm not.” He met Draco's eyes easily, attempting to be
reassuring through the distance between them. Genuine reassurance did
not come naturally to him. “No one needs to know about this. I
don't need this as justification for a divorce, and the crime is
better to punishment... outside the law. However, I do need to
know...”

And why, exactly,
did he need to know? He would not inform the ministry, he would not
use the knowledge to ruin or blackmail her, any more he learned would
bear little on any punishment he did finally decide on for her...

“Since I was
eleven,” Draco said quietly, looking down at the window sill.
His fingers picked at the wood nervously. “The day I came back
from Hogwarts for that first Christmas break. She...”

Draco trailed off
into silence, and he closed his eyes. That was why he needed to know.
Four years... Draco was only going to go into his fifth year now; she
had been using their son for her depraved desires for almost four
years, and he had never seen a sign, not so much as one single,
solitary hint. They must have been there... What was his
excuse for allowing this to go on, behind his back, getting so far
out of his control, for so long?

He put that aside
to dwell on later and opened his eyes. Draco was still staring
through the windowsill as his fingernails created splinters, not
seeming to see it.

“Did you have
sex?” he asked quietly, but bluntly, because there was no more
delicate way to say it that would not sound false to both of them.

There was no
answer. His son paused in picking at the window and just stared.

“Draco?”

“Yes.”
Draco's voice was so close to a whisper he almost didn't hear, but
the word – while not a surprise – gave him a chill. “This
summer... she wanted more... and...”

Two uncomfortable
realizations hit him at the same time. The first was that Draco
needed to talk about this situation, about what she had put him
through and what he felt, and in talking maybe he could figure it out
for himself. The second, and more uncomfortable, was that he couldn't
hear it. He was not equipped in any way to hear outpourings of
emotion, or to support, comfort, or sympathize with him, and the only
reason he would want to hear more details than he already had was as
fuel for his righteous anger against the woman who had done it. It
would do no good for either of them if Draco were to turn to him for
the support he needed. He could not help his son at all.

If Draco needed to
be tutored, advised, protected, gotten out of trouble, even respected
when he had done well, he could turn to him, but when he needed to be
held, talked to, supported, or... well, loved, he would turn to his
mother. And now he couldn't. Lucius loved his son, but he was
uncomfortable even saying the word with any sincerity, and had
probably not said it to Draco since he was too young to remember...
No, he could not be the audience for this. Yet, who could he talk to?
Draco had no close friends, only a circle of useful acquaintances,
and even the broad outlines of this, let alone the details, could not
go beyond this family; neither Draco nor the Malfoy name needed this
kind of humiliation. This story would alienate him, and turn him into
an object of either scorn or pity... And if he were being honest
Lucius could not ignore the ramifications to his own reputation, if
it were known he had been oblivious to something like this in his own
house.

No, this could not
go beyond these walls, for all their sakes. He would do what little
he could on his own.

He reached out and
put his hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco glanced up at him guiltily;
it occurred to him that if he was going to succeed he would need to
stop feeling he had done things wrong, or at least stop broadcasting
it so well... but now wasn't the time for that lesson. “I'll
get you a Pensieve if you want it.”

Draco nodded a
little bit and leaned his forehead on the window. “I'll think
about it.”

He nodded and
squeezed his shoulder, then let him go. “I'm going to make the
arrangements so that we'll be shut of her.”

Draco didn't
answer, and he paused as he turned away. For a moment he just
considered him. “You aren't to blame,” he finally said.

Draco raised his
eyes and looked at his reflection in the window, but didn't speak,
and finally, he turned and left the room, shutting it silently behind
him. There would be a mountain of paperwork to be filled out for
this, and nosy inquiries to field, and perhaps more serious official
attention... He would need a story that Narcissa would not refute, or
at least that it would not matter if she did. Divorce among wizards
was rare – partly thanks to the mountain of paperwork the
Ministry required – and among old Pureblood families so
disgraceful it was almost unheard of. Not even a hundred years ago it
had been illegal, though, so he supposed he was lucky.

This was going to
raise some eyebrows, however... There would be those who would be
sure it had something to do with the Dark Lord, and he certainly
didn't want ideas going that direction, misleading though it was.

He was actually at
his desk, drafting his letter to the Ministry with his mind lost in
the delicate maze of intricate maneuvering he would have to do, when
he heard the tell-tale crack of Apparition only a few rooms away.
With a frown, he was on his feet with his wand in hand even before he
heard the voice yell “Aurors, Mister Malfoy!”

That hardly
mollified him. Wand still in hand, he moved quickly to the door, only
to meet the pair of them in the hall – the tall black Auror
with the earring, and a scroll that looked official, and the girl who
had Narcissa's nose, at least for the moment, under her purple hair.

“Shacklebolt,”
he said coldly. “I do believe you're trespassing.”

“We're here
on Ministry business,” Shacklebolt assured him. There was
obviously no love lost from that end either... “We're here to
take you and your son into custody. Surrender your wand peacefully.
Go find your cousin,” he added to the girl.

“On it,”
Tonks said, and brushed past him with barely a glance. He resisted
the urge to reach out and stop her, by force. This was not a good day
for a surprise invasion by Aurors...

“This is
ludicrous,” he said, wand firmly held in his hand. “You
have no right to be here, and the Minister shall hear of this.”

“The Minister
has already heard; he signed the arrest order himself, when he heard
how your wife wanted to file for a divorce on the grounds that you
are abusive toward her and your son... and, of course, are a Death
Eater.”

Lucius ground his
teeth, fuming silently. That bitch would not get away with this...
not with blaming him for what she had done... and not with
turning him in to the Ministry, to think he had actually trusted
her... He would not let her do this.

Kingsley
Shacklebolt gave a faint smile. It must have pleased him to see him
trapped like this. The bastard...

“Father?”

He looked over his
shoulder, and saw Tonks accompanying Draco down the hall. He had a
slight frown on his face, and he could see he wasn't letting her
touch him.

“Don't say
anything, Draco,” he instructed, looking back at the Auror.
“I'll take care of this.”

Shacklebolt held
out his hand. “Your wand, Malfoy.”

And, because he
hand no choice that did not involve killing two Aurors and fleeing
the country, he gritted his teeth and handed it over.

Shacklebolt made a
note on the scroll that he had collected his wand, then rolled it up
and put it away. “You're under arrest, Lucius Malfoy,” he
said, “for the crime of serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
He reached out and grabbed Lucius's left arm; he pulled it away, but
not before he pulled the sleeve up and exposed the Dark Mark glaring
from his pale skin. “What's this?”

“You know
full well I received that mark during You-Know-Who's first reign,
when I was under the Imperius curse,” he said coldly.

“I know
that's the excuse you got away with at the time. I don't think even
you're slippery enough to get out of it a second time.”

“Let him go!”

They both looked to
find Tonks holding Draco's hand to keep him from using his wand. The
teen glared daggers at Shacklebolt, not even sparing a few for her.

“Don't make
us get you in trouble for underage magic and attacking Aurors,”
she warned him. He spared a second to give her a sneer.

“Draco.”
Lucius caught his son's attention. “I will handle this,”
he repeated, meeting his eyes. He had this under control, or would
shortly, but they did not need Draco making the situation worse. He
had gotten out of an equally true Death Eater accusation before, and
he would again, as long as Draco let him focus and not have to worry
about him as well.

Draco scowled and
yanked his hand from Tonks', but shoved his wand into his robe and
made no move to intimidate them again.

Lucius nodded very
slightly and turned his eyes to Shacklebolt. “Narcissa is an
unfit mother,” he stated. “I trust Draco will not be
given to her custody.”

“He'll be
placed in alternative custody until the divorce is settled, per
standard procedure.”

That would give him
some time, then. He did not resist as Shacklebolt grabbed his arm to
side-along Apparate him to the Ministry.

~TBC~
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Breaking Point