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Flesh of My Flesh	By : lashton Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9435 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Legacy of Light
Laurence Ashton
Prologue:
Flesh of My Flesh
D

House elves were in the midst of cleaning the kitchen when Draco followed Potter into the room. Some of them were by the ovens and iceboxes, storing excess foods; others scraping garbage into bins; others washing and scrubbing pots, pans, and dishes, and others scouring the four long tables clean. They all snapped to attention when Potter announced them and bound over to the duo, eager to serve them.
"MASTER DRACO!" said one squeaky voice that seemed somewhat familiar to Draco. Draco peered at the wrinkly, ugly mass of elves gathered around and spotted one wearing a too-large T-shirt and mismatched socks. It was eyeing him with big, water eyes. "Master Draco, Sir, Dobby thought he'd never see you again! How is Master Draco doing? How can Dobby serve Master Draco? Dobby is being very eager to serve you again, Sir!"
Potter laughed as the house elf scrabbled over to Draco and Draco squinted at him. The name sounded vaguely familiar, one that he thought he'd heard before, but he couldn't be certain where.
"Dobby used to work in your house," said Potter when the elf gave an ear-flopping bow. "I tricked Lucius into setting him free."
"I got into trouble for that," said Draco, remembering, giving Potter a scowl. Potter looked at him, both startled and curious.
"I don't see how you could have."
"You didn't have to live with my irate father that summer, either. He was in a foul mood all of the time. Mother even bought three more elves to replace Dobby, but Father had settled into a rage and worked his wrath around the whole household. I can't even count the number of floggings he gave the servants that summer. Mother was going to take me to my Aunt Olympia's estate in Greece so that I wouldn't have a chance to upset him, but that made Father angrier and he forbade it. For the slightest transgression, that summer, Father would take � " Draco cut himself off suddenly as he remembered something more. That was the summer that Father put the wards on me, he thought, halting in a panic. That was the summer I turned thirteen and�. That was the summer Father found me in the gardens kissing one of the girls from the village.
"What?" said Potter, frowning at Draco in confusion. "What did your father do? He didn't� not before�. Did he?"
"No," said Draco sharply. "It's nothing. Forget it."
Potter gave Draco a strange look before he asked Dobby for some dinner, and Dobby fell all over himself to comply. They sat at one of the long tables, facing each other, but neither speaking. House elves clanged about in the kitchen around them, happily going about their chores.
Dobby came back over to them with two covered platters floating behind him on trays. He gave them a toothy smile and another low bow. "Dobby could send this to wherever the young masters wish if they are not wanting to eat in the kitchens."
"Thank you, Dobby," said Draco, rising. "You can send it up to my room."
Dobby snapped his fingers and the trays disappeared with a little crack. "Dobby is being very pleased to serve Master Draco again. Is there anything else Master Draco or Mister Harry Potter is wanting?"
"No, thanks, Dobby," said Potter. "Come on, Malfoy. I'm starved."

"What was your childhood like?" said Draco when he and Potter were seated on the hearthrug by the fireplace. Their trays of food sat on a low coffee table in front of them. By now, Potter was picking at what was left of his dinner, eating tiny bites as if unwilling to stop but no longer hungry. Draco, on the other hand, continued to eat at a steady pace that drew some curious glances from Potter's direction. Dobby, in the way of house elves, had over-filled their platters beyond what could be considered a normal meal.
"Unpleasant, at best," said Potter, shifting uncomfortably. "Let's just say that I quickly learned not to cry or complain or behave like a child." He paused, scrunching up his nose. "What was your childhood like?"
"Normal, I suppose," said Draco with a shrug. "Until I was five, I spent most of my time with my mother. I was always under her, but she didn't mind. She liked it, I think, having an unconditional admirer. She was always sweet to me and taught me to do things my father had forbidden me to learn."
"Like what?"
Draco smirked in memory. "One time she took me to visit my uncle and we spent two weeks in the forest. She taught me how to survive off of the land and we spent our last weekend gathering fresh ingredients and brewing potions that we later used to play tricks on my cousins. But it was even more fun when we got home and had to tell father a bunch of tales about what we'd done while away. Our great secret lasted a good week until Aunt Florence found our parting gift and sent Father a Howler that had him deaf out of his left ear for three days. It was more than worth all of the trouble we got into, though."
"It sounds great. From the glimpses I've caught of your mother, I'd have never thought she'd do something like that."
Draco shrugged. "It was a blast. And I've never seen Father so angry�." Draco trailed off, awkwardly, knowing that that was a lie. "Well. You know."
Potter's smile faded. They sat awkwardly for a moment, staring at the empty hearth. Then Potter pointed his fork towards Draco's plate and said, "You were hungry."
Draco blushed. Dobby had given them both abnormally large servings and Draco had eaten it all while Potter left more than half. "Um," he said. "I guess."
Potter gave him a lopsided grin. "I wonder where it all goes. You ate almost as much as Ron, and he's a bloody giant, practically. I feel like I'm breaking my neck in half when I talk to him. Mostly I just try to stand a couple of feet away."
Draco snorted and swallowed a laugh. "No privacy that way."
"Like I said: bloody giant. He could just step on anybody who's going to scurry off and blab before they get the chance."
Draco was overwhelmed with images of cartoon-ish, mice-sized Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil screeching and running in circles as a giant weasel with Ron Weasley's face pounced on them each and caught them by their long, curly tails. He broke out into a fit of giggles, uncaring that Potter watched him with an amused smirk, unblinking.
"It is good to hear you laugh again," said a voice from the doorway. Draco turned to see Professor Snape leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, smirking pleasantly. "I was starting to think you never would."
Draco stood up from the floor and sat down on the couch as Professor Snape came into the room and took a seat on the arm of one of the chairs. Snape watched Potter with a strange, owlish look.
"I am sorry, Uncle, for upsetting you. It's just that sometimes everything is so twisted, and�. But it was nice to remember my mother." Snape arched a questioning eyebrow and Draco shrugged.
"Malfoy told me that she took him camping one summer and they went back to his uncle's house and pranked on the whole family."
Snape smirked. "I do remember that," he said. "Lucius came to me every day for the next three weeks for calming potions. I had to give him a quadruple dose and a double cheering charm before it would work."
"I didn't know that!" said Draco, and giggled to think of his mighty, proud father crawling through the Floo, shaking and spluttering with rage, and willingly being doused time and again just to calm his frazzled nerves. "It does sound like Father, though. He never really wanted to � " Draco flinched as he realized what he was going to say, but finished, much quieter and more somber, "hurt Mum or me."
"Draco," began Snape.
"I'm not feeling very well," said Draco before he could continue. And indeed he wasn't. The nausea was back, welling in the pit of his stomach and churning the food there.
Snape sighed heavily. "Try to let the sickness pass. You can't keep vomiting."
"It's not intentional," snapped Draco, glowering at the professor. He tried to ignore Potter's heavy, thoughtful gaze, but found he couldn't. For a moment, he met Potter's stare, but Potter watched Draco in a way that made him feel sick all over again, and eventually Draco simply looked away.
"I think it may be all in your head," said Potter after awhile of silence, in which Draco sat, squirming, trying to let his stomach settle. "As far as I have seen, you are only sick when you are upset. It's like a manifestation of your emotions."
Draco wanted to say something biting to Potter in response but he didn't get the chance. Instead he raced to the bathroom and was violently ill.

Weeks passed. Draco had begun taking special lessons with Professor Snape at nights, after dinner. Under Snape�s Occlumencical guidance, Draco began to exert control over his emotions, and, as Potter had suspected, the sickness passed.
Madam Pomfrey had decided it would be best for Draco to adhere to a diet in order to get all of the nutrients he would need during his pregnancy. Now that he was eating properly and not vomiting so regularly, he began to gain weight at what Draco believed was an alarming rate.
Late in November, one morning, Draco woke up with a sharp, inconsistent stabbing pain in his abdomen. It took ten minutes of struggle and grunting before he was able to stand up straight, and even then he felt unsteady on his feet. He dressed quickly in school robes, and decided to skip breakfast altogether so that he could hurry to his first class of the day, Charms, which, unfortunately, was located up several flights of stairs and across the castle.
Shouldering his bag with a grunt, Draco hedged out of his room and stopped short. Professor Snape was still in his sitting room, and Hermione Granger was there with him.
"Malfoy?" said Granger, both eyebrows raised at the sight of him coming out of what she could presume to be the only bedroom in a professor's quarters. The girl gawked at him, fidgeting with her Head Girl badge, and Draco watched her back warily. "You sleep here? With Snape?"
"You presumptuous little weasel!" said Snape, more than offended enough for both Draco and himself. Granger startled and blinked at the professor, scandalized, jaw dropped. "How dare you even insinuate � twenty points from Gryffindor for your blatant � and don't you even think of mentioning Draco's whereabouts � or I'll have you in detention for the rest � GET OUT!"
Granger was too stunned to react, probably never having seen the professor so angry that his swift and sharp tongue couldn't keep up with his wits. Draco, who had seen this side of Professor Snape far too often for his own liking, winced in sympathy and inched out of the room as quietly as he could manage. By the time he was halfway down the hall, Granger came darting out of the room, spluttering an apology, and with a look in her eye as if she had been mortally offended.
"Humph!" she said, as she stormed down the hall. She caught up with Draco rather quickly and slowed to walk beside him. They walked in silence for a moment � or rather, Draco winced along and Granger stalked. Then, finally, Granger blushed and broke the awkward silence. "Look, Malfoy, I didn't mean that the way Snape assumed I did."
"Oh?" said Draco, not particularly interested in Granger's prattle. Every time he stepped down, pain would jolt up the length of his leg and knife his abdomen. It sort of distracted him from her need to chat.
"Malfoy, are you hurt?"
"You noticed?" snapped Draco.
Granger frowned at him, but that didn't keep her from halting his steps. She looked him over with a critical eye and snatched his bag away with a heavy sigh. "You shouldn't be out of bed, you know," she said, impatiently. "And you don't need to be carrying this heavy bag, either, if you can barely hold yourself together." Draco rolled his eyes as they continued on. They had Advanced Charms together with Flitwick. "What's wrong with you, anyway? Harry says that you're ill and that's why you've quit quidditch, but the Slytherins say �"
"What are the Slytherins saying about me?"
Granger blushed. "It's not how you think. They're not going around blabbing about you, or anything, but we've overheard them more than once saying that you had a big fight with your father and ran away from home. Did you fight with him because you were sick?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her, voice stony. She peered at him sidelong and shrugged. "Shut up."
"Don't be rude, Malfoy. I was only curious. Harry has been spending time with you lately. Ron and I have noticed, and we talked to him about it. He says that you've changed, that we can trust you, even though we don't think so. Just because you're ill doesn't mean you're less of a bigoted, foul prat."
"If you're so charmed, why don't you scamper off, you annoying wench?"
"That's exactly the sort of delightful disposition I'm talking about, Malfoy. Thank you for proving my point." A sharp pain lanced through Draco at that moment, and he grimaced and clutched his stomach. Mirage hissed and Granger watched him with a sharp eye. "You've gained weight."
Draco remembered his fight that morning to squeeze into his trousers and glowered at the observant Head Girl. Granger leveled a stare on him, nonplussed. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Ms. Granger, but so long as you plan to tell me how fat I've gotten since I've quit quidditch, my 'delightful disposition,' as you so cheerfully put it, shan't improve."
Granger sniffed. "I was only saying�"
"As was I."
Granger poked him in the side, which sent a wave of agony jolting through him. "OW� Draco snarled, and Granger jerked in surprise, eyes clouding over. She shook her head and blinked at him, then her eyes cleared again.
"Don't be such a baby, Malfoy," she said coolly. "You've endured worse, and if you haven't, worse is coming."
"What do you mean by that?" he snapped.
"Nothing," said Granger, and shrugged. "I know a healing charm for that � here," she whipped out her wand and turned it on him, and Draco flinched.
"Don't."
"Malfoy, there's no use suffering needlessly. Now, I know a charm, so just let me heal you and you can stop grimacing every five minutes."
"It's not safe."
Granger laughed. "There aren't many conditions in which healing magic isn't safe to cast, Draco. You don't need to worry."
"No," said Draco. Granger watched him for a few seconds longer before stashing her wand in her pocket once more. "I happen to have one of those � conditions � in which casting healing magic isn't safe."
"I see," said Granger.
"I don't think you do."
"You'd be surprised by what I can see, Malfoy."
"Did Potter tell you about my�."
"What?" said Granger, leaning forward in interest. Draco blushed and looked away, angry with himself for almost blurting that out. Potter wouldn't have been stupid enough to go blabbing about what had happened with his father over the summer. Even Potter had that much discretion.
"Never mind."
"Hmm," said Granger. They arrived at the Charms classroom. It was filling with students coming out of the Great Hall, and professor Flitwick stood on a stool by the chalkboard. "Still can't call him 'Harry,' then?" Draco shrugged. "Well, you should have Madam Pomfrey look at your side before the day is out. The pain will only get worse, and I'm certain she knows a spell that might not conflict with your� illness."
"You say that like you know what's wrong with me."
Granger snorted and sat his bag on one of the tables. Draco sat down and was surprised when Granger sat down beside him, eyebrow arched in challenge, smirking. "I couldn't possibly know what was wrong with you, Malfoy. Could I?"
Draco wanted to slap that know-it-all expression off her face. Instead he busied himself with pulling out his books and opening his notebook to the first blank page. "I wouldn't know."
"Hey Hermione, Draco," said Potter as he slid into the available seat on Draco's right. Weasley sat down next to him, still chattering with Susan Bones. "You don't usually sit with us."
"He's not feeling well," said Granger, as if that explained everything.
"I'll say," said Weasley, glowering, as he turned around and dumped his books onto his desk. "In rare form, Dray-co?"
"Careful, Ron," laughed Granger. "He might snap. That is, as long as I sporadically remind him that he's puffing up now that he's off the team."
"Shut up, both of you," said Potter sharply, elbowing Weasley in the ribs when the red-head cackled harder.
"Oh, come on, Harry, we didn't mean anything by it," said Weasley.
"He hasn't even gained that much weight. He's just being vain," added Granger.
Not yet, anyway, thought Draco. He had to fight the urge to be sick at that thought. Potter must have noticed this in his features though, because he gave Draco a worried look.
"You weren't at breakfast," he said. "Did the sickness come back this morning?"
"In a manner of speaking," said Draco.
"It's his stomach," explained Granger. Draco glowered at her, but she didn't seem to care as she continued on. "I carried his books for him because he looked like he was going to collapse at any minute. He should be in bed, I think. He wouldn't let me cast a charm to heal him."
"You never say that about me when I feel sick!" said Weasley, glaring at Granger angrily.
"That's because you're always trying to get out of classes for the slightest thing, Ronald Weasley. Anyway, Harry, you'd have thought I stabbed him when I poked him in the side."
"Really?" said Potter, hands darting out so quickly that Draco didn't have a chance to stop him. Potter placed both of his hands flat against Draco's stomach and his eyebrows shot up immediately, but he didn't say anything; thank Merlin. Instead he squinted at Draco and scrunched up his nose a bit. "Does that hurt?" he said eventually.
"Not quite," Draco answered. Potter mumbled something, and soothing tingle seeped into Draco, replacing the sting of anguish that had speared him. Potter drew away and turned to his notes as Flitwick started the lesson. All through Charms, Draco burned with humiliation and struggled with the bile rising in his throat. Potter knew, now. It made Draco feel like he was bare for judgment.

Draco skived off his afternoon classes and retired early to Snape�s sitting room just before lunch. He changed into a pair of sleep pants and sprawled on the couch in front of a blazing fire. Mirage coiled around herself on the slight bulge of his lower abdomen, hissing soothingly. Draco dozed there, tentatively pressing against his stomach where it lightly extended. The strange tingle from whatever spell Potter had used to heal him still pulse through him, albeit faint.
The door swung open violently and bounced off the wall, startling Draco. He jerked awake and stared aghast as Snape stormed into the room, a house elf with a covered platter scurrying in behind, and slammed the door.
Surprised to see Draco lying about in night clothes already, Snape halted a moment, scowling. But his scowl soon transformed into an expression of puzzlement and he came before where Draco laid on the couch and knelt there. He pressed a tentative hand against Draco�s belly, putting a gentle pressure to it, brow furrowed.
�You� are further along than expected,� he said, caution and suspicion lacing his voice.
Draco tensed. �I couldn�t have endured that more than once, Uncle. I am a horrid weakling, you should know.�
�Don�t say such things!� said Snape sharply, tracing a hand around Mirage. �Have you experienced any symptoms other than the nausea?�
�Actually,� said Draco, scooping Mirage into one hand and using the other to push himself into a sitting position, �I wanted to ask you if you�ve made any painkillers yet. I know you said I wouldn�t need them until about the fifth month, but this morning when I woke up��
�And now?� said Snape, rising, pulling at an oily lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. �Did the pain fade naturally, or do you still suffer?�
�Um, no I don�t think it would have gone away on its own�� Draco said nervously, stroking Mirage�s back to keep from fidgeting.
�Tell me that you didn�t get someone to cast a healing charm on you.�
�Well, no,� said Draco, unable to meet Snape�s gaze. �I told him not to, but I couldn�t stop him before he did, and� Um, it all happened so fast. I don�t think I had any adverse effects.�
Snape sighed and dropped heavily onto the couch, swinging Draco�s legs up onto his lap. Draco lay back again and turned to look at the fire. The house elf, as was their way, had placed the tray on the table and left without drawing notice to himself. Elves were of the stealthiest race that Draco knew, and he found it rather disturbing. He knew what advantages being invisible could bring.
�You said that you couldn�t stop him.� Draco nodded. �I take it you�re referring to Potter. Does� does he know?�
�He touched me before I could stop him. I think it was fairly obvious.�
�Well, there�s nothing to be done about that now.� He gestured to the tray on the table. �Eat something; I brought you some lunch when I saw you weren�t in the Great Hall. I figured you�d come here to rest a bit, but I hadn�t expected that you planned to laze around.� Draco snorted and stared at the fire in disinterest, relishing the warmth as it jumped at him. �Don�t make a habit of this, Draco. It will draw more attention to you, and sooner than you expect, to complicate things. I will look into concealing charms, although I hadn�t anticipated having to do that so soon. And I will have the painkillers to you by the end of the week. I hadn�t started on them yet, but I will today, after classes.�
�Thank you, Uncle.�
Snape�s hand snaked out and pressed against Draco�s abdomen once more and caressed it. Draco relaxed under the light, curious touch, feeling comfortable with Snape as he didn�t feel comfortable with anyone else. Draco watched the professor closely, watched the way Snape�s eyes darkened and his brow furrowed, the way Snape grimaced slightly with concentration, expression approaching a half-hearted sneer. Snape was intrigued by Draco�s condition, by seeing the unnatural growth. His touch felt child-like.
�So much beauty,� whispered Snape on an exhale, �and so much sorrow. There will never be another like you in all of history. Either of you�.�
�That is for the best, I�m sure,� said Draco. �It seems our fame will come hand-in-hand with our doom�. For there will be fame; I am certain of it.�
�The law�. I have spoken with Dumbledore about that; he will claim ignorance for as long as is possible.� Snape gave a pointed, doubtful look at Draco�s already swelling stomach and scowled in thought. �I fear that may be sooner than we all hoped.�
�I will survive the humiliation. I am getting enough practice, I think.�
Snape startled as Draco swung his legs around and sat up, reaching for the platter that Snape had brought him. There was a light salad and chicken soup, freshly baked bread, and Draco noted with delight, that there was a small plate of sugared orange slices dipped in chocolate.
�Draco,� began Snape slowly, as if he feared being offensive, �you needn�t suffer quite so much. I would claim the child, swear to it, even.�
Draco laughed, but smiled at Snape gratefully. �You couldn�t afford the scandal that would come out of that, Uncle. Your standing with the Ministry is strained enough as it is, but to add poufter, pedophile, and parent of my bastard, demon-spawn to the list would be too much. I don�t want you to suffer on my behalf. And you needn�t worry for me, so much, either. I don�t plan to stick around long enough after Baby�s birth for the Ministry of Magic to think up some half-baked claim for dragging me in to prod and probe and violate all over again.�
�Where will you go?�
Draco shrugged and munched on a couple of slices of orange for a moment, shifting Mirage around his wrist so that she could get a grip on her tail.
�I may go stay with my Aunt Olympias in Greece until I can think of somewhere I�d like to settle down. But I�m certain either Uncle Justinian or Uncle Nero would hide me away if I asked. And there is any one of grandfather�s properties that I could take over. I�m not too worried about that.�
�You haven�t thought of much,� said Snape. �Have you thought of a name?�
�I don�t know. Any of the old names will be fine, I guess. There�s no point disregarding over two thousand years of family tradition just because my father � well, he is a Malfoy of purest blood.�
Snape scowled and drew his hand away. �Your father raped you, Draco. You must say it eventually.�
Draco nearly choked on a spoonful of soup. Snape watched him, as if measuring him, and Draco could feel the intensity of his stare like a knife through the heart.
�There are things better left unsaid.�
�And this is not one of them!� barked Snape with enough force to make Draco jump in surprise. �Look, Draco, I am sorry. But you must understand, we can only respect your wishes to keep your situation quiet, but suffering in silence is not going to heal you. Even if you cannot say it to others yet, you must be able to admit it to yourself.�
Before Draco had a chance to respond, a tentative knock came at the door and it swung open. Harry Potter came into the room, halting in the doorway and gawking at Draco and Snape on the sofa, at Draco in particular� or more specifically, Draco�s abdomen.
�I did not give you permission to enter!� said Snape, seething and sneering. Potter had the grace to blush, but he never looked away from where Draco sat tense and embarrassed by the fire. �What is it, Potter?� hissed Snape, rising and near to flailing in his rage.
�Er� you�re rather late to class,� said Potter, then coughed, �sir. I came to see if you were well or if you wanted to� erm� cancel.�
�I will be there straight away. Assign reading from chapter twenty-three.�
�Oh, sure,� said Potter, but he made no attempt to leave. Snape�s eyes bulged and he drew himself to his full height and bore down on the Gryffindor Golden Boy like a starved leopard, swift and vicious. Snape grabbed Potter by the scruff of his neck and practically threw him out of the room while snarling and deducting points. Then he turned back to Draco, who had tried, rather ineffectively, to hide by curling his arms around his stomach.
�I�ll have dinner brought to you. I don�t plan to return for some time. I�ve some detentions to oversee for some idiotic third-year Hufflepuffs, then I plan to get started on the painkiller potions.�
�Thank you, Uncle,� whispered Draco as Snape left in a whirl of his stiff black robes. Draco stared after him for a few moments. Then he stood abruptly and relocated to his bedroom to have a lie down. As he entered, his attention caught on the standing mirror in the corner of the room near the wardrobe. His reflection, at first, seemed distorted, but he realized with a jolt that this was how he now looked. Draco crossed to the mirror in a daze and looked at himself, touching the cool mirror surface where his once-flat stomach now expanded, if only slightly. A child grew there � it was strange to think � but it was true, nonetheless, and soon he would be heavy with it, his father�s bastard child, his brother-and-son, his singular, irrefutable proof that he was as his father said, a whore. Draco stole his hand away as if burned.
�I have never seen one quite like you before,� said the mirror. �I�ve notice your � of course, it�s rather hard to miss, when I can see, hmm � but your situation is unique and intriguing.�
�M-my father��
�What�s that, dear?�
�I-I can�t� bloody hell, I can�t even look myself in the eye, anymore.�
Draco moved to the side and grabbed the mirror frames in both hands and rocked against it, getting a bit of momentum going. The mirror asked what he thought he was doing, shoving it off balance like that, when he could kill it, but Draco didn�t listen. Instead he pushed and pulled harder, grunting as the base began to thump forward and back on floor. It rocked precariously and the mirror started screeching at him in a panic. Draco darted away as the mirror came rushing on a forward swing and he could no longer support its tremendous weight, and the mirror crashed, shrieking, to the floor and shattered, frame breaking and splintering.
Draco stood, shuddering and gasping for breath, among the wreckage. The cries of the mirror faded away, forlorn and accusing as it felt the end of its existence dawning. Draco felt like that mirror must have in its last moments, knowing the end had come, not know what would come next, terrified of the many prospects, hating the one that so cruelly stripped away all that it had ever known, no matter how that truly was.
He crouched amongst the remnants of his destruction and picked up a large, jagged shard of mirror. He could see most of his face reflected in it, and was surprised to find that he was crying.
�My father r-raped me,� he said, angry with himself when he stuttered and his voice quaked. He took a shuddering breath after that, unprepared for the surge of emptiness it made him feel. �My father raped me,� he tried again, voice steadier, although he couldn�t keep from grimacing. �He betrayed me and violated me and gave me a child. And as much as I want to hate him for it, I can�t. I don�t know why I still love him, but I do, and it�s killing me.�
Draco dropped the shard, gasping and shrinking away, fearing he�d said too much too soon. The shard dropped onto other fragments and shattered into millions of smaller pieces. Draco stared at them for a moment, annoyed when he tears splashed down on them, but more than anything he was only terrified. All the power and prestige the Malfoy name carried couldn�t battle the shame that was to come for him. He was much too young to have children in the eyes of the wizarding world, unmarried, male, and the child had no father to speak of � he would carry the Malfoy name, but Draco feared more than anything that Lucius would come back into his life and steal away the abomination and torture it the way he tortured Draco. No one deserved that, and Draco couldn�t help feeling some affection for the child; enough, at least, to protect it as much as he could against his father�s politicking. So the child would be a bastard, for Draco could put no father�s name on the registration or the birth certificate.
Whatever was to come, Draco only prayed he survived it, so that he could prepare the child for what it would face later on in its own life.
Carefully, Draco maneuvered away from the mess on the floor and crawled into bed. For the first time since he was six years old, he cried himself to sleep.
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Flesh of My Flesh