Disclaimers:  I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

Notes:  Time Skip.  It’s Christmas Break and Draco is taken to stand before Voldemort.



Shadows of Truth



Part Six


He should have been afraid.  No . . . he should have been terrified.  Instead, Draco only felt an odd sense of calm as he
followed behind his father.  It was Christmas Break now.  Two months ago, Draco and Harry had shared one perfect night
together.  He would never forget that night, the night he had lost his virginity.  No matter what transpired here tonight,
Voldemort couldn’t use Draco in his plans.  Draco had made sure that he couldn’t be put to use by the Dark Lord.

Not a sound was uttered by either Malfoy, an uncomfortable silence had fallen between them.  Draco still couldn’t understand
why this was happening to him, why his father had allowed the Dark Lord to curse him like this.  Had he failed as a son in
some way?  Was his father ashamed of him, resentful that Draco was a part of his bloodline?

Draco sighed, keeping silent as he followed the elder Malfoy, knowing that he would most likely meet the end of his life
tonight.  He had defied Voldemort, had purposely betrayed him and ruined his plans, as despicable as they were.  He would not
be allowed to live after this . . . Draco was certain of it.

Lucius Malfoy paused before two sentries that stood outside of a large set of wooden doors.  After a brief few moments, they
were allowed to pass.  Draco bowed his head as they entered the elaborate chamber, ignoring the stares of the other Death
Eaters that stood about the room.  As if he were some kind of a king, Voldemort sat atop a throne at the other end of the
room.  He gestured for them to step forward, and neither Draco or his father hesitated for even an instant.

Draco’s father fell to one knee, bowing to the Dark Lord.  Draco copied the movement, although he did not think that this fiend
before them was superior to him in any manner.  The man was a monster, pure and simple.  Still, Draco kept his gaze lowered,
knowing that he was not permitted to look upon Voldemort’s face without his permission . . . but of course that could be said
of anyone.  No Death Eater was allowed the privilege of looking the Dark Lord in the eye.

“Leave us, Lucius.”  Voldemort hissed out in a serpentine voice.  “Your son and I have matters to discuss.”

“Yes, my lord.”  Lucius Malfoy replied, rising to his feet and turning to leave in one fluid motion.  He said nothing to Draco as
he left the chamber.

As soon as the doors slammed shut behind the elder Malfoy, Voldemort rose to his feet.  He waved his hand, gesturing toward
Draco.  “Bring him!  Let us get to work.”  He ordered, turning and striding from the room through a door near his throne,
without a further word.

Draco felt as either of his arms were grabbed by forceful hands.  He was pulled to his feet, then all but dragged away by a pair
of Death Eaters.  They followed the Dark Lord along a long corridor and into a small chamber.  Only a single stone slab stood
in this room . . . surrounded by literally hundreds of burning candles.  Draco kept his head bowed, saying nothing as he was
stripped of every fabric of clothing on his body.  He had no doubts as to why he had been brought here, what purpose this
room would serve.

Voldemort would seek to complete his spell, to impregnate Draco with his evil seed, using enchantments to rid the unborn child
of any consciousness, of its very soul . . . and then he would harvest the child when it was ready, use it to further his own
existence for another generation.  It would not do for the evil wizard’s new vessel to fight back.  At least, that was what the
plan had been . . . but Draco had ruined it, had stopped Voldemort before the final stage.  He had found another to take the
Dark Lord’s place, and was immensely happy for it.  Now, the child he carried was healthy and normal, not a creature to be
used for the welfare of a cruel, heartless wizard.

Draco was lifted off of his feet, then laid out on the cold, stone slab in the center of the room.  Looking up, Draco could see
the night sky through a skylight . . . the moon was full, the stars aligned in a way that had some significance to Voldemort’s
purposes.  Around him, the Death Eater’s gathered in a circle, Voldemort taking his place beside the slab where Draco
nervously lay in wait.  Voices chorused in a chant, repeating the words of an ancient spell over and over again.

Draco held his breath, not sure what would happen, whether any pain was involved like the last time he had been on this stone
slab.  He still remembered the sting of those cuts, the fear that came with these same Death Eaters hurting him.  However, after
only a few moments, it became all too clear that nothing was happening.

Voldemort frowned as the chanting reached a crescendo.  “Stop!”  He yelled, glaring down at Draco’s bare body with fury
blazing in his snakelike eyes.  “Everybody out!”

The Death Eaters scurried out of the room like frightened vermin.  Draco gulped, watching Voldemort worriedly.  The Dark
Lord had to know now . . . he had to.  Draco feared the punishment that would be inevitable.  As soon as the last Death Eater
had fled the room and the door was shut, Voldemort circled around the stone slab, glaring down hard at Draco.

“There is only one thing that would interfere with this final stage.”  He growled out, the words falling from his tongue in a
seething hiss.  “You’ve been bedded and impregnated by someone else!”

His hand flashed out, grasping painfully around Draco’s throat.  Draco raised his hands to try and pry it away, but to no avail.  
Voldemort was stronger than him, inhumanly so.  His fingers clenched, tightening, cutting off the air supply.  Draco couldn’t
breathe.

“How dare you defy me?!”  Voldemort yelled.  “Who was it?  Who did you whore yourself to?”

Draco closed his eyes.  He wouldn’t tell, wouldn’t betray Harry like this.  Voldemort already had an interest in seeing Potter
dead . . . it wouldn’t be right for Draco to add to the danger that the Gryffindor was already in.  And Draco was certain that he’
d only be in far worse trouble if he were to tell Voldemort who exactly it was that he had been taken by.  Further endangering
his own life was not something he wished to do at the moment.

“N-Never . . . tell . . . you.”  Draco managed to wheeze.

Voldemort growled, releasing Draco’s throat.  Draco coughed, raggedly taking in a breath and letting it out, trying to breathe
normally once again.  But he didn’t get much of a chance for normal breathing, as barely an instant later, Draco heard the
seething words of a terrible spell.

“Crucio.”  Voldemort said with a cruel chuckle.

Pain immediately swept through Draco’s body.  His bones were set to burning, his veins feeling as if lava were flowing through
them.  He curled in on himself, but the pain didn’t stop.  It continued, pulsing, burning, tearing . . . eating away at him bit by
bit.  He heard himself screaming, but it took him a moment before he was aware that it was his own voice.

It stopped a moment later, although to Draco it could very well have been hours before the pain finally subsided.  He lay there,
panting for breath.  Closing his eyes, he shuddered, knowing that this wasn’t the end of his punishment.  Voldemort’s cold
laughter reached his ears, making him shiver in response.  No, his punishment was only beginning.


*****


The cloaked, hooded figure swept quickly along the halls, seeking out the chamber that he had been told of.  He knew that he’d
find his quarry there, the one that he worried near-constantly for.  How could he not worry . . . it was his own fault that Draco
was in such a predicament.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, he sank back into the shadows, hiding himself halfway behind a statue with his hood
covering his head and face from view.  Wand held ready in his hand, he waited, watching as a pair of Death Eaters passed by
him, seemingly unaware of his presence.  He couldn’t be found here.  No . . . he would surely be killed if he was discovered.  
He couldn’t allow himself to be found, not before he got Draco to safety.

Once he was certain that those two Death Eaters were gone, he emerged from his place of hiding, quickly striding along the
corridor once again.  Finally, he found the door that he had been seeking.  He grasped the handle and pushed the door open.  It
was no surprise to find it unlocked.  Who would ever dare steal anything from the Dark Lord?

With a bated breath, he stepped inside the room, closing the door behind himself.  He nearly faltered in his steps as he found
who he had been seeking.  There, laying in a crumpled heap on the floor by a stone slab, was Draco Malfoy, his pale, naked
body bruised and beaten to an almost unrecognizable state.  So many wounds marred his once perfect flesh, bruises of all sizes
and shapes marking his pale body.  There wasn’t an inch that wasn’t bruised or broken in some manner.  The hooded figure
curled his nose in disgust, the scent of blood and semen permeating the air.  He had no doubts that the youth had been
assaulted, his young body violated brutally . . . by the blood alone, he could tell that.

He ran to Draco’s side, falling to his knees and laying a shaking hand to the youth’s face.  “Draco?”  He asked, fearing that he
was too late . . . praying that he was not too late.

Slowly, weakened, pain-filled eyes fluttered open, looking upon the hooded figure with fear and suffering.  He looked so
vulnerable, so terrified . . . it broke the man’s heart to see the boy in such a state.

“F-Father?”  Draco asked in a mere whisper, his young voice tainted with agony, with suffering he should not have been
forced to know.

Lucius Malfoy swept his hood back, looking down on his only son with concern.  “Yes, it’s me.”  He said shakily, hoping that
he was not too late.  Looking on his son’s battered body, he could only worry for him.  There were so many bleeding wounds
. . . so much blood staining the floor.

“I’m sorry, Draco.  I didn’t know what he meant to do with you.  If I had, I never would have brought you to him.  We could
have fled . . . left the country . . . just the three of us . . . you, I, and your mother.”  Lucius whispered, gently brushing his
hand along Draco’s forehead, pushing his blood-soaked hair from his face.

Draco’s face was one of pure pain, and yet he smiled.  He shook his head a little, raising his hand and clasping his father's
fingers in a weak grip.  “You couldn’t.  You would have been hunted, you and Mother.  I came because I didn’t want you
getting hurt . . . I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to Mother.”  He choked out, then swallowed, uneasily taking in a
breath before he spoke again.  “I-I tried to kill myself, Father.  Two months ago . . . when I discovered what the spell was
for.  I was going to jump from a tower.  I didn’t want to be used like that.”

“Draco . . .”  Lucius gasped, feeling as tears burned in the corners of his eyes.  He denied them though, not letting them fall.  
His son . . . he had tried to end his own life . . . and it was all Lucius’s fault.  He should not have brought Draco to the Dark
Lord.

“I was saved, Father.”  Draco spoke quietly, his voice getting weaker.  “Harry Potter . . . he saved me from death, from the
spell put on me.  I’m carrying his child, Father.”  His last words were spoken in such a quiet voice that Lucius could barely
hear.  And then Draco was still, his breathing strained as he fell into a state of unconsciousness.

Lucius bit back a cry that welled up inside of his chest, his throat burning as he fought back his tears with every fiber of his
being.  He had no time to waste.  He had to get Draco out of here before it was too late.  He would consider his son's
confession later . . . there was no time to dwell on it now, to worry about the fact that his son was carrying Potter’s child
within him.  He would deal with that information later.  Draco’s life came first, getting him to safety was the only thing that
mattered at the moment.  He had to be sure that his son would live.

Grabbing one of the tattered remains of Draco’s garments that lay strewn about the chamber, Lucius Malfoy carefully wrapped
his son’s frail, battered body.  Then he stood, carefully lifting his son into his arms as he rose to his feet.  Holding Draco close
to himself, Lucius Malfoy apparated away, knowing that he had to get his son to safety quickly.  And there was only one place
where he could be sure that Draco could get the care he needed, only one person that Lucius was sure he could trust with his
son’s care.  He only hoped that Serverus Snape would not reject his plea for help.



To Be Continued . . .