Disclaimer: I own nothing, all of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling.

Warnings: Hints of non-con touching

A/N: For challenge 2 of The Test Your Limits Competition. This story proved that I am severely technologically challenged as I had to re-write the first few paragraphs twice over as I use an online word editor. Lesson learned, and hopefully you'll enjoy the result!

They Say Hell's Center is Made of Ice

Draco wasn't sure when it happened but the air of Malfoy Manor had turned frigid. The Manor had a cool air about it due to its size and history, a chill that was even more prevalent in the rarely used wings of the old estate, but now it seemed as if the masonry had frozen. Each wing was thrumming with nefarious bustle as the Dark Lord took up post at Malfoy Manor. His biding seemed to be fueled only by the heat of the manor and as his power grew, so did the cold.

Draco was forced to cast a warming charm in his own home, even though his best attempt had meager results. Warming charms require the caster to focus on sunny, warm weather and Draco had cast this particular charm based upon the memory of him and Pansy during the summer between third and fourth year, where they lounged around the Manor's gardens in a hazy afternoon. Those same gardens had now been trampled by the various creatures the Dark Lord called to him and overrun with Greyback's werewolves on the worst of nights, a fact that had tarnished Draco's memory and left him only slightly better off than before.

If a chill was all the Dark Lord brought in his wake, Draco believed it would have been bearable. Instead, with the Dark Lord came a whole assortment of persons and dangers. Draco had taken to staying in the upper chambers unless specifically summoned. He was summoned often enough for his presence not to be missed as the Dark Lord insisted the Malfoy family, as gracious hosts, be present at all major events. Their presence at superficial meetings and assignments made their absence at the meetings the Dark Lord conducted in private even more pronounced. Bellatrix had gone from standing behind them as they opened their doors as the headquarters for the Dark Lord and to sneering at them plainly as if their blood was less than pure.

Lucius was a broken man, having succumb to the cold that had overtaken the Manor. He rarely stood straight, as if the marrow of his bones were made from the same fibers of the stones and he had frozen half bowed to the Dark Lord. His eyes were flat concrete rather than shining marble and Draco's were beginning to mirror his father's looks. The cold had come to collect at Malfoy Manor and it seemed that the living inhabitants of the mansion were merely dessert for its insatiable hunger.

Draco tried to ignore the cold and the fact that his high held head and piercing glare were the bud of snickers as he made his way down the main stairs. This was his last defense, and as a Malfoy in Malfoy Manor he would not wither away beneath the threat of fanged teeth and ready wands. He was still the heir to the lineage and while his family might not be able to run from the cold as the frigid epicenter had take up residence with them, he still remembered a time where they reigned high and he had to make his family proud. Still, there was very little that could make him leave his small haven and stroll into the snake pit and one of those reasons happened to be a peculiar man who now seemed to think that the antique mirror in the Malfoy foyer was a good shoulder rest.

"You've returned earlier than expected, what brought you? The Dark Lord doesn't welcome slagging off," Draco drawled, his apathetic delivery a ghost of what it once was. Instead of the threat of a sharp witted quip veiled behind his speech that Draco had so perfectly honed, his voice rang hollow into the hallway. The man's face broke into a grin that was more a grimace than a sign of delight and pushed off of the wall, coming to meet Draco halfway from the stairs.

"Well its a good thing I answer to him them and not some porcelain faced puppet, eh?" The man bumped shoulders with Draco, pushing past him to the doorway Draco most often ignored. The room hadn't been anything more than a large coat room before the Dark Lord came but it had quickly been laced with silver and warded so Greyback could throw any disobedient werewolves in it for a few days. The howls and banging that accompanied the room had frequented Draco's nightmares as did Greyback's sadistic laughter on the whole affair. Draco followed the man into the room, trying to ignore the scratches in the wood and how menacing the silver walls shined even to the immune eye.

"You could refrain from being so plebeian in your insults, Scabior," Draco implored once the door was shut behind them. Scabior turned to face him, smile softer now but his eyes were alight with a dangerous fire. In another time, the roles would have been reversed and Draco would have been the one snubbing and sizing up but here all he could do was square his shoulders and hold the other's gaze. Desperately he wished that some of that heat from the older man's eyes would rub off on him.

"Its nicer than what most say about you, being a Malfoy and all nowadays" he chuckled. "I don't know how none of 'em see how finely made you are." Scabior's rough hand came up to caress Draco's face and the younger man had to hold back a sigh at the warmth of the man's touch. To Scabior, Draco was not just an extension of his fallen family. He was a diamond in the rough of sorts, something precious that had yet to tarnish even though Draco could feel himself freezing through his core. Scabior's touches and attention gave him enough temporary warmth to remember that he was more than the Dark Lord's smallest and most favorite Malfoy to abuse.

Maybe that's why Draco followed Scabior the first time and all the times thereafter. Scabior didn't make this about anything other than what he wanted and it was quite clear that while this was about his needs, it was needs that would be the same with or without the other happenings in the Manor. To Draco, this was the best he could get to a world where the Dark Lord did not breathe chills down his neck- it was a world where actions and emotions were not dictated by another.

Scabior's warm touch trailed from his face to the front of his shirt, unbuttoning the front recklessly to make a path from collar bone to navel appreciating the firm planes. The cold had taken Draco's appetite some time ago so firm muscle had give way to bone but Scabior didn't seem to mind. Draco barely noticed anymore as long as Scabior didn't stop his attentions. There was no fire that kindled in him to match the older man's but Draco didn't care. He cared more for the distraction and the borrowed moments of heat than the man giving them, a thought he did not dwell on as the cold would have consumed him otherwise. For a while he might have longed for Pansy while the other man undid the front of his trousers but now all he could think of was the sweet bliss of having a warm body nurturing his.

"I wouldn't say no one else had noticed," a snarling voice came from behind Draco. The cold came like a tearing wave through his system at the sound of the familiar tone and the last traces of warmth abandoned him as Scabior withdrew his ravaging hands. Fenrir Greyback's wolfish grin came into Draco's field of vision as he circled the two men.

"Scabior, I though I told you to gather the necessary parties for our little presents," Greyback snapped. Scabior, not giving Draco a second glance, murmured his apologies and backed out of the room leaving Draco and the werewolf alone. Against his pride, Draco took a step back and belatedly realized his foot sank into something sticky. Sniffing the air, Grayback let out a bark of laughter.

"Seems as if Lupin scratched himself to pieces here last night. Maybe that'll teach him to fall in line." Draco's mind prickled at the familiar name, trying to match it with some memory but the cold left his mind slowed and senses trained on the threat in front of him. "Though it seems Scabior thinks he snatched himself the only treat in this place. But I do have a penchant for young skin." The werewolf closed the space between himself and Draco, cursing the younger man to freeze in place as rough hands assaulted him.

This was not like Scabior's touch as fangs loomed too close to his neck and claws at his stomach. Draco imagined the sharp talons breaking through his soft flesh and tangling in his viscera. He had heard that Greyback liked to play with his food before feasting and almost welcomed it- after all, blood was supposed to be warm and he imagined he'd be bathing in his own before Greyback was through. He had avoided the man for so long that it was all a blur as his own person was ransacked by wandering hands and his mind shut itself off at what once would have caused great embarrassment. Draco stumbled backward as one hand trailed to dangerlously low on his backside, causing Greyback to brush the silver walls. The man snarled, pushing the blond away and onto the floor in a disheveled mess.

"Damned room," Greyback muttered rubbing his wrist. He glared down at Draco accusingly. "Get up, boy. Better be going out there now as they bring in what we found. Seems like we got us Harry Potter." Greyback chuckled again, deep and throaty before he left the small room and Draco behind him. Draco stared after him, letting the words sink in. He could feel the chill within the Manor almost crackle around him and any leftover heat from the warming charm left the blond as well as the potential to ever cast another. He fastened up his clothes and walked out of the room stoically. He came to the drawing room where his mother and father were standing behind Bellatrix and three figures at their feet. His eyes connected with a shaggy black head as he came to a stop behind the withered figures that were once his parents. Realization washed over him and Draco couldn't help but shiver as all warmth seemed to leave Malfoy Manor.