"I think," she said finally, "that all of us have got our ghosts."

-Spoken by Delilah Piggett, from Salem Falls

Abraxas.

Abraxas Malfoy raised the whip over the cowering boy, rasping, "And why can't you associate with blood traitors, boy?" When his son didn't answer, the whip descended upon Lucius' back, quickly yet harshly, making the boy cry out in pain. "Answer me!"

A tear slid down the lad's cheek. "I can't associate with blood traitors, Father," he said, his voice stronger than one would have thought. "Because I'm a Malfoy, and I'm above all of the scum." Please, let this end. "Father, please, I understand now! I won't speak with any of the filth anymore, because I am automatically their superior!"

Abraxas was satisfied. Taking back the whip, he tossed it into the corner and stalked out, leaving his boy crying in his bedroom. I know you hate me now, Abraxas thought, but you'll be grateful once you're older. It was true. None of his parents had saw fit to teach him the horrors of the world; to tell him that one minute, you might be gazing adoringly at your wife's baby bump, only to hold your newborn son in your arms and resent the child that took your love's life; that if he'd known at least one bit of his wife's fate, he would have lived his years with Anastasia as if she'd die the next day, just to have the moments for a longer-lasting eternity.

She'd been so beautiful, Abraxas thought reverently, his long fingers stroking the cover of A Genealogy of the Distinguished Wiltshire Clan of Malfoy. During her entire pregnancy, she'd been positively radiant, glowing, clichéd as it was. None of them had known that her life would end the same day Anastasia would give life; none of them had known that she'd die of an internal haemorrhage, too quickly for the Healer to save her.

At the back of his mind, Abraxas knew she would hate him, if she knew what he was doing to their baby. At the back of his mind, Abraxas knew that he loved his son, even though he was the enemy, Anastasia's murderer. At the back of his mind, Abraxas knew that his logic these days was faulty, but when would the bitterness stop?

It'd been seven years – perhaps it was time to let go.

His stomach clenched at the very thought. Did he want to forget Anastasia, any part of her? It was hard enough that some mornings, he woke up perfectly happy, though he shouldn't be; it was hard enough knowing that Abraxas often needed to think for a while before remembering her distinct scent. Anastasia was the love of his life, and would always be; letting go would giving up.

Abraxas was a Malfoy; he didn't do defeat. Yet again, he was probably being selfish; but what would you do, if your wife of two years had died from bleeding nonstop, in horrid pain, and your baby, your little boy, was the perpetrator?

Yet another piece on the Malfoys! Well, I did say I was fond of them, didn't I? :D

To be honest, I kind of feel sorry for my version of Abraxas... But more for Lucius. It's pathetic, really, for an older, stronger man to beat his damn son just be because he can.

Anyways, next up is Lucius! :)

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