A/N: This came to me while I was listening to this song. It was very sudden, so it's not exactly perfect, no pun intended. Just a short, bitter-sweet song-fic which I hope meets all your standards. Hope you like it! Please Read and Review!
Disclaimer: I do not own the song Perfect by Simple Plan, nor do I own anything pertaining to the Harry potter world.
Perfect
Hey, Dad, look at me. Think back and talk to me. Did I grow up according to plan?
It was the same as it had been when he'd left; the rich Persian carpets, the thick tapestries, the gold-plated paintings and the antique decorations. The same as it had been all those years ago when he had made the choice to leave it all behind.
Other than the unnatural stillness that presided the silent halls, the mansion still gave off a sense of well-groomed hostility, making one feel small and unwanted next to its greatness.
And do you think I'm wasting my time, doing things I wanna do? But it hurts when you disapprove all along.
As he walked on in brooding silence, memory after memory assaulted him. Memories of being alone, playing alone, feeling a sense of unforgettable loneliness and wanting. Wishing that they would just play with him, treat as a son, without spending all their time together lecturing him on the things he should and shouldn't do, lecturing on about 'upholding the Family Honor'.
And now I try hard to make it, I just wanna make you proud. I'm never gonna be good enough for you.
All the hours he'd begged and pleaded for attention, only to be brushed aside and told to, "Go off and play with your friends," or "Go and play quiditch or something."
The times when He would come into the room, and he would get excited, thinking that they'd finally come to spend time with him, only to be disappointed once more when he'd find out they'd only come to tell him, "Guests are here." and "Time to get ready for the party."
I can't pretend that I'm all right, and you can't change me.
How he'd finally come to realize that he would never get his attention, how fruitless an endeavor it was to try and gain his love.
'Cuz we lost it all; nothing lasts forever. I'm sorry I can't be perfect.
No matter what he did, no matter how good he was, how perfect he tried to be, it would never be enough for Him. There would always be one more thing he could have done better, some way he could have tried harder. No matter what he did, he would never make Him proud. He tried so hard to be the perfect, Pureblood son, but it didn't make any difference.
Now it's just too late, and we can't go back. I'm sorry I can't be perfect.
It was those realizations that lead him down the road to following the dream that he wanted to follow, and not some Pureblood tradition created on the pretense of Family Honor.
I try not to think about the pain I feel inside. Did you know you used to be my hero? All the days you'd spend with me all seem so far away, and it feels like you don't care any more.
He had tried to follow in His footsteps, 'Become just like daddy'; never believing in anything other than what He wanted him to believe, never straying down a path He didn't want him to go down.
And now I try hard to make it, I just wanna make you proud. I'm never gonna be good enough for you. I can't stand another fight, and nothing's all right.
In his later years, he had began to talk back, not be Daddy's Little Parrot, spouting everything He wanted him to say. They would argue for hours, curses would fly and tempers would flair. In the end, they would never come to an agreement or settle the dispute, whatever it had been; just storm off in a whirlwind of anger.
'Cuz we lost it all; nothing lasts forever. I'm sorry I can't be perfect. Now it's just too late, and we can't go back. I'm sorry I can't be perfect.
After awhile, they just stopped talking altogether. Every time he tried, it would only end in an explosive disagreement. It hurt that they weren't able to talk, communicate like father and son; Mother would mostly be there to nurse the wounds and reassure him that it would all pass, but it was never enough.
Nothing's gonna change the things that you said; nothing's gonna make this right again. Please don't turn your back, I can't believe it's hard just to talk to you, but you don't understand.
It all came to a head on his seventeenth birthday, his coming of age. Father was insistent that he take the Mark, while he was adamant about not taking it. One thing led to another, and the next morning he awoke with no memory of anything from the night before, and a tattoo of a skull and a snake on his left arm. He didn't have a choice now; he had to serve the man he had come to despise, but damn him if he would stay in the Cage he used to call home.
Now, so many years later, he was on the doorstep leading to the room that housed the perso- body he'd sworn never to see or speak to again.
'Cuz we lost it all and nothing lasts forever; I'm sorry I can't be perfect. Now it's just too late, and we can't go back, I'm sorry I can't be perfect.
It was too late to go back now; too late to go back and change time.Even if he could, he wouldn't; he knew that it would never change, that it would all be the same. No matter what he did, in the end, it wouldn't matter. Even if there was a chance, no matter how small it might have been, for him to go back and make it all go away, he knew that he would do it all the same again. He, Draconius Malfoy, was nobody's fool.
Now, it's just too late; we can't go back. I'm sorry I can't be perfect.
As he traced the words inscribed on the coffin, "In memory of Lucius Malfoy", with it's gilded edges and curvy lines, amidst the sound of tears being shed and feelings of pain and sadness, there was one thought that passed through his mind;
"Despite everything; all the hardship, loneliness and pain, I'm glad I got the chance to say goodbye..."
"... And I'm sorry I couldn't be Perfect."