He never was kind, but that never bothered him. In fact, he never really realized that he wasn't kind. Kindness had been beaten out of Lucius Malfoy before he had even been old enough to comprehend what that word meant.
At a young age, Lucius had learned that he was on his own. His world was concerned with protecting poor, helpless Muggles and Mudbloods, but they didn't care at all about what happened to him. His world saw his father's wealth and influence, but they failed to see the terror of an entitled child with perfect blood.
In Lucius's world, love meant torture. It was always for his own good, of course. His father just wanted him to be a proper Pureblood male. And Lucius didn't always absorb his lessons as quickly and as effectively as his father wanted.
Not that Lucius was stupid or anything. If anything, he was unusually intelligent and mature for his age. It was often remarked that he was like a little adult.
Lucius also really liked studying and reading. And he knew that he should be grateful that he had been granted the privilege of being exposed to knowledge that the world could not even dream of.
But there were times when he just wanted to go outside and be a child. Then again, he didn't exactly know what it meant to be a child (what did other children do anyways?), so he was just being foolish. And neither Purebloods nor Malfoys were ever foolish. No, they were always better, more sophisticated, and more dignified than everyone else.
Lucius, therefore, concentrated most of his efforts on being a proper Pureblood male and paying attention to his father's teachings.
But no matter how hard he tried, Lucius just was never good enough. He always seemed to say or do something unacceptable.
The beatings and the Cruciatus Curse truly were meant to help him. They were meant to remind him of why he should not do wrong. Lucius, however, often had a problem with remembering what exactly he had said or done wrong after his father was finally finished with his punishment.
It was even worse when his father left him down in the dungeons for several days, as his mind had the tendency to wander. It was his only way of keeping his sanity, but it also caused him to forget what he was being punished for.
Maybe Lucius just needed to listen to his father better, but it was hard to listen when he was seized by a combination of fear and anger at the mere sight or sound of his father.
A part of Lucius wanted to run and hide somewhere. Another part of him, however, wanted to grab the nearest object and smash it into his father's head.
Lucius really was glad that he had the Dark Lord, who honoured him by taking him, a mere child, on Muggle raids with him. At first, it was a terrifying experience. Lucius often had dreams of green lights, of screaming, of fear and panic, of Muggles trying desperately to run for their lives, of burning houses, of death and torture.
Lucius also often saw children his age in his dreams. But they were just Muggle children. They shouldn't matter to him. And they didn't. They didn't matter to him at all.
After some time, however, the Muggle raids became a lot more exciting and thrilling. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had such power over the Muggles. Lucius liked the idea of having power over someone else.
And to think, a part of Lucius used to pity the Muggles. But pity was for the weak, and Lucius refused to be weak.
Besides, why should he care about the Muggles? They had enough people worrying about them. No one, however, worried about him.
As Lucius grew older and bolder, his curiosity (which he had always had, despite the fact that it had often gotten him in trouble with his father) led him to wander away from home for days at a time.
He quickly grew to love studying people from the shadows. It was amazing what you could learn when people didn't know that you were there.
Lucius soon learned that many of the children of Muggles and Blood-Traitors were happy. Their houses were nothing compared to Malfoy Manor, but they always seemed to be laughing and enjoying themselves as they played with their friends.
Lucius often wondered what it would feel like to have a friend. He liked being alone, but there were times when he wished he had someone besides himself.
It was not right. He shouldn't be feeling envious of filthy Muggles and Blood-Traitors. He was both a Pureblood and a Malfoy. The world was his for the taking.
Yet, Lucius did not feel so privileged whenever he heard the sound of children his age laughing or whenever he caught sight of another child doing something as simple as kicking a ball to his friend. They were clearly having fun.
Why did he care about that? Fun was nothing but a waste of time. Fun was for the weak and the inferior, for those that they didn't want to make something out of their lives.
Lucius intended to do great things with his life, even if there were times when he did hate his life and himself. No, he wouldn't think that way. He was better than that. Besides, sentimental thoughts were for the weak and the inferior.
Most people would say that Lucius Malfoy never was kind, and they probably were right about him.
But that never bothered him, not even for a moment. Why should he care about being something he could not comprehend? After all, it was hard to be kind when all you knew was hatred and pain.