Disclaimer: Song's not mine, characters aren't mine. 'Nuff said.
Sometimes is never quite enough
If you're flawless, then you'll win my love
Don't forget to win first place
Don't forget to keep that smile on your face
The tiny golden head bobbed around the man's knee.
"Daddy," chirped a voice. The man, tall and sleek, ignored the call and drummed his fingers restlessly on the table. The little boy, pushing back fair hair from his eyes, frowned lightly. "Dad-dy."
"How much you will you pay for this?" The man gestured vaguely to a small black book beside him. "It's a genuine Riddle heirloom." A serviceman behind the counter grimaced, running a hand through his greasy hair.
"I don't know, Lucius. It looks rather worn out--" A pound of a pale fist on the counter stopped him mid-sentence.
"Worn out my ass! Borgman, I need this money!" The man, anger twisting his features, picked up the book and shook it in Borgman's face. "This is wonderfully preserved, as old as it is! You should jump at the chance for such a--"
"All right." The serviceman held up his hands in defeat. "All right. How about... 12 Sickles?"
"Twelve?! Twelve Sickles? I--" The child, unable to be ignored any longer, shifted impatiently and tugged on a fold of the man's black pant leg.
"Daddy!" The man whirled, eyes flashing, and gave the boy a hard, sharp smack.
"Hold your tongue, Draco," he hissed. The boy clutched his cheek with a surprised whimper. This seemed too much for the wide-eyed Borgman; he shook his head and began backing away.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I can't buy anything from you today." Without waiting for a response, he slipped to the back of the shop and through a door. It shut with a click. The man stared at the closed door incredulously. Then, realizing what had happened, he snatched the book from the counter and cursed hotly. He turned on the boy, black cloak circling behind him ominously.
"You speak when spoken to," snarled the man, "And only then. Is that understood?" Frozen with fear, the child began to nod, but did not do so quick enough. There was the man's fist again, swift and strong. The boy yelped in pain and shock. The noise made a few people look at him, but the response was as usual; they lowered their gazes and went on. A hand flew beneath the boy's chin to jerk it up roughly, making him meet with those cold gray eyes. Eyes that made him shiver. "Is. That. Un...der...stood?" He nodded, quickly this time. The man released his chin and stalked for the exit, muttering the hot words that were forbidden to children. A command, cold and blunt, was tossed over his shoulder. "Come, Draco." The boy, clutching his cheek to ease the sting, scurried after him. He hoped the man wouldn't notice that his eyes were brimming with tears.
Be a good boy
Try a little harder
You've got to measure up
Make me prouder
The coach ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. The little boy called Draco was still too young to have his feet graze the floor, so he just swung them back and forth nervously. He shifted in anxiety and kept a wary eye on the dark, unpredictable thing that was his father.
"Your mother tells me your skills are slipping." Malfoy turned his steely gaze from the window to his son. "She says you've been fumbling along in your studies." Draco fidgeted anxiously.
"It's hard, Daddy. She won't help me. She says they won't help me at Piggywarts."
"Hogwarts," the man corrected with a sneer. The child winced and tried to burrow into his seat.
"Hogwarts," he whispered. Malfoy went on with an impatient wave of his hand.
"She's right. You need to learn how to perform simple magic now or you won't even be able to hold a wand when you're older." Draco sniffled into his sleeve.
"I can hold a wand, Daddy." The man's eyes glinted angrily.
"Don't smart mouth me, Draco." The little boy flinched automatically, waiting for a slap in return for his impudence. When none came, he stifled a sigh of relief and waited as his father went on. "You are going to study harder and do better so as to be prepared when you go to Hogwarts. You only have 6 more years to ready yourself." Draco chewed his lower lip uncertainly.
"But..." Lucius snapped his head up, the anger in his eyes turning--or ready to turn--to violence.
"But?"
"But I was thinking," the little boy added hurriedly, "that I might have a break once in a while to play? I think I'm working too hard, because I just can't concentrate when all I do is study. I might do better that way--"
"You will do better the way I tell you to!" boomed Malfoy, the tone in his voice making the young boy jump. "We went through enough shit before, Draco! It was nearly impossible to make that twit Dumbledore agree to let you practice with a wand, and now you don't even touch it!" I touch it every day, thought Draco earnestly, I hardly put it down until you leave. Lucius's eyes narrowed, giving the child the impression that he read minds. The boy swallowed. His father glared at him, then seemed to calm. "All right. If you don't want to study, that's just fine with me." He glanced out the window nonchalantly. "Your mother and I will discuss it and we'll send you to live with that awful family of Mudbloods we've told you about." Draco's eyes widened in fright.
"I'm doing good, Daddy, really! I really am!" The thought of living with Muggles was more than he could bear.
" 'Good' is not going to be enough," his father said in disgust. The man's profile, rigid against the velvet seat, sneered with distaste. " 'Good' is for halfbloods and Muggles. You are a Malfoy and you will do flawlessly. Understood?" The little boy blinked, not knowing what the word meant. Facing the fear of another smack, he nodded.
"Flawlessly." Malfoy nodded too, then smiled. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Good." He glanced out the window again. Just as Draco was enjoying the relief of having his father's gaze lifted from him, a hill loomed in the distance. On the hilltop sat a great black monster, a monster with blank staring eyes and a hungry gaping mouth. His tiny hands clenched the velvet cushion in fear. Then the beast got nearer and the beast wasn't a beast but a house. His house.
Malfoy Manor.
The coach slowed to a halt and was immediately ambushed by several small house elves. They crowded around it, wringing their hands nervously and trying to find some way to help. One reached up hopelessly to try and open the door, but it banged open on his face. With a squeal of pain, the unfortunate elf clutched his throbbing nose and scrambled out of the way. Malfoy's black-booted feet clicked harshly on the stone-paved pathway, narrowly missing a house elf. Draco, still half worried that the house would swallow him up, struggled down from the high step of the carriage and scampered towards the door. His mother waited there, blonde hair pulled so tightly into a bun it looked painted on.
"Mummy!" he cried, stretching his arms to be picked up. Lucius shot him a deadly look, his eyes seeming to say that no son of his would run to his mother. Draco lowered his arms.
The tall, willowy woman patted him absently on the head.
"Mm hm. Draco, why don't you run inside and get washed up for dinner?" He frowned slightly, noting the look on his mother's face, but began inching through the doorframe.
"Yes, Mummy." Draco turned and scampered for the kitchen to hurriedly scrub his hands. His parents' tense voices drifted through the doorway, following him.
"You can stop checking my breath for alcohol, woman. I haven't had any today."
"I was giving you a kiss."
"I told you, I haven't had any!" Draco frowned as the front door slammed, followed by heavy footsteps.
"So where are you going then, hm? To the liquor cabinet straight away? Wouldn't want to be sober longer than you have to." There was a tense pause. The tap water was running over the little boy's hands, unheeded.
"Watch your mouth, Narcissa." Malfoy's voice was quiet and deadly. "The boy's already tried my patience."
"He didn't have to try very long!" His mother's voice had become high pitched and wavering. A dark mutter came from his father.
"Now I see where he gets it from."
"Oh, and you're a fallen Evangelist, hm?" spat Mrs. Malfoy.
"Narcissa, I'm warning you..." Footsteps went up the stairs.
"Don't you dare open another bottle of scotch, Lucius Malfoy! Don't you dare!" Narcissa's command was nearly a shriek of panic.
"Ungrateful bitch." Then a door slammed. Draco's eyes were wide open, his lip trembling. Suddenly, the water got hot and he yelped, snatching his hands away. He quickly shut off the tap and dried off his fingers. The shouting had begun again, upstairs now and louder. The little boy, blue eyes wide, searched desperately for something--anything--that would stop the screams of his angry parents. Then an idea struck. He hurried, tiny feet pattering on the kitchen floor, to find his wand.
How long before you screw it up
How many times do I have to tell you to hurry up
With everything I do for you
The least you can do is keep quiet
"Help! Mummy! Daddy!" The panic-stricken voice brought both Malfoys running downstairs. "Help!"
Narcissa got there first.
"Draco! What happened?!" The turkey on the table was on fire, flames licking higher and higher. Lucius skidded around the corner and let out a surprised yell. The little boy pointed wordlessly at the blazing turkey. Malfoy growled and whipped out his wand, firing it at the bird.
"Hydrius!" The flames went out with an indignant hiss, leaving a charred turkey and a silent kitchen. Malfoy, panting from his stumble down the stairs, tucked away his wand and jabbed a finger at the table. "How... did this... happen?" Draco fumbled with his wand in his hands.
"Well... I..."
"How did this happen?" repeated his father, words going even softer. The little boy stammered,
"I... I was trying to conjure that special... special sauce that you like and--" His explanation was cut short by a sharp smack to his cheek.
"Lucius!" shrieked Narcissa, hands pressing to her face. Malfoy ignored her; he smacked Draco again.
"What were you thinking?! Dinner is ruined!"
"Lucius, I can fix another! He was only trying to help!" Draco yelped and tried to shield himself from the blows. This seemed to make Malfoy even angrier. The hitting became almost rhythmic.
"Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid--"
"Lucius!" The screech of terror threw him off. His next smack was the last, but the hardest--Draco fell to the ground, whimpering and clutching his face. Lucius glared down at him, eyes wild. Narcissa stared at her fallen, sniffling son. "Lucius, you son of a--" Malfoy muttered something incoherently and whirled.
"I'm getting a drink." Within moments, his footsteps thundered upstairs.
Narcissa bent and put her hands on Draco's silver-blonde hair.
"Draco, honey, are you all right?" The little boy turned his face upwards, making her gasp; a small bruise had already begun to form on his cheek. There was a tiny bit of blood gathering at the corner of his mouth. The woman chewed her lower lip and touched his face gingerly. "I'll get a washcloth." Draco glanced away, looking somber. Narcissa hurried to the sink, wet a small rag, and rushed back to her son. She knelt and put a hand beneath his chin. "Let me see." Reluctantly, the little boy returned his gaze to his mother, wincing as she dabbed at the blood on his mouth.
"Ow."
"I know, dear." Narcissa bit her lip again. "We might need some raw meat for that eye..." She paused, then began cooling his forehead with the washcloth. "Draco," she said very quietly, tipping his chin up with her free hand, "why didn't you just wait for me to help you? I could've conjured that sauce for--"
"I wasn't conjuring sauce," whispered the child, eyes downcast. Narcissa blinked.
"Then how did the--"
"I set it on fire on purpose." Her healing hands paused, nearly dropping the rag.
"What?" She searched for the right word, then finally came up with, "Why?"
"You two were fighting. I wanted you to stop." The little boy finally looked up, and his eyes held a knowing that shouldn't be in eyes so young. "I knew he was going to hit one of us," he said, and then his voice dropped to a whisper. "I figured it should be me." Narcissa stared at her son, mouth slightly open in disbelief. A dull roar from above broke the silence.
"Narcissa! Where'd you put my whiskey?!" Draco's mother closed her eyes. The little boy pulled his chin away and lowered his eyes.
"You'd better give it to him," he murmured, dragging a hand across his face, "Maybe he'll pass out and leave us alone for the night." His mother blinked, let out a small cry and embraced him tightly. Malfoy Manor fell silent, save for the rumbles of Lucius and the weeping of Narcissa.
Sometimes is never quite enough
If you're flawless, then you'll win my love
Don't forget to win first place
Don't forget to keep that smile on your face
The tiny golden head bobbed around the man's knee.
"Daddy," chirped a voice. The man, tall and sleek, ignored the call and drummed his fingers restlessly on the table. The little boy, pushing back fair hair from his eyes, frowned lightly. "Dad-dy."
"How much you will you pay for this?" The man gestured vaguely to a small black book beside him. "It's a genuine Riddle heirloom." A serviceman behind the counter grimaced, running a hand through his greasy hair.
"I don't know, Lucius. It looks rather worn out--" A pound of a pale fist on the counter stopped him mid-sentence.
"Worn out my ass! Borgman, I need this money!" The man, anger twisting his features, picked up the book and shook it in Borgman's face. "This is wonderfully preserved, as old as it is! You should jump at the chance for such a--"
"All right." The serviceman held up his hands in defeat. "All right. How about... 12 Sickles?"
"Twelve?! Twelve Sickles? I--" The child, unable to be ignored any longer, shifted impatiently and tugged on a fold of the man's black pant leg.
"Daddy!" The man whirled, eyes flashing, and gave the boy a hard, sharp smack.
"Hold your tongue, Draco," he hissed. The boy clutched his cheek with a surprised whimper. This seemed too much for the wide-eyed Borgman; he shook his head and began backing away.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I can't buy anything from you today." Without waiting for a response, he slipped to the back of the shop and through a door. It shut with a click. The man stared at the closed door incredulously. Then, realizing what had happened, he snatched the book from the counter and cursed hotly. He turned on the boy, black cloak circling behind him ominously.
"You speak when spoken to," snarled the man, "And only then. Is that understood?" Frozen with fear, the child began to nod, but did not do so quick enough. There was the man's fist again, swift and strong. The boy yelped in pain and shock. The noise made a few people look at him, but the response was as usual; they lowered their gazes and went on. A hand flew beneath the boy's chin to jerk it up roughly, making him meet with those cold gray eyes. Eyes that made him shiver. "Is. That. Un...der...stood?" He nodded, quickly this time. The man released his chin and stalked for the exit, muttering the hot words that were forbidden to children. A command, cold and blunt, was tossed over his shoulder. "Come, Draco." The boy, clutching his cheek to ease the sting, scurried after him. He hoped the man wouldn't notice that his eyes were brimming with tears.
Be a good boy
Try a little harder
You've got to measure up
Make me prouder
The coach ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. The little boy called Draco was still too young to have his feet graze the floor, so he just swung them back and forth nervously. He shifted in anxiety and kept a wary eye on the dark, unpredictable thing that was his father.
"Your mother tells me your skills are slipping." Malfoy turned his steely gaze from the window to his son. "She says you've been fumbling along in your studies." Draco fidgeted anxiously.
"It's hard, Daddy. She won't help me. She says they won't help me at Piggywarts."
"Hogwarts," the man corrected with a sneer. The child winced and tried to burrow into his seat.
"Hogwarts," he whispered. Malfoy went on with an impatient wave of his hand.
"She's right. You need to learn how to perform simple magic now or you won't even be able to hold a wand when you're older." Draco sniffled into his sleeve.
"I can hold a wand, Daddy." The man's eyes glinted angrily.
"Don't smart mouth me, Draco." The little boy flinched automatically, waiting for a slap in return for his impudence. When none came, he stifled a sigh of relief and waited as his father went on. "You are going to study harder and do better so as to be prepared when you go to Hogwarts. You only have 6 more years to ready yourself." Draco chewed his lower lip uncertainly.
"But..." Lucius snapped his head up, the anger in his eyes turning--or ready to turn--to violence.
"But?"
"But I was thinking," the little boy added hurriedly, "that I might have a break once in a while to play? I think I'm working too hard, because I just can't concentrate when all I do is study. I might do better that way--"
"You will do better the way I tell you to!" boomed Malfoy, the tone in his voice making the young boy jump. "We went through enough shit before, Draco! It was nearly impossible to make that twit Dumbledore agree to let you practice with a wand, and now you don't even touch it!" I touch it every day, thought Draco earnestly, I hardly put it down until you leave. Lucius's eyes narrowed, giving the child the impression that he read minds. The boy swallowed. His father glared at him, then seemed to calm. "All right. If you don't want to study, that's just fine with me." He glanced out the window nonchalantly. "Your mother and I will discuss it and we'll send you to live with that awful family of Mudbloods we've told you about." Draco's eyes widened in fright.
"I'm doing good, Daddy, really! I really am!" The thought of living with Muggles was more than he could bear.
" 'Good' is not going to be enough," his father said in disgust. The man's profile, rigid against the velvet seat, sneered with distaste. " 'Good' is for halfbloods and Muggles. You are a Malfoy and you will do flawlessly. Understood?" The little boy blinked, not knowing what the word meant. Facing the fear of another smack, he nodded.
"Flawlessly." Malfoy nodded too, then smiled. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Good." He glanced out the window again. Just as Draco was enjoying the relief of having his father's gaze lifted from him, a hill loomed in the distance. On the hilltop sat a great black monster, a monster with blank staring eyes and a hungry gaping mouth. His tiny hands clenched the velvet cushion in fear. Then the beast got nearer and the beast wasn't a beast but a house. His house.
Malfoy Manor.
The coach slowed to a halt and was immediately ambushed by several small house elves. They crowded around it, wringing their hands nervously and trying to find some way to help. One reached up hopelessly to try and open the door, but it banged open on his face. With a squeal of pain, the unfortunate elf clutched his throbbing nose and scrambled out of the way. Malfoy's black-booted feet clicked harshly on the stone-paved pathway, narrowly missing a house elf. Draco, still half worried that the house would swallow him up, struggled down from the high step of the carriage and scampered towards the door. His mother waited there, blonde hair pulled so tightly into a bun it looked painted on.
"Mummy!" he cried, stretching his arms to be picked up. Lucius shot him a deadly look, his eyes seeming to say that no son of his would run to his mother. Draco lowered his arms.
The tall, willowy woman patted him absently on the head.
"Mm hm. Draco, why don't you run inside and get washed up for dinner?" He frowned slightly, noting the look on his mother's face, but began inching through the doorframe.
"Yes, Mummy." Draco turned and scampered for the kitchen to hurriedly scrub his hands. His parents' tense voices drifted through the doorway, following him.
"You can stop checking my breath for alcohol, woman. I haven't had any today."
"I was giving you a kiss."
"I told you, I haven't had any!" Draco frowned as the front door slammed, followed by heavy footsteps.
"So where are you going then, hm? To the liquor cabinet straight away? Wouldn't want to be sober longer than you have to." There was a tense pause. The tap water was running over the little boy's hands, unheeded.
"Watch your mouth, Narcissa." Malfoy's voice was quiet and deadly. "The boy's already tried my patience."
"He didn't have to try very long!" His mother's voice had become high pitched and wavering. A dark mutter came from his father.
"Now I see where he gets it from."
"Oh, and you're a fallen Evangelist, hm?" spat Mrs. Malfoy.
"Narcissa, I'm warning you..." Footsteps went up the stairs.
"Don't you dare open another bottle of scotch, Lucius Malfoy! Don't you dare!" Narcissa's command was nearly a shriek of panic.
"Ungrateful bitch." Then a door slammed. Draco's eyes were wide open, his lip trembling. Suddenly, the water got hot and he yelped, snatching his hands away. He quickly shut off the tap and dried off his fingers. The shouting had begun again, upstairs now and louder. The little boy, blue eyes wide, searched desperately for something--anything--that would stop the screams of his angry parents. Then an idea struck. He hurried, tiny feet pattering on the kitchen floor, to find his wand.
How long before you screw it up
How many times do I have to tell you to hurry up
With everything I do for you
The least you can do is keep quiet
"Help! Mummy! Daddy!" The panic-stricken voice brought both Malfoys running downstairs. "Help!"
Narcissa got there first.
"Draco! What happened?!" The turkey on the table was on fire, flames licking higher and higher. Lucius skidded around the corner and let out a surprised yell. The little boy pointed wordlessly at the blazing turkey. Malfoy growled and whipped out his wand, firing it at the bird.
"Hydrius!" The flames went out with an indignant hiss, leaving a charred turkey and a silent kitchen. Malfoy, panting from his stumble down the stairs, tucked away his wand and jabbed a finger at the table. "How... did this... happen?" Draco fumbled with his wand in his hands.
"Well... I..."
"How did this happen?" repeated his father, words going even softer. The little boy stammered,
"I... I was trying to conjure that special... special sauce that you like and--" His explanation was cut short by a sharp smack to his cheek.
"Lucius!" shrieked Narcissa, hands pressing to her face. Malfoy ignored her; he smacked Draco again.
"What were you thinking?! Dinner is ruined!"
"Lucius, I can fix another! He was only trying to help!" Draco yelped and tried to shield himself from the blows. This seemed to make Malfoy even angrier. The hitting became almost rhythmic.
"Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid--"
"Lucius!" The screech of terror threw him off. His next smack was the last, but the hardest--Draco fell to the ground, whimpering and clutching his face. Lucius glared down at him, eyes wild. Narcissa stared at her fallen, sniffling son. "Lucius, you son of a--" Malfoy muttered something incoherently and whirled.
"I'm getting a drink." Within moments, his footsteps thundered upstairs.
Narcissa bent and put her hands on Draco's silver-blonde hair.
"Draco, honey, are you all right?" The little boy turned his face upwards, making her gasp; a small bruise had already begun to form on his cheek. There was a tiny bit of blood gathering at the corner of his mouth. The woman chewed her lower lip and touched his face gingerly. "I'll get a washcloth." Draco glanced away, looking somber. Narcissa hurried to the sink, wet a small rag, and rushed back to her son. She knelt and put a hand beneath his chin. "Let me see." Reluctantly, the little boy returned his gaze to his mother, wincing as she dabbed at the blood on his mouth.
"Ow."
"I know, dear." Narcissa bit her lip again. "We might need some raw meat for that eye..." She paused, then began cooling his forehead with the washcloth. "Draco," she said very quietly, tipping his chin up with her free hand, "why didn't you just wait for me to help you? I could've conjured that sauce for--"
"I wasn't conjuring sauce," whispered the child, eyes downcast. Narcissa blinked.
"Then how did the--"
"I set it on fire on purpose." Her healing hands paused, nearly dropping the rag.
"What?" She searched for the right word, then finally came up with, "Why?"
"You two were fighting. I wanted you to stop." The little boy finally looked up, and his eyes held a knowing that shouldn't be in eyes so young. "I knew he was going to hit one of us," he said, and then his voice dropped to a whisper. "I figured it should be me." Narcissa stared at her son, mouth slightly open in disbelief. A dull roar from above broke the silence.
"Narcissa! Where'd you put my whiskey?!" Draco's mother closed her eyes. The little boy pulled his chin away and lowered his eyes.
"You'd better give it to him," he murmured, dragging a hand across his face, "Maybe he'll pass out and leave us alone for the night." His mother blinked, let out a small cry and embraced him tightly. Malfoy Manor fell silent, save for the rumbles of Lucius and the weeping of Narcissa.