Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban. Why? For Killing Narcissa Malfoy. And
did they care? No, they didn't.
It had been horrible; Lucius had always just beaten Draco. Never before had he touched Narcissa. It just got more and more terrifying with each beating. He beat Draco for no reason. Just no reason. He was a Malfoy, He didn't need a reason. And truly, who would question him? A former Death Eater, rich, and powerful. Lucius Malfoy was a man who had it all. A beautiful wife, a faithful heir, money, power, influence, and respect.
But now, the beatings weren't the same. Lucius was resorting to alcohol after the fall of Voldemort. They weren't beatings with anymore. They were full out attacks. No more was Lucius merciful to Draco's handsome face, he just attacked anywhere in a drunken rage. And no more did he just use muggle methods. He had started using the Cruciatus Curse. Draco was a powerful wizard with strength to rival Harry's. Yet, Harry had something that Draco didn't have. Harry had people to cry for him, to support him, to hug him and to tell him that everything would be okay.
What Draco had was the best trained mediwizards that money could fine\d, the most loyal servants, and his Mother. He didn't have her any more. Forget the mediwizards, forget the servants, Draco Malfoy wanted his mother. Or at the very least, someone to cry for him.
But he would never ask. Never. The world could dissaparate underneath his very feet and he would never cry out, his father wouldn't let him let cry. His heritage didn't allow him to cry. His pride couldn't let him cry. If he did, he would fall apart.
As it was Draco was already going to bits and pieces. His platinum hair no longer glowed. His face no longer held its smug smirk but a gallery of glamoured bruises. Draco shuddered to think of what would happen if some one called out "finite incantatem". The bruises would show and every one would know his secret. Then, they wouldn't cry for him, but laugh at him. He was a Slytherin. He was that which HAILED the Silver and Green. And most of all, most of all he was a Malfoy. He was above the rest of them. Above that Gryffindor slime.
Lucius Malfoy hadn't needed to tell teach that sort of hatred. In ran in Draco's blood. It secreted in Draco's sweat. It was in his very CHROMOSOMES. Draco Malfoy was taught, though, to show that hatred every possible way. He hurled it at that mudblood Granger. At that poverty stricken Weasly. And most of all at that golden boy Harry Potter.
Oh, but the world didn't know Draco's burden. That Draco envied the Gryffindor Trio. The fact that they cried for each other. And to top it all up: Draco hated them more for it.
If he only knew that that hatred wouldn't last...
It had been horrible; Lucius had always just beaten Draco. Never before had he touched Narcissa. It just got more and more terrifying with each beating. He beat Draco for no reason. Just no reason. He was a Malfoy, He didn't need a reason. And truly, who would question him? A former Death Eater, rich, and powerful. Lucius Malfoy was a man who had it all. A beautiful wife, a faithful heir, money, power, influence, and respect.
But now, the beatings weren't the same. Lucius was resorting to alcohol after the fall of Voldemort. They weren't beatings with anymore. They were full out attacks. No more was Lucius merciful to Draco's handsome face, he just attacked anywhere in a drunken rage. And no more did he just use muggle methods. He had started using the Cruciatus Curse. Draco was a powerful wizard with strength to rival Harry's. Yet, Harry had something that Draco didn't have. Harry had people to cry for him, to support him, to hug him and to tell him that everything would be okay.
What Draco had was the best trained mediwizards that money could fine\d, the most loyal servants, and his Mother. He didn't have her any more. Forget the mediwizards, forget the servants, Draco Malfoy wanted his mother. Or at the very least, someone to cry for him.
But he would never ask. Never. The world could dissaparate underneath his very feet and he would never cry out, his father wouldn't let him let cry. His heritage didn't allow him to cry. His pride couldn't let him cry. If he did, he would fall apart.
As it was Draco was already going to bits and pieces. His platinum hair no longer glowed. His face no longer held its smug smirk but a gallery of glamoured bruises. Draco shuddered to think of what would happen if some one called out "finite incantatem". The bruises would show and every one would know his secret. Then, they wouldn't cry for him, but laugh at him. He was a Slytherin. He was that which HAILED the Silver and Green. And most of all, most of all he was a Malfoy. He was above the rest of them. Above that Gryffindor slime.
Lucius Malfoy hadn't needed to tell teach that sort of hatred. In ran in Draco's blood. It secreted in Draco's sweat. It was in his very CHROMOSOMES. Draco Malfoy was taught, though, to show that hatred every possible way. He hurled it at that mudblood Granger. At that poverty stricken Weasly. And most of all at that golden boy Harry Potter.
Oh, but the world didn't know Draco's burden. That Draco envied the Gryffindor Trio. The fact that they cried for each other. And to top it all up: Draco hated them more for it.
If he only knew that that hatred wouldn't last...