Dirt upon a Name
By: Yamimagic
Summary: A day in the life of Draco Malfoy, dirt upon the name of Malfoy.
Warnings: swearing, swearing, swearing, violence, gore, angst, general unhappy stuff
Rating: R for the above
Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and all of its contents. I ask that you please do not sue me for what little I have.
Archive: Fanfiction.net and it's staying here for a while
Reviews: Reviews are welcome, both constructive and not. Flames do not equal criticism.
Author's notes: Please take note to the above. I will not be responsible for little children who happen to come across this. On a happier note, this is one of my first fan fictions that involve multiple chapters. I am an America living on the west coast of the states, and have ever been to Europe. If I happen to make any serious mistakes, would you please tell me what I did wrong and I will try to fix it.
-----
Hands wrap around my throat, successfully cutting of my air supply. I open my eyes to see a mass of shoulder length blond hair and a pair gleaming grey eyes peaking around the stray locks. A look of pure hatred reflected in the pale orbs.
And as suddenly as it began, it just as suddenly ended. I lie on the cool tile floor, a heap of flesh dirtying the name of Malfoy. A kick to the ribs and my tormenter, my father, makes his way to the room's exit. I hear the door open with a quiet creak and close with a loud thud.
I look in the direction of the door and after a few moments taken to ensure that my father will not decide to return, I decide to get up off the floor and head to the bathroom to wash, grapping a fresh set of clothes, my previous ones now ripped, ragged, and torn.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a number of bruises and cuts slowly making their presence known to the outside world. I discard of whatever remains of clothes I have and after a period of waiting for the water to heat, I step in. Lathering my hair, I wonder what I did to deserve this treatment.
I settle on 'Because I live' as an answer and after successfully scraping my skin so hard that it turns red, drying myself and bandaging my wounds, I exit the washroom clad in a clean pair of trousers and a long-sleeved turtle neck shirt. I look at my watch to see that I will be expected in the dinning room in a few short hours. Funny how long a few minutes seem when you're writhing in pain on the ground.
I spend my time alone reading and finishing my summer homework, thankful for something to do. I always know I can rely on Professor Snape to supply us with enough homework to keep any of us, no matter the house, busy for a good number of days.
Just as I finish writing my essay on the properties of gillyweed, I realize it's almost dinner, so I pack up my school supplies, put them atop my desk, and make my way down to the dinning hall.
The Malfoy manor is a rather large estate 15 some miles outside Birmingham. The house itself faces south, me living in the west wing, my father in the north, and my mother in the east wing.
The outer area of the house consists of a small lake, an area specially set up for the practice and sport of archery (my father having taken a liking to it), a stable, and various intersecting trails for horseback riding and the likes.
As I wander down the stairs to the first floor, my room having been on the third floor, my mind drifts to how old this house is. The thought always seems to come to mind as I wander the endless halls I am forced into calling my home. I know that the manor was passed down to my father from my grandfather and so on and so forth but how long did it last. Surly the Malfoy line didn't extend into the prehistoric period. At least I hope it didn't. Seeing someone of the Malfoy name wearing anything but highly expensive armoire is not something I hope to see any time in the near (or far) future.
I pass by some black and white photographs of my forbearers and the topic at hand is forced back into my mind. Below each moving display of family history is a date, some reaching into the medieval times but stopping soon after.
My musing is cut short as the entryway to the dining room comes into clear sight. After a moment to regain some semblance to myself, I push open the swinging door separating me from my two parents who happen to hate each other and myself with a passion.
Summary: A day in the life of Draco Malfoy, dirt upon the name of Malfoy.
Warnings: swearing, swearing, swearing, violence, gore, angst, general unhappy stuff
Rating: R for the above
Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and all of its contents. I ask that you please do not sue me for what little I have.
Archive: Fanfiction.net and it's staying here for a while
Reviews: Reviews are welcome, both constructive and not. Flames do not equal criticism.
Author's notes: Please take note to the above. I will not be responsible for little children who happen to come across this. On a happier note, this is one of my first fan fictions that involve multiple chapters. I am an America living on the west coast of the states, and have ever been to Europe. If I happen to make any serious mistakes, would you please tell me what I did wrong and I will try to fix it.
-----
Hands wrap around my throat, successfully cutting of my air supply. I open my eyes to see a mass of shoulder length blond hair and a pair gleaming grey eyes peaking around the stray locks. A look of pure hatred reflected in the pale orbs.
And as suddenly as it began, it just as suddenly ended. I lie on the cool tile floor, a heap of flesh dirtying the name of Malfoy. A kick to the ribs and my tormenter, my father, makes his way to the room's exit. I hear the door open with a quiet creak and close with a loud thud.
I look in the direction of the door and after a few moments taken to ensure that my father will not decide to return, I decide to get up off the floor and head to the bathroom to wash, grapping a fresh set of clothes, my previous ones now ripped, ragged, and torn.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a number of bruises and cuts slowly making their presence known to the outside world. I discard of whatever remains of clothes I have and after a period of waiting for the water to heat, I step in. Lathering my hair, I wonder what I did to deserve this treatment.
I settle on 'Because I live' as an answer and after successfully scraping my skin so hard that it turns red, drying myself and bandaging my wounds, I exit the washroom clad in a clean pair of trousers and a long-sleeved turtle neck shirt. I look at my watch to see that I will be expected in the dinning room in a few short hours. Funny how long a few minutes seem when you're writhing in pain on the ground.
I spend my time alone reading and finishing my summer homework, thankful for something to do. I always know I can rely on Professor Snape to supply us with enough homework to keep any of us, no matter the house, busy for a good number of days.
Just as I finish writing my essay on the properties of gillyweed, I realize it's almost dinner, so I pack up my school supplies, put them atop my desk, and make my way down to the dinning hall.
The Malfoy manor is a rather large estate 15 some miles outside Birmingham. The house itself faces south, me living in the west wing, my father in the north, and my mother in the east wing.
The outer area of the house consists of a small lake, an area specially set up for the practice and sport of archery (my father having taken a liking to it), a stable, and various intersecting trails for horseback riding and the likes.
As I wander down the stairs to the first floor, my room having been on the third floor, my mind drifts to how old this house is. The thought always seems to come to mind as I wander the endless halls I am forced into calling my home. I know that the manor was passed down to my father from my grandfather and so on and so forth but how long did it last. Surly the Malfoy line didn't extend into the prehistoric period. At least I hope it didn't. Seeing someone of the Malfoy name wearing anything but highly expensive armoire is not something I hope to see any time in the near (or far) future.
I pass by some black and white photographs of my forbearers and the topic at hand is forced back into my mind. Below each moving display of family history is a date, some reaching into the medieval times but stopping soon after.
My musing is cut short as the entryway to the dining room comes into clear sight. After a moment to regain some semblance to myself, I push open the swinging door separating me from my two parents who happen to hate each other and myself with a passion.