Author: Lyra Skywalker

Title: Your Job To Believe

Genre: General / Angst

Disclaimer: Not mine; everything except the story line belong to the ever so brilliant J.K. Rowling.

Summary: "Draco, Do you remember the night you woke to find me standing over you? Do you know why I was there? I was going to kill you. Do you know why? No? Because I didn't want to condemn you to the same life I led."

Story – Your Job To Believe (Chapter One - Butterfly)

When Draco remembered, it wasn't vivid like most childhoods. It was hazy and unclear, like it had never happened. Remembering gave him the same feeling he got when his father used to pick him up and spin him around and around. Not dizzy, but misty, like a fog covering all of his memories. But he tried to remember, and when he did, he wasn't so sure it had been a good idea.

Draco looked up at his father and grinned. He was two years old, small with sparkling silver eyes and blonde hair. All Malfoy traits, he was the perfect Malfoy.
Lucius looked at him, at his crooked grin, his small dimple on his left cheek. Innocent and curious about every thing. Draco hadn't progressed like a normal child; he never crawled, but made one attempt after another at walking. He walked at nine months and ran at ten. He spoke at one year of age, always demanding and never asking. Draco always knew what he wanted, and he did everything he could do to achieve that. He demanded, he screamed, he threw fits…but he was still innocent. Lucius picked him up and spun him around and around. And Draco would laugh. He wasn't afraid. He was happy…

It was snowing…or was it raining…no, it was snowing. The first snow of winter, soft, fluffy and cold. But Draco wasn't cold. He wanted to know where snow came from. Why was it white, why was it wet? Lucius sat down and explained. It was frozen water and it came from the sky.
Draco laughed. It wasn't water, it was clouds, he decided. Snow was fallen clouds.
His father picked him up, and lifted him high. "Spin, spin, spin…"
And Lucius spun, he spun fast, so fast that Draco let out a loud shrill, but happy shriek. The light from the snow reflected in the little boy's eyes. His father laughed and raised his wand. The snow lifted off the boy's hair and formed the shape of a butterfly.
"Flutterby!" Draco cried, pointing to the intricate figure hovering above their heads. "It's a flutterby!" Lucius took Draco's tiny hand into his own and kissed it.

"Mmm…a butterfly."

Then Draco smiled. He loved snow, the way if felt…how it was cold. He reached out to the butterfly, trying to grasp the delicate white wings. "Want the flutterby". Holding his son in one arm, Lucius flicked his wand, moving his wrist gracefully. The butterfly landed on Draco's nose. Then he sneezed and watched in horror as his 'flutterby' blew away. He stared at his father with wide silver eyes and said one word.

"Gone."

Draco crept down the long hallway, dragging his stuffed dragon by its tail. He could hear his father talking to somebody in his office, a place forbidden to all except those invited.
He stole closer and closer, his tiny brown boots padding softly on the dark fluffy carpet. He was bored, no,in fact he had been beyond bored at that point. So he wandered towards his fathers' office, cautious of the strange visitors that came and went during the night.
Draco should have been sleeping, away from the darkness that haunted the manor at night, and the portraits that said daunting things to him. But today he was curious as any four year old would be. The portraits watched as the boy edged a little more forwards, following the voice of his father. Yet the voice was different, colder, and harsher. It was his fathers' business voice.

Draco watched his father, he was listening to music. Lucius took him onto his lap and talked. Who was Harry Potter, Draco wanted to know. Lucius said he was the boy who killed the Dark Lord. And who was the Dark Lord, Draco wanted to know. The Dark Lord was a bad man.

Draco's eyes were focused, on the canvas in front of him. They were in the Malfoy Manor Library. His father was looking for a book behind the black velvet curtain. He was forbidden to enter that section of the library. Now, even more that he was going to be left alone in the library. His father was going to have a meeting on the floor below.
Draco felt himself being lifted, and turned his head to see his father.
"I'm going to be half an hour, Draco. Alright?" his father said, in a pretend 'business' like tone. Draco wriggled to be put back down. He straightened himself, looked up at his father with a proud and brave smile.
"Good, now stay right here. I want to come back and see a big picture. Okay?"
Draco nodded again, his soft baby locks flopping as he did so. Lucius left with his black and emerald green cloak swishing on the floor behind him. Draco liked playing with his father's cloaks. They were soft. Silk. Like his own just far bigger. He liked rubbing them against his cheek.

He didn't remember much of what occurred the rest of that day. It was, but a whirl pool of pastel colours, the memory of a day he fought hard to forget. What that remained etched in his memory was the face of a man. A pasty complexion, stringy hair, a chiselled jaw and eyes that looked like they hadn't seen sleep in countless days.
He remembered lying in his father's arms and apologising.

Draco watched the black velvet curtain billow, the cool icy air blowing from inside the hidden room. He felt drawn towards it, reaching out in hesitation to touch the soft material that dated back decades before he was born. The material felt like water…like the type used on invisibility cloaks. Like the cloak his father had. As he pulled back the curtain a piercing scream sounded. He stumbled backwards in shock, trying to block the sound from his ears. The screaming was high… but mixed with the sound of pained wailing…a child's wailing…his wailing.
He looked forwards and screamed. The curtain disappeared.

"Shh…" it was his father. "Shh…Daddy's here."

Draco loved to read. He loved merging into worlds that didn't exist. He loved nosing into other people's lives, he loved to know about everything that went on around him…and everything that didn't. Most of all he loved to play a game of pretend with his friend, Blaise. He became one of the great kings of England. He thought of what he wanted, and then he made Blaise go and get it for him. Blaise would comply, Blaise always complied.
'A Gryffindor if I've ever seen one' Draco's father would say.
Draco was seven and constantly on the go.

"Dad, what're we doing now?" Draco asked leaning over his father's dark mahogany desk. The light from the fireplace flickered, sending an eerie glow across the room. Eerie, like the feeling that always crept up Draco's spine when he entered his fathers' office.
"I am doing my work." Lucius looked up briefly.
"I'm bored." Draco looked over at the painting that hung on the wall of his father's office. A demented looking picture of a butterfly Draco had drawn years ago, a butterfly that clumsily flew around the canvas.
"Read." The answer was short, blunt, and Lucius didn't bother to look up from his parchment this time.

Draco was unsatisfied with the lack of attention he was receiving so he leant over the desk, his silver eyes wide, and stared. The portrait of his grandfather that hung on the wall sniffed and walked out muttering to himself 'the Malfoys nowadays…'
Lucius didn't move, but smiled and chuckled. A type of laugh Draco rarely heard. It was that half amused half 'piss off' laugh. "Go away Draco, I'm very busy."
Draco huffed. He turned away. "Maybe mother can entertain me." He left, and heard distantly the soft voice of his father saying "I highly doubt that"

Draco loved spinning. He would throw his arms out and spin and spin. He made his father do this once. Lucius hadn't liked it. He had gotten dizzy, a headache that stayed for a few hours. Draco never got dizzy.
Lucius hated the feeling of loosing control, a feeling that accompanied spinning. Because if you spun to fast you would lose control.

Draco grew up listening to the story of the Malfoy who foretold his own death. He had been so couped up trying to prevent this death that he inevitably died. Every Malfoy has some type of ability to foretell events that occur in the future, Draco's father had said. If it be a mere hunch, to a series of reoccurring dreams.

Draco stood in his father's office and watched him write. He wanted to know why they though his father was a bad man, he wanted to know why they said he was a death eater. And who was they? Lucius asked. Everyone.
Draco looked up at his father. "They say you're bad, daddy. They say you kill people."
Lucius looked at his son. "Who are they?"
"Everyone." Draco replied. "Everyone says this. Everyone says you are a death eater. That you kill people, that you hurt innocent victims."
Lucius touched his son's face. "They are wrong, Draco."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Okay."

Draco watched as the couples danced around the room, he was mesmerised by the tinkling music. The strong scent of perfume floated in the air, making Draco giddy. It was another one of his mother's parties. Parties for birthdays, anniversaries, for any and every reason. It was all his mother ever did. She was there for show, so his dad could say he had a wonderful and beautiful wife. She was there to give him another perfect Malfoy. 'Selective breeding' Lorenz called it. His father called it 'in-breeding'.

Narcissa stood at the top of the room, below the huge white decorative carving on the wall. Her perfect skin, her perfect hair. That distant look in her eye…it was all he ever saw. The mirage of a perfect wife…only there to be a lingering presence when ever required.

She smiled, and lifted her hand in a wave like gesture, lowered it and resumed greeting. People danced and talked. They gossiped about current events. Who wore what…who had an affair with who…It was the life of a pure-blood high class socialite.

Draco watched his father take his mothers hand. They danced. Twirling, graceful steps to the sound of classical music. When he had been younger, maybe four or five his father used to dance with him. But that was when he was younger. It wouldn't look good if his father danced with him now. He was too old.

Draco could hear footsteps behind him.
"I'm bored."
It was Blaise.
"I wanna do somethin'" Blaise complained. "Let's play quidditch!"
"I broke my broomstick" Draco mumbled and tugged at the sleeves of his black dress robe.
"Oh. Then…I dunno…let's…get away because Theodore's here and I hate him…"

They made their way down to the gardens. It was dark, that clear sort of dark night. It was spring, so the air smelt of fresh rain. The grass was wet, crushing beneath Draco's shiny black boots. He pushed Blaise before him.
"Hurry up" Draco whined. Blaise shook the water droplets from his floppy black hair.
"I'm hurrying…"
The night was cold and terrifying, maybe it was because of the shadows…or because his imagination was running wild.
"There's something over there!" Draco whispered loudly. Blaise looked around.
"No there isn't."
"Yes there is!" Draco pointed, across the garden and between the black iron railings. And Blaise saw it, two haunted eyes that looked like they hadn't seen sleep in countless days.
He cried out and jumped back.
"He can't get it." Blaise whispered. "Your dad says people can't get it…"

Authors note:

Oh yeah, and I KNOW that Blaise is a Slytherin

Okay, I wrote a longer chapter. Draco's memories may be written slightly mature for his age in the memory…but keep in mind that he's remembering it from a much older age than he is in the memory…He remembers it from an older perspective…if that makes any sense at all…oh yeah, and the ages don't change if I don't mention an age change.

I don't know if I'm moving to fast or to slow…but I need to quickly get through his childhood so I can move on to his at and past Hogwarts to get the part which the story is about…I need this so I can establish his childhood, teenage and future relationship with his father and other people…Damn I'm babbling here… is anyone even reading this?