Title: Writing Lessons
Author: Araythea
Rating: G
Pairing: None - Gen
Summary: Draco Malfoy has always been proud of who he is
Notes: This is the beginning to a much bigger story I'm working on. But frustration has taken over and I wanted to post something. At this point, ANYTHING. Ugh.
Beta: The ever lovely Charlotteschaos. Thanks love!
The small blond head bobbed in and out of sight as the littlest Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, bounced on the tippiest of his tippytoes trying to reach the top of his Father's desk. He loved this room best, better than his own playroom in spite of the fact that it was filled with the finest of all toys. This room was his Father's study and what was on the desk was better than toys. Even better than the stuffed toy pixies that flew up at his command and performed daring maneuvers that he knew one day he'd be able to do himself, on a broom of course. That was, when his mummy stopped fussing about and saying he was much too young for a real broom. In the mean time he quite enjoyed his pixies, because when he was especially upset he could summon one of the house-elves and watch the pixies chase them around the room and the count how many times the pixies smacked the odd creatures before their overly large eyes brimmed with tears. Dobby was the best elf because he really tried to get away, without leaving of course. He spun and jumped and hid and then when the pixie finally cornered him and started thwacking him, he could take the most thwacks, almost more than Draco could count, before he began all that annoying blubbering.
Draco smiled happily at the memory before his small brow creased and he realized that he was again distracted from his task. He circled the large desk and pushing the plush chair out just enough for him to scramble up into it. He sighed happily and ignored the moment's frustration as he adjusted his robes so they were arranged just so. He reached as far as his little arm would reach and pulled a piece of carefully folded parchment towards him. With his free hand he rooted around in his deep robe pockets until he finally felt his fingers close around his wand. Not a real wand of course but Draco found it quite useful, especially in these stolen moments in his Father's study. He brought out the miniature wand and tapped it against the edge of the desk watching it with satisfaction as it turned into a small self inking quill.
He held it carefully as he unfolded the parchment and looked upon the elegant writing that he knew on sight was his Father's. He couldn't make out the words on the page but his eyes scanned down to the very bottom where he knew he'd find what he was looking for. He scrunched his brow again this time in concentration and carefully placing the quill to paper he tried with all his might to form the letters that made up his family's name. Ever so carefully, in such concentration that his brow puckered all the more and his tiny pink tongue peeked out from between his tight lips he formed the letters; M-a-l-f-o-y.
He beamed at the childish scrawl, knowing that his Father would be so proud of his efforts. His tongue peeked out again as his brows scrunched up once more and he began again and again until he filled the bottom of the page with his best efforts to make his father proud, after all nothing was as important as being a Malfoy, a fact Draco knew too well.