Summary: Draco Malfoy is the perfect Death Eater. His father has raised him to be the perfect servant for the Dark Lord, and a leader for everyone else. What happens when the boy who should be perfect- isn't?

Disclaimer: If I owned Draco, I assure you he would be fettered somewhere in my room. Glancing about my room, I see no tall blonde dark wizard. This brings us both to the conclusion that I do not own Draco. Furthermore, I do not own any of Mrs. Rowling's other characters. I've just borrowed them for my nefarious ends.

Author's Note: I'll try to update regularly. If I don't, I suggest you mail me and bother me frequently, I'm sure I'll cave quickly to attention.

amour maternel
prelude

Dearest Draco,

I wish you a happy birthday, my darling boy. Though I can imagine your face upon reading this letter, I do hope you'll humor me and let me wax nostalgic about your childhood.

I remember when you were born. You know well that Lucius and I tried over and over to have a child, and I had several miscarriages before you were born. I was so frightened, that day- what if you died? But when the midwife let me hold you, I was the happiest woman alive. You of course know the reason for your conception; every family needs an heir. But don't think that this was the only reason, and never think that I have loved you for what you are, not who you are. You are my son, and while your father was pleased at having one to carry on the Malfoy name, he was also much pleased to have a child of his own.

When you were a child, I always prayed that you would be allowed to live a normal life. Things were terrible when you were born- but they got better, and you know how I mean. Your father still insisted on raising you to be a proper heir, and I'm afraid you lost much of your childhood. I argued with him then- I argue with him still. I wanted you to have a childhood, I wanted to see you play and smile without wondering how Somebody would see it, if it was a Bad Thing to laugh. By the time you were seven, you were too dignified to laugh. But before then- there were things, moments when you behaved like a little boy should- Do you remember your first teddy? Your father thought me such a fool, but you loved that little brown bear. I looked through the Manor for it today, but I couldn't find it. Pity, but I suppose it has lost its charm for you now.

There was a time when you first understood what it was to be a Malfoy. You were nine. You discovered that sometimes, people have to take measures to survive. You hated it. Do you still?

When you went away to school, I was so glad it was Hogwarts and not Durmstrang. Because Hogwarts is nearer, and safer, and- though I never admitted it to your father- I feared what you might learn at Durmstrang. You were eager, but by the third week you sent me letters asking to come back home. Again, you learned a lesson that sometimes, people have to do things they dislike.

I have trouble believing you are fifteen, and now a man. I wish you could have remained my little boy for longer. Happy birthday, son, and remember that I love you.

Love always,
Your Mother

Narcissa Malfoy tucked the letter into an envelope, melting wax onto the flap. She did love her son, as the letter stated, but she was not so gentle as to write a meaningless birthday wish. Her lovely countenance was hidden for a moment by the worried frown that creased her brow and pursed her lips into a white line, and then she was pressing a signet ring into the hardening wax. A calligraphic "M" was impressed on the green, and she tapped it with her wand. The impression was stained silver, and she tapped it again, breathing words that would ward the letter against intrusion.

Then she summoned her dignified grey owl with another practiced flick. Archimedes came to the window of her stately study in the Malfoy manor, and Narcissa stood to tie the letter to his leg, black dress robes floating around her legs.

She knew her son would interpret the warning correctly. Three days ago, Lucius had given her chilling news.

Narcissa, he is ready.