Disclaimer: Okay. The usual. The characters belong to JK Rowling. But this portrayal of Draco Malfoy belongs to me. Please don't sue, like most people around here, I'm broke.

I am Draco Malfoy.

Father tells me that I come from a great line of powerful wizardry, that in my blood runs the blood of godlings and semi-gods from a time long forgotten and forever lost. The villagers whisper that the Malfoys are demon spawns of hell, Satan's own.

Father and Mother hold to no faith. They believe in no religion. They consider themselves godlings by right of name.

Soon, they tell me, soon, I will fulfil my birthright as a Malfoy and become like them, a true Malfoy.

~~

This morning, Father comes back, clutching that awful scar on his arm. I hate that scar. Mother knows and tells me I will never be branded, unlike Father. Mother smirks as Father stumbles into the room, his usual grace gone. Then she returns to her embroidery; a needle diving in and out of the cloth. Father grabs a potion made by Snape, and hurriedly gulps it down. The Ministry's aurors have made it such that whatever they do to him cannot be healed by wand magic. Father says he made a deal with Snape – now Snape provides potions that will lessen the pain caused by them.  Father will not tell me anything else about the deal.

Father recovers quickly after drinking the potion. He always boasts that Snape's potions are always effective and are for a few and select people. He is in a bad mood – he always is, whenever he has to return to the Ministry headquarters for questioning.

Mother told me that humans are like that – when they are hurt, they get angry. I pointed out that when I fell the last time, I was hurt, but I wasn't mad at her or Father. But she shook her head and said that it was a different hurt altogether and that I would understand when I grew older.

Father is glaring at Mother now. But he can't vent his anger on her because, according to Mother, she has done everything a wife is supposed to do when such a situation arises– wait up for him and prepare his potions. Only, Mother doesn't feel sorry for him. She says that he deserves what he got because of his carelessness. Father knows what she thinks of his latest 'escapade' (I learnt this word yesterday from my tutor) and I think that's what adds to his anger. Also, Mother is half-veela – I don't think Father dares to anger her when he is in such a condition.

Mother never has to go to the Ministry for questioning. She says it's because she hides her traces better than Father. When the Ministry officials come here, they are always polite and gentle with her but curt and nasty to Father.

Father glares at her some more, before stomping away, presumably to vent his anger on the house elves. I don't like the house elves. They are so ugly and well, icky. Mother smiled when I told her that yesterday.

Father ignores me most of the time. Mother ignores me too, but not as much as Father.  She tells me that I'm still a baby – not worth much paying much attention too. She says that I only start being more interesting when I'm seven. That's six more months and twelve more days. She responds more when I talk to her now and raps my knuckles when I don't speak in full sentences. She says it's crude. I don't want to be crude. The villagers are crude. I'm a Malfoy and Malfoys are never crude.

~~

Tisella, my nurse and tutor, is Mother's very, very distant cousin. She spends a lot of time with me. I don't like her and she doesn't like me much either. But she says that she'll teach me how to ride a broomstick when I'm seven. I think I'll like her better then.

Mother stands up and leaves the room. I know she has dismissed me. I'm a little disappointed that she didn't let me stay with her a little longer. If it were 3 minutes and 48 seconds more, it would have been a perfect new record – 20 minutes. Today, I spent 16 minutes and 12 seconds with Mother – a second longer than yesterday. Tisella has been teaching me a very small spell that allows me to keep track of time. I've been practising it.

I let myself out of the room, closing the doors gently. Mother, Father and Tisella hate it when the doors slam. Tisella says it's rude and uncouth. Mother just stares at me coldly then walks away. Father makes me open the door then close it softly fourteen times. He makes me repeat each time the door makes even a squeak. There was one time when I had to close the door fifty seven times.

~~

Tisella is waiting for me in my room. She does not look happy at being kept waiting. Today, she is teaching me about my heritage, or to be precise, my not-heritage. Mother told me something about it once. She said I would never be half veela like her because I was a boy. The vela genes would be kept dormant in me, until I have a daughter. I wish I were a girl. Maybe she would pay more attention to me if I were half veela.

Tisella is a fairly good tutor. She isn't too boring, so I don't fall asleep during her lessons. She has a very faint resemblance to Mother but Mother is much, much prettier.  She doesn't have veela blood in her, so I think she envies Mother a lot. She has short blond curls, unlike Mother's long, pale blondish hair. Mother's hair never curls; they are straight and cascade down her back like a waterfall. I think Mother likes my description of her hair. Mother is slimmer and taller that Tisella. Tisella has some freckles, which Mother doesn't have. But they both talk in the same drawling voice when they are angry (though Mother's is scarier) and rather aloof. Tisella pays me more attention though, but she doesn't fond over me like the house elves.

After her lessons, we adjourn to lunch. Lunch is interesting. Breakfast is boring, because I'm usually only half awake, but lunch is interesting and dinner, even more so. Mother engages in a conversation with Father. It's not really a conversation, more of like a verbal repartee. Father plays with Mother's words and twists them to mean something else. Mother smiles and waits for Father to make a slip and says things that cause Father to turn pale and angry. They seem to enjoy this because at the end of lunch, they smile to each other as if they've enjoyed the jousting and retire to do their own things.

Tisella doesn't join us during the meals. She has them separately, so I can't ask her what some of the words mean.

After lunch, Tisella brings me outside for a stroll or a walk and points out things that I should know – like various assortments of herbs and magical creatures. Occasionally, we run into Snape who only comes to the manor at this time. Mother said that I should call him Snape and leave it, just as I should call the ex-Darklord Voldemort. I wanted to ask why but she gave the look.

Tisella said once that Voldemort was a pain in the arse. That's the first time I heard her swear. Mother reprimanded her for swearing in my presence. I have no idea how she knew.

Anyway, I don't think anyone likes to talk about Voldemort. Tisella never said anything about him again. Perhaps when I'm seven and more interesting, I can ask Mother without getting that look.

After the walk, I'm to take a nap. By then, I'm too tired to protest anyway. The walk is actually more of a trek, because the manor's lands span many thousand hectares. There are mountains nearby and sometimes, Tisella makes me up to the midpoint, where she will teach me about geography, science and the manor's history. 

~~

After the nap is dinner. Sometimes, Mother organises small parties wherein friends of the family will be invited. Those parties will last for hours until Tisella finally appears and puts me to bed. Mother will introduce me to all those friends, and I will have to be on my best behaviour and smiling politely as men dressed in smart robes shake my hand and women with their overpowering perfume kiss my cheek.

There are no parties today. Father ignores me and starts to tell Mother about one of the stocks that they had invested in. Mother replies and then they both start their banter, half of which I do not understand. Suddenly, Father turns to me and says, " Boy, how old are you?" My throat constricts and I cannot speak, for fear of stuttering.

Mother answers for me while her spoon stirs languidly in her bowl, "Lucius, honestly, a son of your own flesh and blood and you do not know his age? He is nearing seven years of age."

Father ignores Mother, "Answer me, boy."

I struggle for my voice and reply softly, " Nearly seven."

Father has a nasty glint in his eye. I know at once that I must have said something wrong. I answer again, pitching my voice across the table, "I am 6 years, 5 months and 18 days today, Father."

Father smiles and the glint in his eye is gone. " Well said, my son. Accuracy is a virtue one should cultivate, especially during one's early years, don't you think Narcissa?"

Mother smiles in reply. But there is something angry in her smile.

Father continues, " Very well, nearly seven I see. Seven is a good age to learn many new things. In fact, I will teach you myself…" Father muses to himself.

He turns back to Mother, forgetting my presence entirely. " Give that girl Tisella her notice by the end of this year. Tell her we greatly appreciate her service to our household and all."

Mother smiles again and answers, " Yes, of course, Lucius. And what are you planning to do with our son? I hope that you are not intending to take up all the reins of managing him, with Tisella gone?"

Father smirks. " Narcissa, do I heard you volunteering?"

" I wouldn't dare to come between a father and his son."

"And what of your role as a mother? I do hope you are not shirking from your duty, Narcissa."  

They then continue on this strain for the rest of lunch. But I have enough to think about. Father is actually going to teach me things and Tisella is going to be sent away. Mother was right - everything is going to change – when I become seven years old.

~~

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