Touches: Hard and Soft
"Draco!" his mother called her voice distant. "Where in Merlin's name are you?"
I'm sitting in a closet, Mother.
I don't particularly feel like talking at this moment, if you don't mind.
She paces in my room, and I hear her breathing loud and clear. She is nervous and afraid… but doesn't she have every reason to be? "Draco?" she whispers. I feel a cold hand squeeze my heart and I shudder, hugging myself closer.
There is silence.
Then she walks out of my bedroom.
I hear the door shut behind her with a gentle click.
She worried about me I know. But, I can't help her; she needs to do that herself. It's not my problem.
The coats press against me.
It's a familiar feeling.
My Father never used to beat, contrary to what some might think. That was far too common, too crude.
He did have a way with words however. They came down lashing down as hard as any blows.
Father didn't use them harshly, cruelly for any purpose. Only… when I failed him, and his cause.
Sometimes I was too afraid, too weak to face him. So I hid in my closet, away from everyone and everything. He never did find me, through I had some close shaves. I think he may have liked this game of ours… I'll never know now.
He wasn't always, this way…
I'll always remember that when I succeed… all seemed to shine. His words were as soft, a very divine feeling to have the Lucius Malfoy, my Father, praising me!
I'll forget.
Even she isn't here now.
He isn't dead, but to some maybe many, it is just as well that he is dead, it would make many things so much more convenient for many parties if he died.
He is my Father… with his way with words, hard and soft, and I know I can't refuse him, if he really needs me and I know he does. I love him; we are linked by blood.
But I don't agree with his convictions, that his path is the one that has the fewest prickles. Voldemort will fall, by golden boy Harry Potter, as much I despair it.
It's so terribly complicating. If he were dead, I wouldn't have to worry about him, and the links that drag me downwards.
I don't want my daddy to die.
And there it is. That's how it is.
And the closet? Well… Maybe later.
I curl closer, hugging myself, hiding away from the world, and all the confusion.
AN: so... how do you like it?
Disclaimer: No, I don't own it.