Title: Le Plus Faible
Author: Meg Kenobi (afirmation@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Sorry.
Author's note: Disturbing piece here, kids. Just enjoy and review and please tell me if you think the rating ought to be higher. The next chapter is close behind. Le Plus Faible
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I am a vain and self absorbed woman. This is a lesson I sorely needed to learn. And yet it seems so unfair.
When Draco was only so very small, I knew he was a different sort of child. I suppose every mother holds her small one and thinks, "Ah! This babe is special," but Draco was. He truly was. He was a loving, compassionate little boy, always wanting to help or comfort. I dream sometimes of his pudgy little arms thrown around my waist in fierce loyalty. Everyday he thrust his heart and soul out into the world, wanting to sap up the love his father could not show. In every respect he was a perfect little boy, except for one nagging concern--he did not speak. For the first few years it was easy to dismiss him as a late bloomer. However, after five years of sullen silence, I knew I had to help him somehow.
By the time he was five, I knew Draco need something to care for, something to love him unconditionally. It seemed at first that Lancelot was the perfect solution. I brought home the tiny Cocker Spaniel pup on a whim, but the light he put into my son's eyes told me my impulse was a wise one. We named his pet after the gallant knight of his storybooks, the knight he so admired. Draco was not moved to speech, but he might have been in time, had his pet stayed by him. Poor Lancelot was aptly named though, for he had a valiant heart. After only a few months as Draco's beloved companion, the foolish beast thought it wise to get between my husband and I during a particularly violent row. It's agony to know that Draco saw what his father did to the poor mutt. I can never remember if it is my blood or Lancelot's that stains the carpet in certain places.
The dog gone, I saw Draco pull away. He still refused to speak. It was the first withdrawal in a downhill collapse of changes my son would go through in the years to come. I could have stopped it then and there. Given him something to love; something that would love him. I almost did. Lucius had always assumed I took proper measures against pregnancy and never bothered himself with the details. It was easy enough to conceive. I hid the pregnancy at first, but at last I had to tell Lucius. He was furious at first, of course. The conception of a child without his consent was a cataclysmic event in a house where one can be beaten for wearing her hair in a way he finds unflattering. Given time, however, Lucius grew to appreciate the inevitable child. After all, he had been Voldemort's beloved right hand man. I think he fancied the thought of populating the earth with his pureblood offspring. It was an action his beloved master would condone.
When the child came, it found ways of surprising everyone. The baby was supposed to be a boy; another proud son to serve his father and his father's master. I never expected it to be small and female and sickly. I assumed that if the child in my womb could survive the beatings until its birth, it would be fine. I never imagined the tiny, ailing thing that I delivered. I never thought I could love it with all my heart.
Lucius hated her at once. She was not a Malfoy by his standards. Any time I would anger him, the dangerous voice would come, whispering, "A daughter is not an heir. It is a prideful indulgence. You can keep her so long as you please me and my son. Don't you dare to dishonor me, Narcissa."
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Thank you! Please review!
Author: Meg Kenobi (afirmation@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Sorry.
Author's note: Disturbing piece here, kids. Just enjoy and review and please tell me if you think the rating ought to be higher. The next chapter is close behind. Le Plus Faible
----------------
I am a vain and self absorbed woman. This is a lesson I sorely needed to learn. And yet it seems so unfair.
When Draco was only so very small, I knew he was a different sort of child. I suppose every mother holds her small one and thinks, "Ah! This babe is special," but Draco was. He truly was. He was a loving, compassionate little boy, always wanting to help or comfort. I dream sometimes of his pudgy little arms thrown around my waist in fierce loyalty. Everyday he thrust his heart and soul out into the world, wanting to sap up the love his father could not show. In every respect he was a perfect little boy, except for one nagging concern--he did not speak. For the first few years it was easy to dismiss him as a late bloomer. However, after five years of sullen silence, I knew I had to help him somehow.
By the time he was five, I knew Draco need something to care for, something to love him unconditionally. It seemed at first that Lancelot was the perfect solution. I brought home the tiny Cocker Spaniel pup on a whim, but the light he put into my son's eyes told me my impulse was a wise one. We named his pet after the gallant knight of his storybooks, the knight he so admired. Draco was not moved to speech, but he might have been in time, had his pet stayed by him. Poor Lancelot was aptly named though, for he had a valiant heart. After only a few months as Draco's beloved companion, the foolish beast thought it wise to get between my husband and I during a particularly violent row. It's agony to know that Draco saw what his father did to the poor mutt. I can never remember if it is my blood or Lancelot's that stains the carpet in certain places.
The dog gone, I saw Draco pull away. He still refused to speak. It was the first withdrawal in a downhill collapse of changes my son would go through in the years to come. I could have stopped it then and there. Given him something to love; something that would love him. I almost did. Lucius had always assumed I took proper measures against pregnancy and never bothered himself with the details. It was easy enough to conceive. I hid the pregnancy at first, but at last I had to tell Lucius. He was furious at first, of course. The conception of a child without his consent was a cataclysmic event in a house where one can be beaten for wearing her hair in a way he finds unflattering. Given time, however, Lucius grew to appreciate the inevitable child. After all, he had been Voldemort's beloved right hand man. I think he fancied the thought of populating the earth with his pureblood offspring. It was an action his beloved master would condone.
When the child came, it found ways of surprising everyone. The baby was supposed to be a boy; another proud son to serve his father and his father's master. I never expected it to be small and female and sickly. I assumed that if the child in my womb could survive the beatings until its birth, it would be fine. I never imagined the tiny, ailing thing that I delivered. I never thought I could love it with all my heart.
Lucius hated her at once. She was not a Malfoy by his standards. Any time I would anger him, the dangerous voice would come, whispering, "A daughter is not an heir. It is a prideful indulgence. You can keep her so long as you please me and my son. Don't you dare to dishonor me, Narcissa."
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Thank you! Please review!