{A.N. - I don't own Draco Malfoy. He belongs to J.K. Rowling. This is my
first attempt at Harry Potter fanfic, so please review and tell me what you
think!}
A small blonde boy huddled in the corner of the closet. Maybe he won't find me here...Maybe if I hold my breath long enough he won't hear me...He curled tighter into a ball and tucked his head between his knees.
"Where is he? Where's the little bastard?" A slurred voice broke the silence of Draco holding his breath. Something that sounded like a chair slammed into a wall. "I'll get him yet!"
Suddenly, the darkness surrounding Draco dissolved into light as the closet door was pulled open. The crazed eyes of Lucius Malfoy searched the tiny space until he saw the distinctive head of blonde hair.
"You! Get up!" Lucius spat, kicking the shape that was his son. The slender boy jumped up and tried to avoid his fathers swatting hands.
"Dad, calm down!" Draco ducked under his fathers grabbing arm, but he was an inch too high. His fathers cold hands grabbed the neckline of his shirt, and Draco was raised up so high that his feet didn't reach the floor.
"Filthy little boy...not upholding the family name..." Draco was so close to his father's face that he could smell the alcohol on his breath.
"What are you talking about?" Draco squirmed around in the air, trying to get loose.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about..." Lucius slammed his son against the wall.
"Dad, you're drunk. Stop this right now!" Draco figured his last hope was to fight back against his father.
"I didn't have too much to drink. I don't know what you're talking about boy." Lucius slammed his son against the wall again and then let go of his shirt. The boy slid down the wall and landed in a small heap on the floor. He knew that, in the morning, everything would be "normal". He knew his father would deny any of the accusations Draco threw at him. He knew his mother would serve breakfast with a shaking hand, sneaking peeks to make sure her son wasn't badly hurt. He knew the red marks on his skin would turn to bruises and then fade. He also knew that soon his father would get drunk again, and that he would again stumble home only to take his anger out on his son. With a whimper, Draco pulled his knees up against his chest, buried his face in his arms, and began to quietly sob.
A small blonde boy huddled in the corner of the closet. Maybe he won't find me here...Maybe if I hold my breath long enough he won't hear me...He curled tighter into a ball and tucked his head between his knees.
"Where is he? Where's the little bastard?" A slurred voice broke the silence of Draco holding his breath. Something that sounded like a chair slammed into a wall. "I'll get him yet!"
Suddenly, the darkness surrounding Draco dissolved into light as the closet door was pulled open. The crazed eyes of Lucius Malfoy searched the tiny space until he saw the distinctive head of blonde hair.
"You! Get up!" Lucius spat, kicking the shape that was his son. The slender boy jumped up and tried to avoid his fathers swatting hands.
"Dad, calm down!" Draco ducked under his fathers grabbing arm, but he was an inch too high. His fathers cold hands grabbed the neckline of his shirt, and Draco was raised up so high that his feet didn't reach the floor.
"Filthy little boy...not upholding the family name..." Draco was so close to his father's face that he could smell the alcohol on his breath.
"What are you talking about?" Draco squirmed around in the air, trying to get loose.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about..." Lucius slammed his son against the wall.
"Dad, you're drunk. Stop this right now!" Draco figured his last hope was to fight back against his father.
"I didn't have too much to drink. I don't know what you're talking about boy." Lucius slammed his son against the wall again and then let go of his shirt. The boy slid down the wall and landed in a small heap on the floor. He knew that, in the morning, everything would be "normal". He knew his father would deny any of the accusations Draco threw at him. He knew his mother would serve breakfast with a shaking hand, sneaking peeks to make sure her son wasn't badly hurt. He knew the red marks on his skin would turn to bruises and then fade. He also knew that soon his father would get drunk again, and that he would again stumble home only to take his anger out on his son. With a whimper, Draco pulled his knees up against his chest, buried his face in his arms, and began to quietly sob.