Author's Note: This takes place before Lucius starts Hogwarts.
Warning: This story mentions abuse and suicidal thoughts.
Lucius glanced at his reflection in the mirror. The black and blue bruises really contrasted with his shoulder-length whitish hair and his pale, almost ghostly-like skin.
Lucius's glance then drifted to the door of his bedroom. His father should be coming through it at any moment. They were having guests tonight, and Abraxas Malfoy had to make sure that his son looked presentable.
Abraxas wouldn't heal the bruises, of course. Lucius had to be punished for his failures and shortcomings. But Abraxas would make sure that they were well-hidden. He wasn't afraid of anyone, but he didn't want anyone knowing that life was less than perfect behind the walls of Malfoy Manor.
Lucius didn't know why his father made so much of an effort to hide the truth. It wasn't as if anyone would care anyways. Lucius still remembered the Ministry official that had come to the manor to make sure that they weren't any dark artifacts that could be used against Muggles. That man had seen Lucius's bruises, but he had not done anything to help. Abraxas had threatened the man's family, and that had been the end of that story.
"No one cares about rich Pureblood children," Abraxas often said to his son. "They only care about poor Muggles because they make such wonderful, perfect victims."
Lucius once again looked at his reflection. He knew that as soon as his bruises were hidden, he and his father would then go downstairs to graciously greet their guests. It would not take long for Abraxas to start praising his son's accomplishments (in order to make the guests feel inferior because their children could never hope to be as perfect at Lucius).
As for Lucius, he would tell everyone how he was so fortunate in life (in order to once again remind the guests that they were inferior to the Malfoys).
The Malfoys would look so proud, so perfect. The Malfoys would give everyone, even other Purebloods, a reason to envy them.
Lucius pulled a knife out of the pocket of his expensive, perfectly-tailored dress robes. It was a dinner knife that he had stolen from the kitchen after he had made sure that his father's personal house-elf, Brenan, had not been anywhere nearby.
Looking once again at his reflection in the mirror, Lucius placed the blade of the knife over his wrist. He knew all about the human body. He knew where to cut someone to just give someone pain. He knew where to cut someone to kill them. He knew the difference very well.
Lucius started to put some pressure on the knife, so that it would cut into his flesh.
But then he hesitated.
"Just do it, you coward," Lucius hissed to himself. "Get it over with already."
With that, Lucius slowly began to cut into his wrist.
But then suddenly Lucius had the mental image of his father coming into his room as he laid dying on the floor. Lucius saw the sneer on his father's face.
"I always knew you were weak, weak like your mother," Lucius heard Abraxas saying. "But no matter. I can always find myself another Pureblood woman and have another heir with her, a stronger and better heir."
No. Lucius would never give his father that satisfaction. Instead, Lucius would just stand there as his father hid his bruises. Then, Lucius would go downstairs with Abraxas and play the part of the proud, perfect son.
Which made him more of a coward? Being too afraid to just end it right now or being too afraid to challenge his father?
"I am not a coward," Lucius snarled at his bruised reflection.
With a loud, piercing scream, Lucius threw the knife at the mirror, shattering it.
The door opened at that moment, and Abraxas stepped into the room.
"What is your problem?" Abraxas growled. "Our guests are going to be here soon, and you're choosing now to throw a temper-tantrum. What are you, a filthy Muggle with no control over his emotions?"
Lucius did not respond. He just stood there, his face completely emotionless, as his father walked over to him.
Abraxas waved his wand over his son's body, hiding the bruises.
As he was doing this, Abraxas caught sight of the slight cut on Lucius's wrist.
"You're even more pathetic than I gave you credit for," Abraxas remarked, almost casually. "You clearly take after your mother. Remember how weak she was? She died giving birth to you, a weak son."
"I am not weak," Lucius said softly.
Abraxas laughed mockingly at his son's statement as he waved his wand over the injured wrist.
Lucius could feel the cut healing. He glared angrily at the floor. Of course his father would heal any wounds that he himself had not caused. Any wounds that Lucius made, on the other hand, weren't good enough to hide. They just weren't worth the effort or the time.
"Now, are you going to be a good boy," Abraxas spoke, "or am I going to have to tell our guests that you unfortunately can't join us tonight because you're feeling a little under the weather?"
"Don't worry, Father," Lucius responded in a toneless voice. "I will play the part that is expected out of me. I will not do anything to shame you or the Malfoy name."
"See to it that you don't," Abraxas warned. He then placed a pleasant, charming smile on his face.
Lucius also summoned his most pleasant and charming smile.
It was time for both Malfoys to play their parts, just like they had always done in the past.
And just like they would do for the rest of their lives.