"You've disgraced me Yet again Draco."
He stood there, still, a perfect mask but tensed from head to foot with fury.
"Yes, father. I'm sorry."
On my knees, shoulders sagging, looking at the floor.
"A Malfoy shouldn't need to say 'sorry'."
He grips my chin so tightly. It hurts.
"…"
I remain still and await what is to come, eyes on the floor.
A resounding smack rings throughout the room.
I don't flinch, I never do, but my insides clench and my face gives a small grimace at the pain.
However, his expression never changes. It never has. A Malfoy is always in control of his emotions. I am incomplete, a work in progress. Father is trying to mold me properly.
That is why I carry not a scratch or visible bruise. Pain is my punishment.
I am not intended to become handicapped, monstrous. My body must remain in perfect working condition and my visage pleasant to look at. Regal.
His well polished shoes are stationary in front of me, pointing at me. The metal head of his walking stick cools the skin under my chin, raising it just so. I keep my eyes lowered.
Another smack echoes in the cold, sparsely furnished room.
The pain mixed with his displeasure is punishment enough for me.
It always is.
I know I deserve it.
I accept it and don't resist. I want it. I don't think I could stand it if he didn't do this. Punish me when I deserve it. I need him to hit me. To make it all better.
It stings. It aches.
Somehow it's comforting.
It's such a relief to have father punish me this way. I want to…
His fingers rest against my cheek, then glide away so their hand can sit atop my head.
"Draco."
He says my name, lets it drift alone in the atmosphere. It is permission to speak. Almost a calm command for me to explain.
"I'm sorry father. I try."
I let my voice be barely above a whisper.
"I only want you to be proud of me."
There was a soft sigh.
"How can I take pride in you, when you make a fool out of yourself and the name you carry? My name?"
He says this smoothly with a tone of business, but there is another tone underneath.
He doesn't want to do this, but it is necessary. He wants me to be the best, he wants to be proud of me, but he can't if I keep failing like this. I'm not good enough. Not yet. So this is the way it has to be.
"I'll keep trying father."
I know this is the way it must be.
"I won't let our name down. I'll do better."
His hand slides down to the back of my head.
"You'd better live up to that claim."
I feel a cold stab in my gut.
"Yes father."
He touches my cheek again. The coolness is pleasant against the burning skin.
"You make me do this. I wish I didn't have to."
I remain quiet, knowing that's what he wanted.
The hand disappears. His shoes soon turn and start softly clicking away.
"Father?"
They stop. I've never called him back before. But I need to say something. Each time I'm punished the words build up inside of me. And this time I'm going to say them. Even if father is disgusted by me or punishes me again for my boldness, I need to do this.
I hesitantly rise up from my knees and bring my eyes to his cool grey ones. I cautiously close the distance between us. He turns smoothly to fully face me.
I stop in front of him, taking only a second to look at him—if I waited any longer his patience would be gone.
I lightly put my arms around his shoulders and stand on my toes.
"Thank you."