All alone in the grand room on his first day of the summer holiday with only his pet as companion, the peaky looking blonde remembered how he'd gotten the Kneazle years ago...

His father and he had attended an exposition of rare magical animals and those which were hard or dangerous to deal with. Amongst others, there had been hippogryphons, fancy snakes, overseas birds with gaudy feathering and some of them – birds as well as snakes – wore natural jewellery on their glittering bodies. The highlight had been the dragon show; acutally, the organisers had only gotten the permit for two of that ferocious kind but their presentation was sufficient to find buyers.
However, the real reason for Lucius Malfoy to drag his son to that exposition had a certain meaning which was revealed as the tall, blond man halted in front of a cage of about two cubic metres, his black cane with the typical silver snake's head as the handle obstructed Draco's passage without warning and for a split-second the boy had feared to have misbehaved.
He looked up to his father who didn't answer his questioning gaze but – still facing the hissing creatures in their cage – asked the vender about their characteristics and if they had already belonged to a person.

'No, Master Malfoy', answered the venter overeagerly and patted onto the bars which got him another vicious snarl. Taking his hand away, the man continued:
'This is the best breeding you can get in Europe, totally pure, not a single house-cat in there, but since they are young and haven't had any owner or better, didn't choose any owner yet, they're – er – still somewhat wild. But you know how it is, this kind is always a hard challenge for every wizard or witch who wants to deal with them. Nonetheless, I am positive about you being able to handle one, Master Malfoy, no doubt about it.'

Lucius Malfoy smiled without the mimic reaching his unemotional eyes.
'Oh, it's not for me but for my son here, Draco.'
With his free hand he shoved the pale ten years old boy forward.
The ventor's own smile dropped a little and although he muttered something like 'far too young for such a nasty pet' and 'only for experienced wizards', he was all smiles and after a quick spell, he handed Draco his new - freshly petrified – pet. A Kneazle.

The boy didn't know exactly what to think of this present; usually, everything he got had a certain purpose, most of the times that a Malfoy was to always have the best of the best. The most expensive designer robes, the newest or most detailed books about (black) magic, the fastest broom... He couldn't even begin to list all the things his family owned only for prestige.
And now – a pet? Which wasn't even that rare, only said to be difficult to handle...
He examined it:
Silky fur, almost black, with several dark-grey dabbers. A svelte, cat-like build but it was bigger than a normal cat and its ears were twice the usual size. And although the vender had just immobilised the animal with a spell, the long tail with the tuft at its end twiched back and forth and the reddish feline eyes pierced themselves into Draco's grey ones.
He didn't avert his eyes. What use had a too big cat? He wasn't interested in pets and by all the rules, he had always thought his father wasn't either.
A drub with the cane pulled him out of his thoughts rather painful and he only didn't feel for his leg because he knew it was his own fault for being inattentive and unpolite. Also, it would definetely make his father angrier if he showed his pain. Malfoys didn't show any weakness.
He apologised to his father for being distracted and after Lucious had paid for the Kneazle, they'd left for home.

When they had arrived in the huge mansion, his father finally told him why:
'As a Malfoy you are to have total control about your subordinates, lower ranked people and also your partners and enemies in every possible situation. You must be able to handle difficult personalities and convince them of your intentions. For a start, teach that new pet of yours some manners. It has to absolutely obey your every command, understood, Draco? Failure is no option.'

The silver-blond boy had nodded.
'Yes, Father.'
Although his eyes showed a hint of uncertainty which he fortunately was able to hide since the taller man had turned and disappeared into the salon.

In the next week the child had tried a lot of things to make the Kneazle do what it should. He had orderd, he had tried to bribe it with special treats, he had tried to blackmail it, he had shouted.
But apparantly the Kneazle wasn't interested in following orders but instead snarled whenever a frustrated Draco jumped onto his bed, hitting his little fists in fury and disappointment against the pillows.

After that week, Lucius Malfoy had called his son into the salon. Warm light fell through the picture-window which reached from one corner of the room to the other and was about fifteen metres long and three metres in height. Through the glass one could see a wide part of the garden. Only the adjacent lawn was really being cared for; once a week some old gardener came and put every plant, every flower and tree into the right shape. Draco had never heard him speak one word or look at him or his parents directly.
Anyway, Lucius had called him there and this time the pale boy wasn't able to let his eyes wander around.
His father wanted to know about his progress with the Kneazle's taming and Draco had to report how the animal still didn't behave like it should after it had accepted its master.

'So what you're saying is that not even such a low creature recognises you as its master? You aren't even able to make a pet do what you want, Draco?'
With every word Lucius's facial expression grew darker and more terrifying. His own eyes seemed to be made of steel which were now piercing his son without mercy but snideness and disdain.
The young wizard couldn't answer, so he just nodded, his gaze directed at the magenta carpet under his feet. His father's disappointment pressed down on him and hurt.

After he'd been sent back to his room, Draco was poised to crash something on the wall or the floor or anywhere and it didn't matter if it was some expensive toy or book or rare item because all of his things were expensive. But in the last second he contained himself – father would be even angrier if he now really behaved like an immature child. And sometimes Draco felt fear creeping up inside of him when faced with the Malfoy patriarch's forced calmness under which the rage seethed that could well up any time when they were home and without outsiders around.
He'd already been lucky to have gotten off lightly this time.
Sliding to the cold marble ground of his room, the boy leaned against the bed and closed his eyes for some seconds. What was he to do with this damned Kneazle? He now understood why his father had bought him one but in half a year or so he'd go to Durmstrang, a famous and renowned school for wizardry and – in private – for the dark arts, where certainly pets wouldn't be allowed (except for owls). Oh, well, or Hogwarts. He'd heard his father discuss this possibility with some of his unfriendly, arrogant friends whose children were about the same age as him, at least some of them. Although he seldomly met them, every time their parents brought the children together, without exception all pure-bloods, they had of course enjoyed the rides on the fastest brooms available for their age and talked about the journeys they had undertook and the absurd idea of messing around with muggle-friends or mudbloods. It was just ridiculous, wasn't it?

Whatever, the pale blonde thought, suddenly irritated, and from the corner of his eyes watched the Kneazle uncurle. It had scratched him with its sharp claws as he'd tried to make it sit down by grasping its long tail. He still wasn't sure wether that creature could understand people to a certain degree or not, so if the latter was the case, he'd decided to go for a direct lesson – which, quite obviously – hadn't been to the Kneazle's liking at all. And in the end, to his own neither.
No, Draco decided and felt his pride take the lead. If that stupid animal wasn't willing to follow his orders, he wouldn't be interested in it anymore. Should some house-elf try its luck.
In that moment, Draco didn't think about his father's reaction if he came to know that his son didn't intend to fulfill his new exercise. He didn't think about possible consequences a bit. Later, he would realise that this was a characteristic typical for him – if someone (or something) provoked his pride or hurt his ego, stubbornnes and rash actions were his answer (as long as it wasn't his father, that is).

Standing up, he went over to his desk and ignored both the Kneazle and the stinging of his fresh wounds. Partly it was the animal's scratches, party it was the fading remainings of his father's crane hitting his legs or arms sometime or other. But only if he'd really done something utterly inappropriate for a Malfoy. And he tried hard to be the son his father wished to have. Or rather, excpected him to be without lenience.
He desperately wanted to be a worthy son and become as capable as his father.

A yearning.
Desperate and self-destructive.
When there are so many kind words in so many languages
Why aren't they spoken to you?