Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

A/N: Here is a little filler chapter explaining some things about Draco that were alluded to in previous chapters. Enjoy!

Draco knew he was in trouble. Ever since they had returned from the World Cup, he could feel his father's eyes burning into him, and ever so often his hand tightened around the snake walking stick he always carried. When Narcissa was around Lucius knew he would not get away with punishing Draco—at least not in the manner that he would like to, and for that, Draco was grateful.

But his luck ran out two days after the Cup. Narcissa had gone shopping for Draco's school supplies, deciding against taking him to Diagon Alley with her because she wanted to surprise him with a brand new set of dress robes.

Draco was in the sitting room lounging on the sofa, twirling his wand idly between his hands and thinking about his run-in with the Weasleys when his father appeared in the archway, casting a shadow across the plush carpet and making Draco involuntarily shudder. He was one to boast he was not afraid of anything, but when it came to his father being angry, Draco had his limits.

"Draco, we need to talk," Lucius said firmly, his voice laced with disapproval.

Here it comes, Draco groaned. Oh well, can't avoid him forever, can I?

"What?" Draco said out loud, craning his neck to look up at his father.

"I think you know what," Lucius snarled. "Go my study—now."

Draco heaved himself up from the sofa and followed his father through their lavish mansion into Lucius' private study. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a Slytherin tapestry adorned one wall opposite a bay window overlooking the Malfoy property. A fancy mahogany desk held parchment and a feather quill; evidence of his father's many connections littered the desk—charity donations, various documents with the Hogwarts seal, and ledgers all bore Lucius Malfoy's sprawling signature.

"I am very disappointed in you," Lucius growled, bringing Draco abruptly out of his thoughts. "Your behavior at the World Cup was absolutely disgraceful—do you have any idea how embarrassed your mother and I am to admit that you were seen dueling with those—Blood Traitors—when I was out risking my neck during the riot? I told you to wait in the forest until we were finished, not go gallivanting about picking fights!"

"That's the problem—you made me go hide like some defenseless little kid!" Draco shouted. "Don't you think I'm capable of helping you, I got Knox to stay out of sight, didn't I?" Suddenly he reeled back as Lucius' gloved hand connected with his face. Blood spurted from Draco's nose, and he reached up with one hand to stem the flow of blood with his sleeve, glaring up at his father through a steadily swelling eye.

"How dare you speak to me in such a tone, I am your father," Lucius hissed. "I don't think you quite understand what is at stake here! You cannot risk putting yourself in any situation that will deter your training; you're young, versatile, the Dark Lord will need you when he returns to power, we've discussed this before!"

His shouts fell upon deaf ears as Draco heard only that his father did not trust him. He had felt the pressure weighing down on him ever since he had been inducted as a Death Eater-In-Training. For years his father had spoke of the Dark Lord's return, lived by the hope of his return, prepared for his return, and Draco realized that day was drawing closer, yet in his father's eyes, he was merely a child, a nuisance to contend with.

"When Voldemort comes back, he won't care about all that nonsense, as long as I'm there when he calls!" Draco shouted, renewed anger rising inside him. He turned away from his father and started to walk out of the room.

"You insolent little—," Lucius struck Draco across the back with his walking stick. Intense pain caused Draco to fall forward, and once he was on the ground the blows kept coming; Lucius poured his frustrations out into his son. "I did not raise you to speak of the Dark Lord in such disrespectful terms—you are to address him as My Lord, do you understand me? He is our master, and don't you ever forget that!"

"How can I? You remind me every day," Draco said weakly, though through the haze he was able to fix his father with a withering glare. If he didn't assert himself now, his father would never \treat him as an equal.

Lucius jerked Draco upward by one arm, and he heard a sickening crack as the bone broke.

"Don't play games with me," Lucius hissed low in his ear, and then flung Draco to the floor once again.

White-hot pain erupted through Draco's body. His father's voice faded in and out until finally, he heard no more.