AN I don't own HP or any of the characters!

Story Title/Link: Handle It

School and Theme: Beauxbatons: Unmerited accomplishments: Write about someone who receives credit and praise for something they didn't do.

Mandatory Prompt: [Emotion] Admiration

Additional Prompt: [Dialogue] "I cannot begin to express the extent of my disapproval."

Year: One

Word count: 1362

Draco couldn't remember the first time he'd looked up to his mother like she was the sun, the moon, and the stars of his life. He imagined it was a natural feeling for infants and even for small children. Usually, according to the books he'd read, it wore off during adolescence in a mix of rebellion and renegotiating power dynamics.

His adolescence had not been 'usual'. He'd lived his life in a constant cycle between approval and disapproval, always searching for the former but generally getting the latter. It was easy to slip away and fade into the mask that Malfoys were supposed to wear—even easier now, in the aftermath of the war—but none of the criticism or critique had ever impacted his relationship with his mother.

Lucius Malfoy's approval was fleeting at best, but Narcissa Malfoy was always more generous. She was never a coddling or overbearing mother, but she gave praise and credit more willingly than her husband. Something was better than nothing, right?

For all those years, Draco had never once concerned himself with the opinion he had for his parents. It was always about their approval, their love, and their vision for him. Which, upon reflection, was what had let the situation grow and fester into what it had become.

Nothing about this felt good. Draco was trying his best not to focus on the churning in his stomach or the fire beneath his skin, but there was little left to distract him.

Malfoy Manor—and, more specifically its parlor—had never been designed to , it enticed, just like the rest of the Malfoy image. It was opulent and lavish without being excessive and had exactly enough furniture to be unhelpfully decorated. The pearly quartz and gold accents had nothing on the glare that Narcissa Malfoy could give when she was truly angry.

Draco, on good days, liked to think that his own glare could rival his mother's. He rarely had reason to use it on anyone who actually deserved it. Today was an exception.

Narcissa Malfoy was making him wait. She knew exactly why he was calling on her, and she knew exactly how angry he was. Time usually calmed Lucius down, but Draco was a different kind of angry. He had Black blood in his veins, and it didn't matter how long it took or how patient he had to be: he was here to make a point.

"Draco, darling, so good of you to stop by. I was hoping you'd join me for tea—"

"I'm not here for tea. Sit."

Narcissa paused, cocked her head, then sat as if she were merely humoring the demand. Draco chose not to fight that battle yet.

"You know I've always looked up to you, Mother. You were the good one, you always seemed to make the better choices, and you were always the one I wanted to turn to when things got bad. But you've made a poor decision."

For a moment, even the room refused to breathe. Draco could see her toying with those words 'poor decision' and deciding how much weight to give them—deciding whether his opinion mattered. Deep down, Draco had always known that that admiration had only gone one way. Narcissa saw him as a child and, though she often denied it, she did blame him for the choices he'd made during the war.

"I don't think you're the best judge of what makes a decision poor, darling."

The words were barbed with venom, but Draco forced his face to remain impassive. They meant nothing from her. Not anymore.

"Perhaps, but unlike you, I've chosen to learn from my mistakes. You've chosen to repeat them."

Her eyes sharpened. It was a minuscule change, but Draco had spent years watching for that tiny cue to see her disdain. Narcissa remained silent as if sizing up her opponent for the first time rather than facing her son.

"I don't know what you're talking about, dear."

No, of course she didn't. Narcissa never knew what anyone was talking about unless they were talking about her topic of choice. She didn't want to discuss this, and she wanted Draco to cower and drop it like always. He clenched his hand into a fist in his lap.

"I got a thank you note from yet another charity. What was it this time? Muggleborn education funds? Curing Gilly Breath? Honestly, there's been so many I'd be shocked if you could remember."

Narcissa quietly refolded the hem of her robes, not breaking eye contact. She tsked in the small way that said she was severely displeased but said nothing. Draco took that as an opportunity to continue.

"It's not your money, Mother."

"If you're worried about your inheritance—"

"It's not mine either. I know that you want to rebuild the Malfoy name—believe me, I want nothing more than to help you—but this isn't the way. You can't take shortcuts in recovery."

That phrase hit her like it was nothing. The words were meaningless to her, and that only made it that much worse. Consequences meant nothing because she no longer cared about anything but credit and image.

This wasn't the woman he'd grown up admiring and respecting.

"You're stealing, Mother. It doesn't matter if it's from bad people—it's not yours! You want the PR from these big donations, but you—"

"The money is going to good causes, darling, and it's helping everyone involved. It's not your concern where the money comes from, and it's not your concern what that money goes to. I'm handling it, and that's all you need to know."

Draco paused to take in those words. How many times had his mother said those words, 'I'm handling it, and that's all you need to know,' and he'd just blindly trusted her? Mother couldn't be wrong, could she? But what if she'd always been wrong? What if this was just the first time he was seeing it as the toxicity that it was?

"No, I'm handling it, Mother. I've owled the right people and I've arranged for everything to look legitimate, but it stops now."

That seemed to amuse Narcissa. She smiled, delicately arranged her hands to sit nicely in front of her, and then bared her teeth in the most infuriated grin Draco had ever seen on a living thing.

"I don't approve of this behavior, Draco, and I think you need an attitude check."

That was the last straw.

"Oh, is that so? You don't approve of my behavior? Well, that's very interesting because I wasn't asking for your opinion or your blessing. It's not my actions that are under scrutiny right now, Mother. It's yours."

"Oh!" She laughed, as if the mere idea of being judged was comical. "And pray tell what judgment your self-righteous moral code has imposed upon my actions? Which, I may add, I've done for the good of this family."

Draco felt the words on his tongue. They were heavy and, even a week ago, he would have felt them inutterable. Who was he to pass judgement on the woman who had given him everything? Who had raised him? But the tables had turned, and he knew, now, that Narcissa was no more a goddess than he was a god. She didn't have all the answers, and she didn't deserve the goodwill that she'd been piling on their family name.

"Well? What is your verdict, darling?"

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

"I cannot begin to express the extent of my disapproval, mother. Your time as matriarch has come to a close. You are not handling anything. From now on, I will handle things and that is all you need to know."

Narcissa looked as if she'd been slapped. He'd said his piece and was in no mood to be argued with so he stood, moving towards the door.

"You're so obsessed with society's approval, with no concern for what kind of person you're becoming. Don't ask me about affairs or the money or anything else. When you can show me the woman I used to move mountains to please, then you can pass judgement. Until then, I'm handling things."

Thanks so much for reading!