Be a good boy
Try a little harder
That simply wasn't good enough
To make us proud
A young boy sat silently in the study, a fire roaring at his back. A slender wooden wand rested in one hand while he ran a fingertip over the pages of an old book. A small frown creased his pale face as he paused, tapping the words, then lifted his wand.
"Accio candlestick," he ordered in a quiet voice. A silver candlestick flew to his outstretched hand. The young boy smiled and set down the heirloom, turning hastily to his work. The candlestick teetered dangerously on the edge of the desk before plunging to the hardwood floor below. Silver met oak with a sharp bang. The boy gasped, pale face tightening, and jumped to his feet. He scurried to the candlestick and picked it up gingerly, inspecting it for damage. There was a noticeable, ugly ding in the side.
Round blue-gray eyes widened as he stared at the product of his clumsiness, turning it over between his fingers.
"Oh, no," the little boy whispered. He stared at the candlestick in terror, as if it might bite him, for another few seconds. Then footsteps thundered towards the study. He gasped and tucked it into his shirt, scrambling into the chair he had been in. The door banged open, and there was the beast. The beast called Daddy.
"Out," he growled. The little boy sent a glance towards his books.
"But Daddy, I'm working on my--"
"Out," repeated Lucius, hands clenching in fists of anger. Draco didn't need to be told three times; he scurried from his chair towards the door.
"Yes, Daddy."
"Draco, stop a moment." The little boy skidded to a halt, turning to his father.
"Yes, Daddy?" The tall man with blonde hair was hunched over at the desk.
"Tell Her that I'm meeting with some friends. She's not to bother me." Draco acknowledged this with a meek nod. His parents had been fighting for a long time, and up until his tenth birthday last week, the manor was filled with shouts and curses. Then, when he finally reached the age of double digits, his father had decided not to speak of his mother. Narcissa was therefore known as She or Her. His mother didn't even seem to know Lucius existed anymore; he wasn't referred to as anything. Draco hated being the messenger between these two, but it was better than the screams and slaps.
The little boy headed for the door, knowing his father's scary friends would be apparating any moment. Just as he started out, the dented candlestick fell out of his shirt and rolled across the floor. Draco watched with abject terror as the ruined antique stopped at his father's feet. Lucius stared down at the candlestick.
"What is this?" he asked quietly. The little boy automatically winced. It would have been better if he yelled, because anger was in yelling. Quiet meant the anger was boiling up, and then it would be in his fists instead of his voice.
"I was practicing like you asked me to, Daddy," Draco explained, his own voice remarkably steady. That was odd, considering his legs felt like jelly. "I said 'accio candlestick' and it came, but then it fell and it got dinged up. I was going to magick it, make it better--" Lucius bent and picked up the silver treasure, the treasure his son had ruined.
"My mother gave this to me," he growled, and Draco knew the rage was coming.
"I'm very sorry, Daddy, I'm sure I could fix it--" There was the first clout, a smack to his jaw. The little boy stumbled back.
"You can't fix this! This is an heirloom, you stupid boy! Can't you touch anything without breaking it?!" Lucius towered above him, blows raining down like thunder and lightning.
"I'm sorry, Daddy, really I am! Please, I'm sorry--" Yelping like a puppy, Draco tried his best to keep from falling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" Lucius glared at him, pausing the smacks, resentful that his son had not yet given in. He was supposed to fall and cry, that's how it always worked. Malfoy raised his arm to strike him again when an icy voice from the doorway stopped him.
"You're a true bastard, Lucius Malfoy. Do you know that?" Draco whirled to look at his mother. No, no, no, his mind pleaded. Go back, go away, let him finish me...
"What did you say, Narcissa?" Lucius's lip curled in a snarl.
"You heard perfectly well what I said," hissed Narcissa. "You're a bastard and a bully and a cowardly ball of slime, Lucius. He is your son, not a dog to be kicked whenever you're in a foul mood." Draco shook his head, trying to imagine that this wasn't happening. No no no no...
"Get out, Draco." His father's voice had dropped to a whisper. Yell at her, begged the little boy silently. Yell at her, please, don't hurt her. Hurt me, please, don't hurt her... His lips, however, were far ahead of his mind.
"Yes, Daddy." Draco walked slowly out the door. Narcissa glanced at him softly, then returned her gaze to Lucius. The kind look was a glare now.
"Your father and I have something to discuss." His mother slid into the study towards Lucius, slowly, deliberately. The door was slammed shut by unseen hands, and then Draco was alone. He didn't want to hear what was coming next--he knew. With tiny hands clapped to tiny ears, the little boy turned and ran up the stairs.
I'll live through you, I'll make you what I never was
If you're the best, then maybe so am I
Compared to him, compared to her
Draco crept quietly up to his father, who sat slumped at the desk.
"Daddy," he whispered. Lucius tilted his head very slightly upwards, gray eyes scanning the little boy for faults. His lip curled just enough for Draco to notice.
"What?" The cold, drawled word made the little boy shiver.
"I... I was wondering... if I could... see Mummy?" Lucius arched a fine golden brow.
"You were wondering if you could see Her?" he asked softly. Draco shifted a little, then nodded.
"I heard she wasn't feeling well. I... I brought her..." The child held up a small bouquet of flowers. "I conjured them from my spell book." Lucius pursed his lips in mock deep thought.
"You can try, boy, but I don't think She'll be awake. She's rather..." His father gave him a tight-lipped smile. "...tired." Draco blinked, then lowered the flowers.
"All right. I'll just... I'll knock and see if she's awake." Lucius returned his gaze to the book before him.
"Go on. I don't care. Let the woman sleep her life away if she wants to." The man sneered to himself. "Lazy wench."
A small, pale fist knocked quietly on the door.
"Mummy?" When no response came, Draco rapped again. "Mummy?"
"Come in," whispered a tired voice. The little boy swallowed slightly, a bit nervous at what he'd find. He turned the knob and slid into the bedroom. It was almost completely dark inside. The curtains had been drawn tightly shut and the only light was a dimly burning candle beside the bed. Narcissa lay quietly in bed. Draco couldn't see her face.
"I knew you weren't feeling well," he said softly, inching towards his mother, "so I brought you these." Draco hesitated, then held out the bundle of flowers.
"That's very sweet." Narcissa's voice was weak and slightly trembling. "Would you put them in the vase on the nightstand, please?" The little boy nodded and slipped the flowers into the crystal bottle. He paused, then stood next to his mother's bed.
"Are you feeling any better, Mummy?" Draco glimpsed Narcissa's eyes, which were gazing towards the window. They looked tired and pained. One was turning purple around the outside.
"Not... not quite, Draco dear." Her painful eyes flicked downwards. "I... your father..." Narcissa faltered again, then sighed quietly. "I'm just going to stay out of your father's way for a while. He's like a stormcloud right now, just ready to--" Her voice trembled. Draco bit his lip. His mother was usually so strong, so independent. Narcissa sighed again, then went on. "He'll strike again if he's angered. Just stay out of his way, dear. He's liable to do anything." This conversation had tired her; Narcissa closed her eyes and made a soft sound of pain.
"Mummy," ventured Draco quietly. One eyelid cracked open.
"Yes, Draco?" The little boy shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words. There were no right words for the question he wanted to ask.
"Why does Daddy do this to us?" Just as he thought, the question caught his mother by surprise.
"I don't know, love. Some people just..." Narcissa paused, then closed her eyes in defeat. "I'm tired, Draco. Go tell your father I won't be out for dinner."
Draco stared at his mother quietly. This woman was so strong, so smart, so capable of what she wanted to do. And his father had broken her. The little boy frowned with knowledge not meant for his age. He understood now; you did what Daddy wanted, did not speak against Daddy, did not stand in Daddy's way. If you disobeyed these rules--you were punished. Severely. And you were never the same again.
Try a little harder
That simply wasn't good enough
To make us proud
A young boy sat silently in the study, a fire roaring at his back. A slender wooden wand rested in one hand while he ran a fingertip over the pages of an old book. A small frown creased his pale face as he paused, tapping the words, then lifted his wand.
"Accio candlestick," he ordered in a quiet voice. A silver candlestick flew to his outstretched hand. The young boy smiled and set down the heirloom, turning hastily to his work. The candlestick teetered dangerously on the edge of the desk before plunging to the hardwood floor below. Silver met oak with a sharp bang. The boy gasped, pale face tightening, and jumped to his feet. He scurried to the candlestick and picked it up gingerly, inspecting it for damage. There was a noticeable, ugly ding in the side.
Round blue-gray eyes widened as he stared at the product of his clumsiness, turning it over between his fingers.
"Oh, no," the little boy whispered. He stared at the candlestick in terror, as if it might bite him, for another few seconds. Then footsteps thundered towards the study. He gasped and tucked it into his shirt, scrambling into the chair he had been in. The door banged open, and there was the beast. The beast called Daddy.
"Out," he growled. The little boy sent a glance towards his books.
"But Daddy, I'm working on my--"
"Out," repeated Lucius, hands clenching in fists of anger. Draco didn't need to be told three times; he scurried from his chair towards the door.
"Yes, Daddy."
"Draco, stop a moment." The little boy skidded to a halt, turning to his father.
"Yes, Daddy?" The tall man with blonde hair was hunched over at the desk.
"Tell Her that I'm meeting with some friends. She's not to bother me." Draco acknowledged this with a meek nod. His parents had been fighting for a long time, and up until his tenth birthday last week, the manor was filled with shouts and curses. Then, when he finally reached the age of double digits, his father had decided not to speak of his mother. Narcissa was therefore known as She or Her. His mother didn't even seem to know Lucius existed anymore; he wasn't referred to as anything. Draco hated being the messenger between these two, but it was better than the screams and slaps.
The little boy headed for the door, knowing his father's scary friends would be apparating any moment. Just as he started out, the dented candlestick fell out of his shirt and rolled across the floor. Draco watched with abject terror as the ruined antique stopped at his father's feet. Lucius stared down at the candlestick.
"What is this?" he asked quietly. The little boy automatically winced. It would have been better if he yelled, because anger was in yelling. Quiet meant the anger was boiling up, and then it would be in his fists instead of his voice.
"I was practicing like you asked me to, Daddy," Draco explained, his own voice remarkably steady. That was odd, considering his legs felt like jelly. "I said 'accio candlestick' and it came, but then it fell and it got dinged up. I was going to magick it, make it better--" Lucius bent and picked up the silver treasure, the treasure his son had ruined.
"My mother gave this to me," he growled, and Draco knew the rage was coming.
"I'm very sorry, Daddy, I'm sure I could fix it--" There was the first clout, a smack to his jaw. The little boy stumbled back.
"You can't fix this! This is an heirloom, you stupid boy! Can't you touch anything without breaking it?!" Lucius towered above him, blows raining down like thunder and lightning.
"I'm sorry, Daddy, really I am! Please, I'm sorry--" Yelping like a puppy, Draco tried his best to keep from falling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" Lucius glared at him, pausing the smacks, resentful that his son had not yet given in. He was supposed to fall and cry, that's how it always worked. Malfoy raised his arm to strike him again when an icy voice from the doorway stopped him.
"You're a true bastard, Lucius Malfoy. Do you know that?" Draco whirled to look at his mother. No, no, no, his mind pleaded. Go back, go away, let him finish me...
"What did you say, Narcissa?" Lucius's lip curled in a snarl.
"You heard perfectly well what I said," hissed Narcissa. "You're a bastard and a bully and a cowardly ball of slime, Lucius. He is your son, not a dog to be kicked whenever you're in a foul mood." Draco shook his head, trying to imagine that this wasn't happening. No no no no...
"Get out, Draco." His father's voice had dropped to a whisper. Yell at her, begged the little boy silently. Yell at her, please, don't hurt her. Hurt me, please, don't hurt her... His lips, however, were far ahead of his mind.
"Yes, Daddy." Draco walked slowly out the door. Narcissa glanced at him softly, then returned her gaze to Lucius. The kind look was a glare now.
"Your father and I have something to discuss." His mother slid into the study towards Lucius, slowly, deliberately. The door was slammed shut by unseen hands, and then Draco was alone. He didn't want to hear what was coming next--he knew. With tiny hands clapped to tiny ears, the little boy turned and ran up the stairs.
I'll live through you, I'll make you what I never was
If you're the best, then maybe so am I
Compared to him, compared to her
Draco crept quietly up to his father, who sat slumped at the desk.
"Daddy," he whispered. Lucius tilted his head very slightly upwards, gray eyes scanning the little boy for faults. His lip curled just enough for Draco to notice.
"What?" The cold, drawled word made the little boy shiver.
"I... I was wondering... if I could... see Mummy?" Lucius arched a fine golden brow.
"You were wondering if you could see Her?" he asked softly. Draco shifted a little, then nodded.
"I heard she wasn't feeling well. I... I brought her..." The child held up a small bouquet of flowers. "I conjured them from my spell book." Lucius pursed his lips in mock deep thought.
"You can try, boy, but I don't think She'll be awake. She's rather..." His father gave him a tight-lipped smile. "...tired." Draco blinked, then lowered the flowers.
"All right. I'll just... I'll knock and see if she's awake." Lucius returned his gaze to the book before him.
"Go on. I don't care. Let the woman sleep her life away if she wants to." The man sneered to himself. "Lazy wench."
A small, pale fist knocked quietly on the door.
"Mummy?" When no response came, Draco rapped again. "Mummy?"
"Come in," whispered a tired voice. The little boy swallowed slightly, a bit nervous at what he'd find. He turned the knob and slid into the bedroom. It was almost completely dark inside. The curtains had been drawn tightly shut and the only light was a dimly burning candle beside the bed. Narcissa lay quietly in bed. Draco couldn't see her face.
"I knew you weren't feeling well," he said softly, inching towards his mother, "so I brought you these." Draco hesitated, then held out the bundle of flowers.
"That's very sweet." Narcissa's voice was weak and slightly trembling. "Would you put them in the vase on the nightstand, please?" The little boy nodded and slipped the flowers into the crystal bottle. He paused, then stood next to his mother's bed.
"Are you feeling any better, Mummy?" Draco glimpsed Narcissa's eyes, which were gazing towards the window. They looked tired and pained. One was turning purple around the outside.
"Not... not quite, Draco dear." Her painful eyes flicked downwards. "I... your father..." Narcissa faltered again, then sighed quietly. "I'm just going to stay out of your father's way for a while. He's like a stormcloud right now, just ready to--" Her voice trembled. Draco bit his lip. His mother was usually so strong, so independent. Narcissa sighed again, then went on. "He'll strike again if he's angered. Just stay out of his way, dear. He's liable to do anything." This conversation had tired her; Narcissa closed her eyes and made a soft sound of pain.
"Mummy," ventured Draco quietly. One eyelid cracked open.
"Yes, Draco?" The little boy shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words. There were no right words for the question he wanted to ask.
"Why does Daddy do this to us?" Just as he thought, the question caught his mother by surprise.
"I don't know, love. Some people just..." Narcissa paused, then closed her eyes in defeat. "I'm tired, Draco. Go tell your father I won't be out for dinner."
Draco stared at his mother quietly. This woman was so strong, so smart, so capable of what she wanted to do. And his father had broken her. The little boy frowned with knowledge not meant for his age. He understood now; you did what Daddy wanted, did not speak against Daddy, did not stand in Daddy's way. If you disobeyed these rules--you were punished. Severely. And you were never the same again.