A/N: OK, now, just to warn you, this chapter (and the chap after that, and
the one after that . . .) has a bit of Draco-angst (my fave), or, Draco-
bashing, as I'd like to call it. I hope that you like it! I've gotta go
back to school tomorrow. *wails* Mehr! I don't wanna! Since I had a LOT of
free time on my hands today, I wrote the first three chapters to the story.
*beams* I'm so proud of myself! Ahem. Anyway, if you read this and like
this, then please review!!! Constructive criticism is also appreciated.
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1 - Training
It was quiet at the dinner table in the Malfoy Manor. It always was. There was a sort of tense atmosphere in the dining room, as there had been almost every day since Draco Malfoy's return from his fourth year at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy, his wife, and his son sat at the long table with silver cutlery, eating without a sound.
Well, Narcissa and Lucius were eating. Draco was just picking at his food. The food was much better at Hogwarts, he had to admit. Currently there was something that resembled fish, spinach and shit on his plate. It was something posh from Italy. The very best cuisine, of course. Malfoys always had to have - and be - the best.
When Lucius finished eating, and saw that Draco was done (well, he'd stopped picking at his food with an expression of disdain on his face and was currently just sitting there) he stood up.
"Come, Draco. It's time for your training, son," he said.
Draco nodded curtly, stood up just like his father did, and followed him out of the room, leaving Narcissa sitting there alone as always.
Draco couldn't help but worry about his mother sometimes. Before he went to Hogwarts, she had been bright and bubbly, always happy, and treated Draco like the most precious thing on earth. Well, she still treated Draco like the most precious thing on earth, but otherwise, she was quiet, withdrawn, and --very-- unhappy. Draco had tried asking her what was the matter a couple of times. All he got in response was his mother scooping him in her arms, like she did when he was a little boy, and telling him she loved him.
Eventually, Draco and his father got to the dungeons.
"Take off your robes before you go in, boy. I don't want them getting dirty," Lucius commanded. Draco nodded again (he hardly even spoke to his father this summer) and took his black robes off, underneath which he had on a grey muggle vest and muggle tracksuit bottoms.
Lucius eyed his son's clothes in disdain, taking off his own black robes, leaving him in smart black wizard's clothing (meaning a black pair of trousers and a black shirt). Draco opened the door to the dungeons, and held it open for his father to go through. He followed afterwards.
"You know that the Dark Lord came back at the end of your most recent year at Hogwarts," Lucius stated more than asked.
"Y-yes, sir," Draco said quietly, wondering where this was going.
Without warning, Lucius punched his son on the face, making Draco's head fling backwards, but he quickly brought it forwards again.
"Don't get distracted, boy," Lucius said, frowning.
Draco nodded. He could feel a bruise rapidly forming on his cheek.
"Anyway, as I was saying, the Dark Lord has come back," Lucius said again. Draco nodded in response - that's all he seemed to do, really, listen and nod. "I bet that you've been wondering what all this training is for, for a while now," Lucius said. Draco nodded again, frowning slightly.
It was true - he'd been training ever since he was eleven. Every summer, every Christmas, every single holiday that he'd come to the Manor from Hogwarts, he'd be training two times a week, if not more.
***FLAHSBACK***
#Two weeks before Draco's first year at Hogwarts#
"Draco, son, would you come down to the dungeons with me?" Lucius suddenly said one evening, while the Malfoy family were having dinner.
At these words Narcissa spat out her drink and stared at her husband with wide eyes. Draco felt confused and a little bit worried - what could have made his mother do that? She was usually so composed. Surely going down to the dungeons with his father wasn't such a bad thing?
"Lucius, you . . . you can't be serious! You don't really expect our son to- " the blonde woman started speaking, but Lucius stopped her with a quelling look.
"Come, Draco," the man said, standing up.
"Um . . . yes, Father," Draco said, looking confused.
As Draco started following his father out of the room, Narcissa suddenly dropped her knife and fork down with a clang, jumped up, and took a few quick strides to where Lucius was.
"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I won't let you-" she started, but her husband interrupted her.
"Shut up, woman! It's for his own good!" Lucius snapped, starting to walk out of the room. He stopped when he noticed that Draco wasn't following him. He looked back to see his son looking at his mother's distraught face in confusion - what was for his own good? Why was she so sad? She was usually really cheerful.
Lucius marched up to his son, tapped him on the shoulder, and suddenly delivered a swift punch to the small boy's face.
Draco's head snapped backwards, but he quickly looked up at his father, shock written all over his face, lip bleeding.
Lucius grinned in a somewhat feral manner.
"Well, hurry up, boy!" he said.
Draco wordlessly followed his father downstairs to the dungeons, vaguely acknowledging his mother's tear-filled eyes as she stared at her son and husband with worry.
Down in the dungeons, as soon as they walked in through the door, Lucius punched the frail boy again, making him fall down.
"Don't be so weak, boy. Get up. Get up and face me like a man," he commanded.
Draco didn't get up, too frightened to move. Lucius gave his son a sharp kick to the stomach.
"Go on, Draco. Fight back. Be a man. Be a man and --hit-- me!" Lucius commanded again.
Draco got up slowly, mind still reeling from the fact that his father had actually --hit-- him. He shook his head, looking at the ground; too afraid of looking his father in the eye.
"I . . . I c-can't, F-F-Father," Draco stuttered.
"Don't be a pussy, Draco. Come on, hit me!" Lucius yelled.
Draco made a weak attempt at punching his father in the stomach. Lucius glared at his only son, kicked him on the shin roughly, causing the pale boy to drop to the ground again, and paused thoughtfully.
"We will train every week."
***END FLASHBACK***
Draco saw his father's fist firing towards him and dodged it, but got a kick in the stomach instead. Draco instantly covered his stomach with his hands, trying to catch his breath - the punch had left him feeling quite winded, which was quite unusual, since he'd never felt winded just because of one punch to the stomach before.
Lucius frowned at his son holding his stomach and breathing deeply.
"Straighten up, boy. Have you forgotten --all-- the manners I have taught you? No need to --act-- bad as well as --look-- bad," Lucius sneered at his son, who was rather small for his age.
Draco straightened, still breathing heavily. Lucius rolled his eyes and took his wand out of his pocket.
"Crucio," he said.
Draco dropped to the floor, biting his lip, an expression of agony on his face.
"Remember, son . . . Don't. Scream." Lucius said.
But Draco still couldn't stop a few whimpers from coming out - the pain was so intense, he felt like he was going to black out at any second. It was like the pain of all his training, from first year to fourth year, all put together and multiplied by ten.
Lucius scowled at his son wincing. A Malfoy was --not-- supposed to show emotions. Especially if he was in pain. After a few more minutes, Lucius took the curse off his son, who was on the floor, breathing heavily, and struggling to keep conscious.
Each time his father used the Cruciatus curse on him . . . each time he always fell unconscious when it was taken off, or while he was still under it . . . but not this time, Draco decided. No, it's time to be a real man, and not faint after just a few minutes after one little curse. Draco forced himself to get up slowly, and not give in to the urge to either faint, or throw up.
"I have arranged for you to meet our Master in one month's time," Lucius said, as if he was just talking about the weather.
Draco stood there, paralysed with shock. 'Meet our --Master--'? But he had no intentions of doing so. He didn't want to become a Death Eater. He didn't want to kiss Voldemort's arse just like his father. He didn't want to-
The fair-blonde haired boy fell to the ground after receiving a roundhouse kick to the head: he had been distracted --again--.
Lucius looked down at his son in disdain. He observed the blood leaking down from a cut on his cheek and sighed.
"We've got a --long-- way to go. Crucio." Lucius said lazily.
~ TBC ~
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1 - Training
It was quiet at the dinner table in the Malfoy Manor. It always was. There was a sort of tense atmosphere in the dining room, as there had been almost every day since Draco Malfoy's return from his fourth year at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy, his wife, and his son sat at the long table with silver cutlery, eating without a sound.
Well, Narcissa and Lucius were eating. Draco was just picking at his food. The food was much better at Hogwarts, he had to admit. Currently there was something that resembled fish, spinach and shit on his plate. It was something posh from Italy. The very best cuisine, of course. Malfoys always had to have - and be - the best.
When Lucius finished eating, and saw that Draco was done (well, he'd stopped picking at his food with an expression of disdain on his face and was currently just sitting there) he stood up.
"Come, Draco. It's time for your training, son," he said.
Draco nodded curtly, stood up just like his father did, and followed him out of the room, leaving Narcissa sitting there alone as always.
Draco couldn't help but worry about his mother sometimes. Before he went to Hogwarts, she had been bright and bubbly, always happy, and treated Draco like the most precious thing on earth. Well, she still treated Draco like the most precious thing on earth, but otherwise, she was quiet, withdrawn, and --very-- unhappy. Draco had tried asking her what was the matter a couple of times. All he got in response was his mother scooping him in her arms, like she did when he was a little boy, and telling him she loved him.
Eventually, Draco and his father got to the dungeons.
"Take off your robes before you go in, boy. I don't want them getting dirty," Lucius commanded. Draco nodded again (he hardly even spoke to his father this summer) and took his black robes off, underneath which he had on a grey muggle vest and muggle tracksuit bottoms.
Lucius eyed his son's clothes in disdain, taking off his own black robes, leaving him in smart black wizard's clothing (meaning a black pair of trousers and a black shirt). Draco opened the door to the dungeons, and held it open for his father to go through. He followed afterwards.
"You know that the Dark Lord came back at the end of your most recent year at Hogwarts," Lucius stated more than asked.
"Y-yes, sir," Draco said quietly, wondering where this was going.
Without warning, Lucius punched his son on the face, making Draco's head fling backwards, but he quickly brought it forwards again.
"Don't get distracted, boy," Lucius said, frowning.
Draco nodded. He could feel a bruise rapidly forming on his cheek.
"Anyway, as I was saying, the Dark Lord has come back," Lucius said again. Draco nodded in response - that's all he seemed to do, really, listen and nod. "I bet that you've been wondering what all this training is for, for a while now," Lucius said. Draco nodded again, frowning slightly.
It was true - he'd been training ever since he was eleven. Every summer, every Christmas, every single holiday that he'd come to the Manor from Hogwarts, he'd be training two times a week, if not more.
***FLAHSBACK***
#Two weeks before Draco's first year at Hogwarts#
"Draco, son, would you come down to the dungeons with me?" Lucius suddenly said one evening, while the Malfoy family were having dinner.
At these words Narcissa spat out her drink and stared at her husband with wide eyes. Draco felt confused and a little bit worried - what could have made his mother do that? She was usually so composed. Surely going down to the dungeons with his father wasn't such a bad thing?
"Lucius, you . . . you can't be serious! You don't really expect our son to- " the blonde woman started speaking, but Lucius stopped her with a quelling look.
"Come, Draco," the man said, standing up.
"Um . . . yes, Father," Draco said, looking confused.
As Draco started following his father out of the room, Narcissa suddenly dropped her knife and fork down with a clang, jumped up, and took a few quick strides to where Lucius was.
"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I won't let you-" she started, but her husband interrupted her.
"Shut up, woman! It's for his own good!" Lucius snapped, starting to walk out of the room. He stopped when he noticed that Draco wasn't following him. He looked back to see his son looking at his mother's distraught face in confusion - what was for his own good? Why was she so sad? She was usually really cheerful.
Lucius marched up to his son, tapped him on the shoulder, and suddenly delivered a swift punch to the small boy's face.
Draco's head snapped backwards, but he quickly looked up at his father, shock written all over his face, lip bleeding.
Lucius grinned in a somewhat feral manner.
"Well, hurry up, boy!" he said.
Draco wordlessly followed his father downstairs to the dungeons, vaguely acknowledging his mother's tear-filled eyes as she stared at her son and husband with worry.
Down in the dungeons, as soon as they walked in through the door, Lucius punched the frail boy again, making him fall down.
"Don't be so weak, boy. Get up. Get up and face me like a man," he commanded.
Draco didn't get up, too frightened to move. Lucius gave his son a sharp kick to the stomach.
"Go on, Draco. Fight back. Be a man. Be a man and --hit-- me!" Lucius commanded again.
Draco got up slowly, mind still reeling from the fact that his father had actually --hit-- him. He shook his head, looking at the ground; too afraid of looking his father in the eye.
"I . . . I c-can't, F-F-Father," Draco stuttered.
"Don't be a pussy, Draco. Come on, hit me!" Lucius yelled.
Draco made a weak attempt at punching his father in the stomach. Lucius glared at his only son, kicked him on the shin roughly, causing the pale boy to drop to the ground again, and paused thoughtfully.
"We will train every week."
***END FLASHBACK***
Draco saw his father's fist firing towards him and dodged it, but got a kick in the stomach instead. Draco instantly covered his stomach with his hands, trying to catch his breath - the punch had left him feeling quite winded, which was quite unusual, since he'd never felt winded just because of one punch to the stomach before.
Lucius frowned at his son holding his stomach and breathing deeply.
"Straighten up, boy. Have you forgotten --all-- the manners I have taught you? No need to --act-- bad as well as --look-- bad," Lucius sneered at his son, who was rather small for his age.
Draco straightened, still breathing heavily. Lucius rolled his eyes and took his wand out of his pocket.
"Crucio," he said.
Draco dropped to the floor, biting his lip, an expression of agony on his face.
"Remember, son . . . Don't. Scream." Lucius said.
But Draco still couldn't stop a few whimpers from coming out - the pain was so intense, he felt like he was going to black out at any second. It was like the pain of all his training, from first year to fourth year, all put together and multiplied by ten.
Lucius scowled at his son wincing. A Malfoy was --not-- supposed to show emotions. Especially if he was in pain. After a few more minutes, Lucius took the curse off his son, who was on the floor, breathing heavily, and struggling to keep conscious.
Each time his father used the Cruciatus curse on him . . . each time he always fell unconscious when it was taken off, or while he was still under it . . . but not this time, Draco decided. No, it's time to be a real man, and not faint after just a few minutes after one little curse. Draco forced himself to get up slowly, and not give in to the urge to either faint, or throw up.
"I have arranged for you to meet our Master in one month's time," Lucius said, as if he was just talking about the weather.
Draco stood there, paralysed with shock. 'Meet our --Master--'? But he had no intentions of doing so. He didn't want to become a Death Eater. He didn't want to kiss Voldemort's arse just like his father. He didn't want to-
The fair-blonde haired boy fell to the ground after receiving a roundhouse kick to the head: he had been distracted --again--.
Lucius looked down at his son in disdain. He observed the blood leaking down from a cut on his cheek and sighed.
"We've got a --long-- way to go. Crucio." Lucius said lazily.
~ TBC ~
