Little boy by the fireplace.
Slender body of such agile grace.
Nimble fingers covering his eyes.
Eyes of the purest silver.

His hair a beautiful gold.
His child face aristicratic and bold.
Hushed tears steaming down his face,
As his puny back heaving with sobs.

Shadowed body near his side.
No where could he hide.
Hide himself from this horrible truth.
Hide his now knowing eyes.

He begins to trace small circles with his fingers.
Slight warmth from the stiff body lingers.
Its piercing green eyes now dead.
Its once prancing feet unmoving.

He lifts the adorible head his knee.
This was his friend, his kitty.
Why would daddy kill her.
She had done nothing to him.

His body racked with more sobs.
Who was this man now, this man who robs,
Him of his happiness and innocence.
This man was no father, he was no man at all.

Now the young Draco Malfoy sits.
Now with the need of backstabbing and wits.
No longer a youthful, carefree child of five.
Now a desendent of the Pureblood Malfoy line.