Title: Family has to stick together
Summary: My first attempt at a HP fic. Hope you guys like it :) It's a dark fic about Draco and family. Set in his 7th year at Hogwarts.
Disclaimer: I just own my imagination and thus the plot. People that you don't recognize are owned by me too. Everything else belongs to rich and important people. Please don't sue me!
Family has to stick together.
That's the first thing I learned. I didn't know how important the Malfoy name was to my father. I found out soon enough.
When I was really young we didn't live so secluded. We lived in a small village, surrounded by muggles. Mudbloods. I used to have a mudblood friend when I was about seven. Prisca.
"Draco!"
I turned my head, wondering what made my fathers voice so angry. When I saw his eyes I noticed his anger was directed towards me. What had I done to make him upset? I looked at myself, taking in my appearance. I wasn't dirty. I hadn't played in mud. I was just sitting at the table, drawing, while talking to my friend Prisca.
My father roughly grabbed my shoulder. It hurt. I couldn't suppress a little yelp. That only made him more angry, and his fingers dug deep in my flesh.
"Don't cry. You're not a little boy"
I wanted to argue with him that yes, I was a little boy. But I didn't. I let him drag me back towards the manor, fighting the urge to scream because of the pain I was still feeling.
My father told me that Prisca was a mudblood. Mudbloods were disgusting. Our family had a reputation to live up to, and we couldn't be seen with filthy little mudbloods like Prisca and her family. I didn't understand. I tried to, but I just couldn't comprehense that someones blood made him more or less deserving of love and friendship.
But my dad taught me a valuable lesson. We're family Draco, he told me, and family has to stick together.
So we did. We moved to a manor far away from everybody. Only pureblood wizards knew were to find us. People my father approved of. People that were to some extent our family.
I remember parties. To me they were something I always wanted to go to, but never was allowed to see. Once, when I was nine, I snuck down. I was so curious that I couldn't stop myself anymore.
Walking down the stairs I hear chanting. My heart starts racing and I feel blood rushing to my limbs. My whole body screams "run!". But I don't. I want to find out what makes these parties so interesting. Why all the visitors always seem to carry that mysterious smile on their lips. That serene look in their eyes which creeps me out and makes me a little jealous at the same time.
My father used to pat my head and tell me that I was a little too young to attend these "ceremonies" as he called them. I once tried to disagree with him but he got this evil glow in his eyes that made me shut up. My father never was one to mess with.
Slowly and without making a sound I walk down the stairs. The Malfoy manor is big, but not so big that I can't distinguish where the sounds come from. I tiptoe, not because I am scared that they will hear me, but because the sound of my own footsteps gives me the creeps. I am really freaked out now, but not even one single part of me considers going back now that I've come so close.
I take another step, silently thanking lady luck when I find the door slightly opened. I peer inside, making sure that my body doesn't lean against the door so it would fall open. What I see startles me so though that I forget my caution and stumble. The lamp in the hallway falls on the ground with a deafening crash.
When I'm in my bed I wish that I could rewind time, so that I would have stayed in bed and wouldn't have to remember seeing that. Those people, standing in a circle, dressed in black, chanting, rocking back and forth, their eyes all fixed on something in the middle. On...I can't even describe it. It was so horrid. It had red eyes, and most of its body seemed to be made out of some sort of gas. It was almost like seeing a ghost. But what he was doing made it even worse. He was drinking. A girl. A young girl. Prisca.
I didn't know that it was Voldemort, performing some ritual so he would gain more power. I didn't know that my father was involved with the Death Eaters. Back then, I didn't know any of this. I just knew that my father was doing terrible things. Killing young girls. Watching some freak drain her blood.
My father had noticed me there. Ofcourse he had. When I woke up the next morning he was by my bedside, his face stern and his eyes angrier than I had ever seen them. I tried to apologize but he grabbed my hair and slapped my face before I could. I had never been hit before, at least not by my father. Tears appeared in my eyes, a reason for my father to slap me again.
When I had calmed down enough he started talking to me. He told me that when I was old enough I would be enlightened too. He told me I was special. I was blessed by Lord Voldemort himself. But if I wanted to remain special I had to keep quiet about what I had seen last night. Once again I was reminded that family has to stick together.
The look he had in his eyes made me shiver. The way he looked at me made it appear as if he was looking at a unicorn or something equally magical. Was it possible that I really was that special?
Over the years I grew accustomed to the fact that I was. As long as I did everything to make my father proud he treated me like the prince I thought myself to be. The prince of Slytherin. The heir to everything Lord Voldemort build up. The future king of darkness. I started sacrificing my ethics for the glory and the royal treatment. It was something I found frighteningly easy. I hid the insecurities I had about my future, the protests my mind had in the beginning ended up fading away until I was who I so desperately wanted to be: my fathers son.
At first, everything I did was to make my father proud. In the end it was for my own satisfaction. I loved hurting little mudbloods like Hermione Granger. By then I had been accepted to Hogwarts, been sorted to Slytherin (ofcourse) and I was at the top of my class. My father was proud of me, and he loved my stories about taunting some poor mudblood.
"Granger you're in my way"
I heard the familiar drawl in my voice, accompanied by an icy glare that made it clear that people like her should never ever even dare to be in the way of more important people like me.
"Stuff it ferretboy"
A familiar voice said. I turned around and snickered.
"Want to find out what I could turn you in to Weasel?"
I saw Weasley gripping his wand and turned around again to face that annoying bushy-haired girl in front of me.
"A little slow today mudblood?"
I saw her face jerk at the familiar nickname. Behind me I heard a rumor, probably Harry gripping Rons shoulder so he won't do something as stupid as trying to hex me on the Hogwarts Express.
"Move"
I deliberately slowed down my voice, loving the loathing look I got in return. She clutched her wand tightly, thought about it for a second, then reconsidered and took a step aside.
I smirked as I walked past her.
Nowadays I'm different but no one knows. They think I'm still the same superficial boy I was last year. I try and keep up my reputation by harassing mudbloods, but it is not with the same satisfaction I got out of it last year.
When I arrived at the train station I was surprised to find out that my parents weren't here. Neither was the carriage. I apparated to the manor –the ministry would never expell me from Hogwarts for that. After all I still am a Malfoy and the Malfoy name calls for exceptions – and dropped my trunk on the floor. An house-elf would take care of that, I was sure.
Something about the silence of the manor made me tiptoe up the stairs. It was eerie, like walking through a deserted city. I wasn't frightened, I just thought it best to keep as silent as possible.
Just when I was about to open the door to the bathroom I heard a scream coming from my parents bedroom. The last years of my life I had become used to domestic violence, but I had never heard my mother screaming like that. Occasionally she would get hit, like I would when I had done something to upset my father. I wasn't sure if I even liked him, I just felt this irresistible urge to please him and prevent worse. My mother was the same. We never said anything about it, but when everything was over she would nurse my wounds and I would nurse hers. She was the only one in the world I cared about.
I grabbed my wand and sneaked closer to the door, quickly casting a spell on myself so my father wouldn't hear me when I opened the door and went inside.
Just like that other time I wish I hadn't.
Lying on the bed, my mother tried to free herself from my fathers grasp. Her face was beaten into a bloody pulp and she was naked, with the exception from her feet, which were covered in stockings.
Up until today I can't look at stockings without having to fight back the urge of vomiting.
Bruises covered her whole body and my father was doing something to her I was sure couldn't be catalogued under the act of making love.
I remembered attacking my father, blinded with rage. A simple "Avada Kedavra" was all it took to send him flying. My mother shot up, her eyes bewildered, her hair messed up and a disbelieving look on her face. She couldn't believe that I had just killed her husband. My father. I couldn't either. How was it possible that killing someone could be so easy and quick? It almost scared me. If I had used this spell without thinking now, how many times would I do it in the future? Was I really destined to do great harm? Was it going to be easier once I used it more and more?
So many thoughts were whirling in my head. Things I didn't know an answer to. There was just one thing I did know right then and there. I didn't want to go to Azkaban. My father deserved what was coming to him, I proved that by killing him without even thinking twice. I didn't want to pay for saving my mother.
The Malfoy name was all we had left now. The name and the reputation. It gave us opportunities to do things we wouldn't have achieved with any other given name. It gave us protection from Lord Voldemort, respect and fear at Hogwarts. We couldn't afford losing that. I couldn't afford it.
So once again we family stuck together. Mother helped me set up a story that was believable, something that would get the Ministry of Magic off my trail. It worked. They arrested some innocent mudblood and sent him to Azkaban, where he died within weeks. My mother and I vowed never to talk about this day again. The truth has never been spoken off since.
Because family has to stick together.
Review please!