This story is written to Phillip Larkin's 'This Be The Verse', a very personal and true poem a friend of mine read at his fathers funeral. I thought the poem not only applied to everyone walking this earth, but to Draco too.
I hope you like it. I have never done a fic like this yet.
Ash
They fuck you up, your mom and dad.
They may not mean too, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had.
And add some extra, just for you.
My mother pops potions like there is no tomorrow, watching the world go by with an idle eye, puffing on a perfect cigarette without fear of it aging her skin for the spells she keeps on her flawless face let no imperfections reign through.
My father is in prison, due to his partake in dark and unlawful activities, murder of both wizards and muggles, and perverting the court of magical justice. He fears no man except his father and his master, Voldemort.
Both of my parents dislike each other and their false marriage of convenience and I think my mother despises me, the offspring of the man that thinks not even once about hitting his family. His wife. His child.
I'm just wasted glue that failed to stick these two people together, and the knife that finally cut them apart. They tried to love me, using money as the key to my heart and they once cared enough to hold me through the night when I screamed from a nightmare or horrendous thought of death; something exposed to me since I was old enough to remember. But then I grew up; found my own feet in the world and started craving independence, something that they used as an excuse in leaving me to fend for myself in this crazy world I live in.
It was then, at the age of sixteen, that I realised how fucked up I really was. I walked around school, kicking kids out of my way, being rude to people, bitching, gossiping, physically and verbally abusing my friends, lying, deceiving and threatening.
I had inherited all of my parents bad habits and bad traits. I was the ultimate arsehole, something I cant seem to shake myself of. Then there are the things they have given me, which they don't have. Like my eating habits; the very little I eat gets me through enough to stabilise my magical core. There is also the anti-social behaviour, from being surrounded by adults my whole life, I believed I was one, causing me to be patronizing. No teenager wants to be treated like a child. I treated them all like little kids. I also cant stand going out, a direct result of never being able to go out with anyone my own age when I was young.
But they were fucked up, in their turn.
By men in old-style hats and coats.
Who half the time were soppy stern,
And half at one another's throats.
My parents have given all their little traits to me and their parents to them and so goes the line of fucking up in my family. The Malfoy name was created upon a lie and old tradition of marrying families in order to gain wealth and power in the world, and that is no exception to my mothers side of the family, the Black's, whose family always had a dominative female who ordered all her little girls to seek men through sex and lust. To tie them down, to snatch them up.
She taught her little girls to eat men whole; She never would have thought that the Malfoy name would eventually eat Narcissa from the inside out, that it would consume every little vitality inside of her until inside she was black, hollow and on the outside she was radiant, young and beautiful.
My grandparents, the ones I have had the privilege of meeting, are all foul mouthed traditionalists who sit within their big houses day in day out, not noticing the browning walls from their filth begin to envelope the whole world they live in, or how death is but a foot away. Instead they treat themselves like kings and queens, stepping within every dark circle that promises riches and glory, when in reality all that is awaiting them after they signed the deal is debt and loss.
My father's father is an alcoholic. He pours bottle upon bottle of firewhiskey down his throat, so much sometimes I actually believe he will finally keel over and die from abuse. I think his magic has sustained a platform of health, he never gets ill, and so my wishing for his early 'retirement' has unfortunately fizzled away, like my popularity and importance in life.
My grandparents treat me like I'm nine still, fretting if I show interest in anything 'Unimportant' in their eyes and they are part of the reason I am so shrouded to the outside world. They pressured my parents into keeping me from society, something important to do with learning at home apparently.
And all because they were made to do it, and their parents, and theirs too.
Man hands on misery to man,
It deepens like a costal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have kids yourself.
And so, in turn I will eventually pass on this cancer of anti-social behaviour to the next generation of Malfoy, causing the ridge of problems to grow wider, deeper and eventually one of us shall break with this weight we, as Malfoys carry.
My problems are my problems and with each day that I come closer to leaving Malfoy Manor of Madness, comes the day that I shall face the world with my baggage clearly marked as 'fragile', a suitcase full of dreams and a yellow brick road under my footsteps. Somewhere along the line I shall travel off that road, and once again be met with a tidal wave of issues to recover, a senile drug addict mother and a father, I visit when the prison finally allows me.
There is a picture of my family, us all pretending to be happy one summer many years ago. I think I was about eight at the time and it's a faded item in the large sitting room, down the hall from our library. Its in a corner, dusty and forgotten. If you ever see it, look in the eyes of me and you shall see that behind my grin is the tale of how I was never innocent, nor a child.
I am just another figure in the dusty, decrepit picture, just another link in the family chain. I am but a mere weak bond in the family tree.
I am just a Malfoy. Another fucked up, ruined Malfoy.