Quidditch League - Montrose Magpies
Round Three - Wimbourne Wasps
Chaser 2 - Making a Promise
(emotion) regret; (location) park; (relationship) father/child
Word Count: 1861
The House Competition
Round One - Escape
Ravenclaw: DADA
Standard: (emotion) Separation Anxiety
Thank you EverSparrow and belle parole for betaing
Draco and Lucius
The little boy closed his eyes. He would have much preferred to use his broom, but Father didn't allow it. Something about maintaining secrecy. Muggles couldn't be trusted to respect our culture, he had said.
The dreaded pull of apparition tugged at him. It was uncomfortable, and his little finger clawed into his father's charcoal grey suit with all his strength, causing a button to pop. His father hissed, and, annoyed, he fixed his attire magically. Finally, the two of them fell to the ground, the boy nauseous, his head still spinning.
The tall wizard took a deep breath. With his walking cane, he nudged against his son's side. "I hope you are not planning on remaining on the ground."
Draco didn't react. His father let out a sigh, turned around, and walked a couple of steps away from the boy.
Worried tears formed in his eyes. Why was he leaving him? He was a great son, his only child and heir. With his fist, he punched the grass, but still, Draco didn't even think about standing up. When his father was no longer visible, big tears fell from his wide blue eyes.
His father groaned loudly and increased his speed, walking away from the now loudly crying boy. That only served to fuel the little one's anger. He couldn't just go. There was no better son out there than him. Didn't he do everything his father wanted?
His father was completely out of sight. All alone in an unfamiliar Muggle surrounding, he hammered his little fists repeatedly against the grass until the green was gone and only mud remained. He refused to be treated like that. Slowly realizing that his tantrum was to no avail, he reluctantly pulled himself up.
Standing on the damaged patch of grass, he found that he was all alone. His father had actually left him. He stomped his little foot onto the ground. Patches of grass and dirt flew off in all directions. How dare he simply leave him like that? He was his only child. The heir of the all-mighty Malfoy family.
After a while Draco carefully looked around. The huge glass and iron structure of the greenhouse of the Royal Botanical Gardens throned over the generous park with its stupid flower beds. The flowers were arranged in geometric patterns, but they were too colorful and they stank. A bee was circling his head. How he hated those stupid insects with their annoying humming.
He spotted his father entering the greenhouse. Scared that he wasn't allowed to return home anymore, he begrudgingly walked to the massive building, kicking the perennials that lined the path on his way. Stupid Muggles and their stupid plants.
It was so hot and humid inside. He felt weak upon entering the greenhouse. Why would someone even build something like this? Couldn't those orchids and palm trees just go back to where they came from? He hadn't asked for them to come here.
His father was approached by another man who held the hand of his little daughter. The girl was about Draco's age. His father went on his knees in front of the girl, pinched her nose quickly with his fingers, and Accioed a piece of chocolate wandlessly. The girl smiled broadly, she had probably never seen magic before.
His father turned around to him and placed his big hands on his back. "This is my son Draco. Why don't the two of you have a look around?"
Draco glared at his father. Surely, he didn't want him to play with a Muggle? That was hilarious. He deserved to be treated better than to be used as bait for his business. But his father stared back at him. His icy blue eyes stared at him as if he was taking control over him. Draco only briefly looked away.
"I knew I could count on you," his father said.
Though Draco was frustrated that this discussion was already over, he still moved a couple of steps away from their fathers with the girl. From the corner of his eyes, Draco saw his father remove a big envelope from his suit's inner pocket.
"For your support," he said, handing the Muggle the envelope. "If it is more comfortable for you, I can deliver the second payment at your door."
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Do I have a reason to?"
"Of course not." His gaze wandered instinctively to his daughter.
"Then you have nothing to worry about," his father said smugly.
Back at home, Draco stomped his little feet onto the ground. It echoed through the entrance hall. He kicked his shoes off, and they flew into the air, knocking a Chinoiserie vase off of the fireplace. It broke into countless pieces.
"Careful baby, there are shards everywhere," his mother said, repairing the ancient artwork.
"Father enjoys the company of Muggles," Draco spat.
"Your father knows what is appropriate and what is not, isn't that right, Lucius?"
Draco huffed. "You should have seen him, he acted like a blood traitor around that girl."
He pranced into his room, leaving his parents to fight with each other. As he entered his bedroom, he could hear yells starting. His father deserved to be suffering, that's what he got for abandoning his own son. Draco threw himself onto his bed. He wouldn't allow himself to be treated like rubbish.
Hours passed, and he didn't come down for dinner. His stomach grumbled, but he wouldn't give in that easily. There was a knock on his door, but Draco didn't move.
His father entered the room and sat down on the bed next to him. "Your mother wants to know if you're hungry."
"I'm not." His stomach grumbled loudly.
"Do you not want to come down —?"
"No."
There was a long moment of silence. "The Nimbus Racing Broom Company introduced the new Nimbus 1700."
Draco turned around facing his father. "You abandoned me for some filthy muggle."
His father sighed. "That was just business, nothing more."
"You left your own son and heir." His eyes were watery, tears threatening to fall from them.
He placed his big hand on his son's head. "I promise I will be always there for you whenever you need anything."
Draco was sitting on a bench staring aimlessly at the greenhouse of the Royal Botanical Gardens. His left hand clenched around his wrist. He carefully pulled his sleeves back. The skin beneath the black skull and the snake was still reddish and sore.
From the still fresh mark, an uncomfortable tickling went through his entire body. It felt like an army of ants was taking over his body and magic from within. Even at nighttime, alone in a Muggle park, he felt like there was something else present. Some type of dark monster was lurking in the shadows, watching over him.
He had promised him to be there for him, to support him, and that no harm would come to him. He must have known how painful and humiliating it was to be marked like cattle. The burning that wouldn't ease for days to come.
He had once again abandoned him. He had needed him and his father wasn't there to protect him. It was probably comfortable for him to burden his only son while he was safe and comfortable at Azkaban. What a loser; he couldn't even keep a promise to his son.
But Draco wasn't as weak as his father. He might have failed, but Draco was more than willing to do what it takes. The Dark Lord was better off without his father. He couldn't even kill a few children. Who needed a father that pathetic? For all he cared, he could rot in Azkaban forever. Draco didn't need his father to prove himself. He didn't need him to hold him back. He could protect Mother all by himself.
It was dark and drafty in his cell. The air was moist and smelt of the ocean. His feet were cold and he had open wounds that refused to heal in the cold and humid environment. The weaves crashed against the rock. It was incredibly loud in the quietness.
Every breath he took felt heavy, due to pneumonia. They looked shockingly blue, as far as he could see it in the darkness, and they felt numb. Even though he spent as much time as possible sleeping, he was worn down and exhausted.
His chest was aching and dementors circled around him. He would wake up screaming, seeing Draco suffering and dying. Pushing his head against the stone wall, he wondered how much force it would take for his skull to break.
He couldn't take it any longer. It was too painful to see his son die again and again. He just wanted to sleep, without having to suffer through nightmares, but those horrid creatures wouldn't let him.
He hadn't meant for it to happen. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He had been so sure that he had everything under control. He had never wanted for him to return. Maybe he shouldn't have ignored the signs. But what mustn't be couldn't be.
Narcissa would have an eye on their boy, he told himself. He would get out of here eventually and everything would be alright. It had to be. He never really told his boy that he loved him. He could just give up. He needed to see him again. He had promised him to look after him.
Draco was sitting before the Wizengamot, his parents to either of his sides. He kept staring at his hands which rested on the table before him. His mother was holding his hand while his father tried hard to not reach out to him.
"You are a Death Eater," the Chief Warlock stated.
"He's just a boy. He had no choice," Narcissa argued.
Lucius looked up. "It was my fault. I forced him."
"You were in Azkaban, were you not? Are you sure that there was no other option?"
No, Draco had no other choice but to take the Mark. But the way the Chief Warlock looked at Draco, he wondered if that was what he was talking about. He had been desperate to prove himself. He had wanted his parents, his aunt, and even the Dark Lord to be proud of him.
Without his father, he hadn't known what to do. Wasn't that what his father had wanted from him? To be a powerful Death Eater? He had left him, and that was all his fault. If he hadn't always left him to his own devices then he wouldn't have made so many poor decisions.
He hadn't wanted this to happen. Draco had thought that fighting a war was honorable and he would gain his place among the great wizards...
Why did he have to think about all this now? Now that his destiny was hanging on thin threads. Now that it was all too late. He couldn't resurrect the dead. Nor could he turn back time. Why had no one ever told him that he would feel so miserable?