I know, it's been a while. But another chapter has finally gotten written. This one has a little more interaction between Draco and the others, and hopefully provides more insight into why Draco turned out the way he did. I promise, this is going somewhere, honest.

Draco lay back in the bed in the room he had been confined to, trying to ignore the situation he was in. It was as if he was being watched; every time he got up to try to leave the room, someone would suddenly enter it, eliminating any chances of his escape. The last time had only resulted in his mood worsening; he had quietly gotten out of bed and snuck to the window, silently cursing Kingston for breaking his wand. He had no sooner begun opening the window when who should walk in but Potter. "Going somewhere, Malfoy?" he asked with a smirk.

"Oh, shove off, Potter," he responded in kind. "It's not like you could stop me anyway, not without Weasel and the mudblood. Sounds like a band, doesn't it? Weasel and the Mudbloods. Probably something you would listen to. What kind of songs would they play, do you think? 'My dad's a loser and my mum's a pig'? Or maybe - "

"What about 'My dad's in Azkaban and my mum's a dementor?' Wonder what that says about your home life? It might explain a few things, actually."

Draco's smirk disappeared. His mum; he had completely forgotten about her. Was she all right? The Dark Lord had threatened to kill his family if he didn't complete his task; while he didn't much care whether his father lived or died, he hoped his mother was alright. He pulled away from his thoughts and again focused on Potter, speaking coldly. "Don't talk about my parents like that. And don't you dare say anything about my mother ever again."

"Ooh, hit a chord, have I? Drakie doesn't like it when I insult his mum, does he?"

"Shut up, Potter, or I'll insult your precious Ginny. Or maybe not; when she came in earlier she looked quite fetching…"

Harry's wand was at his throat before Draco had time to react. "Don't touch her," he said threateningly. "You so much as look at her and you're dead, Malfoy."

Draco gave him a trademark sneer. "Oh, come on, Potter; if you're so keen on the idea of my death, just do it now. But just so you know, I'm unarmed."

Harry glared at him, blind fury evident in his eyes. He lowered his wand. "That's right, I knew you couldn't do it. You're too damn soft," Draco said derisively, enjoying every minute of pushing Harry's buttons. Potter made it all too easy, but it was worth it every time.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden blow to his face. He staggered against the wall and slumped to the floor. He looked up at Harry, who had a satisfied smirk on his face. Draco put a hand to his injured cheek, checking to verify that nothing had been broken, and looked up at Harry. "Potter, you punch like a girl."

"Well, that's not such a bad insult, considering how you ran away from Hermione when she hit you third year."

"Oho! Finally Potter comes up with a decent comeback!"

Harry shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Some of the members of the Order are going to come talk to you. That's the only reason I came in here; Professor McGonagall thought I should tell you. Merlin only knows why…" His voice trailed off into grumbling about how much of an ass Draco was.

Draco raised an eyebrow. He had an idea of what they wanted to talk to him about, but he wanted to hear it from Potter.

"Don't even try to tell me you have no idea why they'd want to talk to you; your father is one of Voldemort's closest followers. The real question would be why wouldn't they want to talk to you." Draco didn't even flinch at the mention of his master's true name, as many other Death Eaters would have. He had been taught by his father over and over not to show fear, as it was un-Malfoy to show fear. This had been a hard lesson to learn, as it had taken hundreds of times before he no longer flinched at his father's cane. After that, a name was nothing.

"Lucius, stop it," cried his mother, trying to stop the father from striking the son again.

"Narcissa, I must do it; you know this. I will not have a weak son. My father did this for me, I must do it for him. He must know how to hide fear, hide pain, hide weakness. It would not do for a Malfoy to show these things. He will thank me one day for this. Won't you, boy?"

He looked down at the boy in question, who was struggling to rise to his hands and knees. His shirt had been removed, and the horizontal marks where the cane had struck were in sharp relief against the pale skin of his back. Tears flowed down his cheeks, dripping to the floor, as he tried to compose himself, readying himself for the next hit. "Won't you?" asked the father again, prodding him forcefully in the side to get an answer.

"Yes, father," responded the son, trying his hardest not to flinch as the cane fell again. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, as he knew it would only prolong the lesson. His lip bled from his efforts to keep silent, the blood droplets falling to stain the cold stone floor.

He was twelve.

I know, it ended kind of abruptly, sorry. I had no idea how else to end it, since the next part will probably take another five pages, and I didn't want to post too much all at once. What do you think? Next chapter is on its way…not sure when it will be finished, but I'll try to get it posted soon. After that the next couple chapters will be posted fairly quickly, depending on reviews, since I kinda wrote them while I was writing this chapter…talk about ADD…Anyway, pleeease review. I have very little idea of what people think of this fic, since very few people have actually reviewed it. Maybe I've gotten spoiled by how many people reviewed Control, I don't know. But I'm serious; review. It's not like it takes too much time; just hit the purple button and tell me what you think. Anyway, until next time.