Three: Draco

"Tut, tut," said Father reproachfully, holding little Draco Malfoy under his armpits and dangling him over the black iron veranda. They were six floors above the emerald green grass. Dewy rain was falling.

Five-year old Draco shrieked and closed his grey eyes, flailing his arms and kicking his legs as hard as he could, but Father wasn't budging. "LET ME DOWN!" he begged. "DADDY! DADDY, PLEASE—"

"We aren't even so far up," remarked Father calmly, shifting the small boy in his hands. "Now open your eyes, and look down. It isn't so hard—"

"NO DADDY, PLEASE—" Draco screamed, his pale face growing more pallid by the second; he hated heights, he hated when Daddy made him do things like this—there were always little tests of bravery. A shove down the stairs—would he cry? A hex—could he resist? Draco bit his lip and began to cry softly.

"Now, now, Draco," Father snapped," I don't tolerate fear and neither does the Dark Lord, and you want to please him, hmm?"

"NO, PLEASE!" Draco shouted, terrified.

"Open your eyes, Draco Lucifer—open your eyes—"

"DADDY—"

"You're afraid," Father snapped," you're afraid just like the Mudbloods, the Muggles, YOU OPEN YOUR EYES OR SO HELP ME, SALAZAAR, I'LL DO IT MYSELF—"

The sliding door clicked open, and clicking heels sounded. Draco opened his eyes at the sound and screamed again at the sight of the ground that was so far below.

"Lucius? Lucius?" screeched Mummy's voice; she came into view, beautiful in a white gown, her long hair hitting her waist, she was so pretty, it was so high up, if Daddy dropped Draco he'd surely die, he didn't know magic like that—

But thankfully, he was being snatched away and held close to Mummy, who smoothed his hair and kissed his cheeks. "Baby, I'm sorry—" she said quietly, and turned to Daddy. "Lucius, what—"

Daddy's expression had changed. He was no longer baring his teeth and looking angry; he almost looked sad. He gripped the siding on the veranda and stared at the fog, light rain catching in his platinum mane of hair. Daddy had these kind of moods a lot. He would be very mad and then awfully quiet. Draco whimpered and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Mummy cradled him for another moment and then set him on his feet. He watched as she came toward Daddy and put her hands on his face.

"Lucius," she said softly. "Why?"

Daddy looked away. "I do not want our son to be like me," was his reply.

Draco didn't understand. Mummy said nothing, but smiled at Draco so brightly that he felt reassured.

"Father doesn't feel well," she said sweetly in his ear as Daddy stormed off, his black cloak flying out behind him. "Maybe you and I should go buy you a new toy?"

Draco bit his lip. 'Is Daddy okay? Why doesn't he want me to be like him? Does he hate me?' A new toy, though, that would be fun. He slipped his small, thin hand into Mummy's and forgot about being scared.