It has been a rough few months; I hope you continue to follow this and enjoy it. It comes slowly but this update should shine some light on the Malfoy family. I am aware that I have created a magical university for this story which never existed in canon. So I guess you can say I do not own Harry Potter but I do take credit for the mention of the furthering of magical education. I also own all characters not created by JK Rowling. ;) Enjoy!

LCailan

4. Rotten on the Inside

Several of our reputable sources state that one of the young men said to be involved is Master Draco Malfoy, son of the new Minister for Magic. This seems a delicate matter and the appropriate measures are being taken to determine what, if any charges will be brought against those involved in the events of last evening. The Wizengamot is to gather and determine the next course of action. We have attempted to reach Minister Lucius Malfoy but I am told by his advisors that he will not speak of this matter. Details will follow as they are made available.

The paper lay on the massive, wooden desk that faced the rolling hills along his property in Wiltshire.

The picture below the short yet damning blurb showed the east side of Gringott's Wizarding Bank. The building rose up against a sky full of clouds and there was a small gathering of goblins that milled around the front steps of the bank, mumbling to each other and looking rather grim.

Lucius Malfoy could only look for so long before his anger overwhelmed him and he shoved the Prophet vehemently across the smooth desk so that it fluttered from the table and landed on the carpeted ground with a satisfying thump.

"He's your son!"

He exclaimed this petulantly, without turning away, knowing his wife stood in the doorway of his study waiting for him to react. It was she that had followed the house elves to the room when they had brought him his morning paper.

Lucius heard Narcissa sigh. She wasn't a woman of many words but she could infuriate him just the same with the sounds she made.

"Well, he is!" he pressed in a curt tone, swallowing back bitter words he wished he could say. Narcissa took a step into Lucius' study.

"Ah, he's only my son when he does something wrong?"

Her words were gentle; Lucius knew Narcissa wasn't after a row and yet he still felt his blood boiling. He whirled to face his ever-patient wife.

"That's twice in less than a month!"

The image on the front of the Daily Prophet was burned in his mind. His son's sullen expression as he stood behind a row of goblins alongside two, snot-faced truants he called his friends.

"I raised him better than this!"

Narcissa watched him with mild indifference. She had long ago gotten used to his sudden bouts of rage. Just like his tendency towards self-absorption and immature stubbornness, these rages were something he had little control over.

Lucius paced back and forth across the sumptuous throw rug in front of his desk. His fists opened and clenched shut and his jaw was set squarely. Though Narcissa found her husband quite handsome, in moments like this she likened him to an angry troll.

As the seconds passed, Lucius grew angrier. Soon he was stomping, boots hitting the wooden floorboards with heavy thumps. Two spots of color appeared high on his well-sculpted cheekbones and wisps of his silky, white-blond hair had escaped his hair band.

"It was Malfoy money that paid for Hogwarts! I've given him the best preparation imaginable! And now he attends one of the most expensive magical universities on this side of England! And this is how he chooses to repay me?! His face splashed on the cover of the Daily Prophet? These run-ins with the Wizengamot? Bloody hell, Narcissa! Next it will be Azkaban!"

Narcissa stared at him calmly from her place at the tall, wooden doorway.

"Come, Lucius. It won't be anything nearly so terrible."

Lucius stopped in mid-stomp, his head snapping in his wife's direction.

"Not so terrible, is it?" he mocked her. His face was the color of bone; he was ghostly pale and drawn. "I am the Minister for Magic! I cannot have this smear on my reputation! Do you hear me? Your son is a smear on my reputation!"

Narcissa shook her head, knowing at times like this, respectful silence was best. Lucius could not be reasoned with. She watched as he moved to his desk and smashed one open palm down against the wood. The sound, which broke the silence, was like that of a cracking whip. Then again, another smack. And another. He continued to slam his palm against the desk so that the room was soon filled with the drumbeat of Lucius Malfoy's fury.

As his anger rose to a fevered pitch, his face turned red and he began to curse under his breath. Spittle flew from his lips; his eyes took on an animalistic glimmer. He continued to pound against the desk, cursing and growling and Narcissa knew he would continue until he became spent. She waited patiently; after nearly twenty-five years of marriage there were no secrets when it came to Lucius' volatile temperament.

Narcissa was used to his violent fits; she was accustomed to his prejudice and his snootiness. None of it could be helped. What did worry her, however, was how it had affected their son. There was no denying it: twenty years of indifference at best and neglect at worst had done damage to Draco. The saddest part was that Lucius could not see it, refusing to take any blame for Draco's truant behavior.

Narcissa waited with patience. Presently, Lucius ceased his violent behavior and she watched him fall limply into the plush chair that sat behind his desk. His fists were red from the pounding. He stared up at her, blinking dully, as if he wasn't sure where he was.

The silence was deafening and she acted to end it.

"Lucius, you must stop acting this way every time something doesn't go your way."

Narcissa spoke the words but she didn't truly mean them. Years of marriage to him behind her she knew better than to hope that he might listen to her. He never had before.

"Don't you know your place, woman?" he snapped at her. "Better keep silent if you haven't got bloody sense."

With that he stood and stalked from the room, head and shoulders held high. Narcissa held her breath a few seconds waiting to see if he would return but he didn't. She was alone.

Standing, she moved towards the wide windows that overlooked the rolling hills of the Malfoy property. The house seemed deathly still so that she could only hear the steady ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the distant foyer.

Narcissa waited, back stiff with anticipation. She was expecting Draco that afternoon; it would be her son's first visit in weeks and now she wondered if it would do more harm than good to have him visit.

Sooner or later Lucius would return to her, desperately sorry and full of compliments and promises that he would not get angry with her again. Twenty years ago, when Draco had been born, she would have believed him. Even ten years ago she would have felt that piteous tug at her heartstrings and wanted to believe him.

But not anymore.

Thirty-four years. Had it really be that long? Yes, and yet Narcissa still remembered him vividly from that day, at King's Cross Station, waiting to board the Hogwarts Express. She remembered he had been tall for his eleven years, with an air of sophistication and mystery that she hadn't found in other boys her age. She remembered the boy who had feared nothing and yet cowered before his father. She remembered the boy who had been impossibly stubborn and determined. She remembered how he could, in the same breath, both belittle and build up with just his words.

They had both been sorted into Slytherin; she had harbored a secret crush on him, much like most of the other girls in their house. He had been popular amongst his peers and ambitious enough to receive top marks in his studies. And of course, her family had adored him, naturally. His bloodline was as pure as winter's first snowfall - he made sure that everyone with ears knew it.

Narcissa had both hated Lucius Malfoy and yet, loved him at the same time. It had been nothing short of a miracle that he had eventually noticed her. Perhaps it had been propriety; the name Black had always been spoken highly of amongst those in their circle. But secretly, Narcissa had hoped that he cared for her simply because of who she was and not her name.

Had it been too much to ask of a man as cold as Lucius that he might learn to love her?

She had never learned the answer to her question but nine years after meeting him that day at King's Cross, she had married him anyway.

For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad-

There were two sides to Lucius Malfoy. The one side she had known as a girl in school. He was wildly intelligent and could be charming, caring even. He had a rapier wit, could be gracious if needed and in their moments alone, a good, conscientious lover.

Their marriage, by all standards, had been given ever opportunity of survival. They had not struggled; they had lived comfortably in upper-crust pureblood society. She knew she had been a lucky woman to have been chosen by a man from the Malfoy family; her mother had never let her forget that.

In good times and in bad-

It had been that other side of Lucius, the side that was bad-

Only two weeks into the marriage, Narcissa had learned what it meant to cross her new husband. He was cruel and controlling; possessed of a temper so short it could not be managed easily and childlishly petulant when things did not go his way. He had a predisposition to fall into violent fits of rage and though he had never touched her, Narcissa feared her husband's fury. He was unpredictable when in the grip of one of his episodes, much like a wild animal and she had spent many cowering from him while at the same time, feeling a deep, lingering pity for him.

Narcissa knew Lucius hated himself; she believed without a doubt that his bouts of inexplicable rage were linked to his inability to accept things he could not change. This impasse between the man he was and the man he wanted to be was what caused the war inside of him. She only hoped that she would never be a casualty.

Within five years Narcissa had gotten pregnant. She hoped that this would be the thing that would make Lucius realize he was not a horrible man and that he would have to focus on someone other than himself - a nearly impossible feat to be sure. She prayed throughout her pregnancy that Lucius find the peace he was desperately searching for before the baby came.

But he did not. And their son's birth had not changed him.

Though Narcissa could tell in small, insignificant ways that Lucius did love their son he did little to show the boy during his formative years. The elder Malfoy seemed indifferent at best, only noticing Draco when he did something wrong. Nothing was ever good enough. Draco did not get high enough marks in school. Draco did not stand up straight enough. Draco did not take enough pride in his Malfoy name. Draco didn't this and Draco didn't that-

How as a boy to learn anything in that sort of environment but self-loathing? And so then, the cycle would start again.

Narcissa stared at the beauty of her property with unseeing eyes. There was no sign of Draco anywhere and she sighed.

Lucius' indifference about Draco's life had caused the boy to develop an overcompensating nature. Though supremely intelligent, the boy did not take well to not being the one with top marks in his year. Though quite attractive, with Lucius' strong, Romanesque features and her fair coloring, Draco did not allow anyone to see him with a hair out of place. And when it came to his shortcomings, Draco was quite happy to ridicule those better than he.

So much like Lucius in that respect.

Draco had noticed that nothing - not his intelligence, his athletic prowess, or his popularity - stirred his father's passions. So then he had taken to other, more disturbing ways, to get Lucius to notice him.

And that's when their troubles had begun.

Unfortunately, Lucius had not seen it that way.

As Narcissa fell into worry about her small family she spied Draco stalking up the neatly kept property and her heart rose and fell as it had each time her son would return to her – to the hell that she had allowed Lucius to create.

Three hours earlier

Draco Malfoy watched the gorgeous redhead from his place on the beige-colored chaise lounge. He had arranged his arms and legs just so – displaying himself to his best advantage. After all, shy girls needed a bit of encouragement. He had found that being too direct scared them away.

Show them what you have to offer and they'll fall into your lap like ripe plums.

When she took another, curious glimpse in his direction, Draco rewarded her with a sly grin that could be only be described as enticing. She blushed instantly and he offered her a clandestine wink. Even though she was clearly attracted to him, a frown marred her otherwise flawless face.

"Patricia, darling," Draco crooned, gracefully rising from the comfortable chaise to reach for her hand.

He was slightly annoyed, not being used to being rebuffed. Though he enjoyed the chase as much as the next bloke, Draco was used to having girls fall easily for his well-acted charms.

This girl was different. She was bookish and quiet, given quickly to innocent blushes, graced with emerald-colored eyes and dancer's body. She was a terrible challenge because she didn't want him quite as much as all the others. This, of course, made Draco covet her all the more.

He would have Patricia O'Flaherty – he would have that creamy, dreamy body in every position possible. That delicious thought made Draco re-double his efforts for she was quite a lovely prize. Not only that but she was also coveted amongst his small group of best mates because she happened to be the eldest daughter of the University Dean.

Draco smiled to himself. Yes, she would be quite the elusive catch.

With that last thought, Draco arranged his features into what he hoped were a more apologetic look and he tried once again.

"Patricia, you know how the paper likes to exaggerate."

Patricia was blushing fiercely; he green eyes were alight with anger as she held up her copy of that morning's Prophet.

"This is an exaggeration, Draco?"

Everything about Patricia O'Flaherty was sweet and mild, including the way with which she accused him of his supposed wrongdoings.

His laughing image had been gloriously splashed on the front cover of the paper as he and two of his best mates stood before one of the ugly, sharp-toothed employees of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. In spite of what may have looked like damning evidence, Draco remained coolly distant.

"And you would buy into this biased rubbish, would you? I thought you prided yourself on your intelligence?"

Patricia's green eyes flickered with uncertainty behind her neat, wire-rimmed glasses.

"What's that supposed to mean, Draco Malfoy? Have you forgotten that my father is the Dean of-?"

Draco interrupted her with a flourish.

"Yes, yes! And my father is the Minister for Magic! The Prophet is simply a rag that wants to make him look bad. They'll use whatever means necessary, in my opinion."

Draco knew that remaining adamant was the key to smoothing over Patricia's ruffled feathers. He watched as she stiffened and took a deep breath. He was certain it was to calm herself before she spoke.

This time her voice was measurably less agitated.

"If my father even remotely suspects that you and I spent time together this past weekend, he'll-"

Draco raised one silvery eyebrow with amusement at Patricia's sudden blush.

"He'll what, love?"

He had stepped forward, his lips turned up in a wolfish grin. She grew flustered. That was the problem with shy girls; the poor, young darlings were much too easily manipulated. Draco, of course, took advantage.

"Would he hate me if he knew me? Would I damage your pristine reputation?"

He asked these questions in a voice only a lover would use. Patricia seemed both bewildered and bewitched by him all at the same time. She was a girl, after all, and prone to Draco's charms.

"It-it isn't that, exactly," she faltered. "Being the daughter of the Dean is…I have to be careful about…"

Draco had stepped even closer so that their bodies touched.

"You worry so much," he murmured.

He had kissed her that previous weekend; she had tasted of honey. Now, he got the tiniest whisper of the same, sugared scent.

"Why don't you focus on what's important?"

Patricia watched, green eyes wide with passion and innocence, as Draco ran a single, thin finger along her face before winding one of her luscious, red locks around it.

"W-what…what's important?" she echoed stupidly.

"That's right. What's important is how you feel about me?"

Draco moved in for the kill and finished his soft words by brushing his lips against hers with just enough firmness to leave her wanting more. Patricia sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

Draco rested his chin atop the red-gold hair that cascaded down her back. He smirked. Women were too easy to figure out. Much too easy.

A soft pop signaled Draco's arrival at Malfoy Manor several hours later.

The estate stood tall and stony against a colorless, cloudless sky. The large house was flanked on either side by magnificent, rolling hills and meticulously landscaped trees and shrubs. It was made of stone and overlooked the hillside in a regal manner. The foundation was firm; it had good bones, as his grandfather had said on several occasions.

To the random onlooker it all seemed in order.

But Draco hated it all.

He hated what it looked like because to him it was akin to a lovely apple with a rotten core. All looked in order but that was not the reality. The reality was that Draco had a weak mother who stood by a man who chose to abuse and control her and a father who was a selfish, hateful tyrant who noticed nothing but himself.

The two of them had created a sort of living hell and Draco had been a result of that.

Perhaps that makes me the devil, he thought with a half-smirk.

The wind picked up a bit, ruffling Draco's traveling cloak as he began to purposefully stride towards the pebbled walk that led between the two lines of tall, manicured bushes all the way up to the menacing house. Even from a distance he could feel the hate that festered there. Merlin, he hated this house! Nearly as much as he abhorred his father.

I can't wait to hear that old codger turn red and yell about what a horrid son I've been so I can laugh in his sodding, self-righteous face.

Over the last few years Draco had found a sort of sadistic amusement in finally getting his father to notice him. Growing up he had always felt like he didn't exist. His mother had offered the propriety words and comfort he required as a child. He couldn't blame her for being so cold. The Manor had always been a place without warmth, without love.

But his father, oh, that was a different story altogether.

Except when he did something wrong, Draco hadn't mattered. It did no good to get top marks in his lessons. It was no achievement to be a Seeker for Slytherin Quidditch team for his father had never once attended a game. What did it matter that he had been one of the most popular boys in school or that he had been made Prefect towards the end of his time at Hogwarts? His father hadn't cared.

Since the fall of Voldemort it had become nearly impossible, even for a pureblood, to get accepted at the University of the Higher Study of Magical Arts and yet Draco had gotten an early acceptance letter and had been working with their Potions Department for months now.

Secretly, this achievement had been most important to Draco. His father, however, had not noticed.

The logical part of Draco's brain told him that it didn't matter who noticed what so long as he was living his life to his own expectations. Still there was that tiny part, nibbling away at the corners of his thoughts, telling him something was wrong.

Draco, stand up straight!

Draco, this isn't good enough, is it?

Draco, you know you're better than that bushy-haired Mudblood!

Draco, those other boys are flying faster than you, aren't they?

Draco, don't you forget that you're a Malfoy!

Draco, stop crying, for bloody sakes! You're a man not a child!

Draco, Draco, Draco-

Draco shivered as he reached the massive, wrap-around porch of the Manor. He was suddenly cold and knew it wasn't from the weather. His face was devoid of color, bloodless lips pressed together in a hateful scowl. His hand was white-knuckled as it gripped the knocker on the front door of the Manor. Draco looked the picture of disgust and hatred.

Immediately upon the rapt sound of the knocker the door creaked open and two house elves stood before him.

"Master Draco!"

Hideous things they were; Draco hoped never to deal with them when he owned his own home. He ignored them, tuning out their excited squeaks and words of welcome and swept into the front foyer, head held high. Like always, he decided he would not let his father's indifference bother him. Like always, he failed.

His mother waited for him in the front room, a sort of sitting room where they met with their casual acquaintances. It was a room for those who were only allowed to see what Lucius wanted them to see. The room was filled with antique furniture, wooden and ornately carved. The curtains were thick and luxurious, lining the large, floor to ceiling windows. There were two dark velvet sofas and a small fireplace that served as a connection to the Floo. There were many like these throughout the rest of the Manor, Draco knew.

"Draco," she greeted him, standing and offering her arms in a hug that Draco did not accept.

He stood in the center of the room, standing on her most prized Turkish rug and relishing that his dirty feet might tarnish it somewhat.

"Mother," he acknowledged, offering a stiff nod but not moving to accept her embrace.

She faltered and Draco saw her face trembling a bit as her hands lowered in defeat.

"Welcome home, my dear."

Draco would have welcomed the words had they come from someone else. He needed to hear such words like a thirsty man needed water. Long ago, however, Draco had stopped hoping in his mother's love. She had not been strong enough to rise above the abuse doled out to her.

I hate him; I hate him for what he did to her. I hate him for what he's done to us all.

"This will never be home, Mother."

His voice was drawn and emotionless, his eyes haunted by things neither one would speak of. He gave his mother one last look before turning to walk away from her, his footsteps fading and dying. Narcissa was left alone, once more drowning in her misery, knowing that it was too late to undo all the damage that had already been done.