The Noble House of Black
Vulnerability
daydream11
for ladylucius of LiveJournal
Written July 16, 2009
Draco fidgets in his restricting clothes; the evening robe he wears is new, fresh from the dressmaker's only three hours ago, and the stiff fabric scratches his skin something terrible. He's hungry, too, and the inviting smells drifting even onto the small patio where they all stood from the nearby kitchens makes his stomach growl. The other kids won't come near him tonight; they recognize his frustration, so he stands alone in one corner, watching the adults mingle and grimacing at their phony, pitched giggles, and is very near to tears because he wants to wear something soft, damn it, and stuff his face.
His father beckons him over, and Draco arrives obediently at Lucius' side. He bows to Rodolphus Lestrange and his aunt Bellatrix. Neither of them greet him with anything other than a brief nod in his direction, then all three of them promptly ignore him. Clearly, Draco is only for show tonight, and even while he knows Lucius means well, all of it does nothing to soothe his irritation. Narcissa appears beside her husband and Draco brightens up considerably.
"Mum, I'm hungry." The boy says this a bit too loudly and openly, eliciting genuine laughter from those nearby. His parents can only smile; even Malfoys must yield to the power of children's honesty and the state of their stomachs.
"In a little while," she promised. She smoothes down his hair with affection and bends down to kiss his forehead. "Why don't you ride your broom to pass the time? Go on, and be careful not to ruin your clothes." The entire party grins as Draco bounds off around a corner. The manor grounds he hardly notices on his way to the broom shed and a small field where he and Lucius fly, and his heart rejoices once he's free of his eveningwear and soaring high – ten feet, if that, but it's high to him.
"Draco." He glances below him and he finds Aunt Bella, standing still and silently, on the field's edge. She didn't yell, and it's a bit blustery out, but he can hear her just fine. He makes a wide turn and carefully steers the broom toward the ground, but once he's closer to the ground the broom flips over and dumps him unceremoniously to the ground. An ominous crack reaches his ears, and then the pain. Oh, the pain.
The wail leaves him before he even realizes he's crying at all, and he clutches his broken wrist and kicks his legs against the ground. Through his tantrum he sees his aunt on his level, and startled, he meets her gaze fully and opens his mouth for her help, but before he is able to say anything she has his chin in her hand and has a look of such disgust on her face that his sobs, immediately, subside.
"Those of Black blood," she hisses, her tone ferocious and stern. If Draco had been older than six he would have recognized a hint of desperation, too. "Never cry in public." He is so surprised by this sentiment that he doesn't notice until he arrives back at the patio, dinner laid out on a long table before him, that she healed his wrist. He flexes it cautiously, then slides into a seat in between the young Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson miserably. They politely leave him alone.
During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Bella's words come flooding back in a haze as he looks at himself in the dirty mirror in the first floor girl's bathroom. Moaning Myrtle is flitting about, offering condolences and cursing his enemies in alternating succession, and Draco clutches the sink. He does not want to cry, and he's gone so long without tears that it seems completely stupid that it may be in this place – a lonely, damp, abandoned bathroom with a slightly manic ghost – he finally breaks.
Yet, he isn't surprised to find himself dry heaving, choking on his own saliva when the tears finally do flow. He makes no effort to stop them, and it's actually a relief. For once Myrtle is still, a bit shocked – she knows he is damaged in more ways than one, but she never expected him to cry – but her chilly presence is soothing anyway. Black blood means nothing to her, and neither does the façade it requires.
"Don't hold it in," Myrtle tells him, and Draco gratefully accepts this new advice.