This one makes me so sad. I don't know why this one more than others, but it does. Comment if you think that I can do something
think that I can do something to make it better because I'm not so sure about the word choice or the story line.
WARNING: this contains worse language than my previous stories!
Summary: Draco and Hermione have sex, which leads to Hermione becoming pregnant with his kid. He tries to be a good father to him but fails. Once the Malfoy Curse has selected its next victim, it can never be undone.
Rating: M for slight language
I had done what I had promised never to do.
When we found out that she was pregnant, she made me swear that I wouldn't become like my father. That I wouldn't tear the happiness from my child and make it into a monster. That I wouldn't destroy its future.
I promised, even though I knew it was an oath I could never keep.
From the first moment I saw my newborn son, I loved him unconditionally. I couldn't understand why I would ever want to hurt him. He was so innocent.
Now I understand.
No, not understand. Accept.
I accept it. It is fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. I will always be a Malfoy and Malfoys always make their sons into killers. That is the curse on our family.
My wife pleaded with me not to destroy 'our' son. She told me that she loved me, but that is a lie. Another fucking lie. Whenever I was home, dealing with another one of my son's rages, she was away, partying with Weaselbee.
It had been a one-night thing, between me and her. Just lust and need, sparked by anxiety caused by the War. A one-night thing that had caused her getting pregnant.
Because she was pregnant with my child, she was obligated to marry me. But Hermione Granger didn't love me, or my son.
Promises, promises, promises.
Promises are such stupid things. They are so easy to break, so easy to lie about. Hermione promised to be a good, faithful wife in our wedding vows. My mother had made Snape promise to keep me safe, at all costs.
That ended with Snape killing Dumbledore.
My mother is now dead because of my cowardice. My father, the bastard that he had been, was long dead, killed when he failed with the diary.
I am an orphan.
My son sees the world as black and white. There is no middle ground; only the murderer and the victim. He decided he would rather be the lion than the gazelle; he would rather kill than be killed.
When he killed Granger, he didn't do it with an Avada. He did it with a muggle tool; something called a gun. He shot four bullets into her stomach and three into her throat. She died immediately.
Even if she never loved me, I did love her. I loved her so much, it hurt when she left at night instead of staying with me and our son. And I never got a chance to say goodby
He regretted it the next day. He said he didn't have control over his body, his emotions, his thoughts. He locked himself in his room for fourteen hours. When dusk fell, he departed, dressed in all black, carrying his wand and gun.
But his eyes were different: they looked more like holes in his face than the expressive icy blue they had been hours before.
I tried to raise my son properly, like a good Malfoy heir. But every day, he was grieving over the recent kill and every night, he was going out again.
I couldn't stop it.
He killed my wife. He killed my best friend. He killed my aunt. When will this stop?
He promised that he would try to conceal the darkness inside of him, not let it out. But like all promises, this one failed too.
He couldn't keep the darkness in. He couldn't conceal it; he couldn't hid it.
He couldn't even keep from killing his own father.
