The first time Draco had considered what kind of father he would be was when he visited his father, when he was dying.
Narcissa, by then, had been so traumatised by the War that the news of her beloved's impeding death had little impact on her. She had basically folded in on herself. The only one that Lucius had left was Draco.
He never told you, but the moment he stepped into his father's room, he was immediately reminded of me. The memory of me was not accompanied by a particular emotion. Apparently even then, my presence was associated with death.
"Narcissa?"
The name of his mother depressed him even further. The Healer warned him this would happen. Lucius had begun hallucinating, and was often hard to reach. Despite the fact that it was Lucius lying on his deathbed, he was not the most miserable person in the room.
Draco tried to think of a way to let his father down gently, and failed. "No," he said hoarsely. "It's Draco. Your son."
"Son?" Lucius' eyes fluttered delicately for a second as the confusion settled on his gaunt face. "I don't have a son."
"Not anymore," Draco answered flatly.
