THC, Round 7, Slytherin, HoH, Drabble.

Prompt: [Emotion] Disappointment

Word count: 895

Beta(s): Aya Diefair, Fires Of Eden red rose Aurora, Butterflies765, CupCakeyyy.

Seven-year-old Draco Malfoy jumped out of bed eagerly, almost losing his balance as he did. He didn't hesitate in rushing over to the chair where his robes had been neatly laid out by Dobby.

The corners of his lips turned upwards as he thought about everything they were going to do today: getting dressed up, going to Daddy's office, and pretending to be an adult.

Draco had been looking forward to this for months! There had been a few times where he nearly was able to go. Unfortunately, circumstances held them back. On two out of three occasions, it had been Draco's fault; for one he had been a bit late getting up, and the other he hadn't been dressed correctly. The third situation was out of his hands, but he wouldn't let that cloud his mind.

Carefully, to ensure he wouldn't crease them, he pulled his robes on.

With a long glance in the mirror, Draco grinned. "Perfect!"

"Breakfast is ready, Master Draco."

Draco turned around and beamed at the House-elf. A healthy meal would be exactly how his dad started the day. "Thank you, Dobby."

The House-elf bowed and left.

Draco took a deep breath and calmly made his way down the stairs and into the dining room. "Good morning, Mother!"

"Good morning, Draco," she replied curtly.

He slid onto his seat, his head held high. "How are you on this fine morning?"

Draco did his best to sound as professional as possible. He needed to make a good impression to ensure that his father wasn't humiliated. It wouldn't be good for their family if Draco behaved inappropriately.

"Fine, thank you," his mother replied shortly.

The lack of response didn't bother Draco. Sometimes he was downtrodden by it. Not today, though. Today nothing could bring him down! He ate his breakfast slowly and carefully, not wanting to spill anything over his suit.

Draco's eyes flicked over to the clock. "Shouldn't Father be down for breakfast by now?"

"He's at work."

His mind went blank and his stomach dropped. "He doesn't start for another forty-five minutes," he stated.

His mother graced him with a glance. "He went in early."

"Why?"

"Eat your breakfast, Draco. You're too young and immature to go to work with Lucius."

Draco felt the heat rise to his face as his eyes began to sting. He wanted to grab his plate and throw it across the room, but that wouldn't be appropriate. A Malfoy did not let their emotions show.

Slowly, he deflated as the realisation hit him; his father had never intended to let him go to work with him. It had been a lie. A promise that was never going to be kept.

Pushing the chair back as he stood up, Draco stepped away from the table and wandered off aimlessly, ignoring his mother's words regarding his breakfast. What was the point? Why should he eat if they were never going to let him do what he wanted?

As he walked around the large manor, he wondered what else his parents had lied to him about. How many times had he been fooled to believe something would happen in the future, when in reality, it never would?

Disappointment filled him to his utter core, and Draco allowed himself to take a few mental steps back. He huffed. He didn't care about any of the rules that his parents had instructed.

Eventually, he sat on the floor in one of the empty rooms; a guest room. One that he was sure his parents wouldn't check. Today, he was supposed to be at his father's work, and if he couldn't, he wouldn't do anything else.

He wouldn't eat his lunch. Or help his mother with any meaningless tasks. He wouldn't make his bed—not that he usually did, anyway. He'd tell Dobby not to do it, either. He'd do what he wanted and that was the opposite of what his parents wanted.

After a few hours of being alone, Draco realised that nobody was coming to check on him. His mother didn't care that he had left the breakfast table without permission. Dobby hadn't been sent to locate him.

Somehow, the lack of concern over his well-being saddened him even more.

Maybe his mother was disappointed in his behaviour this morning. He wasn't going to apologise, though; his father never said sorry.

Draco looked up and around the beige, boring room and frowned. This was what his life was like if he didn't create a ruckus: they didn't care, and he could do what he wanted. He pushed himself up onto his feet. He would act the part in front of his family but he would never get his hopes up again, he would never expect anything from them, he would be the perfect Malfoy son. But as far as he was concerned, they'd never be able to disappoint him again, because from today he vowed to never trust them again.

And so he did what his great-grandmother had told him just before her passing - he went to his room, picked up the, until now, forgotten journal, and started on his first act of defiance. He wrote down all times his parents had let him down, followed by the way that had made him feel.

He'd make sure he wouldn't have to add any new moments to that list. Ever. Again.