Dinnertime

Dinnertime

Dinner was a formal affair. Dinner had always been a formal affair.

The house-elves would start serving them as soon as they seated themselves at the expansive table. Lucius enjoyed bringing guests to dinner just to watch their awe-struck faces at their dining hall. The ceiling sloped down on either side, but was not just a plain ceiling, but with an enchanted one. It was akin to the ceiling of the Great Hall in Hogwarts, except that the ceiling was always dark and gloomy. Thunder constantly sounded. The table was cherry wood. Lucius admired the rich, dark wood and used it to build many tables. The surface was smooth and covered by a lace tablecloth. Pure white. The walls were gray stone, but covered with bloody tapestries, depicting battle scenes. A fire would be found burning meekly at one end of the hall and the only light aside from that would be the candlelight.

Draco disliked dinnertime. He was not allowed to speak at all, for his father would put a silencing spell on him. He was to sit straight, eat properly, and if he was lucky, Lucius would allow him to talk if a guest was dining with them. However, if he made one wrong comment, it would mean the beginning of a long lashing.

There were times when Lucius wasn´t home, but Narcissa, in fear of him, would insist that Draco still dine with her in the hall. Those dinners were much better. Narcissa would have the house-elves cook Draco his favorite foods and then they would chatter happily beside the roaring fire, eating off their laps.

However, when Lucius was home...

Draco recalled his fair hair, falling into his sharp, gray eyes, as he bent his head over his plate of food. Lucius´s cold voice in the background mingling with the clatter of silverware. Narcissa´s meek and vague replies to Lucius´s questions.

Lucifer, Lucille, and Delia did not have to dine with them. Draco considered them lucky.

Lucius, at times, brought Lucifer to the table. Lucifer disgusted Draco. He was pudgy, spoiled, and cute. His hair was soft like corn silk and eyes were colored like the sky. He had not inherited Lucius´s steely oculi. Lucius would soften before his blue-eyed boy. He always had a sweet or a pat on the head for Lucifer. However, not even the chubby, angel-like three-year-old could draw a smile from Lucius.

Lucius did not smile.

Draco loathed Lucifer. He loathed the fact that he was related to him. He was fond of Lucille, the two-year-old girl in the corner, that sang songs to herself. She was pale and quiet. Weak. Two, and she had never uttered a noise to her parents louder then a whimper. The Death Eaters, when they visited their house, would stroke her white-blond hair and touch her thin cheeks.

"She´s beautiful, Lucius." They said, eyes mingled with envy and obscene thoughts. "I wonder what she´ll look like when she´s older." Desire crept into their careful voices.

Narcissa would then hold Lucille closer to her, but Lucius laughed loudly. "Of course. She´s for the Dark Lord."

Yes, Lucille was, but Lucius had doubts about the weak girl. So Narcissa gave birth to Delia.

From the beginning, Draco and known that Lucius wanted another boy. He wanted another son to carry on the legacy of the Malfoys. Draco was too imperfect and Lucifer would buckle under the stress. Lucius need a fine, strapping young man that could take orders. He needed a boy that would obey his every command.

There was not another boy for Lucius, but another girl. Delia. Damien Cordelia Malfoy. Lucius delighted in the sound of her name. Delia instantly became the child star. She was pampered as the princess. Delia grew pretty; her flaxen curls fell to her small shoulders. She donned extravagant dresses every day. She too had the baby-blue eyes. They narrowed when she was plotting. She would draw praises from Lucius and little smirks. After Delia, Lucille was nearly forgotten. She strayed in her little sister´s shadow, content.

Delia was only one. Draco hated to know what she would be like at ten.

Lucius was already thinking of giving Delia to the Dark Lord in place of beautiful Lucille. If he did, Lucille would have no purpose. And if she didn´t, she would be sent to St. Mungo´s. No, Lucille was not a sane child.

As it was that night, Lucifer was sitting in a chair, sucking on a piece of hard, Muggle sweet. Delia suckled a bottle of milk and honey, smiling prettily at Lucius. Draco was seated next to Lucius, whose cold eyes were focused on his precious son and daughter. He would not love them. They were his puppets. Narcissa was unimportant when Lucius was around. She was there to provide him with a trophy wife and offspring.

The house-elves were serving them appetizers and soup. Draco looked down at his bowl. Creamed broccoli. He shuddered, fear coursing through his six-year-old form. He detested broccoli, but he would eat whatever his father ordered him to.

He closed his eyes and remembered that evening.

It was a special night. Lucius was heartily celebrating the birth of his second son. He had seen the chubby baby, and was sure he had an heir to carry on the name of Malfoy. The house-elves had slaved twice as hard to make the occasion special. Lucius slashed his wrist and then Draco´s and allowed the blood to mix into a silver goblet. Draco remembered the hot feel of his blood drip down his wrist. Lucius fed the blood-wine to Lucifer, the newborn, as his first meal.

"May you be the strongest Malfoy," Lucius murmured as Lucifer suckled the rich, scarlet liquid.

After his mother and his new brother slept, Draco dined with his father. The soup was creamed broccoli and the three-year-old was revolted. He poked a lumpy, green piece with his intricately designed silver spoon and then made an elegant face.

"Father, I don´t like broccoli. I don´t want this soup," he said, pushing the handsome, sterling bowl away from him.

In a flash, Lucius was out of his seat and had grabbed Draco by his platinum locks. He dragged the boy down several stairs and into the dungeons. He threw him effortlessly against a wall.

"Draco, get up!" He rapped.

Draco drew himself up, blood trickling down from a temple. His head throbbed. His hair was matted with red.

Lucius strode to his son and struck him sharply across the face.

He cried out, a strangled noise. It was the first time his father had hit him. He cried again, tears mingling with the blood. His left cheek stung horribly. Draco stumbled against the wall and fell to his knees again.

Lucius sneered and slapped him again. "Stop crying!" Again. "Stop!" Again.

Draco quieted, whimpering, and not daring to touch his wounds.

"You´ll eat what I want you to. You will do what I want you to. You are nothing without me. You can´t run from me. I am your father." Then he twisted on his heel and started to walk away. "Wash and come back up for dinner."

Draco crawled to the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror. A bloodied mess. He gingerly placed his cold hand on a stinging cheek. He almost cried again, but instead, started to wash himself, careful of his throbbing temple. He then wet his hair to rid it of blood. His white, silken shirt was stained.

A house-elf came with a clean shirt. It was a replica of the one he was wearing. More white silk. The elf hesitated before taking out a beautiful comb and placing it on top of the shirt.

"Dobby is...very sorry, young master Malfoy."

"Go away!" Draco threw the comb at Dobby.

The elf departed, leaving Draco to dress himself. He headed back upstairs.

"Eat," Lucius said, gesturing to the cold soup.

Draco obeyed. He was nothing but his father´s puppet.

"Draco!" Lucius´s voice shocked him from his memory. "Your food is getting cold."

Lucifer laughed, his mouth sticky from the candy. "Draco, eat!"

Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at the small boy. Then he leaned down and placed his silver spoon in the soup and brought it up to his mouth. He ate the broccoli and finished.

The house-elves brought on steak and boiled potatoes for the main course. Lucius poured Draco red wine.

"It will make you look healthier. You´re so damned pale," Lucius said, intoning yet another one of Draco´s faults. "Narcissa, Avery is coming over for dinner tomorrow..."

Draco sipped the wine without a sound.

Dessert was pumpkin pie. Lucius, for once, did not comment on the pie and Draco did not speak to him. Lucifer and Delia conversed with nonsense words and Narcissa stared blankly at her plate.

Yes. Dinner was a formal affair.