Dragon

Chapter Two

My summer was spent in typical fashion that year, as it had always been before. Father returned during the night, waking mother and I up to shout drunken nothings at us, or inform us on the crucial situations that had him torn between work and the Dark Lord. It had come to the point where going to bed was not worth it; I waited up for father every night, sometimes into the dead of morning.

I found other ways to amuse myself besides tormenting house elves, such as Quidditch, tormenting Pansy Parkinson, and devising other ways to get Potter expelled. I would often daydream about this great feat of life without Potter. and life without father. It was wildly fascinating to get lost in my own fantasies, wishing they were the real world.

On particular night, which I thought was just as good as any other night, I stayed up into the wee hours awaiting the return of my father. It was then I glanced across the room at the large portrait of Lucius Malfoy hanging on the wall, observing my every move. It smirked at me just as father would have he been there at that very moment.

My eyes wandered from the portrait (which was shaking its snake staff at me threateningly) to the spot on the wall next to it, which held a calendar. The day was circled with red glittering ink. However, I could not read the slender script written across thed myself from my chair, and meandered across the room as casually as one possibly could with a giant portrait of one's father spying your each and every motion.

'Dragon's Birthday!' read the note across August 20th. I smiled. In a few hours, it would be my birthday. At least mother remembered. But mother remember everything there was to be remembered about me. She still recalled the names of all the pets I had as a child, my exact height in centimeters (which was odd, as I had never told her my height before), to what score I got on a Herbology Quiz back in First Year.

Even I had forgotten it was my birthday. Father reminded me that birthdays were not special if they happened to be your own. They just marked the day you left safety and entered the vile world of human beings. But ever since I was little I had become excited for my birthday. I was one step closer to becoming an adult and escaping the wrath that my father wreaked upon the mansion.

But it wasn't every day you turned fifteen! I had to smile, to the disgrace of the Lucius portrait, and hum the Happy Birthday song in my head. I knew that mother would make a great fuss tomorrow, but I had to bask well in the glory of turning fifteen in. five. four. three. two. one!"

"DRACO!" Boomed a voiced, and the door to the sitting room I was settled in burst open with a great flash of magic. Father was home. Instead of 'Happy birthday, Dragon!" All he did was bellow my name loudly, to alert me of his supreme presence. "What are you doing, boy?"

"Waiting, father," I said, careful to look him in the eyes. "Waiting for you to come home." It was best to say was little as possible. A little voice in the back of my head screamed at me to tell him it was my birthday; I didn't deserve to be told off for being useless.

"NARCISSA!" Father bellowed. He turned his cold gray eyes back to be uncertainly when my mothery unsightly with her blonde hair a rat's nest, and her dressing gown all wrinkled, causing father to wrinkle his long pointed nose. "Inform me of the day's happenings." He commanded, waving his serpent staff at the two of us.

Mother instantly mumbled something that was inaudible to me. Obviously, father had not heard what she said, either. "What was that, woman!?" He shouted, waving the staff inches in front of mother's face. Mother pulled father away by the collar of his stylish black robes and whispered something to him again, peering nervously over at me.

"Pettigrew came for a visit?" Father asked mother loudly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead rushed over to me and cupped her thin hands over my ears. I writhed away, not wishing to be left out of this conversation. Had I heard my father right? Did he say Pettigrew?

"Lucius, Dragon's here," said mother softly, reaching over for me. I scrambled away, over to a lone emerald chair in the sitting room, away from father and mother. "Dragon isn't supposed to know."

Father glared hard at mother, and drew back his stick, holding it high above his head. It came down hard upon mother's shoulder, and she gasped in pain, falling to her knees on the floor, looking up at my father for mercy. He showed her none, and silenced her with a final blow over the head. She had been knocked out, which was made obvious by the rising and falling motion of her chest.

"Dragon?" My father hissed. He clearly thought I was too old to be called Dragon; quite frankly, I agreed with him. "You're fifteen now, boy," he hissed again, turning at me. "It was about time you knew what was really happening in this world." His eyes pressed into mine, trying to look into my soul to see if I could be trusted with secrets.

"You said Pettigrew, father." I said, trying to prove my thirst for this knew knowledge. "Didn't Sirius Black kill him years ago?" I shirked back at the look father gave me. I bumped against the wall, my shoulders hunched, expecting to be hit hard with the serpent staff.

Instead, father grinned. "My dear boy." he started, trailing off and then beginning again. "How little you know of the world I escape to every night." He smirked. It was that awful smirk I had inherited; I knew exactly what it meant. trouble. "Black was innocent. Pettigrew, in fact, was the cowardly assistant of the Dark Lord, to whom we pay our tributes, Draco."

I stared. Black, innocent? Pettigrew, alive? This was all so odd! Ah, but then again, this is the Wizarding World (thank ye gods) where anything can happen. Father always knew what was right, and I trusted his opinion, even though he was a cruel man. I would have to grow up like he did, and raise my children in that same manner.

"Pettigrew gave an arm for the return of Lord Voldemort." Father hissed, his face real close to mine now. "And Potter's blood was taken. By miracle I know not about, Potter escaped. It is our sworn duty as Death Eaters to assist Voldemort by any means to destroy Potter, for he blocks Voldemort's road to supreme power."

I nodded solemnly, understanding as well as I thought possible. "The Malfoy family requires a certain amount of respect to be able to accompany the Dark Lord in his doings. I am aware that you understand the mudbloods are poisoning our perfect world?"

"Of course, father," I nodded along, watching his staff closely.

"Then you will understand, Draco, why I am so harsh with you and Narcissa." He paused, and an unbearable smirk crossed his face. He was going to hit me next, to seal the deal. I should have known that; he believed his actions could be paid for with pain from my mother and I.

The head of the pointed serpent struck my thigh, and my hands shot to my injured leg to nurse it. Father thought nothing of this, and added a bloodied knuckle to my bodily injuries. I wiped by bloodied hand on my robes, and waited for the next blow. It hit me hard in the abdomen, where no one could see the scars. My stomach, in fact, was full of scars from being beaten. No one saw them; nothing incriminated father.

I moaned, feeling blood rising to my mouth. I slumped down the wall, and barely heard my father's cruel laughter. He kicked me lightly when I doubled over on the floor, spilling blood in various places on the hard tile floor. I hadn't been beaten this bad since.

"Let that seal the deal, son." Said father as a farewell. He left the room with a swish of dark robes, to leave me with my still unconscious mother. Deep in my heart, I felt bad for her. She had been diminished to a partially insane mess of a woman, and I, her son, did nothing about it. But what was there I could do? All I did was submissively let father take advantage of us both.

With difficulty, I managed to pull myself to my feet. I walked slowly over to mother, and made sure she was still alive. She was. I shifted her to a move comfortable position on the floor, and conjured an icepack for her head (forgetting the no magic rule for the summer holidays).

With that, I climbed the marble steps. It was a trying task. Hurting all over, I finally reached the top, and looked down upon my spilled blood, and my unawake mother. I turned back to the vast hallway that the stairs led to, picking the lock manually on a dusty un-kept door.

Inside there was nothing special to the naked eye, but to the mind the room held memories that most fifteen year olds do not carry with them. The room was had been dust ridden, and there was broken glass littered upon the floor. But the broken glass on the floor and ripped bed sheets wasn't what caught my attention the most.

In the corner furthest the window, there were bloodstains on the once-white carpet. On top of the bloodstains, there lay a skeleton. It was a very diminutive skeleton, with stains of blood still covering the bones. The room reeked of death, yet this is where I sought my feelings to be alone on my birthday.

"Happy birthday," I whispered softly, looking around the lifeless room. It looked as if the walls had once been a pastel pink. Outside the window, the full moon shone down upon me, casting the only source of light in the darkness that seemed to be engulfing me.

"Happy birthday." I heard the echo of my words. "Happy birthday, Draco."