Little Soldiers

Little soldiers never cry,
little soldiers don't complain.
Little soldiers don't ask why,
little soldiers take the pain.
Little soldiers never cry,
little soldiers always try to be good little soldiers.

"Little Soldiers" by Tanglefoot.

Draco was so full of excitement he thought he would up and burst any second now. Father had just bought him a racing broom - a Comet Two-Seventy! The fastest, best broom on the market and it was all his. Maybe he'd take it around to Gregory's later and refuse to let him have a go. After he'd given it a proper trial run, of course.

He grinned over his shoulder at his father who smiled serenely back as they stepped out onto Malfoy Manor's Quidditch pitch.

"Father, Father! Watch this," he cried over his shoulder and with one (almost) fluid motion the nine year old swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground.

~*~

There's a yell behind him. The blond man spins to raise his wand and cleanly dispatches his would-be attacker in a burst of green. He's not even breaking a sweat. There's something wrong with this situation, it's never been this easy.

He watches the Death Eaters file through the door he has just secured and for a moment shakes the nagging doubt. It's just another mission, like a hundred others he's done before. Nothing he can't handle.

Then all hell breaks loose.


~*~

The child soared high like an arrow released from a bow, laughing with sheer delight at the feeling of freedom flight could give. He never even dreamed it could be like this - nothing but himself and his own reflexes up here. He tried a few dives on for size, watching his father for reactions. Any expression on his face beyond "bored". The man seemed pleased that Draco had found a new talent, but no more than that. Draco's swoops and turns became larger and more daring, trying to wring a look of pride or pleasure from his idol. He began to dive towards the ground at the broom's top speed. Faster, faster, until he was sure his heart would stop. At the last second he pulled up sharply, grinning.

He'd pulled up too sharply however and the tail of the broom caught on the floor, flinging the boy at break-neck speeds onto the ground.

~*~


Again he hears a yell behind him but this time it's followed by at least four different voices shouting together. He spins to see Nott falling, open eyed, and his brain registers that the man is obviously dead. His brain is no longer in command of his body however, as his reflexes kick in and he hits the ground and rolls.

They've walked straight into an ambush.

Most of his unit have hit the deck, but he sees a man stand to fight. Before he can cry out there is a flash of green light. He would like to say the man falls as if in slow motion, but in truth it is as quick as if he were falling off a broomstick.


~*~

When the world came back into focus the first thing Draco saw was his father's back. The man was dusting off the Comet Two-Seventy, checking the bristles for breaks. The pain in Draco' leg was almost unbearable. He didn't dare look down in case there was blood. Instead he did the logical thing to a nine-year old. His face crumpled and a high wail tore from his throat. His father turned at the noise and what Draco saw in his face stopped him dead; contempt.

"Draco. You will cease that immediately. You are a Malfoy - a little soldier. Little soldiers never cry. You don't complain." Draco stifled his sobs with his sleeve. "When you feel fit to join me you will come to the dining hall and not before. You did this to yourself, I will have none of it." And with nothing more Draco's father turned and walked back into the house, taking the broom with him.

Draco managed to crawl back into the house and had the house elves bandage his ankle before he went down for dinner. Neither mentioned the incident, but Draco never cried in front of his father again.

~*~

The blond frantically scrambles over to the fallen form, cradling the head in his lap. He strokes the fine hair; twining the strands - blond like his own, around his fingers and closes the dulling grey eyes one last time.

Lucius Malfoy bends his head over his son and lets one silent tear fall. Then, wiping his face he rises.

After all, little soldiers never cry.