Their Only Son

"It's good to see you home again," Lucius said as the carriage bumped out towards the manor. "Did you have a good year at school?"

"It was all right," Draco muttered. "Still no House Cup, and the bleeding Gryffindors won the Quidditch cup on top of everything else. Oh, and I'm sure you've heard that we ended up with a dangerous creature for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Lucius's lips thinned. "Severus told me. Dumbledore is an idiot." He looked back at his son. "But that's beside the point. You learned a lot this year?"

"I suppose I did. They're not much for teaching me things I didn't know already, really." Draco fell silent and looked out across the grey landscape. Lucius followed suit, allowing the thirteen-year-old his privacy.

The carriage eventually rolled up to Malfoy Manor. Draco looked up to see his mother waiting outside, her arms spread in expectation. He twisted up a smile as he climbed out of the carriage and sauntered over to her for the requisite hug.

"Draco, dear, you look positively wonderful! You had a good year, I suppose? I heard you didn't win the Quidditch Cup, I am so sorry. There's always next year, though."

"No, next year is something different," Lucius called as he levitated Draco's trunk into the house. "But it will still give our boy a chance to shine. I'll tell you more about it later."

The evening meal was a gala event. The Malfoys had a tradition, started by Lucius's grandfather, of hosting a great feast for the after-term meal. They invited all of their friends who had children at Hogwarts and spared no expense on the most lavish foods and decorations. The dining hall was decked in green and silver, and house-elves scurried to and fro with giant platters of savories. Lucius and Narcissa stood at the door to greet their guests as Draco ran about with his friends.

"Good evening, Alexander...ahh, Marcus finally graduated this year, did he? Good to hear, good to hear...Ah, Severus, good to see you could attend this year. No, come in, this evening is to relax and take your mind off of school. Sappanura, Nyx, a pleasure to see you. Pansy doing well, I take it?"

The dinners had only one rule: No talk of the school year, unless there was a significant Slytherin victory to discuss. This year there was not, so the evening was filled with jokes and anecdotes from the adults and questions from the children. After dinner, particularly tricky bits of magic were displayed, often in a friendly competition to see who had mastered the most impressive spell this year. It was a night of relaxing and fun all around.

It was during the after-dinner fun that Narcissa nudged her son from his sprawl in a black velvet armchair. "Now you're home, you've got responsibilities to tend to."

"Mother," Draco began with a roll of his eyes, but Narcissa's quick glare silented him. Grumbling under his breath, he headed into the kitchen.

Lucius was already in there, scolding a house-elf harshly for spilling tea on the carpet. Draco trudged over to the bread box and took out part of a loaf.

"Why do I have to do this, Father?" he pleaded. "Why can't a house-elf do it?"

"Your mother and I feel you need the experience. It all starts at home," Lucius answered him sternly. "You know this. You need to see what our kind should do to those who are inferior beings, especially with that damn Dumbledore trying to fill your head with nonsense. Now go."

Draco slammed the bread box shut and started to the basement, his face sullen. He made his way easily through the series of magically locked doors and finally opened the last set. He was in a nearly-dark room with a single candle flickering. He slammed the door shut behind him, creating a satisfying echo.

In a far corner, he heard a stir and the clank of chains. "Draco?" The voice was rusty from disuse.

"I've told you before, you're not fit to talk with me," Draco sneered. Secretly, he loved this. He hadn't wanted to be pulled away from his friends tonight, but now that he was here, he remembered the rush it gave him.

"Draco..." Chains clanked again and something pulled itself just into the range of unsteady candlelight. He could see its pale eyes and its lank, matted hair. Draco snorted and threw the loaf at it. He saw it hit the thing's face, and he smiled.

"That'll teach you, filth."

"Draco..." He could hear it starting to cry, the pitiful sack of shit. "Please...let me out. I can go out and live with the Muggles, I'll never bother any of you, I'll change my name--"

"You have no name!" Draco bellowed. "For that matter, you're not fit to speak mine!"

"But I..." It paused, overcome by the effort of so much speaking. "But I'm your brother..."

Draco grabbed the closest thing he could in the dark and hurled it at the thing in the corner. The iron lantern smashed into the thing's face, and Draco saw blood flowing from its nose.

"Let that be a lesson to you," he said coldly as it started to wail in pain. "You? You are a fucking Squib. I? I have no brother." He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.