The Malfoy Legacy
Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter world belongs to me.
Description: Draco observes his father late one night and discovers something about his family.
It was nearing midnight and the summer was drawing to a close. My father, Lucius Malfoy, sits in his dark office on the third floor of the Malfoy Manor doing paperwork. His long silver hair, so like mine, falls forward over his shoulders and brushes the papers. He frowns and swats the hair away.
He doesn't know I am sitting on a shelf in my room peering through the vents in at him. He doesn't know I have done it for years. Most people can watch their parents at meal times or while they are on an outing with them, but I have to resort to late night spying to see my father as he truly is.
He looks tired and old, though he's only in his forties. He doesn't look as cold and heartless as he does in public. He looks human. I think this is the only time I can ever say that. Tomorrow when I go to breakfast he will be back to being a monster.
A portrait of my grandfather stares down at my father's desk and I can see my father staring at it. I see him fidget under the stern gaze. My grandfather was a powerful wizard – but a good one. He opposed integration with Muggles, but he would never have killed any. He was a peaceful man, but he was imposing. He expected the best of my father, the way my father expects the best of me. But is our best really just the line of perfection that dances above our heads – you can never touch it, but it blocks the sun enough that you must constantly sit in its shadow?
My great-grandfather sits in another part of the room, propped up in his portrait. He glares at my grandfather and my father. He didn't like his son either. His son was peaceful and a Minister of Magic. But his father hadn't wanted that for him. He had wanted his son to be like him and work exclusively in a potions lab. Both his son and grandson were disappointments to him.
Maybe that's the real Malfoy legacy. Not rich wizards who were upstanding members of the community, but rather sons who disappointed their fathers and fathers who expected too much of their sons.
My father, the Death Eater, expects me to follow Voldemort as he does. I am to be initiated in only a few short weeks. As the time ticks by, I know even further in my heart that I don't want to fight. I don't want to die or live in Azkaban. I want to be free of any curse of the wizarding world. I don't want to ever take sides. While purebloods are the best, I don't want to risk anything so I will not kill those who are not purebloods. I will be above that. I simply will not establish the idea I am aware of their existence.
My father stands suddenly and walks to the door. Taking out his wand, he extinguishes the candles in his study quickly. I know that he will come to my room to watch me sleep for a moment before he goes to his own bed, so I quickly scramble off the shelf and under my blankets. When he opens the door, I keep my eyes shut, though I can feel him watching me. I hear him sigh sadly as he closes the door. When I hear the bolt click I hear his murmur something.
"I can never love my own son for he is sure to disappoint me."
'Yes,' I think. 'That is the Malfoy legacy.'