Author: Devilita

Beta-reader: Michael Serpent

Rating: K

Genre: Hmm… angst/general?

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

Summary: A moment in Draco's childhood. Lucius and his son are in the Library of Malfoy Manor and Draco is bored. A short drabble/one-shot.

A/N: It was rather… spooky to re-discover this fic. It had been lying somewhere in the darkest and mistiest corners of my computer and then I one day found it again. I have posted this fic here before as well but apparently I've taken it down at some point. I just had to put it here again.

And why was it spooky to find this fic? This was my A/N from a few years back: "Thanks to Michie Pooh (Michael Serpent) for beta-reading this for me! Even though he is an ickle Slythereenie, he's a real darling."

There was another part of this story somewhere but I can't find it. Michael betaed that for me as well so if anyone knows where I might find it, I'd really appreciate the knowledge.


Brand new Malfoy in Progress


23.6. 1983, The Malfoy Manor, Library

"Papa!" A toddler frolicked into his father's arms. The newspaper Lucius had been reading fell to the ground and spread all over the black carpet.

"Damn it!" the surprised man swore and as he lifted his gaze, he came face to face with a grinning little… "Idiot!"

The flames of the fireplace roared soothingly and sent little glowing sparks and light grey particles of soot onto the carpet. On the mantelpiece stood a long row of photos of beautiful, proud-looking people. On the walls there were alsohuge oil paintings of the Malfoy ancestors; posing to the artist the way aristocrats always do, gazing at the viewer smugly some women petting white cats in their laps. They stayed there almost motionless, only fixing their hair every now and then to represent the Malfoys' 'natural superiority' as well as possible.

The blonde boy narrowed his eyes and glared at his father furiously. Seeking for a better position on his father's thighs he leaned against Lucius' chest, and to get his complete attention Draco started pulling at the strings of his father's hood. Pursing his pale pink lips together he muttered: "Mudblood."

This made Lucius both smirk and fume at the same time. The tot surely was on the right tracks, but the target or the insults was definitely wrong. Grabbing the child's hair with his fingers -rather loosely, though- he hissed in a dangerous, low voice, "Never. Use. That tone on me!"

The boy fake-sobbed and clawed his father's fingers lightly, trying to release the grip. Lucius let his words to sink in the boy's mind as the wriggling lad protested. It was amazingly difficult to hold a three-year-old boy, who encompassed the famous Malfoy temper.

However, there was a handy collar that fitted into Lucius'fist nicely and therefore seemed to keep the boy immobile enough.

"Never speak to me disrespectfully, is that understood?" He didn't release the hold orhis gaze. The halted boy bit his lip in annoyance and nodded twice, eyes sparking with offence and young child's bitter fury.

The grip was released. The blonde little boy slid off of his father's lap and strolled to sit in the middle of the black carpet, fingering something inside his grey-blue robe pockets.

"Accio newspaper", Lucius pronounced and the papers reorganized themselves into a correct order and flew into his hands once more. Glancing once more at his son, he noticed that the tot was merrily pre-occupied. Satisfied, he sighed and flipped the paper open in front of his face, and lifted his right ankle to rest on his left leg's knee.

The boy sat cross-legged, wriggling a cigar that he had found previously from somewhere. As the item seemed not to be that interesting after all (it smelled bad), he tossed it into the fire. It sparkled nicely and he leaned forward to see it burn into ashes…

Oblivious Lucius turned the page and snorted at something he had read.

After a while the over-active kid started coughing and covered his tiny mouth with his hand. The boy retreated from the fire and obviously wondered the reason of the sudden smell. Suddenly the boy had an aha-experience and his eyes lit in victory as he put one plus one.

"Brown sticks-" (cough) "-stink bad, when they-" (cough) "-burn", was the boys comment. According to his expression it seemed to be the realization of the century.

Lucius glanced from behind his paper and saw the boy wrinkling his face in disgust and waving his hands around to vanish the smoke. Suddenly Lucius smelled it, too.

Rolling his eyes at the ceiling as he suddenly felt very old, he groaned: "For God's sake," and watched his son in defeat.

The boy lifted one elegant eyebrow (this had been thoroughly practiced) at his father and tried not to grin.

"Draco. I'm serious. Go upstairs to see what Mama's doing and report me after… a while."

The boy just couldn't stay solemn, the same arrogant sneer shone on his lips. "Okies, Papa."

A minute passed.

The boy hadn't moved. Lucius longed to tap his fingertips against the armrest.

So he waited another minute.

"Draco, didn't you hear what I said?" Lucius wanted desperately to get rid of that miniature package of silent torture.

"I did." Honest.

Lucius tried to glare daggers at the boy, but didn't succeed in it. "Then why are you still here?"

"I already know what Mama's doing. She's putting her perfumes into correct order in her bedroom."

"But how–"

"She was the one who told me to come here and not to disturb her."

"Don't interrupt me, boy." Draco gulped and noticeably got the point. "And I tell you to go to your mother. Or where ever you like. Just… go somewhere else, okay?"

"Yes, Papa." Springing up like a rubber ball Draco ran to the door, wrenched it open and entered the corridor. The door was left wide-open and rapid footsteps echoed in the hallways until they faded away.

The soon-to-be-mentally-grey-haired Papa didn't in all honesty want to know what his son was up to now.