Eyes impassive. Facial expressions emotionless. Shoulders back. Don't slouch. Chin up.
He was borne without the knowledge of this proper etiquette, but since those seventeen plus years, they've been burned and imprinted into the memory of his mind. Each morning, it's the same routine. Not one strand of silver-blonde hair out of place. His hair is always slicked back and his wave of arrogance hits you even when you're twenty feet away from him. He sneers nastily at you, smirking at your writhing figure.
You don't see past the obnoxious exterior to take a glimpse past that. Everyone believes that there's nothing there, just an empty space filled with nothingness. They all think that his chest is void of his heart. They don't know better. I'm his mother. I should know him better than that. No one understands the concept of having to be him.
None of them have ever experienced the pain of it all firsthand. He wasn't raised wit a silver spoon in his mouth. He was raised with an iron fist to his face or a blow to his stomach. I could never tend the broken bones and whatnots because of him. He made our lives like this. He wasn't always this cruel, mind you. He used to love us. He used to care. That's what made me so attracted to him in the first place. He was so tender. Everything changed when Draco turned one. That's when the storm hit.
Two of our prior schoolmates had birthed a baby boy. His name was Harry Potter. He would one day be a legend in the wizarding world. Even back then, we weren't too keen on the Potters. The Potter boy was a cute little thing, I must admit. He had raven black hair and bright green eyes that were filled with mirth and love. He was about ten months old by that time.
It was a windy night. A storm was brewing and rain splattered upon the windows of the Malfoy Manor. I sat on the dark brown leather sofa with my legs crossed evenly. A book was propped up on my thigh, but it never caught my attention. Lucius sat in front of me on the reclining black leather seat behind the mahogany desk, scribbling furiously onto the parchment before him. This was the night I dreaded most. Lucius' gray eyes reflected my own: filled with horror and trepidation. I knew what was to happen.
A small, almost silent hiss of pain passed his thin lips. The Dark Mark was burning. He swiftly rose from his seat and placed and chaste kiss on my cheek as a farewell. He apparated away. The Deatheaters would go hunting that night.
Hours passed. Draco slept silently in his well-furnished crib. His gray eyes were shielded from light. My own dark blue ones filled with tears. I never let them fall. Crying was a sign of weakness and I, Narcissa Black Malfoy, was not weak. A loud crash quickly brought me out of my reverie. I gracefully glided to Lucius' study to find him rampant and overturning various objects and furniture. I took time to study him. His lips were compressed into a firm line, filled with malevolence and his eyes radiated his anger. His pale skin took a turn for the worse, turning almost a crimson shade of red. His jawbone was set and clicking painfully. What could have caused this change in him?
He suddenly turned and saw me standing there, eyes questioning his motives. His breath was ragged and his eyes were completely bloodshot, something that I had missed.
"How?" was all he could say.
I had no idea what he was talking about and I wasn't about to press him for answers. His legs couldn't support him anymore and he tumbled to the ground in one rapid motion. I was immediately by his side. His large gray eyes looked up at me, filled with confusion and hate. I knew that it wasn't toward me, but from what had happened before.
"The Potter boy survived. Our Lord had performed the Killing curse upon that wretched boy and he survived! Our Lord was diminished in the palm of a baby!" he screamed.
I was astonished. I didn't like Voldemort, but I didn't know he was this pathetic. I had always led Lucius to believe I was a follower, but truth is, he was nothing but a folly. I had dated him back in our Hogwart days. He was four years older than I. Tom Riddle was the imagery of perfection until he decided that taking over the world was all there was to life. That was when I fell in love with Lucius. I knew Tom's plans were stupid, but this was just utterly horrendous.
Ever since then, Lucius had not been the same. He wanted Draco to be better than The Boy Who Lived. He wanted Draco to do something great to compensate for the mortifying loss of his master. I didn't want this to happen. When we sent him to Hogwarts, I was worried for him. He could hold his own, but it was only a mother's worry. Nothing too horrible happened. I sent his sweets, despite Lucius' protests. He thought Draco would become a nancy and turn soft or worse, a poof. I almost snorted in his face when he said that. I explained patiently that no child would become a poof from sweets. It was just that Draco had a sweet tooth and he would not be able to get much from his current dwelling. Lucius accepted my explanation and went on his way to go think of some torture for the mudbloods. Through the years, He became withdrawn and was always sullen. He was usually in foul moods. His temper was getting quite atrocious. I missed how he used to be. I missed the way of life we had shared before. I miss him.
(Author's Note: Any misspellings, I apologize profusely. I'm only thirteen and if this does not fit your fancy, don't read any further. I don't know if I should continue or not. It's up to you. I would appreciate necessary criticism and a rating that is deemed with your review. Saying this was juvenile or such does not live up to its expectations. I want reasons on why it was bad or what ever. You may do as you please.)