the golden pair ~ h. potter

Year 2, Chapter 2

TW: MENTIONS OF BLOOD, WILL BE MARKED WITH A STAR.

(Your POV)

Mother rushes down the stairs closely followed by Father. She is met with the sight of me and my brother staring guiltily at heaps of food and dishware littering the floor. To make matters comically worse, I'm covered from head to toe in flour, causing me to look like the abominable snowman.

Draco and I had just been messing around playing tag. There wasn't much to do in the manor, so we took it upon ourselves to have at least a little fun. Unfortunately, Draco had pushed me into one of the large food cupboards as he tagged me. Whether it was intentional or purely incidental, I have no idea.

When I fell into the doors the cabinet had tipped. The doors flew open, unleashing their inner contents all over the kitchen floor and myself.

I may be all gross, but at least I'm not as bad as Draco. He got hit in the head with a rather large pot.

"What in Salazar's name happened here?!" My father practically growls.

Before I can even open my mouth, Draco beats me to it. Still rubbing the sore spot on his head with one hand, he uses the other to point at me, "It was all Y/N, father. I told her we shouldn't play in the kitchen! But noooo, she insisted. I am very sorry."

My parents turn their attention to me.

I'm gonna kill that little no-good son of a-

"Y/N, is this true?" My mother's clear voice interrupts my thoughts.

There's no point in fighting it. It will only end in me and Draco blaming one another then we will both be punished. I may as well take the blame.

I slowly nod my head, biting my lip in guilt. My parents visibly stiffen before Father speaks, "Very well. Draco, you go with your mother. She'll attend to that rather nasty-looking bump forming on your head," Draco pats the spot gingerly, letting out a squeak when he feels the mound forming upon his scalp, "And Y/N, you come with me."

After performing a quick cleaning charm on the kitchen and myself, my father leads me from the kitchen and into one of the Manor's many studies. I stand in the doorway simply watching as Father sits in the ornate chair behind a desk. I sit in the chair he transfigures for me in front of the desk. The scene oddly reminds me of a student about to be scolded by their Headmaster.

Father pulls out a sheet of parchment and an unusual red quill. The quill looks almost like one of those muggle contraptions, a "pen". He pushes the page and the writing utensil across the desk until they sit in front of me.

I look up at him, my eyebrows creased in confusion. He's given me a quill, but, what about the ink?  

"You're getting older, Y/N. You are blossoming from the young child we've come to know into the young woman we want you to be. I will not permit any more of this immaturity, it would be bad for the Malfoy name."

"I'm sorry, Father. It won't happen again."

"I wish I could take only your word for it. No, I need to ensure you stay in line," He taps a finger to the paper, "You will be writing lines."

"What must I write? And how many times?"

"Hmm. . . write 'I will not disgrace the family name'."

". . . How many times?"

I can tell he's starting to feel irritated again, "You're done when I say you are."

"One last thing, I apologize, you haven't given me any ink."

"Oh, don't worry, you won't be needing ink. Just begin writing."

Forcing my remaining questions down, I begin to write the words across the page. Surprisingly, the quill indeed doesn't need ink. It writes smoothly and efficiently in a rich vermillion ink. My father inspects his fingernails, seemingly bored.

As I begin the second line, a burning pain suddenly flares up on the top of my hand. I ignore it and continue writing. However, the more I write, the worse the irritation becomes. I gasp and drop the quill as the pain becomes sharper and more intense. I struggle to hold back tears as I watch the words carve themselves into my hand.

'I will not disgrace the family name' gleams mockingly in the light.

**TW**

Blood drips slowly from the wound, staining my sleeve. A drop falls onto the parchment, smudging some of the writing there. It's then that I realize, I'm writing with my own blood.

**TW END**

5 minutes. . . 10. . . 30. . .

Time drags by impossibly slowly. I feel as if I've been here for hours. The wound on my hand constantly heals itself over, most likely by magic, before being slashed open again. It gets deeper and deeper and deeper. The pain barely registers in my head, I'm more focused on just getting this over with.

After about an hour, my father finally releases me from my punishment, "You may stop."

I drop the quill as if it were a red-hot piece of iron and clutch onto my wrist. I take a moment to inspect my injury, and it's worse than I thought.

**TW**

The cuts are deep. Way too deep. They are still bleed somewhat heavily. Dried blood clings to the skin all around the wound and the edge of my jumper's sleeve.

**TW END**

The sight of this is too much. A few unwanted tears slip down my cheeks and onto the hard wooden surface.

"Don't cry," Father says coldly, "You're a Malfoy. Malfoys never cry," He eyes my injury warily, "Maybe now you'll think twice before stepping out of line." And with that, he leaves the room, leaving me to deal with my injury. I
I hurry to a bathroom to wash the wounds. I hiss in pain as the water hits the cuts, sending a sharp sting into my hand.

I clean them and bandage my hand tightly. Satisfied with my handiwork, I go into my room and flop onto the bed.

Father's never been that harsh before. Sure, sometimes he'd snap and hit us with his cane, but I've never seen him that angry.

But it can't possibly get any worse, right?

I couldn't have possibly been any more wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(W/C): 1064 words.

(A/N): A bit of a shorter chapter today, sorry. I'm trying to work more on Y/N's life at home, relationships with people, and such. I'm actually posting on schedule though, so there's that! Next chapter will be longer, I promise :)