My Father Will Hear About This

"My father will hear about this." Every time he had said these words, they were meant as a warning not a threat. He knew no one had ever thought of it that way, because of his disposition. Lucius was best at what he did. Maybe even better than the Dark Lord. Lucius had created every facet of Draco Malfoy; he had created a cowardly clone of himself. Hermione had been his only hope. He had felt her slap him, in the murky depths of his mind. She was too mad at him to notice. That's when his hope was snuffed out, like a candle on a window, on a dark, windy day. He knew then that he always was and always will be a tool for Lucius, the way Lucius was a tool for the Dark Lord.

"Lord Voldemort." He tried to say it every day. The day he could say it would be the day Lucius Malfoy was dead. Until then, he would be Lucius' eyes, ears, and mouthpiece. Since Azkaban, Lucius' hold on him had been substandard. He knew he was wasting away. He was dying but Lucius had commanded him to survive by any means necessary. If Lucius' command hadn't deteriorated, he would have had to create a horcrux. Lucius' command had slipped just enough for him to die naturally. Cold, alone and broken on the stone floor, he would die the way he had entered this world.

Mother Magic caressed the cheek of her favorite, as he took his last breath. She was cursed to watch, to always watch and never interfere. Watch as her son died without living. Watch as Draco Malfoy died, still under his father's Imperius.