Byron's eyes were fixed on the little dark haired girl who weaved her way through the Malfoy gardens. Her eyes, alight with laughter, glinted in the twilight as she screamed with delight while her father chased her. Soft wavy hair floated behind her and whipped around the outstretched branches; sliding away, the texture smooth as silk.
Late spring had a brought a beautiful flush to her face and the air was laden with the smell of the apple orchard. With the fading light at her back, she looked like one of those angels his mother had shown him in his books; like she had stepped straight out of the shiny pages and into his life.
At that moment, her father stopped as he was called away by his wife and the angel was left to play by herself. He stepped forward almost unknowingly and snuck behind her. He breathed her in and felt his tummy ache like when he had had too much ice-cream and his chest hurt like when mom was upset with him for sneaking out at night.
"Byron, I can feel you breathing on my neck."
She spun and glowered at him. Her expression, so at odds with her former smile, was cute nonetheless.
"Don't you have some mud to roll in?" She sniffed.
"No." Byron answered and drew nothing further than a blank. She always made him feel so stupid, as if he had nothing more to say. He was the cleverest boy in his muggle class and in a year he would be going to Hogwarts just as his father did…yet, here he was, tongue tied again.
She stepped away from him, still glaring. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
Byron hated it when she called him by his last name. Mom did that to dad when she was mad and he couldn't help by feel as if he had done something wrong. And what was worse, she never did that to his brothers. Quentin and Gage were just Quentin and Gage to her. He was the eldest of the triplets and yet she seemed to treat him as if he were years younger.
"Nothing. I…" Byron didn't know what to say again. He unconsciously reached out to touch her but she pulled away and crinkled her nose.
She walked away, towards Quentin. He looped his arm around her and smirked in his direction; Byron fought the urge to punch him.
A heavy, familiar hand settled on his shoulder. Without looking up, he knew that his father stood silently as his side, probably smirking.
"You're still young." He said, his eyes crinkled at the corners, fine lines fanning out.
Byron scowled.
Draco continued unfazed by his son's surly nature. "Quentin has charm."
Byron scowled even more deeply.
"He will always be popular with the female sex." Draco's smiled softened as his eyes swung to Hermione. "But the right woman will see right through that charm and want you instead."
"Dad," Byron sighed. "Girls are disgusting. Why are you telling me this?"
Draco barked with laughter, throwing back his handsome head and drawing the eye of his beautiful mother.
"Say that to me in 5 years, son."
Byron ground his teeth; Quentin was whispering to her now and she was clutching his shirt and laughing, a wonderful expression on her face. Something angry bubbled through his stomach.
"Quentin has charm, my charm. Gage has smarts, from your mother. You, being the eldest of your siblings, have loyalty and responsibility. It's a burden now, Byron, but in the future, women will actually appreciate it."
Byron shrugged uncomfortably and shook off his father's hand. It was all well and good for Draco Malfoy to say that, after all, he was Draco Malfoy, but he was just Byron and he had yet to prove himself to be worthy of the Malfoy name. He looked up to his father, and loved his mother…he wanted nothing more than to make them proud.
