Crazed

A/N: This story is extemely disturbing. If that is not apparent in the first chapter, well...you'll see what I mean once I've got the rest of it written and posted.




~Crazed~


Need


I loved him.

I loved him so much. I worshipped the ground he walked on. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…

But I was always in his shadow.

Got straight fucking A’s in school. Every single year. It wasn’t enough.

“Why is a mud blood besting you in every class, Draco?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying! She’s just so smart--”

“Smarter than a Malfoy?”

Inconceivable. Right? Impossible. I must be a freak for suggesting that a filthy, common-place Mudblood could have brain power superior to my own. Surely I’m not worthy of the pure, noble blood running through my veins. Right? That’s what you’re thinking.

I disgust you.

“…I’m sorry. Father,” I whisper, my eyes fixed on my trainers. Don’t look up. Don’t see the loathing.

“Get out of my sight.”

Again and again like this. Every year. I’m not good enough. I’m a bad boy. I don’t deserve your love. I do bad in school. I don’t appreciate everything that’s been handed to me on a silver platter.

“No, I’m not giving you pocket money. You haven’t earned it. Continue with the poor performance you‘ve demonstrated thus far, and you will never receive pocket money again. Spoiled, ungrateful child. Do tell me what is so important that you must have five sickles right now. What is it that Draco deserves?”

“I--I wanted a book. That’s all. A book.” I say, shame-faced, guilty.

“We have a library full of books. You have a trunk full of books that need to be read for school-”

“Please, Father. I’ve read them all. I’ve done my homework. Please-”

I’m disrespectful.

Hiss. “Do not interrupt me, Draco.”

“I’m sorry.”

Oh, you disgusting, simpering, apologetic mess.

“You’re always sorry, Draco. And I never see you making any effort to correct your mistakes. Do you know what a consistently sorry person is? He is just that: sorry. And that is all he is. Will you continue to disappoint me, Draco? Will you continue to be sorry?”

“No, Father.”

“I should hope not. And now: Tell me what you have learned from this, Draco. Do you still believe that you need a new book when you have not yet proven so adept at your schoolwork that you are not behind a Mudblood?”

“No…Father.”

“Well, then? Why are you still standing here?”

“…”

“You are not improving your grades by standing before me with that sad, defeated look upon your face.”

Don’t cry.

“Nor are you extracting any sympathy.”

It doesn’t matter.

“Do you deserve sympathy, Draco?”

“…NO.”

Never, ever. Not ever.

“Well then.”

I don’t deserve you.

“Let me see you deserve something. Improve, Draco.”

“Yes.”

I’ll do it or die.

“I expect to see evidence of your improvement by dinner. Impress me, Draco.”

Love you, love you. Want to be just like you.

I’m ungrateful.

“You don’t need it. Stop asking.”

“But-”

“You behave as though I’ve never bought you anything nice in your whole entire life. What about that Nimbus Two Thousand that you just couldn’t live without ?”

That was in Second-year. So long ago.

“Your greed is insatiable. I don’t know what to do with you.”

But it’s not even expensive. I haven’t asked for anything for ages. Can’t I have it, please? It’s so pretty.

“Your mother spoils you too much by feeding you all those sweets. You must learn the word No, Draco.”

I hear it every day from you.

“Repeat after me: I do not need

No.

This shiny red scarf. I will not die if I do not receive

No. I’m busy.

This unnecessary article of clothing, one of which I already possess

No. You are hardly more worthy of my lunch hour than these pressing documents that demand my attention.

Countless dozens, which my frivolous mother has no doubt purchased on impulse in an effort to

Get out of my study.

satisfy my every whim.”

Get out of my life.

I DON’T LOVE YOU.

I’m bad. I’m lazy and stupid. I’m spoiled and disrespectful and ungrateful. You are disappointed in me. I know.

More than your words tell me this, the way that you never, ever touch me--even to punish me; the switch will suffice--screams it into my subconscious, ingraining it in every part of my mind. Keeping me awake at night.

Draco Malfoy. The bad son. The failure.

Love me, Daddy. Please. Touch me, touch me.

“Potter has defeated you again.”

“It’s not my fault. The teachers favor him!”

“You are telling me that the professors’ preference for him over you has caused you to lose yet another Quidditch match to that poor, deluded orphan?

“…I…I--”

“Learn to accept responsibility for your actions, Draco. Blaming others for your own shortcomings will not help you to succeed in life.”

I’m sorry. I just wanted you to like me.

“I am ashamed to call you my son.”

Please. Please don’t.

“You are lacking in discipline. You will never amount to anything.”

You’re hurting me.

“I regret the day that you were conceived. It was a mistake.”

Please.

I wanted him to love me. More than anything, I craved it. Every second of every day. I ached for his love.


But… I didn’t want that.



A/N: What doesn't Draco want? You'll find out if you hit that chapter button. Oh boy, will you ever.