The Cane or Why Draco Was Such A Cunt
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,069
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,069
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Cane or Why Draco Was Such A Cunt
Author’s note: Ok, this fic came from another discussion with a friend, this time on the scene from the Chamber of Secrets film with Lucius and Draco in Knockturn Alley. The moment Lucius narrowly misses Draco when he lashes out with his staff and tells him to stay away from Tutankhamen’s sarcophagus (?) provided us with hours and hours of amusement. This fic is the result of many hours speculation into Draco’s home life. This was started no less than two years ago, and although the story itself isn’t long, I forgot about it until last night, when I finished it. A few lines are shamelessly nicked from American Beauty, but that’s how I see Narcissa. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Personally, I’d hope JK would find this story amusing and wouldn’t feel the need to sue me, but just incase; The Malfoys don’t belong to me.
____________________________________________________________________
It was the start of another normal day in the Malfoy mansion. The master of the household, Draco, decided to watch some television in the family room. He settled down in his favourite armchair next to his imposing father, Lucius. As he tentatively reached for the remote control, shakily extending his right hand across the three-foot gap to the arm of his father’s chair, a sleek ebony staff appeared out of nowhere and in a blur of wood and lacquer, crushed Draco’s fingers down onto the now-dented and probably damaged device.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
Draco sighed through the immense pain emanating from his throbbing and quickly swelling fingers.
*fuck*
He tried to remove his hand from where it was trapped between the staff and chair, but his father would not relent. Lucius carried on staring blankly ahead almost imperceptivity rocking in the squeaky lather chair. His long platinum blonde hair was drawn back out of his face and secured with a black velveteen bow,
*ponce*
To try and snap his father our of his stupor Draco attempted to talk to Lucius
“So…seen Voldemort lately?”
His totally irresponsive father just breathed louder and increased his rocking,
*Not a good move*
With surprising strength Draco managed to lift his father’s staff up just enough to slide his aching hand out from underneath. Shaking his hand to encourage blood circulation, he quickly exited the chair and the room, and only when he was in the hall did he allowed himself a scowl of disgust at his father. Lucius, you see, was no ordinary father. Years of the strain of being in league with the Dark Lord Voldemort had toyed with his fragile mind and eventually broken it. Now diagnosed as obsessive compulsive with undertones of incontrollable rage, Lucius brandished his innocent looking walking stick as a weapon whenever possible, and could only be handled with large amounts of phenolbarbitone; a sedative more commonly used on psychotic wild elephants.
*Fuck* Draco thought again, *Fuck Lucius, senile bastard*. He made his way to a black marble bathroom and started to relieve himself. *Why can’t I have a normal father, or at least someone sane? Jesus, even the Weasleys must have a better home life than me* He sneered at his own ridiculous idea. He despised their entire family; he’d rather have a sadistic head case as a parent than their muggle-loving pathetic father. He had just zipped up his tight cut, expensive trousers and reached of the toilet flush, when a three-pound cane suddenly struck his hand and rested on top of the toilet box.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
*Fuck me* Lucius had some out of nowhere, appearing behind him to prevent him…from flushing the toilet. His father’s head was shaking indignantly as his glazed eyes peered at his young son. Grumbling, and thinking himself lucky that he hand hadn’t been caught in a vice like before, he backed out of the bathroom, never breaking eye contact with his father – if you did, you were dead.
Just as Draco left the bathroom a loud shrill bell rang three times. As this happened everyday at 12.30pm in the Malfoy manor, it came as no surprise to the young man who automatically started strutting toward the dining room. He entered and sat down; not even giving a glance to his father who had somehow managed to beat his son there, even though he had left the bathroom after him. Draco’s mother sat opposite, gazing intently into her glass, the lad’s eyes flicked between the two adults,
*Insane mother, insane father, insane mother, insane father. How the hell did these two fucktards manage to produce such amazing offspring as me?*
He was snapped out of his reverie by Narcissa’s quiet voice;
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked the room in general. A normal question, only nobody had spoken. *Shitting hell. Ok, who’s got the opiates?*
“Mother, nobody said anything”
“Oh, I’m sorry”
Lucius was expressionless as usual.
As the house elves served up today’s meal Draco licked his lips in anticipation, it was his favourite; roast hippogriff. As always when he ate this dish, Draco said a silent prayer than this one was that stupid bastard Buckbeak. *Please please let it be the little fucker*. Just as he reached out to grasp the shiny silver cutlery, a varnished staff slammed down on his right hand, making everything on the tabletop bounce, and one lead crystal wine glass smashed on the floor.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
Draco’s mother just blinked and carried on eating; ignoring the excruciating pain her only son was obviously in. Unlike his usual routine, Lucius withdrew the cane, and began to slowly cut up his meat. Draco wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to pick up the knife and fork again, and so sat there, staring at the piping hot plate so hard a vein throbbed in his head, trying to make the food fly into his mouth using only his will. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
As was tradition in the Malfoy household, everyone stayed at the table until the last person had finished, or in this case, until Lucius and Narcissa had finished. When Draco’s parents put their cutlery down Lucius looked up cheerfully;
“So, son, how about a game of netball?”
*Oh god, no* Inside, his perfectly formed face fell. Not only was he remembering past attempts of Lucius trying to ‘play’ with his son, but his father had chosen the muggle girls games over basketball. Again.
Ten minutes later Draco was standing on the outdoor court with matching t-shirt and shorts squeezing the blood out of his legs. The netball outfit was bought when Draco was 12 years old, and as the boy hated wearing it, he had never asked for another. Unfortunately he still had to wear it whenever his crackpot father suggested one of these insane games.
Lucius was standing at the far end of the court, ball in one hand, and cane in the other. Draco sighed, all these years and he still wouldn’t leave the cane inside. As usual the rest of the teams were made up of house elves, with the humans playing the centre positions. Lucius started with the ball, and as the mini referee blew his whistle the older man threw the sphere to the elf in the wing attack position. This low and frankly crap pass was easily intercepted by a quick lunge by Draco, who – now having possession – looked around for some of his own players. No sooner had he pivoted on his right foot he felt a hard, dull whack on the back of his head that made him both see sparks and drop the ball. The cane.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
The boy almost collapsed. *I can’t touch the sodding ball. Right* He walked to the edge of the pitch and watched as Lucius simply kicked any elf that wasn’t on his team out of the way as he walked towards the hoop and levitated the ball into the net.
This charade continued until the large clock in the tower struck four and every elf, regardless of team, had been unconscious at least twice. The father, mid stroll to the net, instantaneously lost interest in the game and dropped the ball. He walked off the pitch and disappeared into the courtyard. *Thank fuck*
The rest of the evening passed without event, mainly because he stayed out of the way of that psychopath he called ‘father’. Much later, as he changed into his silver pyjamas and began his night time beauty ritual, Draco’s dad entered his chamber.
“What can I do for you *bastard* father?”
But when he turned around Draco was shocked. There seemed to be actual clarity in his father’s eyes. Though his expression was puzzled, there was definitely a purpose for his being here and he certainly hadn’t got lost on his way to the elf crematorium again.
The lad took hesitant steps toward his maker, waiting for something to happen.
“Draco, son…..have…have…have you…”
“Have I what, father?” he asked encouragingly. Lucius seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out.
“Draco, have you..…seen my orange?” he asked, clearly on the verge of tears.
Draco sighed *Oh for fucking bastards sake you deranged arse licker, on the hunt for the missing citrus fruit are we?*
“No father, I have not seen your orange” *you complete smacktard*
With a heavy sigh the boy turned and lifted up his duvet to get into bed. When again the glossy baton descended rapidly on his outstretched hand;
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
Lucius’ top lip quivering and eyes unblinking. Draco withdrew his hand, looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. Another night of waiting for his father to either get bored and walk away or lose consciousness. The outraged look on his father’s face told Draco it was going to be a long night. *Fuck you Lucius, you’re worse than all the mudbloods in the sodding world* he thought defiantly.
It was only at 2.39am when his father finally decided to leave the room, could Draco get into bed, pull the covers over his head, and cry.
Disclaimer: Personally, I’d hope JK would find this story amusing and wouldn’t feel the need to sue me, but just incase; The Malfoys don’t belong to me.
____________________________________________________________________
It was the start of another normal day in the Malfoy mansion. The master of the household, Draco, decided to watch some television in the family room. He settled down in his favourite armchair next to his imposing father, Lucius. As he tentatively reached for the remote control, shakily extending his right hand across the three-foot gap to the arm of his father’s chair, a sleek ebony staff appeared out of nowhere and in a blur of wood and lacquer, crushed Draco’s fingers down onto the now-dented and probably damaged device.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
Draco sighed through the immense pain emanating from his throbbing and quickly swelling fingers.
*fuck*
He tried to remove his hand from where it was trapped between the staff and chair, but his father would not relent. Lucius carried on staring blankly ahead almost imperceptivity rocking in the squeaky lather chair. His long platinum blonde hair was drawn back out of his face and secured with a black velveteen bow,
*ponce*
To try and snap his father our of his stupor Draco attempted to talk to Lucius
“So…seen Voldemort lately?”
His totally irresponsive father just breathed louder and increased his rocking,
*Not a good move*
With surprising strength Draco managed to lift his father’s staff up just enough to slide his aching hand out from underneath. Shaking his hand to encourage blood circulation, he quickly exited the chair and the room, and only when he was in the hall did he allowed himself a scowl of disgust at his father. Lucius, you see, was no ordinary father. Years of the strain of being in league with the Dark Lord Voldemort had toyed with his fragile mind and eventually broken it. Now diagnosed as obsessive compulsive with undertones of incontrollable rage, Lucius brandished his innocent looking walking stick as a weapon whenever possible, and could only be handled with large amounts of phenolbarbitone; a sedative more commonly used on psychotic wild elephants.
*Fuck* Draco thought again, *Fuck Lucius, senile bastard*. He made his way to a black marble bathroom and started to relieve himself. *Why can’t I have a normal father, or at least someone sane? Jesus, even the Weasleys must have a better home life than me* He sneered at his own ridiculous idea. He despised their entire family; he’d rather have a sadistic head case as a parent than their muggle-loving pathetic father. He had just zipped up his tight cut, expensive trousers and reached of the toilet flush, when a three-pound cane suddenly struck his hand and rested on top of the toilet box.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
*Fuck me* Lucius had some out of nowhere, appearing behind him to prevent him…from flushing the toilet. His father’s head was shaking indignantly as his glazed eyes peered at his young son. Grumbling, and thinking himself lucky that he hand hadn’t been caught in a vice like before, he backed out of the bathroom, never breaking eye contact with his father – if you did, you were dead.
Just as Draco left the bathroom a loud shrill bell rang three times. As this happened everyday at 12.30pm in the Malfoy manor, it came as no surprise to the young man who automatically started strutting toward the dining room. He entered and sat down; not even giving a glance to his father who had somehow managed to beat his son there, even though he had left the bathroom after him. Draco’s mother sat opposite, gazing intently into her glass, the lad’s eyes flicked between the two adults,
*Insane mother, insane father, insane mother, insane father. How the hell did these two fucktards manage to produce such amazing offspring as me?*
He was snapped out of his reverie by Narcissa’s quiet voice;
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked the room in general. A normal question, only nobody had spoken. *Shitting hell. Ok, who’s got the opiates?*
“Mother, nobody said anything”
“Oh, I’m sorry”
Lucius was expressionless as usual.
As the house elves served up today’s meal Draco licked his lips in anticipation, it was his favourite; roast hippogriff. As always when he ate this dish, Draco said a silent prayer than this one was that stupid bastard Buckbeak. *Please please let it be the little fucker*. Just as he reached out to grasp the shiny silver cutlery, a varnished staff slammed down on his right hand, making everything on the tabletop bounce, and one lead crystal wine glass smashed on the floor.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
Draco’s mother just blinked and carried on eating; ignoring the excruciating pain her only son was obviously in. Unlike his usual routine, Lucius withdrew the cane, and began to slowly cut up his meat. Draco wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to pick up the knife and fork again, and so sat there, staring at the piping hot plate so hard a vein throbbed in his head, trying to make the food fly into his mouth using only his will. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
As was tradition in the Malfoy household, everyone stayed at the table until the last person had finished, or in this case, until Lucius and Narcissa had finished. When Draco’s parents put their cutlery down Lucius looked up cheerfully;
“So, son, how about a game of netball?”
*Oh god, no* Inside, his perfectly formed face fell. Not only was he remembering past attempts of Lucius trying to ‘play’ with his son, but his father had chosen the muggle girls games over basketball. Again.
Ten minutes later Draco was standing on the outdoor court with matching t-shirt and shorts squeezing the blood out of his legs. The netball outfit was bought when Draco was 12 years old, and as the boy hated wearing it, he had never asked for another. Unfortunately he still had to wear it whenever his crackpot father suggested one of these insane games.
Lucius was standing at the far end of the court, ball in one hand, and cane in the other. Draco sighed, all these years and he still wouldn’t leave the cane inside. As usual the rest of the teams were made up of house elves, with the humans playing the centre positions. Lucius started with the ball, and as the mini referee blew his whistle the older man threw the sphere to the elf in the wing attack position. This low and frankly crap pass was easily intercepted by a quick lunge by Draco, who – now having possession – looked around for some of his own players. No sooner had he pivoted on his right foot he felt a hard, dull whack on the back of his head that made him both see sparks and drop the ball. The cane.
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
The boy almost collapsed. *I can’t touch the sodding ball. Right* He walked to the edge of the pitch and watched as Lucius simply kicked any elf that wasn’t on his team out of the way as he walked towards the hoop and levitated the ball into the net.
This charade continued until the large clock in the tower struck four and every elf, regardless of team, had been unconscious at least twice. The father, mid stroll to the net, instantaneously lost interest in the game and dropped the ball. He walked off the pitch and disappeared into the courtyard. *Thank fuck*
The rest of the evening passed without event, mainly because he stayed out of the way of that psychopath he called ‘father’. Much later, as he changed into his silver pyjamas and began his night time beauty ritual, Draco’s dad entered his chamber.
“What can I do for you *bastard* father?”
But when he turned around Draco was shocked. There seemed to be actual clarity in his father’s eyes. Though his expression was puzzled, there was definitely a purpose for his being here and he certainly hadn’t got lost on his way to the elf crematorium again.
The lad took hesitant steps toward his maker, waiting for something to happen.
“Draco, son…..have…have…have you…”
“Have I what, father?” he asked encouragingly. Lucius seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out.
“Draco, have you..…seen my orange?” he asked, clearly on the verge of tears.
Draco sighed *Oh for fucking bastards sake you deranged arse licker, on the hunt for the missing citrus fruit are we?*
“No father, I have not seen your orange” *you complete smacktard*
With a heavy sigh the boy turned and lifted up his duvet to get into bed. When again the glossy baton descended rapidly on his outstretched hand;
“Don’t touch anything Draco!”
Lucius’ top lip quivering and eyes unblinking. Draco withdrew his hand, looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. Another night of waiting for his father to either get bored and walk away or lose consciousness. The outraged look on his father’s face told Draco it was going to be a long night. *Fuck you Lucius, you’re worse than all the mudbloods in the sodding world* he thought defiantly.
It was only at 2.39am when his father finally decided to leave the room, could Draco get into bed, pull the covers over his head, and cry.