[Lory]

Нашла, нашла, нашла! Ай да я. Это тот кэссин "приквелл" к ДТ. Публикую полностью:

Disobedience

Not really an anything fic. Written for Aja's birthday. Backstory for Draco in DV. I did one section per year of Draco's childhood, from Lucius' perspective, then decided it was too depressing to give to Aja after all. This is the section where Draco is ten:


Draco is ten years old. Lucius finds him increasingly tiresome. He is cruel, still, but in petty small ways: he is no artist of malice, nothing like Tom once was. He is a brat only, a whiny complainer, burner of butterflies, torturer of small and helpless things. He torments the house-elves into going against Lucius' wishes. He breaks the lock on the drawing-room trap door and explores the dungeons. He skips fencing practice. He takes his broomstick and flies too high with it, almost causing a Muggle helicopter to crash onto the grounds of the Manor. Lucius takes the broom -- new and expensive, a gift from an uncle -- and burns it in the library fireplace. Draco whitens, watching it burn, but says nothing. Lucius takes the rest of his brooms, even the tiny CleanSweep 100 he learned to fly on, and burns those too. "And so it will go for you," Lucius says, turning to the boy, "as long as you are disobedient."

The boy raises his eyes to his father. "I don't see why you didn't just let me go when I ran away," he says. There is a bitter emptiness in his tone. "You don't want me here. Nobody wants me here."

Lucius then does something he has never done before. He reaches out and touches the boy, gently, on the cheek. "I want you here," he says. "You are my son."

Draco has not yet learned to hide his emotions. His face betrays his shock.

Lucius drops his hand, calculating. It is a test of the boy's susceptibility. He looks sternly at the child, "You look for kindness from me," he says. "It is to be had, if only you would not go so far to avoid those words you hate so much: Father, I regret my disobedience."

Draco says nothing. Lucius dismisses the boy and waits to see what he will do. Hours go by and Draco does not come to him, but later, when Lucius goes into the fencing room, he finds his son already there. He has been practicing alone or with one of the ghost teachers, for he looks tired and disheveled, the sword drooping in his hand. When he sees his father he freezes for a moment. Then he crosses the room to him. He gets down on his knees in front of Lucius. He holds his hands out, the naked blade of the sword flat against his palms.

"Father," he says. "I regret my disobedience."

Lucius takes the sword and looks at it. A piercing sensation of disappointment goes through him, keen as a wound. The boy has learned nothing about resistance. He is still as weak as before. Lucius lowers the sword until the sharp tip rests against the boy's bare collarbone, silver-steel against white skin. "Get up," he says. "We still have much to do."

***