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when i took my son's small white hands in mine i felt like god. i had created this strange boy with his sharp grey eyes (they watched my every move) and lax pink mouth. that pink mouth that tasted of sweets. sweets that my son sucked on as he watched me with grave eyes. every so often that shy smile over the lollipop or bit of chocolate. his mouth would be sticky and soft.

that smile turned hard and deformed when in company. it was cruel and so very like mine. it was the smile i turned on narcissa when she spoke out of turn. the day draco was introduced to pansy parkinson his hands clenched into tiny fists and his smile was like a frown. i encouraged him to take her hand into his and he protested to me, "it's sticky, father. so very sticky." when my teeth showed in the smile i gave him (pansy watching, her dark hair framing her ugly face) he cringed and walked back to her, his back stiff and straight. i had drilled into him the necessity for perfect posture. no malfoy would ever have shoulders slumped over in defeat. never.

when his small hand took hers in his i could almost smell his anger. his eyes were like steel and watched me out of the corners; his mouth was curved into a smirk as he took in her pug nose and her mouth painted pink. she simpered over him and her tones were shrill. when she pressed her body into his he looked both surprised and disgusted. the girl would have to learn decorum. it would not do.

that night he told me he never wanted to see her again. he did not tremble before my anger. 'you are going to marry that girl,' my voice stern. he only looked at me with his gray eyes darkened with anger.

afterwards, i felt the silk sheets soft and slick beneath my body, they were like his skin. narcissa did not come to me that night. she never did. she was like a princess in a tower. her cold mouth and even colder cunt. she would amuse herself with her hands and that was enough. that had to be enough. the malfoy honor must be maintained above all.

when the ministry came and searched the house draco watched them with loathing in his eyes. my hand was on his shoulder, staying him. i had told him that they must never discover the secrets of the manor; it would sully the malfoy reputation. we stood together and watched them dirty the house with their hands and their wands. seeking but not quite finding. draco's grin was sharp when they left frustrated and angry, his back stiff with pride. the malfoy pride.

that night he slipped into my room his hands were soft on my face as he woke me. he did not explain why he was there but his skin was so very pale. it shone a sickly white in the moonlight. his mouth tasted sour underneath mine. he was shaking, though he tried his best to control it. i did not ask for he had to be strong. i would help him be strong.

i whispered in his ear, 'you belong to me. only to me.' he was dressed in a nightgown that was luxuriously soft. the ruffles of days past had gone and draco had been glad. i did not hold him but i could feel his body breathe in and out. one tiny foot pressed against mine and i did not move away. i watched my son and felt pride, slick and heavy and right.

the day draco told me that pansy parkinson had kissed him my teeth felt very sharp in my mouth, 'did she?' he nodded and watched me carefully. 'she will make a good wife,' was all i said. he smirked at me and turned back to the book i had given him. he had grown, his body not quite so frail.

the book was just the beginning of his education. i had to see to it that he became every inch a malfoy. i bought him animal after animal. they all disappeared and the stink of their flesh never was evident. i could only smell it in my mind. he read the books i gave him and his smile was bright when he turned page after page. the wand i had given him would be a bulge in his pocket.

night after night he would sleep in my bed. he would be small and pale and composed. when he looked at me his eyes were like sleet. when i would not touch him he would move his body next to mine and whisper, 'father.' when i turned him over he only stretched his body out and was very still. he told me he only belonged to me.

once he had told me, 'i'm not going to marry pansy. she's much too ugly. i belong to you.' i had slapped him and told him he must never say that again. inside the words twisted and wound their way around my soul. this pale boy with his strange grey eyes was mine.

the night before he left for hogwarts, his mouth sticky with come, 'must i go, father?' i told him he must keep his pride and that every malfoy had to be educated. his voice was firm when he said, 'i'll be in slytherin. just like you were, father. the malfoy honor means i must be in slytherin.'

i let myself stroke his soft, light hair and said, 'you must always maintain the malfoy honor. to the death.' his body was all angles next to mine. his hands not so small. still, when i held them in mine i felt like god.

when he returned that summer his skin was flushed and angry when he told me about harry potter. he fairly spat the name. i only told him he must maintain his calm around harry potter. my smile was cold and thin when i looked upon his angry face. soon, he began to smile.