Beta'd by the lovely tygermine.

Written for The Family Boot Camp Challenge for Apology, the Non-Romantic Love Competion, and The Cliched Beginning Challenge

"My name is Lucius Malfoy and my son hates me."

Lucius cringes as he gives the reason for his visit to Healer Hale's office, the leading Mind-Healer in all of Wizarding Britain. He's sitting on the edge of a nice leather lounge chair. Back straight, cane in his hands, face grim.

Draco hasn't spoken to him in months, and at first, Lucius thought the resolve would fade. It was now a month before the holidays, and Narcissa refused to spend Christmas with the feuding pair.

So Lucius had placed Draco in Healer Hale's care for an hour a week.

Which quickly turned into Lucius having to come in for therapy as well.

Healer Hale just nods at Lucius' confession, waiting for him to continue.

Lucius doesn't understand how she could be considered the best, if this is all she did. "He hates me. That's it. What else can I say about that?"

"Why?" She replies.

"Numerous reasons," Lucius rolls his eyes. "We can start with how I wasn't even there when he was born. I'm not even sure if he knows that, but I could guess that it was the start of my relationship with my son."

He is silent for a few moments, recalling that day. "I was on a mission for the Dark Lord." He scoffs, "Funny how my entire relationship with my son has been in a maniac's grasp for the last twenty years."

"I didn't even meet him until he was a few months old. Narcissa wouldn't let me near him when I returned after a mission. She didn't want me to taint our baby," He looks up to the Healer, eyes wide and wet, he whispers, "It doesn't matter though. I've tainted him now."

He drops his head and stares at his hands, "And you know what, even after his first disappearance, I wasn't around enough. I was too busy trying to reclaim the Malfoy prestige that we had lost at my association with the Dark Lord."

He begins to fiddle with his cane, just moving it from one hand to the other, "On his eleventh birthday, I remember, he was so excited to receive his Hogwarts letter. He was ecstatic and lively. He went on and on about how he would make me proud and would get the best scores, and be every teacher's favorite. He'd be the model Pureblood and model Slytherin. He said he would live up to the Malfoy standards, and while my wife would smile at his enthusiasm, all I did was tell him a Malfoy should show more decorum."

Lucius laughs, mirthlessly, "Who was I to tell an eleven year old to act with more decorum? Because of me, my son grew up too fast," He shakes his head, and looks down at his cane, "I recall the letters home. His letter's to Narcissa were always full of life. He would tell her how his week was, what he did not like, what he did, and how he would do what was necessary to make me proud."

"The letters I received were only a few lines. Father, I am doing what I must to be worthy of the Malfoy name. I let Crabbe and Goyle follow me around, and I continue to show everyone that a Malfoy is superior. Especially Mudbloods, Half-bloods, and Blood-traitors." A tear rolls down a cheek, he does not wipe it away, "Nothing like Cissa's. And he would tell his mother how he couldn't stand Crabbe, and how he wasn't sure how he could tell if a Mudblood was a Mudblood. But he wouldn't tell me these things. He just wanted me to be proud."

"And all through his school years, really, the only time I would ever speak to him was to point out what he did wrong. Not only did you let a girl get better scores than you, but a Mudblood at that. You let Potter beat you to the snitch, I didn't buy you the fastest broom for nothing, Draco."

He takes a deep breath, and sighs, "And now, now he hates me. I used to mean the world to him, and now he couldn't care less."

Healer Hale quickly interrupts, "Do you want to mean the world?"

Lucius, who forgot that she was even there, turns to her, he murmurs, "Yes," then shakes his head, "No. I want to mean something to him again. But not the world. No, not the world."

The room is blanketed with silence. The pregnant pause lasts for minutes, but to Lucius it might as well have lasted a lifetime, "I had a dream the other day. I was older, much older, and I tried to reach out to Draco. He was too busy. Too busy for his own son. Cissy and I, we were visiting and I could see the look on his son's face. It was the same look I use to see on Draco's face."

Lucius is crying now. There are trails of tears rolling down his face. He shakes them off, and with a handkerchief, wipes them away. He resituates himself on the chaise, and chuckles, "In a way, I should thank the Dark Lord."

This startles the Healer, and as she gasps, Lucius takes a good look at her again. He recalled how it didn't even phase him that she was a squib. He just wanted his son back, and if that meant sending him to a squib, then so be it.

"If it wasn't for him, I think my dream would have become true. I wouldn't have been sent away. Draco wouldn't have been forced to replace me as a Death Eater. He would still hold this illusion that I am some amazing person that his world revolves around."

Lucius lets his cane drop to the ground, and he starts to fidget with his robe sleeves, "If it wasn't for that, my son would have turned into me. And then Draco would treat his own son in the same fashion as I have. And that would become the Malfoy legacy. The heir who tries to please the father. The father who never had the time to be anything but disappointed."

Healer Hale looks at him with a small smirk, and Lucius just barely misses it when she asks, "How does that make you feel?"

Lucius knew that question would come, and even after speaking about his past, speaking of his feelings, it was just not something a Malfoy does. He mentally shook himself, what a Malfoy used to do no longer mattered. Lucius was determined to change the Malfoy code, for the sake of his son, and he would start now. If he was to ever have a decent relationship with his son again, he would have to grit his teeth and bear it.

"Horrible."

She simply looks at him, her eyes saying that is not enough of an answer, and Lucius knows it isn't an answer, but he's been trying to bury these feelings deep inside, since his return from Azkaban. The Dementors latched onto his failed relationship as a father, and made him relive the looks on his son's face, over and over again.

"Like a failure." And he really does feel like one. When he reflects on his life, he can't really say he was proud of anything. Maybe when he finally realised that his family, his son, meant more to him than the Dark Lord's victory. It was the first time he wasn't selfish, and his son's well-being mattered to him.

Again, after several moments he adds, "I let him down."

He becomes despondent, his eyes mist over, but he has cried too much already. He stares at the bookcase against the opposite wall. A dead air permeates the atmosphere.

Eventually the silence is broken when Healer Hale asks her next question, "Why do you think he hates you?"

He quickly whispers, "Our past, everything I've done. I've failed him, and he knows it. I know it. All of the Wizarding world knows it. He's ashamed to be known as a Malfoy, and even more so, ashamed to be my son."

He chokes, "I never told him that I was proud of him. That even though his own life was at risk, and he knew it was because I had made a mistake. He took on an impossible task to ensure his mother's safety, and indirectly, my own.

He is quiet for several moments before he continues, "I never told him that I love him. I know he thinks I've always been disappointed in him and found him unworthy of the Malfoy name. But that simply isn't true."

He shakes his head, and takes in a deep shuddering breath, "It's me who was never worthy." He professes, "Never worthy to be his father."

There is a ruckus in the corner of the room, and Lucius sees the wide grey eyes of his son looking back at him. His son gets up and walks closer, seating himself on the other end of the chaise. He positions himself so that he's at an angle where he can easily see his father's face.

Lucius wants a fresh start with his son. And isn't sure how it would be received. But his son being there, listening to all this, it must mean something. It must mean that there is hope. The relationship they had before could be repaired, be made better.

He nods to his son, sticks his hand out to him, and says "My name is Lucius and I'm sorry."