Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Draco kicked the leg of his bedside table. Frustration and hurt gleamed in his stormy grey eyes. His father's words still rang through his mind, making him feel dizzy. Lucius never understood that his words were so powerful, so effective. Ever since he was younger, Draco had idolized Lucius. He looked up to him blindly. However, no matter how hard he tried, Draco could never succeed in the impossible task of making his father proud.

All Draco asked for was a little affection. He dreamed of a 'Good job, son,' or even a pat on the back. His heart swelled at the thought, but Draco roughly pushed his silly hopes back down. Why would he even think that Lucius would display any show of love? Draco laughed dryly at his own stupidity. His father acted as though it were painful to even look upon Draco. Draco remembered how his body shivered as he stood under his father's scrutinizing eye.

That was a place no person wanted to be.

Draco angrily scratched at his eyes. They stung with tears, but they refused to come. After years of being 'taught' Lucius' 'lessons' on the rules of being a Malfoy, Draco could not cry. There were many things he felt he could not physically do. Draco found it hard to smile, to laugh, to speak kindly without biting out each word, to go to someone for help, to give or receive hugs, to tell someone he loved them; the list went on and on.

He did know how to turn to self-destructive antics in order to deal with his constant stress. Draco found self-mutilating an effective method. He wasn't a masochist; he just found fascination in being able to hold power over one thing in his life.

That was another trait he hated about his father. Lucius thought that he could pull any strings in Draco's life, like a puppet master, and that Draco would never say any word of protest. He was correct in this assumption, Draco could give him that. Draco would never dare speak out against his father in fear of 'suitable punishment'. But that didn't mean that Draco was any more forgiving at Lucius' constant tugging and nagging.

His father didn't understand him. He didn't understand the lengths that Draco went to in order to even receive acknowledgment. He didn't understand the pain he put him through. He didn't understand how Draco coped with the pain.

The blonde boy stared at his hands until he heard a knock on the door. The door opened without Draco's consent. His mother stepped through the threshold. Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman. She moved with grace and elegance, yet on the inside, she was anything but.

Draco had learned at a young age that she was unlike other mothers. She didn't regard him with affection as she should have. In fact, Draco was quite starved of any sort of affection in his first years of life. He still was, but he knew how to put on his icy mask now.

Narcissa came and sat beside him on the bed, her cold eyes calculating. Draco never understood why she came up here. He knew that if he asked, she might say that she was checking to make sure he was okay after one of his quarrels with his father.

Draco decided that she was checking to see if he was still alive.

Her eyes swept his body. They started from his face down to his feet, pausing in areas that made Draco squirm. He subconsciously backed a little away from the woman. Without a word, her eyes again came to rest on him. They were on his hands. Frowning, Draco looked down. He felt a great rush of alarm when he noticed that his shirt sleeves were revealing his sliced wrists. He pulled them down quickly, trying to maintain his cool composure. He prayed that she wouldn't respond to the scars, and after he felt silly for doing so.

Even if she noticed, she didn't say anything. It was almost as if she didn't care.

Narcissa rose, and without a word she excited his room, leaving Draco with the unpleasant chill that she always did. The door shut lightly behind her, and clicked. Draco rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

It hurt knowing that even someone he used to rely on so much in his youth was no longer concerned about his well-being.

Draco rolled over so that he was facing the wall. His chest was knotted up, his brow with a line of stress. Draco bit his lip as he drifted off into a troublesome sleep, not caring that Lucius would yell at him later for imperfection.

I'm not so sure I like this…but I decided to give it a try. Review and let me know what you think!