underlucius & amanuensis1
Author: underlucius
Title: Gloria Patri
Pairing: Draco/Lucius
Challenge: The imitation of good faith is how you stumble upon hate - The Wallflowers, Invisible City
"You must remember, Numquam vendo fides, Draco, Numquam…"
Draco's temper snapped under the onslaught of his father's incessant preaching, "Vendo fucking fides." Yes, you've mentioned it. Every single day of my li…"
The sentence wasn't finished as Lucius' hand whipped across his son's face faster than a viper strike, grey eyes cold as hell and twice as furious.
"How dare you!" There was no repentance on either face, just mutual anger and loathing.
"How dare I? I'm your bloody son! If I can't stand up to you, who the fuck can?"
Lucius was as quickly calm as he was roused; Draco felt the first glimmering of fear, Lucius was more deadly smiling than most men were brandishing a bloodied axe.
"Interesting. You consider yourself grown enough to stand up to me, boy?" Draco's skin crept at the tone of his father's voice, goose pimples breaking out on his back as Lucius circled him. "Answer me, Draco."
"Yes." He wanted to add, 'Sir.' But if he gave in now, he was finished, you had to stand fast in the path of the panther.
There was cool breath on his neck, a scent of spices, and Draco's dreams began to come true.
Author: amanuensis1
Title: Doctrine and Devotion
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1059
Many thanks to betas fabularasa and isiscolo.
My son. Such a shameless tease.
From his earliest years, he would affect a lisp--but only in the company of his mother and myself. Attempts at correction would result in an exasperated, "I know, father,"--and you cannot imagine how serious exasperation can sound in a determined five-year-old--and he would go right back to lisping.
Then, when he would be turned out for display to company, he would greet the guests, inquire about their health, and accept biscuits most politely--all with perfect enunciation. He earned compliments even from a coterie that expected children to be well-behaved. And then, alone with us again, Draco went right back to lisping. It drove Narcissa and me mad.
On his seventh birthday, he stopped it. Presented himself at breakfast with an eager, "Are there presents for me? Are there presents?"--and when we remarked on his lack of a lisp, said, "Well, of course. I'm seven now," as if that explained everything.
Such a knowing tease.
He knew the words on the Malfoy family crest--Numquam fidem vendo, I never sell my faithfulness--even when he did not understand their meaning, and chattered them to himself the way boys will sing-song nonsense. Narcissa--or I, perhaps, I do not remember--explained the concept to him, and his chatter continued, though now one could see the pout about his mouth, the wrinkle of his immature brow as he did so, as if by repetition he could make himself understand.
Came the day he showed us he had at least a rudimentary comprehension, when a visiting aunt promised him a sweet if he would give her a kiss. On the brink of applying all his boyish charm as he was wont to do in such circumstances, Draco instead dropped into that pout, the brow-wrinkle, stared for a moment, then looked up at his aunt and said, "Numquam fidem vendo,"--and then ran away.
I apologized to my sister (who did not need apologizing to; she found the whole thing delightful), and then sought out Draco and explained, gravely, that fear of breaking faith did not excuse him from kissing his aunts. He did not look contrite, only fearful of punishment. Before I could tell him that there was no need for punishment, he flung his arms around my neck and kissed my cheek and said, "But I want to be faithful to you." And explaining how family affection would differ from fidelity to one's family and the niceties of fidelity and affection to one's mate...well, that seemed to be too much for a seven-year-old to assimilate. I let it go.
Only to find, later, that he understood more of that than I had believed. No failure of interpretation there; merely an unconventional take on it.
Such an inventive tease.
He had few playmates, being an only child. House-elves joined in his games, at his command, though by mine they were not permitted to let him win--my orders superceded his. I wanted him to fight for his victories. Fight he did--by trying to get around me a different way. He chose to appeal to the manor's poltergeists, who might play with him and might not, being under no compulsion to obey...and, if they did decide to play with him, might also decide to let him win. I was not angry. It was quite Slytherin of him.
Such a shrewd tease.
I think that success made him bolder. He learned how far he could go with me and still incur only eye-rolling, grudging admiration for his sly methods. I rarely had to discipline him; I was loath to use physical punishment, but he had such a way of getting around anything else--confinement to one's room is no punishment when one takes it as a challenge to escape and return without being caught, instead. But I took care to not be overly harsh, and always tempered discipline with a reassurance of affection, afterwards.
It took me a long time to realize that he was manipulating me even in that--eager to see me apologetic and ready to give him that abundance of affection.
Such a duplicitous tease.
Oh, he was a match for me, was my son.
Did he know it? Could I afford to let him know it?
He made the decision for me.
Had he been clingy, lacking backbone, I should never have had the affection for him that I did grow--that he cultivated, clever boy. He had turned into a coquet before my eyes, and yet there was substance behind the teasing, as if he would be sure to honor what he promised.
I had not known it possible to be smitten with as much love for one's offspring as a bridegroom has for his bride. Narcissa might have told me that years before, I suspect, if I'd wondered it aloud--even from the moment of Draco's birth, perhaps--but I imagine it is different for mothers, who bear their children in pain and at risk of their own lives, and gain the instinct immediately.
And yet I did not know what to do with the knowledge. Did I let it confound me, or did I embrace it? Even that decision was to be taken from my hands, it seemed. By him.
How old was he, on that day? Sixteen, seventeen? It was not a birthday, no, nothing so marked. He was old enough to have grown too impatient to wait for birthdays to get what he wished.
"Numquam fidem vendo," Draco said, and in the speaking of it turned the words into a declaration of love. "I've heard you say it every day. Don't you think I've grown into it, Father?"
Too cheeky by half. I seized him and shook him, like the child I still took him for. Wrong of me to do so, so wrong. "Grown? You are older, yes, but nothing like grown," I said, seeking conviction in my words, hearing none.
He didn't try to resist me, didn't try to protest. He knew such protests would indeed be a child's argument. He only smiled a smile that proclaimed his victory over my helpless lies.
"You challenge me, do you?"
The same smile.
I gave up. "Show me your version of faithfulness, then."
And he did, my son. Shameless as ever; tease no longer.
Title: Gloria Patri
Pairing: Draco/Lucius
Challenge: The imitation of good faith is how you stumble upon hate - The Wallflowers, Invisible City
"You must remember, Numquam vendo fides, Draco, Numquam…"
Draco's temper snapped under the onslaught of his father's incessant preaching, "Vendo fucking fides." Yes, you've mentioned it. Every single day of my li…"
The sentence wasn't finished as Lucius' hand whipped across his son's face faster than a viper strike, grey eyes cold as hell and twice as furious.
"How dare you!" There was no repentance on either face, just mutual anger and loathing.
"How dare I? I'm your bloody son! If I can't stand up to you, who the fuck can?"
Lucius was as quickly calm as he was roused; Draco felt the first glimmering of fear, Lucius was more deadly smiling than most men were brandishing a bloodied axe.
"Interesting. You consider yourself grown enough to stand up to me, boy?" Draco's skin crept at the tone of his father's voice, goose pimples breaking out on his back as Lucius circled him. "Answer me, Draco."
"Yes." He wanted to add, 'Sir.' But if he gave in now, he was finished, you had to stand fast in the path of the panther.
There was cool breath on his neck, a scent of spices, and Draco's dreams began to come true.
Author: amanuensis1
Title: Doctrine and Devotion
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1059
Many thanks to betas fabularasa and isiscolo.
My son. Such a shameless tease.
From his earliest years, he would affect a lisp--but only in the company of his mother and myself. Attempts at correction would result in an exasperated, "I know, father,"--and you cannot imagine how serious exasperation can sound in a determined five-year-old--and he would go right back to lisping.
Then, when he would be turned out for display to company, he would greet the guests, inquire about their health, and accept biscuits most politely--all with perfect enunciation. He earned compliments even from a coterie that expected children to be well-behaved. And then, alone with us again, Draco went right back to lisping. It drove Narcissa and me mad.
On his seventh birthday, he stopped it. Presented himself at breakfast with an eager, "Are there presents for me? Are there presents?"--and when we remarked on his lack of a lisp, said, "Well, of course. I'm seven now," as if that explained everything.
Such a knowing tease.
He knew the words on the Malfoy family crest--Numquam fidem vendo, I never sell my faithfulness--even when he did not understand their meaning, and chattered them to himself the way boys will sing-song nonsense. Narcissa--or I, perhaps, I do not remember--explained the concept to him, and his chatter continued, though now one could see the pout about his mouth, the wrinkle of his immature brow as he did so, as if by repetition he could make himself understand.
Came the day he showed us he had at least a rudimentary comprehension, when a visiting aunt promised him a sweet if he would give her a kiss. On the brink of applying all his boyish charm as he was wont to do in such circumstances, Draco instead dropped into that pout, the brow-wrinkle, stared for a moment, then looked up at his aunt and said, "Numquam fidem vendo,"--and then ran away.
I apologized to my sister (who did not need apologizing to; she found the whole thing delightful), and then sought out Draco and explained, gravely, that fear of breaking faith did not excuse him from kissing his aunts. He did not look contrite, only fearful of punishment. Before I could tell him that there was no need for punishment, he flung his arms around my neck and kissed my cheek and said, "But I want to be faithful to you." And explaining how family affection would differ from fidelity to one's family and the niceties of fidelity and affection to one's mate...well, that seemed to be too much for a seven-year-old to assimilate. I let it go.
Only to find, later, that he understood more of that than I had believed. No failure of interpretation there; merely an unconventional take on it.
Such an inventive tease.
He had few playmates, being an only child. House-elves joined in his games, at his command, though by mine they were not permitted to let him win--my orders superceded his. I wanted him to fight for his victories. Fight he did--by trying to get around me a different way. He chose to appeal to the manor's poltergeists, who might play with him and might not, being under no compulsion to obey...and, if they did decide to play with him, might also decide to let him win. I was not angry. It was quite Slytherin of him.
Such a shrewd tease.
I think that success made him bolder. He learned how far he could go with me and still incur only eye-rolling, grudging admiration for his sly methods. I rarely had to discipline him; I was loath to use physical punishment, but he had such a way of getting around anything else--confinement to one's room is no punishment when one takes it as a challenge to escape and return without being caught, instead. But I took care to not be overly harsh, and always tempered discipline with a reassurance of affection, afterwards.
It took me a long time to realize that he was manipulating me even in that--eager to see me apologetic and ready to give him that abundance of affection.
Such a duplicitous tease.
Oh, he was a match for me, was my son.
Did he know it? Could I afford to let him know it?
He made the decision for me.
Had he been clingy, lacking backbone, I should never have had the affection for him that I did grow--that he cultivated, clever boy. He had turned into a coquet before my eyes, and yet there was substance behind the teasing, as if he would be sure to honor what he promised.
I had not known it possible to be smitten with as much love for one's offspring as a bridegroom has for his bride. Narcissa might have told me that years before, I suspect, if I'd wondered it aloud--even from the moment of Draco's birth, perhaps--but I imagine it is different for mothers, who bear their children in pain and at risk of their own lives, and gain the instinct immediately.
And yet I did not know what to do with the knowledge. Did I let it confound me, or did I embrace it? Even that decision was to be taken from my hands, it seemed. By him.
How old was he, on that day? Sixteen, seventeen? It was not a birthday, no, nothing so marked. He was old enough to have grown too impatient to wait for birthdays to get what he wished.
"Numquam fidem vendo," Draco said, and in the speaking of it turned the words into a declaration of love. "I've heard you say it every day. Don't you think I've grown into it, Father?"
Too cheeky by half. I seized him and shook him, like the child I still took him for. Wrong of me to do so, so wrong. "Grown? You are older, yes, but nothing like grown," I said, seeking conviction in my words, hearing none.
He didn't try to resist me, didn't try to protest. He knew such protests would indeed be a child's argument. He only smiled a smile that proclaimed his victory over my helpless lies.
"You challenge me, do you?"
The same smile.
I gave up. "Show me your version of faithfulness, then."
And he did, my son. Shameless as ever; tease no longer.