His mother was pacing the room, still dressed in the airy, silk, scarlet dress robes she had worn to attend a soiree at the Parkinson mansion. She had tucked him into bed six hours before and Draco recalled that she smelled like gardenias that evening. His mum always smelled very nice indeed.
"You're despicable," said Narcissa.
Draco had never heard his mother use that tone on her husband before. He was suddenly more worried for her than he was for George, which was an awful lot of worry for a five year old to cope with all at once.
Lucius growled and knocked over a chair. It toppled, making a muffled thud noise against the carpeted floor. Draco covered his hand over his mouth to stifle his surprise. Luckily, his parents were in the middle of a full-fledged row and did not hear him.
"Coddling that boy will not do. Draco needs to learn harsh lessons. He's old enough!"
His mother' s ice-blue eyes narrowed. "There' s plenty of time for him to learn just what kind of life he's had the good fortune of being born into."
"Five is old enough to learn that one does not bring mongrel vermin to live under this roof."
"Bastard," his mother hissed.
For a moment, it looked like Lucius was going to let the insult slide. Draco was incredulous. Nobody called his father a 'bastard' - a very, very nasty word you didn' t use, unless you wanted to be dragged into a duel - and lived to tell the tale. But then his father very calmly put down the brandy glass he had been holding, walked across to Narcissa and slapped her across the mouth.
It was the first time Draco had ever seen Lucius lay a hand on Narcissa. What was even more alarming was the fact that his mother' s response was to smile. It was a knowing smile showing no surprise at Lucius' treatment of her. She looked like she had already won the argument or had uncovered some previously hidden truth.
Something in Draco went quite cold and dead at the sight. It occurred to him that the games adults played were so very different from the games that children played.
This was not something he wanted to see.
He didn't quite realize that he had done it (his feet had suddenly developed their own mind), but he found himself standing at the entrance of the library, in full light, with his hands balled into fists at his side, and tears running down his face. His father's back was to him, so luckily only Narcissa saw him. She blinked in surprise and then very subtly, shook her head in clear warning.
Feeling relieved, and then ashamed of that relief, Draco crept back into the shadows where he shook with fear and suppressed fury.
"Remember whom you are speaking to," Lucius told his wife, though much of his rage seemed to have gone. He sighed and then reached up to stroke her face. "Remember," he repeated, sounding apologetic, and something else Draco didn't know how to describe.
More words were spoken. Soft words that Draco did not understand and was not sure he wanted to.
He suddenly felt like an intruder. A very private moment was taking place.
His mother was not fazed by his father's change in demeanour. Or then again, it might have been because she knew her son was watching. She pulled away from her husband.
"I don't love you."
Lucius laughed. It was a humourless laugh. "You do. And you hate yourself for it."
She smiled thinly. "Severus hates me for it too."
"Do not mention the name of that traitor in this house!"
Narcissa retrieved her embroidered velvet wrap that was draped across one of the lounges. "He's not going to be like you, you know. I'll see to it myself."
Lucius flung his glass into the fireplace, causing the flames to momentarily leap, but he did not respond.
Narcissa walked to the doors and calmly shut them behind her.
"And you! What are you doing out of bed?" she demanded, dragging Draco along by his elbow. Her long, honey blonde hair, which had been in an elegant knot before, had come undone. It tumbled down her back, stray tendrils tickling Draco's face.
"II'm looking for George," Draco explained.
They stopped briefly so that his mother could wrap her shawl around him. "Draco, really. You'll catch cold," she scolded.
They didn't stop again until Draco was once again in his room. His mother put him into bed again. Toolip, who had been slumped asleep in