"Well go on them, boy. What are you waiting for?" his father mocked, eyes glinting. Draco’s mouth trembled and contorted with the effort not to cry and open himself to further derision, tears welling in his eyes and blurring his vision. He was furious and broken; so fucking angry with his father for everything. But he looked at Lucius, and behind the distant contempt Draco could see the man that he had worshipped as a child. Who had praised him and encouraged him – or been angry and disappointed in his son. Who had sometimes been cruel and sometimes been kind, and Draco had never known which one it would be when he approached Lucius. Never known whether to expect a kind look or a cruel blow, and all Draco had ever wanted as a child was to make his father proud of him. He had only ever wanted to please him.