Draco's POV

I love Diagon Alley, I much prefer it to Knockturn Alley, which my father usually prefers to go to. That one is dark and father doesn't let me explore much because there are wizards and dangerous objects. It's not a place for children; however, I've been going there since I was 8. I'm accompanied by my mother, she lets me explore the shops more freely. When I come with her, shopping tends to be more relaxed. I enjoy going anywhere with her, but especially when we're alone.

We head to Madame Malkin's, after stopping by Ollivander's. My wand wasn't anything special, but it's mine and it chose me as much as I chose it, so I appreciate it quite a bit. I know Madame's shop like the back of my hand; we've been here so many times that my parents already know the owner, even though, I find her pleasant and she always offers me sweets when I come, which I'm not allowed to eat very often, so I'm obliged to refuse. Maybe someday I'll accept them, but not today.

I step onto the platform and find a boy beside me. Quite short, messy black hair, much more messy than what's acceptable, and when he turns to me I see green eyes behind a pair of oddly broken round glasses. The green of his eyes is more than powerful, I hadn't seen such intensity of color in other eyes. He has worn-out clothes and they are several sizes too big, that's evident at first sight; however, I overlook those details, for some reason.

—Hello, Hogwarts too?— I assumed so, but I couldn't be sure. I noticed the boy hesitated about whether to answer me or not.

—Yes,— it wasn't a very friendly response, but he didn't seem angry.

—My mother's next door buying my books and father's up the street looking at wands,— I was quite bored in the shop, however, talking to the boy was entertaining me —Then I'm going to drag her off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully mother into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow.— I wasn't going to do that, of course not, my father would kill me.

He didn't reply so I aimed to continue myself, —Have you got your own broom?— Improbable but I lose nothing by asking.

—No— another monosyllable, —Play Quidditch at all?— he looks at me with a stupidity face that I find hard to believe he can hold it in place —No— ...Does he only have two responses for everything? Why do I even bother to continue this conversation! —I do...— I think stupidity is contagious because I still keep responding to him —Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?— My house was very clear, it's not like I could go to another one —No— How can he not even have an idea of which house he'll be in!? All kids before going to Hogwarts start with assumptions, sometimes they're right, sometimes not, but that's not the point! —Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they,— I try to find something to hold on to from the boy's little response. It's true, nobody knows which house they'll be in, right? —but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been— Dad, grandfather, mom and practically all the Blacks, well those who aren't banished from the family tree —Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd kill myself, wouldn't you?— I repeat the words heard from my father. Hufflepuffs are junkies who sell their stuff in the greenhouse. He also tells me that I have to be their friend to be the next big Malfoy mafia boss. Well, not exactly that, but to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way to further elevate the family on the social scale —Mmm— Seriously?! How does he manage to speak even less, this time not even a word came out of his mouth, I don't think he knows who I am.

—I say, look at that man!— Behind the showcase I see a giant man, maybe too much. He has a lot of hair and it's all messy, his clothes are also tattered and his beard's dirty. He doesn't seem like a very tidy person however I notice that the unnamed boy immediately gives all his attention to the image of the man. —That's Hagrid!— He seemed excited to talk about the great wizard, the first time he spoke correctly in the conversation and it was because of the "appearance" of another person, however, I like to hear that he's finally talking to me, it was about time —He works at Hogwarts.— Oh, it seems he knows him and I think I do too...ah, I know who he is and why the name sounded so familiar —I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?— He turns his head and looks at me displeased. Did I say something wrong? —He's the gamekeeper,— It's not a job of good class, or at least not one of the possible jobs that my parents have told me about. He must not be well paid judging by his outfits —Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage, lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.— My father always tells me about the number of inept people working at Hogwarts and this is one of the main ones. What would it be like to live in a cabin at Hogwarts away from your family? I don't really know how the gamekeeper felt but if he had to resort to alcohol he wasn't having the best time at all. Although my father drinks and has a good life —I think he's brilliant,— Why does he defend him? He's just a low-class giant, there's nothing to rescue him from, I don't understand this boy —Do you?— I feel my face grimace almost instinctively, my father doesn't like it when I do that, but many times I can't help it —Why is he with you? Where are your parents?—

—They're dead,— The boy was an orphan, well, it's not something very strange either. It's more normal for kids to only have one parent because of the war but losing both wasn't something so strange either. Had his parents participated in the war? Did they know about the war? and if this boy was perhaps a muggle-born? That would explain why he seemed not to know what to say and came accompanied by a Hogwarts employee, maybe I should stop talking to him if that's the case —Oh, sorry.— I don't really know why I apologize but I know it's the socially correct thing to do. My mother always scolds me because I don't usually apologize as often as most people do. Why would I apologize for something I didn't cause? —But they were our kind, weren't they?— he looks at me for a few seconds without a specific expression although I think he doesn't do it in a very friendly way 

—They were a witch and wizard, If that's what you mean.— What else could I be referring to? This boy is weird, but at least he comes from an acceptable family. — I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?— I should have asked that from the beginning, my father always reminds me, I have to pick up that habit.

—That's you done, my dear,— The boy leaves without saying goodbye and leaving the words to introduce myself in my mouth. That was quite rude, he didn't even greet. Anyway, I guess I'll see him again at Hogwarts.

After a few minutes of taking the boy away Madame Malkin comes back to me and hands me my clothes. By the time I go out my mother is already outside waiting for me, behind her I can see a house-elf carrying the freshly bought books. I have everything to start Hogwarts.

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My mind focused practically the rest of the day remembering the rather strange interaction I had with that boy, it frustrates me a little not having been able to know his name. The thought persists even through the night. Now I've done my nightly routine, even with the emerald eyes of that boy haunting me, I always follow my routine without fail. I couldn't sleep without completing each and every step in the correct order, although it's not like I could sleep now either, the only thing that can disrupt my routine and usually does is my father. So much so that his recurrent intrusion has become more routine than what my usual follow-up is supposed to be.

I'm sitting on the bed waiting, it doesn't happen every day but as I said, it has become more of the rule than the exception. My father opens the door, I look at him, we look at each other —Goodnight Draco—

― ― ― ― ― ―

—Goodnight, dad,— my hands went without a second thought to the buttons of my sleeping attire, I started to unbutton them and my father started to come closer, I was no longer surprised. I pulled my shirt off quickly as a result of my practice, consequence of repetition and settled better on the bed. It's better to do it on my own than let him put me in position. I'm pulling down my pants trying to hurry, I can see in my father's gaze his special eagerness for tonight. It's the last night I'll be home for several months. I'm going to Hogwarts away from him for the first time in many years.

He approaches the bed and also rips off his clothes, he grabs my cheek, which is not usual, but I don't refuse, I don't think I can do it. He looks me in the face, eye contact never fails to make me uncomfortable, it's hard to maintain but I have to. I have become good at pretending that the discomfort doesn't exist —Tomorrow you will be gone for a long time Draco— that's right I will leave and my routine will stop being interrupted by this kind of visits —I'll miss you— he will miss my body —It's only fair that I put you to good use on this last day before leaving— I will be leaving, however despite being at Hogwarts I will not be far from his influence.

He kisses me softly, a kiss that is not very common on our nights. I correspond to the kiss with no other choice, kisses are the hardest thing to respond to, I can bear something inside, sound just the way dad wants me to sound, suck and lick however he asks me to, but it's just so complicated to please him with a kiss. Why does he have to kiss me when he already gets everything he needs from me whenever and however he wants. He puts a hand in my hair and strokes it nicely, I can't pass up a slight grimace. —This is how you respond to your father's affection?— I don't answer, nothing I say will mend my mistake, —You like it when I'm not nice to you, don't you son?— he forces me to look at his face and kisses me again, this time it's not soft that helps, it's something. He starts to run his hands over my body, he caresses every possible piece of skin, as if with his hands he could taste every part of me and swallow it without asking my permission. He bites my lip firmly, though he releases it a few seconds later. He separates his lips from mine and begins to move down my neck licking occasionally, I am repulsed by the sensation of his tongue against my skin, but this time I make no reaction, I force myself not to move and stay completely still while he occupies my body at his whim, that's what I'm here for, to please.

—Draco— he calls, his breath hitting my abdomen, his face and my body begin to distance themselves. I see him standing in front of me, his hand runs over the back of my neck and pushes me down, though not exactly violently. I climb down from the bed and practically fall to my knees, stick out my tongue and begin to take small, unpleasant licks. The taste disgusts me and the smell does too, it's too salty for my taste and the smell is so intense that the first few times I gagged. Of course they don't make me gag anymore, my father didn't like it, so I had to correct that fast. I start sucking the tip as I feel his body tremble, he feels pleasure and it pleases a little piece of me. I push it in deeper and suck repeatedly, my movements are automated by habit, I know what pleases him the most, so I do that. His hand goes to my head and pushes it making more of himself inside me, it's not uncommon for him to do that, but the sudden intrusion keeps generating little tears that never end up coming out. When I push just a little more in, I feel it threaten my throat and I know that's my limit; however, many times my father doesn't seem to care much and rams against my throat, this is one of those times. I can feel him again and again against me, reaching as deep as his anatomy will allow. His hairs tickle me, I guess, I can't feel them properly, the other sensations overwhelm me too much, but I know that's what I'm supposed to feel.

My father went slow with me again, stopped forcing my throat to accept him with such speed and even pulled his member completely out of my mouth, which ended up making a 'pop' sound that was, like most things, extremely gross. —Lick it again, do it all the way down the length, don't forget my taste— I stuck my tongue out again and went from the glans to almost reaching his testicles several times until my father grabbed my head again, now even pulling my hair a little. He slowly pushed himself into my mouth, I think it was worse that way, I felt closer to gagging. Again, he made me take it until my nose collided with his lower abdomen —Memorize the feel, the length, the thickness and the smell— I don't think it is possible for me to forget it, over the years I had memorized parts of my father's body that a son should not even see; however, that was clearly not the case for me. I kept sucking and "tasting", I refused to open my eyes, I never did. I preferred not to see what was going on, my senses already gave me enough information to know what was happening. By the time I wanted to realize it I felt my father cum in my mouth, bitter. After a shudder and hip movement of his, my mouth was full of his sperm. I opened my eyes and looked at him knowing what he wanted me to do, after seeing him nod I swallowed the liquid in my mouth without a trace. He smiled. He is pleased.

He sat on the bed and gestured for me to sit on his lap, without trying to refuse, I slowly got up. My knees hurt, they are usually bruised, but it is nothing relevant to stop me from fulfilling my father's wishes. It's not a very usual position in which we usually do it. When I positioned myself on top of my father, he didn't give himself a moment when he was already grabbing me by the hips, starting to rub the tip of his member against me. I felt a shudder. —Now, feel good as I'm going to come inside you. You'll miss the feeling— he will.

He took his member and put it inside me more slowly than usual, I gave a sigh. I lean my hands on him and with a sigh I obey the order to go slow, it's not how I preferred these moments. It's not a sensation I seek, that of my father's penis opening me up, but it's a sensation he seems to need and I must satisfy that need. When I feel that I can't continue I stand there for a few seconds trying to get used to the size until he stares at me, I have to move, it's not enough anymore. I stand up slowly, it's not an easy thing to do at all, it hurts more than a normal position. All the weight of my body is on my father's glans and it goes deeper, always much deeper because it is never enough for him. Even though his genitals are touching me in depth, my father's pleasure, he will always seek to go deeper and deeper, he will not be satiated until he stretches me as far as possible, he seems to enjoy that especially.

With a look from him I let myself fall, despite not releasing the weight of my body completely I already feel the pain. I hear my father moan and I start to move in circles around him, squeezing him all over, doing whatever it takes for him to enjoy. It's painful to do it in this position, when I was little my father used to enter me this way and I had to hold still there, he said it was to get me used to his thickness. Once he got tired of just having me on top of him, he would take me by the hips and move me himself on top of him; however, for a while now he wanted more than that, he wanted more of me. So I gave him more, it was frightening, but at least in the first couple of minutes of those moments I had a minimum of decision, but to be honest I don't know if that pleases me. When I have no decision, at least I don't have to think about what's going on.

I start to move up and down repeatedly while my father grabs my hips and accompanies the rhythm of my movements, making force on them. I can't help but let out a couple of moans, making my father laugh at me and push me harder until he starts to moan too. I can't help but be disgusted by that. It disgusts me to know that my father generates these kinds of sounds for me, it also disgusts me that while my moans sound more like little moans of pain, his are of ecstasy, they are full of air, they are hoarse, just pure sounds of great pleasure.

My father grabs me in a nasty way, squeezes my legs hard until he reaches my buttocks, which he spreads apart in an effort to get deeper inside me as if it were even possible. I hate that this is lasting longer than usual, I hate it.

I'm practically jumping on top of him non-stop, it burns. I can hear his moans, his breaths, feel his sweat and my own making our bodies slip more than usual. After several minutes of that he finally finishes, though I do it first. I cum and my liquid spreads along his stomach. He stares at it and starts laughing again, enjoying that I can't control my body's reactions. He puts his hand on it and collects some between his fingers, he starts to move them making me notice the white, viscous liquid sticking between them, a retch threatens to come out, but I control it and just let out a slight gasp of air. He brings his fingers close to my face and rests his thumb on my lower lip, he exerts a slight pressure making me know what I have to do. I open my mouth slowly and the moment I make a small "o" with my mouth he enters two of his fingers, he starts to run them along the walls of my mouth and grazes a couple of teeth consciously wanting me to suck on them, so I do. I begin to suck my own seed from my father's fingers without leaving the slightest trace. He smiles at me and inserts two more, repeating the process. In a few minutes I have "cleaned" my father's entire hand and he looks pleased. That's what matters to me.

My father makes a gesture and I quickly start to lift myself up pulling his member out of me. Another of the most disgusting things about these moments was undoubtedly feeling my father's sperm in there. 

― ― ― ― ― ―

It's already late, no time for a bath, much less when I start attending Hogwarts tomorrow. I pick up my wand from the bedside table and with a quick vertical motion I'm already clean, my father taught me the spell when I turned nine. Wizards are supposed to get wands at eleven, so he gave me a temporary one to learn cleaning spells or any magic that might help him. It's one of the first times I cleaned myself with my wand, it feels grosser and worse than usual, like it doesn't feel comfortable doing that, I don't either, but what choice do we have, it abides by my spells and I abide by my father.

When I turn around he is also clean and even with his clothes already on, something I still lack. —Draco— he calls me, his voice with a darker tone than usual, it almost seems that his next words could make his blood boil. —Soon you will have to have all your energy focused on Hogwarts, so I have decided to help you. You should be more independent from me by now— I take a breath at the nervousness that this tone and my father's look is causing me. —This was the last of our meetings— ...Was he telling the truth? My father wouldn't do that, would he? Apparently he would, right now he was doing it, he was giving me freedom as a pledge to a house elf, and I wanted it, by Merlin I did! I wanted to never have to spend a night like that again, never have to think about what he would think of doing today, never have to let me do and undo.

He leaves my room and closes the door behind him, I stare at it for a couple of seconds to continue with my routine. I start to change and run my hands lightly over my naked torso that he won't touch again, I smile. I put on the rest of my clothes, my body already clean, I get under the sheets and close my eyes. I smile again and the smile really doesn't want to fade, I smile so hard that my cheekbones hurt and I start to roll slightly on my bed. My bed that holds so many of my screams, of my pleas, cries and moans, now witnesses my laughing, my laughing to tears, tears caused by relief. My eyes open again, I look at the ceiling of my room and after a sigh I wipe away the slight tears that rolled from my eyes. It will be a good night.

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I feel a soft touch of a hand on my shoulder, I open my eyes immediately and I find the same house elf that wakes me up every day. His huge eyes look at me calmly —Your parents are calling you to breakfast master, they want you to change in advance— After saying that he leaves my room. I go to my closet and find a "casual" outfit, casual for us Malfoys of course. I change with the expected speed, if I am called to breakfast I have to go downstairs as soon as possible. I was already given a notice and it is my turn to fulfill the duties of this one.

Once changed I go down to the dining room and my morning routine continues as usual, nothing that alters it at all. In the blink of an eye I had not only finished my breakfast, but I had already left the house with my parents in the direction of the train station. I can feel more than nervous, I was excited and anxious, meeting new people, people so different from who I usually surround myself with.

We passed King Cross with no problems and the 9/¾ wall was no complication. Unlike other kids who dreaded the thought of bumping into it, I was confident that no bump I got could hurt more than what my father made me endure. I remember now again that it is over, I smiled, smiled because it would not be possible for me in any way not to be happy at that.

Behind the bricks was the real station, full of wizards and magic, full of people like my family and me. There is too much noise, however, it isn't something I can stop. I hear every child scream and every owl hoot, but I take a breath and concentrate on getting on the train as fast as I can. I turn around looking at my parents. Mom is smiling at me, she opens her arms to give me a light hug, nothing too effusive considering we are in public. Next to her is Dad, resting and not looking too happy to be here, however, that's usually his usual face when in crowded spaces, so I don't worry, I never will again. He just nods to me and lightly squeezes my shoulders in support. The two of them pass me my luggage and I start walking towards the train, I wave goodbye for the last time, I won't see them again for a little over three months, and for some reason that makes me excited, more for my father than for my mother, I know I will miss her.

I watch the cars go by as I walk, I know where I have to go. I walk to the back of the train where the Slytherin area is. As I walk I see capes with different colored shields pass by, I try to avoid the ones in red and yellow. A blonde head is not hard to spot, especially if he is the daughter of one of the most influential Slytherin politicians in the country.

After walking around for a few minutes I finally see the shields change, the red, blue and yellow colors transforming into green and silver little by little until they are all I see. At last I reach the Slytherin wagons. A few meters ahead I see a hand waving at me, there are my friends...Uhm well, the ones that should be my friends.