The God of The Lost.

Narcissa once said that a person's greatest hatred was reserved for those they loved the most. He understood exactly what she meant.

He wanted his father to love him. He wanted his father to like and respect him. He wanted to make his father proud. He wanted to make his father suffer dearly for not loving him and his mother.

He wanted revenge on the man, pure and simple.

He hadn't always felt like that. For the longest time he had honestly and truly worked his ass off to get the man's approval. He had tried doing everything his father did, and nearly permanently destroyed his relationship with Pansy. He had tried rebelling against his father completely, and got nothing but bruises and silent, mocking scorn.

He had tried being the best at Quidditch, and was beaten by Potter. He had tried being the best at schoolwork and was creamed by Granger, the top three Ravenclaws and that damn Hufflepuff aberration whose name escaped him at the moment. Well then, maybe he could be the best at schoolwork in Slytherin. Millicent had told him with a little sneer that, for a fee, she'd get lower scores so he could top them. He told her to shove her scores up her ass.

At long last, he had taken over Slytherin, became their king. Something not even his father had done because Lucius had been forced to share the power with two rival groups. This, for sure, was something the man would have to respect and acknowledge.

" What did you expect, boy, you're surrounded by morons." And the man rubbed at the bridge of his nose, sounding tired, which for some reason hurt worse than scorn, as if he had given up on Draco completely, " Leading a pack of imbeciles around in a game of baby politics is nothing to be proud of."

And yet he was mad that I didn't make Head Boy. Draco brooded. Nothing I do is good enough.

Things at his house weren't as bad as Granger had made them out to be. It disturbed him greatly that people were saying such things. People weren't supposed to look at him with anything but awe and fear. He would have to set this right the moment he got back.

The truth of the matter was, his house wasn't an angry place or a hateful, abusive place. It was merely a very cold place. His father did not beat him and his mother regularly and his mother was not a lush. While Draco had been afraid plenty of times he'd only gotten belted across the face a few times and really physically beaten only once or twice, though that was definitely enough. Most of Lucius' abuse towards him was purely verbal. It was his mother who got hit, usually when his father's friends were around, as if Lucius was showing off by abusing her.

Draco wasn't supposed to know about that. His father usually only hit her when Draco wasn't around. Draco figured Lucius realized how much he adored his mother, and that eventually he would grow up and want retribution and so tried to hide what he did. Whatever the reason, Lucius only truly abused Narcissa behind closed doors. That never stopped Draco from spying or listening in though, for the longest time it was the only way he could be there for her.

He felt every slap, every punch, as if it were done to him and he filed it away for later.