h u r l i n g h e x
{ at the end of its
burning cycle}

It seemed to Narcissa as if her son had mastered a hurling hex, given the speed at which he had, for the past ten minutes, been hurling any and all objects he could grab.

"No, no, stop. STOP, Draco -"

Her son, seven years of age, furious at having been told he could not go to his friend's house to spend the night, and often a spoiled brat [he'd mature later. Mature to the point where she'd realize he didn't need things - anything - anymore, pray for him to turn into the spoiled kid he'd once been] picked up another huge decoration piece and, certain that he could lift it easily, SMAAASHED it into the wall.

Narcissa sighed. Even at this age, Draco was the type that did not physically express anger but, once in a while, he lost all control and then she could barely go near him, let alone get him to stop. For a moment, she thought of calling Lucius. Then she thought of their relationship, son and father's, strained and unhappy already, and decided against it.

"DRACO MALFOY. Stop doing that this instant!"

The boy did not even glance at his mother.


Song credit: 65daysofstatic. <3