Clandestine Rendezvous

Prologue

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He was arrogant, disdainful, and dangerously handsome, with an inculcated hatred of muggles, a natural contempt for heroics, and a thirst for power. He was wealthy and intelligent, two already lethal attributes, and combined with his good looks and desire for dominance, he was a formidable man—except he was not yet a man. He was a wizard at the school called Hogwarts, on the threshold of manhood, watching childhood slip away beneath his feet. He always knew it would pass, because he desperately desired it would pass, and he got everything he desired. And once it did, he would be the kind of man his father trained him to become.

Draco Malfoy coupled love with Santa Claus and the tooth fairy; it was non-existent, a fairy tale told to children to calm them and enthrall them with the supposed wonders of life. He was jaded past that point; love couldn't, and wouldn't, happen to him. He knew deep in his gut—because the heart, fickle as it was, could not be trusted and must be kept away under lock and key—that love was only illusion keeping power from its highest form, and therefore not worthy of him.

Or at least, he thought he knew this.

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Draco Malfoy leaned back into the train compartment, thankful for the few minutes alone. Not that he was truly thankful, of course. Malfoys were never thankful. But it was an expression.

Crabbe and Goyle, his two idiotic, annoying sidekicks, and the girl constantly pestering him, Pansy, had not found him yet. But the keyword here, as always, was yet. The Slytherins he knew were dim-witted, malicious people who gave no thought to real ambition. They simply tormented innocents and found their satisfaction in their fear, knowing that they had the upper hand, that they were in control. Once, Draco had found amusement in such activities, but not anymore. What was the use of proving your own superiority when you knew you were better, smarter, more powerful, and unquestionably more gorgeous already? No, Draco longed for something more. Something… different, something… refreshing.

With the imbeciles he spent his valuable time with, that was definitely out of the question. Draco sighed. But what could he do? He wasn't about to go look for companionship, much less from other Houses! Why, to think of Draco Malfoy going to a Ravenclaw for company! Or, worse yet, a wimpy Hufflepuff! And of course Gryffindor was out of the question!

Draco nonchalantly ran his hand through his white-blonde hair, watching the others board the Hogwarts Express outside. Parents were waving goodbye to their children while trying not to cry. Sentimental fools, thought Draco. They do this every year. What's so different about this one? He realized he was repeating his father's sentiments. His father, Lucius Malfoy, would never go to deliver him to the train, weeping like a buffoon along the way. No, the Malfoys were better than that. It was his house elf that escorted him. Little Fawny was utterly loyal to him; in fact, she was the one trying not to cry as he got on the train. In some ways, Fawny was a better parent than his own genetic relations.

Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, and therefore complied with the Dark Lord's every command. When Draco saw him bowing like some inferior being, he lost all respect for his father. A Malfoy, as his grandfather had repeated to Draco several times before his death, would never prostrate himself to anyone. Lucius was not a true Malfoy. Not anymore. His discontent towards his father for the years alternately ignoring him and beating him was strengthened by the new conviction that he was not worthy of being a Malfoy. Even Lucius' attempt to make up his cruelty by gifting Draco with lavish presents was pathetic in Draco's eyes. His father was a feeble fool.

Narcissa Malfoy was just as insensitive to a little boy's needs. Early on, all she thought about was her vanity and her beauty—when she became pregnant with Draco, her first thought was abortion. But Malfoys never abort, so Narcissa was forced to carry the child bitterly. When he was born, she immediately handed him to the house elves before loosing weight and beginning to socialize once more. She had done her duty to the Malfoys; now she was free to do as she pleased. Draco never remembered her in his life, except at family dinners and occasionally moaning in her bed as some stranger thrust into her.

Draco had gone to Fawny for tendering the bruises. He had gone to Fawny when his father battered him. He had gone to Fawny for everything until his father found out and pounded into him the all important statute—Malfoy males never depended on anyone, never accepted compassion or pity from anyone.

And he lived by that now. Not because his father said so, but because it was shrewd to do so. He didn't need anyone to survive. Did he?

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Please R/R!