Written for: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)

Assignment #2: Psychology: Child Psychology

Task: Write about a child demonstrating learned behaviour from an adult or role model.

Word Count: 500 - 3000 words

Prompts: (Character) Draco Malfoy


He saw him as he entered the store and had immediately turned up his nose at the sight of him. His oversized shirt and ragged trousers were obviously made by muggles (the disgusting little cretins) and that crooked glasses which were being held together by nothing more than a roll of tape (a crudely done job at that) were just blatant signs that whoever this boy was, he would not be worth socializing with. He was bound to be nothing more than a face in the crowd he would soon forget about as he rose to the grand heights reserved for someone of his stature.

But then again, his mother had been one to tell him that a polite conversation could prove to be truly useful in the times to come and he dread the thought of disappointing her. So it was that thought that had led him to conversing with the boy.

"Hello, Hogwarts too?" he spoke amicably.

The boy seemed to be surprised, a slight panicked look on his face. He would have laughed if it wasn't impolite of him.

"Yes," the newcomer replied, toying with the hem of his shirt as the seamstress rushed off to gather a robe.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," he lead on, and was disappointed by the nod he received from the boy. It was a trick question, one that every pureblood would immediately recognize. It was the wand that chose the wizard and no one could choose a wand for you.

The boy must be a mudblood, nothing more or less.


He snapped a finger and then Crabbe (the ever dutifully shield he was) released the small girl who immediately scurried off down the train. He grinned at her retreating form before he turned away, facing the compartment down. Crabbe and Goyle slunked off to their spots behind him as he drew the door opened and entered.

Quickly, his eyes fell upon the familiar figure of the black eyed boy he had met at Madam Malkin's. 'Surely not, he can't be Harry Potter?' he thought. Supressing his surprise, he strode forward.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

He saw the boy stiffen and impulsively reached for his fringes, revealing the notorious scar - if only for a few seconds.

"Yes," the boy - no, Potter - replied though his eyes were switching between Crabbe and Goyle. The two were rather intimidating, he supposed. But having grown with them, he had gotten ised to their presence,

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he waved them off carelessly, noticing where Potter was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

A stifled snigger caught his attention and he quickly sneered at the redhead he had not noticed in the compartment. He was no doubt a Weasley and father (the great man that he was) had made sure to educate about that family. They were perhaps even worse than muggles. He felt repulsed to think that such a pure family-line had been reduced to being blood traitors.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." he spat at the laughing boy and relished as his turned red in embarrassment.

Of course, his father had never said those words to him, but he had overheard one of his rants he had whenever the head Weasley (some Arthur bloke) would pester his father with his ridiculous raids and searched for dark artifacts in their house.

He turned back to the boy he had wanted to meet. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that,"

He reached his arm forward, a confident smile on his face. Mother had always said that a handshake was a positive sign between allies and that you could tell a lot about someone though handshakes. He wasn't sure was she had meant by that but he wasn't one to question his parents.

He was surprised though when the Boy-Who-Lived snubbed his offer. His eyes narrowed.

There would be hell to pay.


He was engulfed in a warm embrace and without hesitation, he snuggled deeper.

"Mother," he greeted.

"Draco, my dear,"

She was taller than him (though he hoped not for long) and was quite the beauty for one her age. Sharp cheek bones and dark eyes stood out upon her pale complexion. He pulled away from her, and was surprised by the small frown she wore.

"Your father wishes to speak with you, Draco. He is in his study." With a soft push at his shoulders, she guided him towards his father's personal study.

He had only ever been in that room once before and that was just before his departure for Hogwarts where his father had spoken to him of what he had expected of him.

As he entered, he swallowed the worry he felt rising. His father was a stern man but he had never rose his voice against his own son. It was upon his entry that he came to realize that the study was designed as a replica of the Slytherin dorms. He felt at ease at that thought, a new sense of familiarity entering his mind.

"Father,"

"Draco," his father gestured from his seat behind the ornate desk. "Have a seat."

He complied, feeling gitters as he tried not to squirm under his father's gaze.

"You've done well, Draco. Severus tells me that you've finished at the top of your house and is undoubtedly the best among your year in Potions. You've done your family well, as expected."

"Thank you father,"

But Lucius was not finished. "But what of Potter?" he inquired. "I assumed you would have befriended the boy,"

He scowled before he responded, remembering the embarassment at the refusal of his offer. "He is not worth our time father. Potter is nothing more than an average wizard, someone undeserving of the status he holds,"

He watched as his father toyed with the spine of a little black book. A shiver went down his spine. "I see. Worry not Draco, the time will come when those pure of blood will once again rise to supremacy as it should be. Perhaps it will be sooner than you think."


"Beware mudbloods!" he taunted. "You're next!"

A frightened first year scurried out of his way as he swaggered down the hall, looking as imperious as he felt. The Chamber of Secrets was opened and he felt a tingle of excitement whenever he thought about it. He wasn't sure who the heir of Slytherin was but whoever had opened the chamber was hiding their identity and he would not let the opportunity pass to spread fear and boost his own name in the snake's pit.

He had inkling of feeling that this was somehow connected to his father but if it was, he was only spreading his father's work. A win/win situation either he saw it. He grinned maliciously, as he watched a girl donned in the yellow trimmed robes of Hufflepuff ducking out of his sight in fear.

His father had always spoken about using fear as a way to bolster your own reputation and Draco was glad to see it was true (but who was he to doubt his father's words).


He hissed as the wand that looked so familiar yet so different was pressed onto his skin. He knew what it was (13 and a half inches, yew with a phoenix feather core) and felt trepidation as its tip move lazily up his arm. A quck jolt and he fell to his knees, pain flooding his nerves. He heard the cackling of his insane aunt Bellatrix in the background and tasted the metallic taste of his own blood (he must have bitten his tongue).

"Morsmordre," a sharp voice intoned and he watched in morbid fascination as a skull appeared on his arm, quickly followed by a snake slowly slithering out of its mouth.

The wand was withdrawn from his arm and he slumped forward, suddenly drained. Before he could hit the ground, a pair of arms caught him, drawing him to his feet. He caught the sight of pale blond hair - just like his own - before he fell unconscious.


Time slowed as he pointed his wand at the aged wizard before him. The low mumbling from the Death Eaters as they shuffled about urged him forward. They were nothing more than insurance, he thought. They're the Dark Lord's stooges here to finish what he knew you could not do. How weak you must be. Father would be ashamed. He felt his resolve waver and the wand slowly dipped.

'A Malfoy never backs down from a challenge, we take what we want, no matter the cost!' his father's words echoed in his mind, and he sneered hatefully, feeling the boiling contempt and resentment rising to the surface. 'This spell is one that few can master. You must have hatred in your heart and a decisive mindset. You must want to obliterate your target and wipe them from the face of the Earth, Draco.'

His grip tightened and the tip of his wand glowed a fearsome green. He heard a slight gasp a far off, but he refused to break his concentration.

"Avada Kedavra... "

... and the twinkling eyes of Dumbledore knew no more.