Our Favorite Tale

Draco sat down next to his wife, Hermione, placing his lean arm around her tanned shoulders. The two were having a dinner party with friends from the Ministry this evening. Though some new faces stared at them in their living room that night, many old faces babbled eagerly, drinks in their hand.

One wizard, a good friend of Draco's, suddenly turned to Draco and Hermione, his eyes bright and his cheeks red. "Draco, why not tell our new comers your favorite tale? You know the one, my boy?"

Draco's ears went red at the use of the phrase 'my boy'. While Draco was considered young to the seventy-eight year old man, it was still old to be referred to as 'boy' at the age of forty. But the redness faded as a smile appeared on Draco's lips. He turned to Hermione who was now blushing and gave him a nod of approval.

"Alright, alright, gather round then." Draco said, half-exhausted, half-content.

The dinner guests drew themselves closer, the familiar faces waiting eagerly for the story they've heard a hundred times, the new faces staring quizzically at one another. The fire crackled in the background, and a roll of thunder boomed throughout the living room walls.

"Right, so…" Draco began.

Little Draco Malfoy wandered about the field without a care in the world. His little broomstick clutched to his hand, and his parents walking behind them. The sun was beating down on his platinum blonde hair, and birds chirped as they flew by. It really was a wonderful day for flying…well flying on a beginner's broomstick. Draco wasn't allowed a real broomstick until he started Hogwarts, which was still six years away. But Draco tried to think about that.

Just as Draco approached the small pond by the willow trees, the perfect distraction came to his attention. A small girl, around his age, with brown, poofy hair sat crossed legged under the trees with a book in her lap and common objects (such as tea cups and hats) sat on the ground in front of her.

Draco stopped to watch the girl, wondering what on Earth she was doing. He stepped behind a bush and watched her between the branches. Now she was putting the book down beside her and focused on the tea cup, her eyebrows furrowing. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on this tea cup, but why, Draco did not know.

With curiosity getting the best of him, Draco stood from his hiding spot and walked up to the little girl.

"What are you doing? Or trying to do?" Draco asked, using his 'formal' voice that his father had taught him.

The girl looked up with bright, sparkling brown eyes. It looked as though she was about to cry, and Draco began to feel sorry for her. The girl pulled the book into her hands, and showed Draco the cover. "Matilda" it read.

"Matilda is a girl who was born into a family who dislikes her…but she can make things move with her mind. And I wanted to try it! But mum and Dad said it's just a story…they said you can't make things move with your mind. But my Aunt…she's a- never mind…you wouldn't believe me. Anyway, what are you doing with a broom?"

Draco noticed she was very well spoken for a five year old. And when he had finished listening to her talk, he felt even more sorry for her. He had two choices, he could mock her and tell her she was being foolish, or he could tell her the truth…but that could be dangerous, especially if she was a muggle. Father would have to erase her memory and everything.

He pondered for a moment and then decided that it was worth possibly having to erase her memory. So Draco sat down beside her under the willow trees, beside the pond, and pushed her tea cups aside.

"Do you want to know a secret?" he asked quietly.

The girl nodded eagerly. A gentle breeze ruffled their hair.

"See this broomstick?"

She nodded.

"I can fly on it."

The girl's eyes went wide. "I don't believe you!"

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Want me to prove it?"

"Go ahead!"

Draco stood up, mounted his broomstick, kicked off and rose two feet in the air. He circled around the pond a few times before touching back down next to the girl. "See?" he said, noticing her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"How did you-"she began

Draco held his hand up. "You were going to tell me your Aunt is a witch, weren't you?"

The girl nodded again, growing fascinated with the little boy. How did he know?

He seemed to read her mind, because right then Draco said, "I'm a wizard. That's how I can fly."

The little girl's eyes began to water again. "Is Matilda a witch?"

Draco thought about this for a moment. "No, I don't think so. At least not by our world's definition of a witch."

At this response, the little girl started crying. "I just *hiccup* want to be like my Aunt and Matilda!"

Draco, now alarmed, put his arm around the little girl. "Your Aunt is a witch though! A real witch! Matilda is just a story. You could be a witch too." He tried to say soothingly.

"But…you can already fly, and I can't even make a teacup move!" she wailed.

Draco shrugged. "Some people can't use their powers until they're a bit older. But that's alright. They'll come around, eventually. Just erm, be patient. Maybe I'll see you at Hogwarts!" he said cheerfully.

The little girl sniffled. "What's Hogwarts?"

"It's a school where witches and wizards go when they turn eleven to learn magic." He explained.

"Do you think I'll end up at Hogwarts?" she asked, looking for an ounce of hope out of this terrible day.

Draco smiled. "I do."

At those words, Draco's father called him, looking rather annoyed.

"I've got to go! But maybe I'll see you in six years!" Draco shouted, walking away from the little girl and her tea cups, who looked a tad bit more hopeful than before.

But it was right after Draco and his parents had begun to walk away that Hermione focused once more on the tea cup, and watched it slowly rise a few inches off the ground.

Draco, for an unknown reason, turned his head to catch one last glimpse of the girl, and saw her beaming right at him, the floating tea cup glinting in the sunlight.

The familiar faces dabbed their eyes with tissues and sighed, while the new faces didn't really know what to think. Some were just as moved as the regular guests, while others couldn't understand why it was so emotional.

"And then what do you know I get a letter from Hogwarts right around my 11th birthday. Mum and Dad were pleased but shocked. I was ecstatic of course!" Hermione said gleefully, still blushing from the story telling.

Draco laughed. "And then I was foul git to you for the first…four or five years." His voice took on an apologetic tone.

"Yes well all that matters is that you're not a foul git to me now." Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes.

"Never again." He said sweetly, planting a kiss on her forehead.