Draco grimaced as he dressed in his most formal set of dress robes. Father was having 'friends' over for a meal tonight and had invited Draco to join them. And when father 'invited' someone to something, "no" was very much the wrong answer.

Draco looked into the large, ornate mirror hanging on the wall. A pale, slate-eyed boy with hair so blonde it was almost white stared back at him. This boy looked the part. He would make his father proud and finally be allowed to join the ranks of those who knew. The ones who knew that if Muggles found out about the Wizarding world it would be catastrophic. The ones who knew that the best way to ensure that they didn't was to //resort to necessary means, Draco, that some, like that fool Albus Dumbledore, have the audacity to fight. They would have it known that we are the ones in the wrong. But nothing is too drastic where the future of magic is concerned, Draco. The Dark Lord knows that. That's why we are loyal to him. And you will be, too, when your time comes.//

Draco allowed himself a smirk. Loyal. He didn't know much about loyalty, but he was fairly certain that it didn't involve denying any and all involvement with the person you were meant to be loyal to the second things went wrong. Of course, the only things Draco was loyal to were the family name and Slytherin house. Most people at school were suspicious of, and more often than not hostile to, Slytherin house, but Draco didn't go running off to join the Gryffindors, did he? He was proud to be in Slytherin. Wasn't that what loyalty was meant to be about?

But Father was a loyal Death Eater. He couldn't have done anything to aid the Dark Lord in Azkaban, could he? Anyway, loyalty was rewarded.

Of course, the Lestranges had been loyal ...

Draco scowled at the neat, formally dressed boy in the mirror. The boy scowled back. So the Dark Lord was back. Father would be going to join him. He'd want Draco there, too. The Dark Lord apparently thought that he would be valuable, as he went to school with Potter. Perfect Potter. The golden boy who could do no wrong. The paradigm of all things Gryffindor. The saviour of the wizarding world. Couldn't save Diggory, though, could he? Not from the Dark Lord. He picked the losing side.

Draco had always wanted to win. He could resort to downright immoral means to get what he wanted. He could cheat, lie and manipulate with the best of them. A true Slytherin. He had always been determined. He had to wonder, though, if the Dark Lord was really a true Slytherin. Draco had often thought that maybe, though he would never have dared say it out loud, he was //our future, Draco. The Dark Lord is noble beyond all those who call themselves "good" wizards.//

But the Dark Lord //can ensure the continued respect carried by the Malfoy name, Draco. Do you want to be poor and disrespected like those foul Weasleys? The Dark Lord gives us power.//

Yes, but ... someone who wouldn't storm Hogwarts because of Dumbledore? The foolish Muggle-lover?

Draco glared defiantly at his reflection. Wouldn't that make him a coward?

Draco wasn't sure that it was possible for him to respect someone who was a coward. He wasn't a coward. And, of course, there was the small but irrefutable fact that ... the Dark Lord is a Mudblood. To Draco, this was insanely ironic. When he had found out about the Dark Lord's heritage, he had gone to his chambers and laughed himself hoarse. Why should a Malfoy serve a Mudblood?

And doesn't that make the Dark Lord a hypocrite as well? As much as Draco disliked the Mudbloods in his year, notably Granger, //whom you have yet to beat in an exam. She is a filthy Mudblood, and yet a boy who's blood is as pure as yours cannot beat her in a simple History of Magic exam? I am very disappointed in you, Draco. Has your heritage taught you nothing? The Dark Lord has high hopes for you. Perhaps you are unworthy// ... he didn't necessarily want to go around slaughtering them all. He'd just rather they went back to where they came from. He was a Malfoy. He didn't get his hands dirty. He supposed he could make an exception for Granger, though. You didn't hit a Malfoy and get away with it.

Draco jumped as someone knocked on the door. It was Mother, telling him that his father wanted him in the Entrance Hall in ten minutes' time. The unspoken part being that if he were late he would be severely punished. The worst part of Father's "severe punishments" was not that Draco had to work like a House Elf, it was that his father, whom he respected and admired, was disappointed in him. Father often refused to acknowledge him for days on end if Draco did anything to let down the Malfoy name. Draco hated it.

He smoothed his hair again. The last time his hair had been messy and Father had had guests, he had been furious. Draco actually liked it better a bit dishevelled. He looked //like some sort of common scum! Do you have no pride, Draco? How can you expect others to respect you when you do not maintain a sense of decorum? Get out of my sight and don't come back until you look worthy of being a Malfoy.//

Draco grabbed a tube of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and squeezed some more onto his palm. He didn't see the problem. If you were going to be wearing a mask, who cared? That was another thing he didn't understand. The masks. The way Father talked, being a Death Eater was something to be proud of. Why, then, did they insist on covering their faces? Was is because they, like their Master, were //simply trying to prevent the Ministry and Dumbledore's lackeys from interfering with the Dark Lord's noble work, Draco. They do not approve of our ... methods. Therefore, we must remain hidden until the Dark Lord takes over completely. Then we can gain our rightful place in the new Wizarding society.//

Draco knew it was because if the Ministry found out that powerful, respected Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, they could take everything he had. His father was hiding...

No. Malfoys didn't hide. He was merely biding his time. Dumbledore and Potter put together with the Ministry in all its glorious incompetence wouldn't be able to stop him. Knowing Potter, he'd try. But it would be futile.

Draco pondered Potter. He wasn't anything special. He was no more powerful than Draco was. So how had he escaped the Dark Lord and his father, amongst others?

An 'oversight' on their part? Draco had overheard his father talking to someone about Priori Incantatem. How the ghosts of the Dark Lord's victims had got in the way, //preventing the Dark Lord from finishing the Potter boy. When he ran, we were unable to stop him grabbing the Portkey and escaping. But we will finish him yet. Our Master is furious.//

Could Draco really learn to respect someone who was constantly being outwitted by a skinny, bespectacled, Muggle-loving Gryffindor?

Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy. Then it could catch the Snitch for you.

Draco would love to see Potter done away with. But, seemingly, Voldemort wasn't up to the job.

Voldemort.

Voldermort, Voldemort, Voldemort.

I think I can tell the who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.

He, Draco, could do it. He'd be up to the job. He didn't need Tom to help him.

How he'd laugh.

He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin in an aristocratic manner worthy of the Malfoy family and began making his way to the Entrance Hall.