Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, things, or places recognized as belonging to JK Rowling, brilliant and wonderful creator of the Harry Potter world.
Childhood Notions
"Would you like to hear a story?" the nanny asked, tucking the covers in tight around the boy's small frame, just the way he liked. His face scrunched up at her question as she pulled the blanket up around his chest.
"Father says stories are for babies. I'm not a baby anymore," seven-year-old Draco Malfoy retorted.
"No, no, you certainly are not," the nanny agreed, her voice dropping to a whisper. She smiled and leaned in, like they were sharing a secret. "But stories are for everyone, young Master Malfoy. And the older you get, the better they are."
Draco eyed her warily, unwilling to trust anything that went against his father's word. But she looked so sincere, and her smile was so warm. "I dunno," he said cautiously. "Father wouldn't like it."
"Then we won't tell him. It'll be our secret, yes?" The young woman's eyes sparkled, and her smile held mysteries that Draco wanted to share in. He glanced at the bedroom door, closed to the dimly lit hallway beyond, then back at her.
"Okay," he agreed at last. The woman grinned, settling herself onto the edge of his bed and reaching up to adjust his pillows. He sank back against them, hands neatly folded on top of the covers, waiting.
"What kind of story do you want to hear? One about dragons? Werewolves? Duels and adventures?" asked the nanny, knowing he liked scary stories best. Draco thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"No. Tell me about the Boy Who Lived again." It was his favorite story, though he'd never let his parents know that; they'd disapprove. They didn't like talk about the Dark Lord, nor his defeat (especially his defeat). But Draco's nanny had first told him the story when he was still too little to understand that there were certain things that were not talked about in the Malfoy household. He understood that now, and kept his fascination to himself. But he so dearly loved the story.
The nanny – her name was Elinore, he knew that, but he never called her by name, only 'nanny' because he knew she didn't like it, and he delighted in annoying her – belonged to a rather poor pureblood family whose father had worked for Draco's before his untimely death six years ago. Elinore had just finished Hogwarts at the time and was out of work, desperate for anything to support her sickly mother and younger sister still in school. Draco's mother had recently discovered the previous nanny had been nicking the silver, and so, out of respect for her father and the necessity of a hasty replacement, Lucius Malfoy had offered her the job.
She'd been with them ever since, and she was good at her job. She understood the importance of finding a balance between discipline and leniency with the spoiled Malfoy heir, and she was good enough at it that Draco had never grown especially fond of her, which she knew to be crucial to remaining employed by the Malfoys. She knew any attachment too strong would surely be seen as inappropriate; after all, she wasn't family.
It helped that Draco was such a brat. He certainly didn't inspire much affection. But he was charming when he wanted to be, sweet when he needed to be, and he was tolerable enough of the time that she didn't hate her job. The Malfoys were generous with her salary, and she lived comfortably, and she would be sorry when the day came that Draco was too old for a nanny anymore.
She launched into the story of the Dark Lord, about his greatness and his monstrousness. Draco was always enthralled at his power, his followers. She told him of the Dark Lord's noble mission (or what he thought was a noble mission anyway) to cleanse the wizard race and eradicate Muggle lineage. Draco ate it up. But his favorite part was always the ending, and Elinore made sure to build up to it as dramatically as possible.
"And then he just disappeared. No one knows why or how a tiny little one-year-old boy could defeat the most powerful wizard who ever lived, escaping with only a scar on his forehead. Some say Harry Potter is a Dark Wizard himself, born to be greater and even more powerful. Some say he'll bring the Dark Lord back to power, that he's the only one who can do so, and together they'll finish the Dark Lord's work. Some say it was just an accident. But one thing's for sure," Elinore breathed, watching Draco's focus intensify as her voice dropped, "The Boy Who Lived, the only one ever known to withstand the Killing Curse, will be a great and powerful wizard someday. He will change the world, for better or worse."
Draco's eyes were wide as saucers, as they always were as she finished the story. He blinked several times before refocusing on her face. "Do you think he'll be my friend?" he asked, "when I go to Hogwarts?"
Elinore smiled and smoothed his hair out of his eyes. "He would be a fool not to be," she assured him. "Now get to sleep. You have a flying lesson in the morning."
X
"What do you think he'll be like?"
"Who?"
"Harry Potter!" Draco exclaimed, annoyed that his father hadn't been listening.
"Draco, don't get your hopes up," Lucius Malfoy replied, not looking up from the paper. "His parents were insufferably self-important; I wouldn't be surprised if he were just the same."
"Nanny said–"
"That woman has filled your head with fairy tales for too long. I'll be glad to be rid of her once you start school," Lucius snapped. Draco fell silent. He felt silly for wanting to defend Nanny. After all, he'd been saying for years how he was getting too old for a nanny anyway. His parents had ignored such claims, reminding him that when he went to Hogwarts they would no longer employ Elinore and then he'd have what he wanted. And he'd be out of their hair, though that went unspoken.
He finished his breakfast silently, though his excitement was not diminished by his father's sharp words. In just over one month he'd be on the train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and with none other than Harry Potter himself. His Hogwarts letter had arrived only yesterday, and he'd begged all morning to go to Diagon Alley right away to go school shopping. But his parents had not been sensitive to his desires, promising they'd send him later in the week when the weather was likely to be more favorable.
He supposed he would just have to be okay with that.
X
"Come in," Draco said to the light knock on his door. He was already sitting in bed, about to extinguish the light on the bedside table. Elinore poked her head in and offered a smile.
"Just thought I'd say goodbye," she said.
"You're leaving?" Draco kept his face impassive, but Elinore heard the note of disappointment in his voice. She couldn't help but feel a little down about it as well. After all, she knew this boy better than anyone. She'd watched him grow up, taken him to Quidditch matches, patched him up when he fell off his broom, cleaned up after accidental bursts of magic, listened to his tantrums and soothed his injured pride when things didn't go his way.
She'd told him stories in secret when no one was listening and had sometimes slipped an extra sweet to him after supper when his parents were otherwise occupied. She'd supervised ill-conceived play dates with the children of the Malfoys' aquaintences that almost always ended in Draco yelling or hitting someone or storming off in a fit. She'd taught him to read and write, given history lessons and explained the world to him. She was sorry to go, and part of her knew it wasn't entirely because she was out of a job.
Draco Malfoy had somehow wormed his way into her heart, and she'd miss him. But of course, he'd forget about her soon enough, making new friends and going to classes and exploring at Hogwarts.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," she answered, coming the rest of the way into the room and sitting on the chair in the corner. "You don't need me anymore. You haven't really needed me for awhile now. And tomorrow you'll go to Hogwarts, and you'll learn great new things and meet new friends, and you'll forget all about silly old me."
Draco nodded. She noticed the way his eyes brightened when she mentioned Hogwarts, the way he sat a little straighter, looked a little prouder.
"Are you excited for tomorrow?" Elinore asked, and he grinned in a way he only ever grinned for her, though she didn't think he realized it.
"Yes," he answered. "Yes, I can hardly wait."
"You'll love Hogwarts," she assured him. "You'll be the most popular boy in Slytherin I bet."
"Do you think Harry Potter will be in Slytherin?" he asked hopefully, and Elinore couldn't help but smile at his bald enthusiasm. He never acted this way around his parents; they were under the impression they'd effectively snuffed out this sort of behavior in him. No, he only ever showed this side with Elinore, and only just before bed when he was at his most vulnerable. She'd grown to cherish these moments, as they were some of the only times she felt her job was worth it.
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."
"I hope he is. I know we'd be great mates," Draco said, somewhat wistfully. Elinore shook her head, too amused to comment.
"I should go," she murmured after a pause, and Draco's eyes returned to her, his mask falling back in place.
"Goodbye," he said. He slipped out of bed and held out his hand to shake. Elinore rolled her eyes and pulled him in for a hug, squeezing him tight for just a moment.
"Goodbye, Draco," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. He allowed this, and when she released him, he stepped back, looking up into her face.
"You were pretty good, as far as nannies go," he commented, and Elinore laughed, knowing this was high praise from him.
"You weren't half bad to look after either," she assured him, ruffling his hair, which she knew he loathed. He smoothed it down with a scowl. "Farewell, young Master Malfoy."
X
Draco was fuming. How dare that Potter git embarrass him like that! He glared out the window of the train as Crabbe and Goyle rearranged themselves to make room for the sweets they'd just bought from the trolley.
"Who does Potter think he is?" he demanded, turning to them. They looked up at him stupidly. "Thinks he's so high and mighty because he defeated the Dark Lord when he was a baby. Well I'll tell you what, he's not, got it?" he snarled, jabbing his finger at Crabbe.
"Yeah, okay," Crabbe agreed quickly.
"Perfect little Potter," Draco spat. Who'd want to be his stupid friend anyway? He was just some specky orphan with an ugly scar on his head. Scarhead Potter. What a joke.
Draco couldn't believe he'd once thought the Boy Who Lived to be someone important, that he'd ever considered wanting to be his friend. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys didn't consort with bloodtraitors like Potters anyway.
"Potter's a bloody joke," he muttered angrily. "Thinks he's so great. He's not that great. He's a bloody idiot is what he is."
He continued a steady stream of abuse toward Harry Potter for the better part of ten minutes before he realized no one was listening to him anymore. So he sulked and stared out the window and thought nasty things about Potter instead.
He would never admit how deeply Potter's refusal of friendship had cut him. He systematically buried every good or praising thought he'd ever had toward the other boy, replacing each with anger and ill-wishing.
He hated the Boy Who Lived. And he hated his nanny for ever filling his head with stories about stupid Harry Potter. His father was right, they would be better off rid of her, and Draco could do much better than some self-important scarhead for friends. He felt foolish for having ever thought Harry Potter would be a great wizard. How childish he'd been.
Draco wasn't a child anymore. It was time to do away with childish notions of heroism and fairy tales.
Author's Note: Nope, still haven't updated my other stories. No, I still don't know when I will. As usually happens, I wrote this while procrastinating studying for finals last month. I finally got around to finishing and editing it. So here you go I guess. Let me know what you think!