Author's Note: Wow. I'm really bad at writing canon Draco (meaning a meany pants Malfoy), but fear not! Your benevolent writer has decided to give you hope (if only for fear that you'll stop reading). Draco's behavior gets much better around Chapter 3, and Chapter 2 isn't long.

I already have the entire series written, so I'll be able to get chapters out as fast as my wonderful Turtle betas them, however (and that's a big however), I will withhold chapters until I'm happy with the number of reviews I get. I'll also post faster if you beg. I like begging.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even a box. Maybe Ashley'll build me a house…

Chapter One

O

Malfoy knocked on Professor Lockheart's office door one Tuesday afternoon. "Professor," He opened the door as he called out, not waiting for a reply at all. "Professor, I need to talk to you urgently. I don't find it possible that I could have attained an E on this paper. I simply have far too much first hand experience with these curses to receive anything below an O. Professor? Professor; I insist you listen to me. That is what my father pays you for."

"Actually, Mr. Malfoy," Gildory flashed a winning smile as he tucked his wand away and turned his attention reluctantly to the doorway. "Your father pays me to teach you, and certainly not to allow students to barge into my private office, adoring fans as they may be."

The narcissist had been practicing a spell, quite obviously. Malfoy looked over to an unmarked training dummy in the corner with contempt. The professor was obviously not getting anywhere. "Ah…" Lockheart followed Malfoy's gaze, and conspicuously stepped in front of the dummy. "Yes, yes, boy, as you were saying, I'll see to your grade. Run off."

Malfoy smirked as he turned around and sauntered out the room. Perhaps he could perfect this art of walking in on unprepared teachers. He wasn't sure what it was, but Lockheart obviously thought that he had seen something he shouldn't have, and the grade would show as record of the bribery to keep silent. Oh yes, Malfoy worked very hard for his success in grades and…well, everything else, particularly his stunning looks.

-

The following morning, Malfoy sat down to his breakfast. He liked to eat in peace, and thus surrounded himself with simpletons; they were the easiest to block out. For example, if he had sat with Zabini, the chatter might've been remotely interesting, and, Merlin forbid, intellectual.

No, Malfoy was perfectly content shrugging off Pansy's flirtations and Goyle's complaints. He found this time perfect, when he had nothing to think about, to practice Occlumency. The process enthralled him, but he was often only spurred on by the incentive of Legillimency. Once he mastered Occlumency, he could tackle the next step: the skill that would bring him power.

In the back of his mind loomed memories of his visit to Lockheart's office. He brushed the almost nervous, nagging thoughts aside, comforting himself with the thought that when his brain needed a stretch and his ears a break, he could have a chat in the Potions room with a real brain.

-

On one such afternoon, not a week later, Snape inquired of Malfoy's future plans. He had nearly every career option open to him, with all of his O's, but it was obvious to both men that he would follow Lucius and become a Death Eater. Severus Snape asked anyway.

"Oh come now, Severus--"

"It's Professor during the school term, Mr. Malfoy."

"What else could I possibly do but follow my father and become a--"

"Move on to your point, Mr. Malfoy."

"Honestly, I would be bored stiff of Ministry work, and beloved as it is to me, it's extremely hard to find a non-Mungo's potions job; working with those invalids would just kill me. Transfiguration is far too conventional for such worldly a man as myself, and Arithmancy doesn't pose much of a challenge."

"You have O's in Defense too."

"Oh, honestly, Severus. The only thing that could possibly be good for is spying for--"

"Speaking of which, be careful with that tongue, Mr. Malfoy."

"Besides, It's not like I actually worked for those grades. What work is there to do with an incompetent like Lockheart around? You should have that position, Severus." Malfoy would never let it be known that he was idiotic enough to keep the teacher's-pet card hidden away.

Snape glared, and whisked Malfoy off to his office where he sealed the door and applied a silencing charm. "What don't you understand about watch your tongue? You already have a reputation, Draco; you don't need any more enemies if you intend to remain at this school under Professor Dumbledore. This came for you, via my postbox, yesterday." Snape held out an envelope, unaddressed besides "Master Draco Malfoy" scrawled across the front in the most garish script, and it quite obviously already opened.

His mind had been wandering, and his eyes had been snatched away from a picture of a pretty redhead on the professor's desk as his attention was caught. Malfoy sourly disregarded the fact that Snape had opened the letter, and pulled the it out, tossing the envelope aside. He read out loud. "This has become, regretfully, quite necessary of me. I must request that you meet me around the turn of the fourth turret on the castle grounds on this Tuesday evening in regards to what you saw one week previous, and don't worry your pretty little head. Your O is safe." Malfoy snorted at the last sentence, sensing the bitterness intended.

"Well, I'm offended," he tossed the letter aside, in the general direction of his book bag without any care. "That was far too brusque to expect any respect from this Malfoy."

"Oh, you'll respect the letter's requests all right, Draco." Snape took Malfoy roughly by the arm, and yanked him close, glaring into his eyes. "You have caused very much trouble for both me and your parents over the past year and a half, Draco. You will stop these antics, and fix whatever you've done now, or I will personally take you in every night to write lines for the next five years, do you understand?" Snape enunciated the last three words particularly well, intending to get his message across. "Oh, and I'll be having a chat with the headmaster about this."

Malfoy only nodded with a glare before he gathered up his things, tucked the letter into a robe pocket, and left.

He went down to the Slytherin common room, tossed the letter into the already thriving fire, and settled down to practice his Occlumency. Since no one knew of his personal sessions he didn't have a mind to guard against, but he figured it was still worth practicing. Perhaps one day, and one day soon, once he was sure of the potions master's loyalty to the Dark Lord, he would practice with Severus. That would indeed be a challenge. Malfoy smiled with fond memories with the potions master, starting all the way back with dinners at the Manor when his father would have him over for supper.

This thought distracted Malfoy from his intentions to practice. Especially after the man's display this afternoon in the potions office, Malfoy was beginning to worry that Severus really did favor the old nutter Dumbledore. Honestly, since when does a Death Eater threaten with lines and a fink to the headmaster? It was reminiscent to Malfoy of Potter's friends' threats, particularly the mudblood. Now there was a fink, if he ever saw one.

The reflection on his lecture from the Potions Professor led his mind even more astray from the Occlumency. What was he to do about Lockheart's note? It was obviously Lockheart; who else had he walked in on in the past week?

This whole thing could very well be a trap, Malfoy reasoned with himself. Snape would no doubt have an eye on him, and would say something if he just ignored the note. He would have to go, but with the assurance that Snape would be watching his back. This left the rest of this night, Monday, and until Tuesday evening for him to prepare.

"Let's see now," he murmured to himself, abandoning all attempts to clear his mind for Occlumency, "What will I need?" He drifted off into his mind and eventually, after mechanically trudging up to the dorm, into his sleep.

-

Monday came, and Malfoy found it took no effort to block out even intellectual blockheads such as Zabini. He abandoned his Occlumency and most attempts of trashing Potter's life, though he kept his "Potter's Potty Mouth Curse" plan in mind.

Instead he found most of his time was spent in the library researching defense charms, and stealing sweets from the kitchens with which he would bribe two particular lunkheads. He then spent a fair amount of time practicing the more complex disarming charms on Crabbe and Goyle, perfectly willing dummies as long as food was involved.

"Hold still," Malfoy tossed Goyle a sweet and watched disgusted as it disappeared down the gigantic 12-year-old's maw "Would you just leave that gum there? I have better things for you in this bag; you don't need gum that's been on the floor for who knows how long."

"Well hurry up and give it to me then!" Goyle trudged back to the X that Malfoy had marked on the floor. That process in itself had taken a good 30 minutes to explain. Pity Crabbe was busy copying homework; at least he had an attention span that made Malfoy's goal plausible.

Malfoy sighed and threw another spell at Goyle, sending him to the wall. "Fine," he just dropped the bag where he stood, and stalked out of the room, thoroughly defeated. Pansy he could deal with. Death Eaters he could deal with. But an I.Q. below 100? It just wasn't in Malfoy's reach.

The door of the empty classroom closed as Malfoy slammed it, but not before the thunk and rustle of a body landing on candy came to meet his ears. Even more unwelcome was the sound of the same body hauling itself up and dragging it after it's idol.

"Hey! Draco!" Goyle still had the candy in had, as far as Malfoy knew, "Wait up!"

-

Before Malfoy knew it, as cliché as the thought was (oh how he cringed), it was Tuesday night. Malfoy, having every airy, purebred confidence in himself that he would be fine, just fine, finally headed out to the fourth turret, walking airily clockwise around the school.

He found his mind numb, and in the perfect state to practice his Occlumency, for which he felt bad about jettisoning. After a few minutes of walking in his stupor, he heard a voice call out to him from a few meters behind.

Hand on wand, Malfoy turned around, making sure to keep his mask of calm perfection. As soon as he recognized the figure he relaxed; it was only Pansy and her friends, quite obviously drunk.

"Oh look ladies!" Pansy giggled as she swayed towards Malfoy, "It's my Drakey!" She draped herself across him, and he stumbled with her dead weight. "Don't you just loooove these brisk nights, Drakey? They're soooo romantic! Kiss me!"

"I'll do anything if you would just shut up," Malfoy pushed her off him, and she fell to the ground. Her friends attempted to help her up, but also collapsed in their drunkenness.

Pansy used her friends' heads to heave her own body up, and proceeded to stomp towards Malfoy, "Well, you! You just think you're so-so-" she paused, just as she was prepared to give him a good bitch slap (shame, I think), and held her stomach. Malfoy's eyes widened as he realized what would come next.

"Don't you dare, you--"

She obviously dared—or was too saturated with firewhiskey to have a say—and she emptied her stomach onto his shoes. By now her friends had pulled themselves up, at the expense of each others' robes, and they each took Pansy under an arm and helped her stand.

Malfoy, quite finished examining the damage done to his shoes, looked back up to the girl, gave his worst sneer, and punched her. Pansy glared back, and prepared to say something, but it was lost as her friends, defeated, just turned her around to retreat to the dorms, their tattered and torn robes thrashing in the cool fall breeze, as brisk as Pansy had drunkenly described it.

After giving a good, whole-hearted Slytherin glare at their retreating backs, Malfoy performed a quick cleaning spell, making it quite obvious that he had made a bigger fuss than was warranted, and continued on his trek. The row hadn't occurred far from the turret, and it wasn't long before Malfoy rounded the corner.

Startled, he meekly squeaked "Hello, Professor," as his nose was greeted with a wand tip and, past that, the hand, arm, shoulder and maliciously beaming face of his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy."