Draco Malfoy scowled at his feet and scuffed across the dusty courtyard.

"Come now," his father said sternly, as he caught his shoulder and steered him toward the door. The shabby courtyard was full of loose pebbles, with small plants springing up between the cobblestones.

"Stand up straight. Look like a gentleman," Lucius said. "Even here."

Draco threw a sly glance at his father. Lucius was smirking, his brow quirked at the implied irony. He beat his fist on the rough door.

"Weasley! Get out here!"

A small window appeared at the top of the door, and Draco could see a man's blue eyes peep through the opening.

"Hello?" asked a muffled voice.

"Don't be obtuse, Weasley. You knew I was coming today. Open up, and let's get this over with," Lucius growled.

The door swung open with a creak, and Draco felt himself flush with a mix of nerves and pride. Everyone did what his father said.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! How good of you to stop by! And on a Saturday, no less." Arthur Weasley's voice was light and friendly, but his frame was tight with anxiety and his face unnaturally still. Lucius rolled his eyes.

"I have no more interest in seeing you today than you have of seeing me. But this is Ministry business, and it can't be helped," Lucius drawled, swinging the heavy door open further. "Now, where did you put the contraption?"

"Oh, well, um. Ah!" Arthur's eyes lit up when he saw Draco standing on the step. "This must be your son! By jove, he's a spitting-"

"I don't have all day, Weasley," Lucius snapped and pushed inside the house. "Yes. This is my son, Draco. His mother is in Paris on business, and the governess is - shall we say - indisposed. I'm afraid it can't be helped. He can wait inside, until we're finished."

"Lovely!" Arthur's voice still warm, "I'll ask Molly to pour him some-"

"That won't be necessary. He can sit in there." Lucius pointed toward to the kitchen, where Draco could see a huge, rough-hewn table covered in an array of mismatched woven tablecloths. Lucius turned to Draco, "Sit and be quiet. I'll be back shortly."

"Right, okay. Yes, let's go." Arthur gazed briefly at Draco and then tumbled out the front door.

Draco drew a breath and let himself look around. The house was nothing like Malfoy Manor. Instead of a beautiful ornate carpet, the floors were tiled with slabs of wood intermingled with flat sheets of varied stone. Instead of sweeping marble staircases, there was a tight, twisted flight of wooden stairs that seemed to start nowhere and lead everywhere.

He moved tentatively toward the kitchen, where the sun poured through the windows, flinging yellow light across the messy table. He chose the tallest of the mismatched chairs - he was small for a six-year old, but athletic. He climbed into the seat and waited.

Draco heard a soft tut. He turned to see a plump woman staring down at him, her hands resting gently on her hips and fiery ginger hair clouding around her face.

"You must be the young Mr. Malfoy," she said kindly. "Did they leave you here all by yourself?"

Draco held himself straight, trying to remember what his father had said. These were inferior people, he knew. His father had said they don't associate with these kinds of people. Blood traitors. They were not like the Malfoy family. He said nothing.

"Well, that's okay. We'll find you something." Her hands dropped from her waist and she reached for her apron. "What do you think? Pancakes? We love pancakes."

Draco shook his head and turned away from her, staring across the table, unsure of what to do. He wasn't supposed to talk freely with someone like this.

Molly Weasley fell quiet and slowly came around the table. She pulled out a chair softly and sat down across from the small boy, clasping her hands together and resting her chin on her fists.

"Surely some pancakes would do you good? We can make them any shape you like." She waved her hand idly at the stove, where the top had turned into a large griddle that started to pop. Draco tried hard not to look at it.

"We don't have a stove in the dining room at home," he said with a tinge of scorn. Molly chuckled, and Draco balked. He did not like being laughed at.

"Oh no, my dear, I'm so sorry. I'm not laughing at you. But how silly! To separate everything! However will you enjoy the smell of the cooking?" Molly queried, her eyes bright with humor.

At that, Draco noticed the smell of hot butter and cinnamon coming from the stove. His mouth began to water, and he struggled to keep looking straight at the red-haired woman.

"Well, well…" she paused, considering him for a moment. "I bet things are a bit different for you." Draco was wary, unsure where this was going.

"You come from a very good family, you know." She continued, "You are a very lucky boy." Draco watched her for a moment to make sure she wasn't mocking him. When she continued to smile, he responded with pride, puffing out of his chest like a peacock.

"The very best of families," Draco nodded smartly, as he had been taught. "Malfoy is an old name, and I am the next heir."

"Of course, my dear." Molly chuckled again and stood to check the griddle. Draco watched her then, beginning to wonder what the pancakes might taste like. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley, without turning around. "Please don't hide, we have a guest!"

A tiny girl peered around the corner of the door, smiling shyly. Draco frowned at her chunky gray sweater and fuzzy slippers, but was soon distracted by her warm brown eyes. He thought he had never seen such a pretty girl.

Ginny padded into the room and plopped down beside him.

"Blueberries for me!" she called to her mother, and then turned to face him. "What do you want?"

"Apples?" He responded, so surprised by her he was unable to help himself. "What about raspberries? Do you have any of those?"

"Anything you like!" Called Molly from the griddle.

"Chocolate and cranberries?" Ginny cried gleefully, "Sugarwarts and faeries!"

"Maybe pumpkin? Or Lemons? And gooseberries!" Draco called, then turned to Ginny, "What are sugarwarts?"

"I made them up!" The girl laughed.

"No you didn't," her mother started, "They're actually- oh, never mind."

Mrs. Weasley brought over two heaping plates of assorted pancakes, piled with the fruits they'd named, plus a few things Draco had never seen.

"Mum!" cried Ginny, "The shapes!"

"Of course! I forgot!" And Molly pulled out her wand and waved it over the plates. The pancakes began to change shape, matching the foods they had listed.

"Garden gnome!" Ginny yelled, and the pancake at the top of the heap shifted into the shape of a small leafy creature.

"Dragon!" She tried again, and the pancake shifted. She nudged Draco, "Try it!"

He poked his pancake with a fork, "Werewolf?" He found himself grinning as the pancake turned into a tiny howling wolf.

Then he and Ginny launched into the game, trying to come up with the most complicated, unexpected shape. Each shape became more ridiculous, and they tried to top each other, giggling helplessly.

"Hippo-"

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!"

Draco froze mid-sentence, his hand suspended with his fork in the air. Lucius loomed in the doorway, casting a long shadow over his son.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

Draco cowered, hardly able to speak, "Father, we were just-"

"NO!" thundered Lucius. "No, you were not just doing anything. I told you to sit and be quiet!" The large man pulled Draco up handily from the chair, shoving him toward the door.

"Mr. Malfoy, Draco was perfectly-"

"Don't YOU speak a word about MY SON!" Lucius rounded on Mrs. Weasley. She swayed backward slightly, as if hit by a slow tide, but didn't move.

"Mr. Malfoy-" But Lucius wasn't listening. He swung around, gripped Draco tightly by the shoulder, and guided him roughly out the front door. Draco tripped on the stoop and stumbled down the short flight of stairs, still clutching his fork.

Lucius was right behind him, quickly pulling him upright and snarling into his ear, "You do as you are told," his voice dropped and he spoke through clenched teeth. "You are a Malfoy. You do not not speak with them. You are not friend with them. You are not them."

"Yes, sir," Draco choked, behind hot, emerging tears.

"Say it!"

"I am not them."

"Good. Now let's go." Lucius turned toward to Burrow, glaring darkly at the three people in the door. Ginny was crying, and Mrs. Weasley had her strong arms around the girl, to keep her from running out into the yard.

Draco followed behind his father, head down, holding his bruised shoulder. He stole one last sideways glance at the family, before squeezing his eyes closed and shoving away his tears.

Eyes still shut tightly, he shook his head to clear the memories. He might be able to forget, but he would never forgive them for the life he couldn't have.