1. The Boy Who Lived Too

Father and Mother, and Me,
Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And every one else is They.
And They live over the sea,
While We live over the way,
But-would you believe it? --They look upon We
As only a sort of They!

–Rudyard Kipling, "We and They"

Mr and Mrs Malfoy were proud to say they were pure-blood wizards, thank you very much. They were from a long line of pureblood old families in the Wizarding world. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved with Muggles and Mudbloods.

Mr Malfoy (to the best of anyone's knowledge) worked at the Ministry of Magic in a high ranking position that required him to do basically nothing except threaten the people underneath him and most people above him as well. He was a tall, thin man with arched features and celestial, blonde hair. Mrs Malfoy was frail, also blonde and usually wore a look of incredible distaste on her face.

It was the lost hours of a moonless June 5th that a very special event took place. A baby was born to Mr and Mrs Malfoy. Mrs Malfoy cradled the squirming infant in her arms and smiled down at it with exhausted joy. She kissed its small forehead as the doctor proclaimed him a healthy boy. His name was to be Draco Lucius Malfoy II, after his father, of course. The first born of the most powerful pure-blood Wizarding family unions in Europe, Black and Malfoy. This made Draco Malfoy very special indeed.

He lived the first year of his life in harmony at the Malfoy Manor. He played with various gold-encrusted toys which bore the Malfoy crest, cried when he should have cried, and slept when he should have slept. His parents cooed over his cradle at night, and his mother held him in her arms. It was the normal life for any baby. It all changed the next October, a yellow mooned Halloween, when whispers and rumours floated on the horizon and owls swooped down in the daylight all over London. He did not spend that night in a basket on some Muggle's front porch he spent that night in his mother's arms. His father screamed with satanic fury when he burst into the Manor. Mingled in his screams you could hear voices in the distance saying, "To Harry Potter– the boy who lived!"

No one really remembers their early childhood, but Draco Malfoy was sure that his father had loved him before the Dark Lord had fallen. However, it didn't take him long to notice how distant Lucius was with him. His mother still fussed over Draco, but Lucius wasn't like the other fathers. Draco assumed it was because he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys are proud men. His great-grandfather, Adalrico Malfoy, performed the Cruciatus Curse on his best friend over a rather horrifying joke about his hair– yes, Malfoys were proud.

Lucius was not only distant; he wanted to make his son suffer, but the suffering wasn't physical or even spiteful, just instructive. Draco's first foggy memory was of Lucius holding a toy over his head while he cried and reached for it. Lucius would only give the toy back after Draco would stop begging and sobbing. That was Draco's first lesson: never beg, never cry.

He grew up in their country estate, a slightly smaller residence that belonged to his Mother. It wasn't until he was nine or ten that they moved back to Malfoy Manor. He had liked the country estate, as opposed to the dark Manor. Those years of his childhood were spent with few of his father's friend's sons as playmates. His favourites were Theodore, Vincent, and Gregory. Early on, it became very apparent that he would decide which games they played and what they would do for the day while their father's talked in another room.

Draco recalled standing at the gates of the Malfoy Manor when the Malfoys returned from what Narcissa would only refer to as "exile". Life seemed to stop beyond those gates. The roofs of the Manor arched upward into the darkening depths of the sky above. The windows were steely, murky– not unlike a Malfoy's eyes. It reminded Draco of a crooked black tree at the country place. Its limbs reached out sporadically and it was the only tree not to sway with the forest. On the third day of their exile, Narcissa ordered the "bestial thing" to be removed from her sight. Draco looked up to Lucius who simply scanned the Manor and approached it. He never realized what he felt when he walked toward his new home, and he never liked to think of it either. He had just needed someone to hold his hand.

Mr Malfoy sat down for breakfast on the early August 11 years later. It was breakfast time when an owl arrived...

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards.)

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

"Albus Dumbledore." Lucius sneered as he tossed the letter aside with disgust. "Merlin, that man has the wit of a candlestick." Draco stared at his father impatiently. "Now I hear that that Muggle lover has all sorts of giant savages and squibs working up at that mad house..."

"All of the Malfoys and Blacks have gone to Hogwarts, Lucius," Narcissa said evenly, her eyes resting slowly on her husband. Lucius didn't answer her. He went back to reading The Daily Prophet. Narcissa went back to her breakfast. Draco looked between them with some hope.

"Cissy, we can't have him be taught by a fool. You think I don't hold any regard for tradition?" he muttered. "We have more connections at Durmstrang; they actually teach the students useful things." Draco's mother didn't batter an eyelash as her eyes rested upon her husband across the table.

"Durmstrang is too far away. We'll never get to see him," she purred as her eyes drifted to Draco and back to Lucius. "What kind of father wants to ship his son away to be tied to glaciers?"

Lucius kept his facial expression locked in stone.

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"Hello," Draco said as he admired his long black robes in the mirror. "Hogwarts, too?" He was speaking to the frail looking boy who had just come in. The boy was incredibly ordinary– glasses, messy hair, and very skinny. The boy hesitated.

"Yes," he finally said with some uncertainty. There was a quiet between them for a while. Draco grew bored.

"My father," he drawled, "is next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking for wands." Draco adjusted his robe as he turned to look at himself. The boy still looked nervous as Madam Malkin pinned the robe to his thin body. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somewhere," Draco mused pleasantly as he looked at the boy from the corner of his eye.

The boy grimaced, as if reminded of some forgotten errand he should have run.

"Have you got a broom?" Draco said, now annoyed that the boy was so terribly dull.

"No," said the boy with a gulp.

"Play Quidditch at all?" Draco said, growing more irritated.

"No," the boy said once more and pushed his glasses up from slipping down his nose.

"I do– Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know which house you'll be in yet?" Draco, although annoyed that the boy was not more interesting than a piece of parchment, was also used to very uninteresting friends he could easily manipulate. This boy seemed to have potential.

"No," the boy said with a more disappointed grumble.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they?" Draco said, trying to make the boy feel a little better. "But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said the extremely dull boy. Draco was about to give up altogether until he noticed something outside the store window.

"I say, look at that man!" he hissed, nodding to the front window.

"That's Hagrid." The boy finally lit up. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," muttered Draco, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said the boy, now in a more annoyed tone.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage– lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed!" Draco chuckled.

"I think he's brilliant," the boy said coldly.

"Do you?" Draco said with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Oh sorry, but they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were witch and wizard if that's what you mean." The boy shot an irritated look at Draco at his mirror reflection.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it to the old Wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

"That's you done, dear," Madam Malkin announced.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose." Draco bit his lip. The boy waved and left to meet the giant. Draco didn't think much of the boy. He didn't care if he ever saw him again for that matter.

Eventually he did try to bully his father into buying a racing broom, which resulted in a cold glare.

"Isn't there some sort of rule...?" Lucius was paying more attention to a nearby sweets stand than to Draco.

"Father, I'm sure that most of the first years will have one anyway!" Draco whined.

"What is he trying to get?" Narcissa asked, stepping out of the shadows of an alley that led from Knockturn Alley with arms full of bags and joined them.

"Where is Dobby? He should be carrying those," Lucius barked. Draco tuned out the rest of the conversation as he thought of ways to get his hands on that new Nimbus Two Thousand.

"One last stop," his mother announced in an annoyed tone.

"What now?" Lucius said, his bark growing weary. .

"He has to have an owl. How do you expect him to write us?"

"I don't expect him to write us, Narcissa," Lucius said under his breath.

"You will, won't you, precious?" his mother said sweetly.

Draco, echoing the annoyed presence of his father, glanced up at her from the ever furthering Nimbus Two Thousand display.

"I'd rather have a racing broom than some bloody pigeon," Draco's eyes narrowed as he kicked a loosened bit of pavement. They went to the Magical Menagerie.

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Special thanks to my three incredibly amazing betas: Cyanide Blue, Naycit, and Sha. I can't even begin to imagine this story without them. Also thanks to Matt, Shauna, Meli, and Shawna for reading, listening, and suggesting. If you'd like to view this story's live status and it'sWIP chapter outline, visit my website.