Chapter One: Begin at the Beginning

It was not a good day at the Malfoy Residence, not that most days were very pleasant, but today was particularly awful. While the outside world was fresh and beautiful with the essence of spring filling the air, inside a terrible trouble was brewing. The young Draco, only 7 years of age, had asked a seemingly innocent question about muggle bicycles. It was, unfortunately, not well received. At all.

The Malfoy family had been seated outside, enjoying caviar and jam on toast. Watching their peacock's strut about was one of their favorite things to do during breakfast. Draco's question was voiced with a lightness and easiness that only a child could have, he hadn't the slightest idea that what he was saying was practically pureblood blasphemy. It goes with out saying that he received a royal dressing down.

"A pureblooded wizard never concerns himself with the frivolous tendencies of muggles, Draco dearest," His mother had said, half condescending, half shocked. His father had been… much less forgiving.

"A true Malfoy would never ask such an idiotic question," Lucius began. "If you ever want to amount to anything in this world Draco, you must learn that muggles are a waste of space and time. Anything they create is both pointless and unnatural. As a Malfoy you must learn your place in life, and that place is above the magic less beings. Many wizards and witches that have shown great potential have been ruined because they allowed themselves to get attached to the filth of humanity. I will not allow you to become like them! You must keep your dignity, keep yourself pure, and stay to the path of a proper pureblood.

Look at the Potter's for example. A perfectly fine family, pure, rich, famous, they had it all, but they were fools, they let themselves be led by their hearts and by Dumbledore." Here Lucius paused to sneer for a moment, as if saying the mans name corrupted him somehow. He continued. "They strayed from the path Draco, James Potter married a mudblood and now he and his wife are dead. Killed by our very own Dark Lord. That's what happens when you become sympathetic to the lesser beings, you get murdered.

Which is why, and you will obey me Draco, you must learn to be a Malfoy!" and on that note, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy both stood with a flourish, leaving the room, and their distraught son, in their wake. Draco stood slowly. His legs, he noted dully, felt like jelly, just as they always did after his father shouted at him. He tried and failed to hold in the tears dancing at the brims of his eyes. Malfoy's don't cry, or at least proper ones don't, but Draco was only seven, so we'll forgive him just this once.

Even though his father had just told him what he had done wrong, Draco still didn't fully understand. Why couldn't Malfoy's be curious? Why couldn't he ask a simple question? Sometimes, or most of the time, it was very difficult to be who he was. There was a great deal of things he had to remember to do, certain mannerisms every Malfoy was meant to possess that he simply did not yet have. He wasn't sly enough, he wasn't ambitious enough, Draco just wasn't cruel enough to be a Malfoy, and sometimes he was perfectly ok with that.

Draco walked silently out into the garden, past the red roses and the drooping lupines, through the swarm of lavender high bumble bees, and up the marble steps into the Athenian styled greenhouse, complete with stone pillars and immaculate fountains. He stepped over a potted plant and sat down in the middle of the room. Draco liked being surrounded by the flowers that took up residence in the greenhouse. He liked how heavily the air sat on his chest, thick with exotic aromas and humidity. He liked how no matter where you looked there was always something new to see, whether it was an Asian tree that stood so tall it dominated the entire room, or a delicate flower with so many vibrant colors it was like somebody had taken a hummingbird's feathers and used it to decorate the petals. Most of all Draco loved the silence, it was the kind of silence that wasn't silent at all, but was instead vibrating with life and energy. It made him feel better.

All right, that's a lie. He still felt terrible, and even though he smiled as he looked around the room, silent tears still streamed down his face in angry torrents. He was being dreadfully foolish, he thought, dreadfully foolish indeed. Malfoy's don't cry. It just wasn't something they did. Draco sighed lightly and said seven words he would never say again,

"I don't want to be a Malfoy."

Fane was not your average house elf. For one thing he only ever talked in third person when around the Masters. He knew quite well the way a sensible being was meant to speak, and he was a sensible being, no matter what anybody said. He could also read, which was why he preferred not talking like the others, it sounded rather stupid to him, and no interesting character ever spoke like that in his books. Along with a great number of other unnatural qualities, Fane loved to tell stories, and not just any stories, ones he knew the Master would forbid. Those were the ones that deserved telling, so those were the ones he told.

Fane was also incredibly wise, though he tried very hard to hide it, because house elves were not supposed to be wise. They weren't supposed to be much of anything. But it was because of this intelligence that he knew the moment the youngest Master walked in the door, that he was about to tell a story unlike any other he had ever told and far greater than any he would ever tell.

The house elf sat atop of a high cupboard and simply watched the child for a time, and it was because of this that he heard quite clearly what his young Master had to say. Fane, with his large ears working with him, just barely caught the quiet sigh and whispered words. It broke his little heart to hear his Masters pain, and he felt terribly disheartened that even at such a fragile age the young Malfoy knew he had been born into something horrific. There is nothing sadder, Fane thought solemnly, then a child who has barely seen the world, but has seen enough of it to know that he does not wish to be a part of it.

He climbed carefully down from his perch and treaded lightly towards his Master, careful to keep his steps light. Finally he stopped in front of the child who, with his head hanging so that he was looking at the ground, had yet to see him. Fane awkwardly cleared his throat and spoke,

"Does the Master be needing anything of Fane?" By the way Draco's head had snapped so violently up Fane knew he had surprised his Master, he was surprised how much that thought amused him.

"How long have you been there?" Draco asked evenly, obviously trying to school his alarmed features.

"Not long I'd be supposin' Sir, Fane had just been waterin' the lilies when the young Master came in." Fane squinted his eyes slightly as he looked over at the flowers he had in fact been watering moments before his Master had appeared. "Master looked as though he'd be needin' some helping so Fane came to assist." He felt his face split into a smile, which the young Master returned slightly.

"I'm not so sure I need anything Fane, at least not anything you would be capable of giving me." Draco's voice was hesitant, as though he was afraid of speaking to the elf. Fane didn't blame him, the Master of the House, Draco's father, discouraged any kind of civil conversation between the family and the servants. He could be very intimidating, and very cruel, when it came to how he "handled" the house elves.

"Well Mr. Master, Sir, Fane reckons you could be needing some cheering up, and Fane knows just the thing to do it!" He grinned brightly when he say the young Master turn to look at him interestedly. Hook. Line. And. Sinker.

"What do you have in mind?" The Master said.

"Fane thinks you be needin' to hear a good story."

"A Story?"

"Not just any story, Fane knows a story every Malfoy Child should know. The story of why the Malfoy's be hatin' the Potter's so much."

"What!" Draco whisper shouted excitedly. This day already was much better than any day he'd had so far, not even half way through and he was going to learn the answer to a question he'd had practically since birth!

"That's right Master Draco, it's the story of your Great Grandfather Zayden Malfoy, his wife Ambrosia Malfoy, and Bradley Potter. Bradley Potter was Harry Potter's Great Grandfather, you know." Fane knew that the young Master was completely captivated by what he was saying, and it was only going to get better.

"Well go on, tell the story Fane!" Draco sat more comfortably and leaned his chin on one hand, eyes staring intently at his little storyteller.

"Alright, alright! Now, where to begin?" Fane rubbed his chin in contemplation, then, quite suddenly he began to smile. He knew what he was doing, and he would do it well. "The story starts 110 years ago, in the spring of 1877. Zayden and Ambrosia Malfoy were holding their annual spring ball, and anybody who was considered a somebody was there, even a certain Bradley Potter…"