The next morning, Draco was woken by the library door getting slammed back against the wall. He chose to ignore it, instead further burying his face in the book that he'd fallen asleep on.
"Come, come Draco, it is time that we start," his aunt said in a chipper voice that sounded completely out of place with her wicked appearance.
"Huh?" he asked groggily, praying that the voice was simply a piece of one of his nightmares. Bellatrix, already impatient with her nephew, flicked her wand, and he was thrown out of his chair and onto the hard wooden floor. That's when he really woke up, scrambling onto his feet and reaching for a wand he didn't have.
"Good, your awake," she said pleasantly, as if she hadn't thrown him onto the floor moments earlier. "Now, it's time for our training to begin."
For the next month, the month before Draco's sixth year at Hogwarts, his aunt taught him for hours every day. Memories of similar lessons with his father flew into his head every once and a while, but these were longer and harder. He learned Occlumency, which he excelled at, most likely due to his skill at suppressing his emotions. Bellatrix also taught him spells that only dark wizards would dare to use, spells that he was scared to ever try on a living person. She even went so far as to show him the Unforgivable Curses, forcing him to test them out on rats until he was nearly as skilled at them as she was.
He learned other things, too, things that weren't as horrible. Countless useful spells, different types of transfiguration, and extremely advanced nonverbal spells, which became a kind of specialty of his. Even his aunt was impressed by how quickly he picked those up.
In addition to all the spells he was taught, his aunt had also trained Draco physically. She taught him fighting moves, and made sure that he was in near perfect shape. She was one of the only ones who knew just how important he was to Voldemort, and she didn't want him getting beat up if he was caught without his wand. She pushed him and pushed him, until he'd be able to beat almost any student in the school to a pulp if a fight came down to hand to hand combat.
Actually, all of the training wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. Sure, Bellatrix was cruel, and he harbored a hate towards the dark witch that couldn't be rivaled, even by Potter and his friends, but he enjoyed being challenged. At Hogwarts, he'd never needed to try. Everything was extremely easy for him, so being pushed for once wasn't that bad. It even helped his bad mood because he felt like now he truly was above many of the wizards in Voldemort's inner circle, going so far as to outperform his teacher on several occasions.
That good mood continued on until just a week before school started, when his mother convinced Bellatrix to give him a day off so that they could shop for all of his school supplies.
That morning, his mother and he had started out by going to Madam Malkin's for new robes. Draco, after picking out the finest school robes that the store offered, looked over the racks of merchandise that lined the small shop, simply passing the time as his mother searched for a new pair of dress robes for her son, a useless gift, no doubt in a feeble attempt to make up for everything else he had to go through.
"Draco, come over here," his mother ordered. Hiding his annoyance, Draco strode over to her and flung the emerald green robes she'd been holding out over his head. They were too big, although the length was right, because of how skinny he was. He'd already sat through getting his school ones magically tailored, and he dreaded having to sit through that again for useless dress robes.
"These fit fine," he notified them, trying to shrug them back over his head before either of the two women could see how saggy they were on him.
"Keep them on," his mother ordered. "They looked much too big." Draco held back a growl before letting the robes fall onto his shoulders once again.
"You're too thin," Madam Malkin scolded once she got a better look, grabbing some pins out of her robes. Draco glared at her, hating the way that she sounded like it was actually her business how much he weighed.
"My Draco is just perfect," his mother argued, and Draco wasn't sure what was worse, Madam Malkin doting on his like his grandmother, or his mother treating him like he was still in diapers. My Draco? Seriously? That's obviously the way that a person would address a Death Eater. He hated the feeling of someone looking out for him like that. He didn't need help, and his mother didn't, couldn't, seem to realize that.
"Of course he is," the shop owner agreed airily, as if she just didn't want to offend his mother. Draco almost smiled at her amusingly complacent attitude. Almost. If she hadn't stuck him with a pin.
"Draco, stay still," his mother told him. He raised his hands innocently, a habit of his, and got pricked by another pin. "Hey, watch it," he snapped. His order was met by a mumbled apology, as well as a glare from his mother.
At that moment the bell dinged to announce someone's entrance. Draco craned his neck to see who it was, but didn't catch a glimpse of the new customers until he saw their reflections in the mirror. He immediately felt sick and had to remind himself to feel the hate that he usually felt towards the three wizards who walked into the shop at that moment.
"If you're wondering what that stench is, a Mudblood just walked in," he drawled to his mother as Harry Potter and his two friends walked into the store. A scowl so fierce that you needed Malfoy blood to pull it off crept across Draco's face.
"Watch your language," the store-owner scolded, then she glanced at Harry and Ron, both of whom had their wands raised. "And I will not have you drawing your wands in my shop." Draco chortled at their telling off, then stopped when he caught another look from his mother.
"I ought to kill you, Malfoy," Weasley told him, giving him a look that could take out butterflies. His wand was still up. Even just that statement made his heart beat faster, because really, pretty soon, if his plans didn't work, there actually would be killing.
"What did I do now?" Draco wondered idly, keeping his composure the way he'd been able to since he was a toddler.
"You called Hermione a-a-"
"Mudblood?" Draco asked, causing Madam Malkin to shake her head. "Incase you haven't noticed, I've been doing that for years." Ron's anger at that truly did amuse him, for the very reason he stated. To him, it had become more or less just his name for her. Sure, he still meant it to sound nasty, but it was something now specially reserved for Granger, and therefore a name.
"Your father had been murdering innocent people for years," Ron growled, "and that never made it right." Even just the mention of his father made Draco angry. He stiffened just marginally, but kept his face a smooth mask. It took everything that he had not to pull out his wand and torture Weasley at that very moment. The Malfoy boy had been working on his temper, and it usually took a lot to provoke him, but the Weasel King seemed to have a talent for finding the exact nerves that he needed to hit.
"Do not mention my father," growled Draco. Narcissa put a light hand on his shoulder, just incase his temper did flare a little too hotly.
Ron was about to make another retort when Granger put her hand on his arm and sent him a warning look.
"Ron, he isn't worth it."
"Really, Granger," Draco said with a sneer. "I think that it'd be an honor for your friend to so much as hex me." Ron's face grew redder and redder, even as the Mudblood whispered at him to calm down. Draco started to make a comment about the way he was sputtering in his anger, but Madam Malkin, who had decided to play deaf, as if the confrontation wasn't happening, chose that moment to try to adjust his left sleeve.
Even the Three Musketeers couldn't distract him from the woman who was only inches away from his darkest secret. He jumped as though he'd been shocked and tore his arm away from the startled store-keeper.
"Mother," Draco said, his voice not quite steady, as he knew how close he'd been to being discovered. "I no longer wish to shop here, not when I see what kind of trash does." Narcissa, who simply wanted to be away from the three people who seemed so intent on torturing her beloved son, was eager to get away as well.
"I agree. They sell nothing but rags here," she said. With that, Draco tore the robes he'd been trying on off, threw them on the floor, and began walking out, intending on ramming into Weasley as a parting gift. The only problem was that Ron, seeing what he was going to do, roughly pushed him away, sending him flying straight at the filthy Mudblood.
He stumbled into her, pushing her back against the wall. For a second he didn't digest what had happened and just stayed there, wondering where the smell of lavender had come from. Then he realized just exactly who he was pushed up against. He jumped back as though he'd just come in contact with acid. She looked just as disgusted, appearing as though she were going to throw up.
Draco started to mutter something at her, then saw that look and just stalked out in fury. Why would she be so disgusted? She should've been honored to so much as touch him. He was the one who'd come into contact with the scum of the earth. That horrible look, and from a Mudblood at that, made him almost feel sick. She had no right to look at him like that. It drove him crazy.
"I'm going to have to burn these clothes to get the stench off," he muttered to his mother, really trying not to think about how she actually smelled somewhat decent. Narcissa simply nodded.
"We need your books now," Narcissa then said, wishing to get out of Diagon Alley as quickly as possible after that confrontation. She was worried that her son would meet up with those three again, and that the next time, an actual fight would break out.
"You have the list. Why don't you go and get them," Draco suggested, none too friendlily. Since meeting those three, his mood wasn't the best. Really, he'd rather be listening to his aunt cuss him out than getting disgusted looks from Granger. No one, absolutely no one, ever looked at Draco like that.
"Draco," his mother scolded. "It's too dangerous for you to wander by yourself." He didn't agree with that by any means. What, is a random auror going to come up to me and order me to roll my sleeves up?
"You know how badly I hate crowds," the Slytherin insisted.
"You can stand them an hour longer. I don't want you going anywhere by yourself," she said again. "Look at the scum making its home here." Then she gestured around Diagon Alley, her eyes landing on the vagabonds pushing around piles of junk for sale, and the shady looking merchants standing behind carts with bright signs that proclaimed they had things to keep you safe from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"Fine," said Draco, not thinking that it was fine at all. He did comply, however, and trailed after his mother as she picked out his books, all new and hard covered, trying to ignore the people pushing and prodding him in every direction. He was used to being in control, to having the odds in his favor. When he was surrounded by others, those odds went away, and even though he cursed and pushed them roughly aside as if he were herding cattle, he couldn't help but imagine how easily they could turn and gang up on him. He took a deep breath, but it didn't help him much, as the air was contaminated by body heat and the stench of perfume and sweat.
"Mother," he complained. She plucked one more book off of a shelf, then turned to look at her son. Draco made sure to keep his face a blank slate, all too aware of her lack of understanding towards his distaste of large groups of people. Although she did not push him into obedience as his father had, she didn't hide the fact that she did not want her son to become a 'hermit' who lived in his library, or spent all his time chasing a golden snitch around their back yard. She had made that clear to him as soon as she'd seen his discomfort start to grow. He was a Malfoy, she'd told him, and therefore required to become a socialite. So far, that was the lone aspect in which her son had truly disappointed her.
"That was the last one," she told him regretfully, as though she'd rather force him to stay in the crowded bookstore longer than needed for practice. She didn't, despite the regretful look on her face when she saw him step out into the alley and breathe deeply in relief. Once again, the air was tainted, but it was more pure than inside the store, and he made do with it.
When they were done at the book store, they made a quick stop at the apothecary, then headed to Eeylop's Owl Emporium to pick up treats for his large eagle owl, Avada. When they were finished there, as an award for being made Quidditch Captain, and his O.W.L. scores (they'd been Outstandings all the way across the board, save for Divination, in which he'd gotten an Excellent), his mother insisted that they stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies, where she bought him a new Firebolt, just like Potter's. The broom itself didn't make him particularly happy, but at least he wouldn't have to see his rival show off his stupid broom like he was better than Draco because some rich fool had given it to him as a present. That thought gave him a marginal degree of what Draco had always assumed to be happiness.
A week later, he was heading back to Hogwarts, and by that time he had hundreds of new tricks up his sleeve from his little lessons with his aunt. To go along with that was a new chip on his shoulder that was sure to be noticed by his fellow students.
Maybe now Pansy will finally stay away from me, he thought dryly as he gave his mother one last hug and stepped onto the train. Draco, despite being known as a player, hated all of the girls at the school with a passion. Actually, he hated everyone at the school with a passion. They were all thick-headed and stupid and hadn't lived through anything. Not even Harry Potter, whom everyone pitied, whom they all loved. "Oh," everyone would say, "It's so tragic, what happened to him. That poor boy."
Tragic? Tragic wasn't having your parents killed before you could even speak. Tragic was having your father curse you and hex you and expect you to be perfect. Tragic was listening to him scream and fight with your mother every night because his head was so twisted. Tragic was him getting arrested when you were just fifteen, and then being punished because he was pathetic enough to get caught in the first place. Tragic was becoming a Death Eater when you were sixteen, and then being told to tear apart one of the strongest friendships you've ever seen, and worse, kill an innocent man, only to be met with certain death for yourself and your family if you failed.
Harry Potter knew nothing. Every soul in that school knew nothing. They were stupid, and foolish, and he hated them for it. Even though his hands grew sweaty and his chest felt heavier when he stepped into the cramped (but not even half full) prefects' carriage, he knew that his hate for the minds and feelings of his fellow students was much worse than any reaction he had to them physically.
Draco's presence had an immediate impact on the cheerful mood that everyone seemed to carry. Everything got quiet, and tension added to the thickness that he'd already felt in the air. All eyes were very obviously turned away from him, and a quiet fear radiated off of most of those in the carriage. Then, Pansy Parkinson, oblivious to everyone else's attitude, gave him a psychotic smile and a peck on his cheek. The stupid Weasel fake gagged when he saw that, which in addition to breaking the tension, earned him a glare not only from Draco, but Granger as well. Draco chuckled as he listened to the Mudblood chastise Weasley for acting like a three year old. Draco found it amusing that even his stupid girlfriend thought he was an idiot.
"How many O.W.L.s did you get?" Pansy asked Draco once the conversation had started up again. Draco smirked and looked directly at Granger. He knew very well that the best way to get to someone was to hit them right where it hurt, and in the Mudblood's case, it was her belief that she was smarter than everyone in the school.
Draco, for a fact, knew this to be wrong. The previous year, maybe with a little help from Umbridge, he'd finished with top scores in nearly half his classes, and tied her in several others. Even better, he was almost sure that she couldn't have beaten him in the O.W.L.s, and to her even a tie was worse than coming in behind him.
"I got Outstandings in everything," he told Pansy loudly enough to be overheard, "Well, except for Divination, but only idiots care about that class." Sure enough, Hermione looked up the second that she heard his scores, and her eyes flashed in plain annoyance. Draco smirked at her. He was about to ask how she had done, but Pansy started talking before he got the chance.
"Ugh, you make me look stupid. I didn't get any Os, and I only passed four of them," she complained, and Draco shrugged. It's odd, how she thinks that I could make her look more stupid than she already is. Just like it's odd that she thinks I even care.
"Some people just don't do well on exams. It doesn't mean that you're stupid. Actually, you're probably the smartest girl in the school, but I bet that you just got nervous." She beamed at that, while Draco tried not to laugh. She could be attending a school of hippogriffs and struggle for top marks, he thought, flashing another smirk when he saw the look on the Mudblood's face. She was obviously trying not to be annoyed by his smooth talking. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to be struggling not to burst into laughter.
"Did you just say that your stupid troll of a girlfriend was smarter than Hermione?" the Weasel King asked, smiling instead of glaring.
"He called me a troll," Pansy complained. Does she ever just shut up?
"He was talking about brains, not looks," Draco clarified for her, then looked back at Weasley when Pansy shut her mouth, appeased. "And if Granger's so smart, how many O.W.L.s did she get?"
"The same as you," Granger said, her voice sounding rather like she'd rather snog Neville Longbottom than admit that little fact. Actually, she looked rather like she was being tortured.
"Losing your touch?" he wondered, ready to rub his class marks in her face. Before he got the chance to, however, the Head Boy and Head Girl walked in, then proceeded to give them instructions before letting them all go back to their compartments. Immediately, Draco was out of the claustrophobic little room and insisted on the Slytherins taking the first patrols so he could walk through the open hallways before having to return to another cramped space.
Draco's patrol consisted of tearing open random doors to see what kind of reactions he could get out of people. Whenever he saw someone he didn't like, or a first year student that looked scared enough of him to have fun with, he'd make some kind of cruel remark to get a reaction out of them. That was the only excitement that came from his short patrol. Once he had finished, he returned to the compartment he'd spotted Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini in earlier.
Pansy was now there as well, probably skipping over most of the compartments. Draco laid down across two of the seats, resting his head on her lap. He didn't particularly like doing that, but he was tired, and he also knew that it made Zabini jealous. After that, he pretended to sleep and tried unsuccessfully to ignore their useless conversations. It actually wasn't that horrible.
That is, until the door was slid open. Draco opened his eyes to see Granger and Weasley looking in at them. He sat up nonchalantly.
"Aw, isn't that just cute," Weasley said, looking at Draco and Pansy. Both of the Slytherins gave the two other prefects friendly single fingered gestures that earned them icy glares.
"Jealous?" he asked Granger darkly.
"If you think I'd want any part of you in my lap, you must have lost your brain somewhere in that giant head of yours," she said, earning herself one of those special Malfoy glares. Her usual brave eyes showed just a little bit of fear, and she looked away.
"Keep talking to Malfoy like that, and you'll find yourself regretting it," Blaise spat.
"Oh, Zabini," the Mudblood said, more interested in the fact that he was there than his words. Her voice was almost excited.
"What?" Zabini hissed, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. She handed him a note.
"From a new professor," she said quickly, then the two Gryffindors hurriedly left the compartment. Blaise opened it and cursed.
"I have to go," he said, then darted off.
"Granger probably handed him a love note," Crabbe scoffed. Draco was amazed that he said something so amusing.
"He did ogle at her fourth year, do you remember that?" Pansy asked, her eyes widening as if she thought that his comment was actually serious. "At the ball."
That's because she was hot, Draco thought, not bothering to deny it. He knew that shit could be primped and painted to look pretty, as she'd been. He was also smart enough to realize that looks didn't change what was on the inside, however. Just because Viktor Krumm didn't seem to realize that didn't mean that Draco didn't.
"I don't know how he even saw her," said Draco, turning his head to look at Pansy. "I, for one, couldn't tear my eyes off of Parkinson here." He didn't remember what she'd worn, or what she looked like, despite still having a pretty clear picture of Granger in his head. He just knew that it was one of those things boyfriends said, and so he did.
"You're so sweet," she cooed.
"Did you just figure that out?"
"I've known it since first year," she said. Draco smirked at her, and she leaned down and pecked him on the lips. He hated all that sweet crap, but he knew that he needed a girl just because it'd look bad if he didn't. Pansy was hot, and she was a pureblood, so therefore there was nothing wrong with the whole thing, although she was horribly annoying.
Hours later, after he had fallen asleep with his head back on Pansy's lap, Zabini returned to the compartment, causing Draco to jolt awake. He looked up, saw who it was, then resumed his previous position. Blaise tried to shut the door, but something jammed it. That alone caught Draco's attention, and he trained his eyes on the door while Blaise continued to try to slam it. Finally, it flew shut, as if nothing had been blocking it in the first place.
The rest of the compartment was studying the door, but Draco carefully watched the inside of the compartment, not as ready to write it off as some freak occurrence as the rest of the Slytherins. His suspicions were confirmed when a flash of white caught his eye, for only a second. They weren't alone, and he only knew one idiot who was brave enough, and stupid enough, to try something like sneaking in a Slytherin compartment with no way out.
"Where have you been?" asked Draco when Zabini had returned to his seat.
"Professor Slughorn decided to get to know some well-connected people." Then why wasn't I invited? he thought in annoyance. He didn't want to be, but it was the principle of the thing. He was a Malfoy, and therefore he should get the chance to decline an invitation.
"And I wasn't invited, because?" Zabini had the guts to look amused by that question. That is, until he met Draco's dark gaze.
"He obviously doesn't know the definition of well-connected," he said quickly. "Longbottom was there, if that's any indication." That caused Draco's annoyance to evaporate. Apparently Slughorn was another Dumbledore lover. It would only have been a disgrace for Draco to have been dragged to a stupid meeting like that.
"That figures. He's just a washed up old has-been, I bet. I mean, I may not even be at Hogwarts next year, so what does it matter if he likes me?"
"Why aren't you going to be at Hogwarts?" Pansy asked worriedly.
"It's no longer necessary. Even coming this year is a waste. I doubt that, well, a certain person, would make me attend if I didn't have plans for some of the students here." As he continued speaking, his smirk found its way back onto his face. He knew that if it really was Potter listening, he had an opportunity to make him squirm.
"Plans?" Goyle inquired.
"Well, for one, I need to dethrone that stupid Scar-faced git," said Draco. Not even the invalids in his compartment had to ask who he was talking about. "Then that damn Mudblood he hangs around with also has to go, along with the Weasel King. Granger is going to be first, though, and I'm going to make it hurt."
That's when Draco heard just the lightest thumping noise from right above his head. He smiled to himself.
"Although perhaps I should go for the Weasley first. He's so dense that I could probably hand him a poisonous cupcake and he'd down it in one bite."
"Are you going to kill them?" Goyle asked unbelievingly.
"No, I'm going to feed them candy," he sneered. "And by the end of the year, maybe I'll even find the chance to give Dumbledore something sweet."
They all stared at him. Blaise did in surprise, actually smart enough to get his sarcasm. The other three looked at him in confusion. It almost made him sick, how thick some people could be.
"You aren't serious," Blaise said. "You don't have the guts."
"Like hell I don't," Draco argued. "And I'm dead serious. Those are my orders. Harry Potter's two closest friends, and hopefully some of the other blood traitors he surrounds himself with as well, will be gone by the end of the year if I have anything to do with it."
They looked excited. They looked slightly horrified. Draco looked smug. He wouldn't have, of course, if he'd been showing his actual feelings. No matter how horrible Potter and his pathetic friends were, he didn't want to kill them. As his mother had pointed out, he was no killer. The only reason he seemed so happy with the prospect was because he needed to for the act, so that whoever was hiding in the luggage rack- hopefully Potter- would buy into all of this and start becoming paranoid.
The Hogwarts Express reached the school not long afterwards, and Draco's cronies hustled to get out of the compartment, but Draco lagged behind.
"You can go," he said. "I need to check something." Pansy gave him a strange look, but led the others out. When he was alone, Draco lifted his wand and pointed it to where he thought he'd heard Potter before.
"Petrificus Totalus," he said. The spell worked like a charm. Potter came tumbling out of the luggage rack, his pale face looking up at Draco's in unmistakable hatred. Draco was sure that the same look was reflected in his eyes as well, probably with an added ferocity. He hated Potter with a passion. Everything about the Gryffindor drove him insane, but the worst part was the way that other people saw him.
Everyone thought Potter was a saint, that he was perfect, when in all reality, he was worse than any of the rest of them. If it wasn't for Harry Potter, Draco would still have a true family, he'd still have a life. Harry had even killed his own parents, in all reality. It was his fault that they'd died. And people worshipped him.
"Try anything like that again," he warned, holding his wand to Potter's scarred forehead, "and I will kill you." He could tell that Harry struggled to speak, struggled to scream, but he couldn't move. Draco gazed down at him, watching him squirm, letting his anger bubble over as he thought of everything that Harry had done to him. Finally, he stomped on the boy's face.
"I hate you, Potter," he clarified, before grabbing his invisibility cloak and walking away.
He threw the cloak in his bag, then hustled forward to the thestral-pulled carriages. He could see the winged horses now, after trailing Voldemort all summer, watching other Death Eaters do the Dark Lord's dirty work. Before, when he'd heard Harry mention them, he thought that he was crazy, which of course, he was anyway. Just not when it came to the thestrals.
The creatures intrigued Draco, although at first he was more than a little shocked. Once he got used to them, however, he couldn't take his eyes off of them. They were beautiful to him, for some reason he didn't quite understand. Most people were scared of their awkwardly bony bodies, leathery bats' wings, and creepy, reptilian faces, but Draco couldn't help but be impressed. Yes, maybe they were strange looking, but they were so gentle, and it almost felt to Draco as if they liked him. When he got into his carriage, one of the winged beasts even nuzzled his hand, looking at him with expressionless, pupilless white eyes.
"What are you looking at?" Pansy inquired curiously.
"Thestrals," said Draco softly, his voice much different than his usual angry drawl. Flying through the open air helped him relax, as did his very recent victory over Potter. Pansy sniffed.
"I can't see them," she whined. Draco felt his good mood start to fade surprisingly quickly. It seemed Pansy had a talent with things like that.
"They're ugly anyway," he assured her, hoping to get her to shut her mouth. Instead, she continued blabbering about useless crap that had the four boys in the carriage ready to drop dead by the time the thestrals touched down. As quickly as he could, he hurried out of the carriage and towards the Great Hall.
Draco was welcomed to the Slytherin table with mixed emotions. The students who'd been sorted into Slytherin despite having actual consciences were scared of him. They gathered in a somewhat small group at the foot of the table and whispered, giving him strange looks, like they thought he'd whip out his wand and start picking them off one by one. That's what every single other table looked at him like as well, and it made his skin crawl.
He hated them all, but he also didn't like being treated like he was the Dark Lord himself. Draco liked being feared, of course, but he also enjoyed being appreciated. The looks he was getting were definitely not of appreciation.
Then the rest of Slytherin table, the normal Slytherins, caught a glimpse of their wonderful prefect, and reacted with the proper expressions of awe and respect. That made Draco feel slightly better, although a part of him knew that more than anything, they acted like that because even they were afraid too. If he drew his wand, they'd cower in fear just like the rest of them. It wasn't even founded on anything real.
They didn't know what he'd become. It was simply because of who he was, coupled with the fact that his father's face had decorated the covers of the Daily Prophet for weeks as it proclaimed his trial, and then imprisonment in Azkaban. The only difference between those Slytherins and the rest of the school was that they more or less supported the same cause as Draco did. He tried to assure himself that it was all the acceptance he needed from the stupid hogs that made up the student population.
"They're scared of you," Pansy told her boyfriend, huffing from the exertion of catching him with him. She looked over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table, and he looked in the same direction. Everyone who'd been watching him suddenly looked away, although he didn't know if it was in fear or not. Those stupid Gryffindors were all so bloody brave and righteous that it was impossible to tell if they were scared of just didn't want to get caught at something as impolite as staring.
"Stupid gits," Draco muttered, glancing back at them one more time. Hermione Granger managed to catch his stare, but all she did was give him a somewhat sad look before shaking her head and looking away. What the hell was that supposed to be? Draco wondered.
"God, I think that filthy Mudblood was checking me out," Draco said, shivering just slightly. It was pretty obvious that she hadn't been, but he wanted to make sure that anyone who'd been watching him would write his obvious discomfort off as that, instead of the fact that the stupid girl had simply confused him.
"She's just jealous of your blood," Pansy assured him. "I can't imagine that some insufferable waste of human flesh like her would actually even consider pining after you. No, I'm certain that she's just impressed that she's in the same room with a wizard who has blood as untainted as your own." Wow, she's actually using big words. I wonder if her parents bought her a somewhat functioning brain for her birthday present.
"Of course," Draco snorted. "That only makes sense." Well, to anyone who didn't know Granger, anyway. Draco was well aware that the only reason that Granger would be happy to be in a room with him was that she could punch his guts. Even though he would admit it to no one, that's what he thought about every time he saw the stupid Muggle-born witch. She'd punched him before, and it had hurt. Although at the moment she appeared calm and composed, who knew when she'd snap again? Sure, she wasn't the strongest, but when a girl was that barmy, bad things could happen.
Actually, if she managed to hear any of what Pansy had just said, bad things would happen. Draco glanced at her one more time, just to be absolutely sure that she hadn't managed to catch a piece of Pansy's rant (with some kind of super-hearing, of course). To his intense relief, she was just messing around with Weasley, laughing at something he'd said to her.
Draco looked away in an effort to ease his disgust at them, but it didn't work. It made him sick that people could be laughing and happy at times like these, when Draco had never gotten a chance to feel like that, ever. Not once in his entire life.
"They are so pathetic," he muttered, then started watching the sorting and trying his hardest to block out the smiling faces that surrounded him. He couldn't, however, no matter how much he tried. It seemed that laughter was constantly ringing in his ears, and he was getting that sick feeling he did when he was around too many people. His unnatural paranoia made it even worse. He had his robes on, and he constantly worried that his loose sleeve would slip down and reveal his secret. He could still feel the mark, the way that it was so much colder than the rest of his skin, like it was packed with ice. He actually kept looking at his arm to see if his robes hadn't started freezing over.
"You okay?" Pansy wondered.
"Yes, I'm fine," Draco told her while he shot a glare at a little first year who'd been selected as a Slytherin. The kid scurried to the other end of the table quickly.
"He's just got the Death Eater thing down a little too well," Blaise joked, causing everyone around him to break into hot, loud laughter. That's when Draco had to get up and stalk out of the room. He didn't care that prefects were supposed to lead the first years to the dorms, or that the feast hadn't started yet. He felt like he was going to be sick, and there was no way he was going to stay in that room any longer.
And to add insult to injury, not a single person came after him.
Not quite sure where to go, he went to the Slytherin Dungeons, but the cold, dark atmosphere made him uneasy for the first time since he started attending the school. He left almost immediately and started roaming around the hallways instead. They were relaxing, so big and open, and the empty darkness calmed him. It reminded him of Malfoy Manor, with its endless corridors and dark passages. Memories of his beautiful home brought a smile to his face, and he actually felt somewhat relaxed and happy. That is, until he heard footsteps echoing from behind him.
He whipped around instantly, and a growl actually escaped his lips when he was met with the sight of Harry Potter's filthy Mudblood girlfriend.
"What are you doing?" she asked him. He gave her a look that would have had his father looking away. The effect it had on Granger was immediate. She actually stumbled backwards, promptly landing on her bottom.
"Having tea with You-Know-Who," Draco snapped sarcastically. She glared at him as she lifted herself off the ground with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Like he'd want to talk to pathetic scum like you anyway." She stuck her little chin defiantly in the air when she said it, and her bright eyes dared him to tell her differently. God, she's worse than Zabini. Does everyone in this school think that I'm a whiny little girl? Is the prospect of me being a Death Eater really that big of a joke?
"Of course, everyone seems to think that," he spat, taking a step closer to her. "I cannot wait to prove this entire school wrong."
"You got spit on me," she notified him, wiping off her face in obvious distaste.
"Your welcome," said Draco, really wanting to get away from her. He couldn't stand the way that she looked at him as though he were dirt. Sure, he did the same to her, but that was justified. She was dirt. "If I were you, I'd consider it an honor to come into contact with the spit of a pureblood."
"You know, that's very considerate, but I'm afraid your enormous ego has gotten in the way of rational thought. Only someone as stupid as yourself would assume that anyone with half a brain would be anything by disgusted by your filthy saliva," Granger retorted.
"I guess all that mud flowing through your head has messed with your judgment if you're calling me stupid. You're the moron who's messing with a Malfoy," he said back. She laughed, and the sound almost hurt his ears. It wasn't mocking, nothing like that. He'd never heard Granger be truly cruel, and he couldn't imagine her giving a mocking laugh. Really, it almost sounded as though she thought Draco was truly funny.
"Your family isn't as scary as you think you are," she told him, a small smile on her face. The second that he heard that, his wand was out of his pocket and pressed against Granger's neck. No one, absolutely no one, could talk about his family that way.
"Are you scared now?" he breathed. She stood her ground, not fidgeting a bit. A smile even played on the corners of her lips.
"If you're pathetic enough to curse me now, when I don't even have a wand to defend myself, then there's no reason to fear you." That response was so different than what he'd been expecting that he stood there for a minute, simply staring at her as her dark eyes dared him to hex her, to see what would happen if he did. By the time that he realized he should hex her, voices were ringing through the corridors to signal the end of the feast. He hastily shoved his wand back in his robes.
"You got lucky," he said. She seemed to stand up straighter.
"Of course I did," said Granger sarcastically. Then the students came filing in, and Draco, who was already at the head of his group, started performing his Prefect duties, snapping at the first years to follow him. He had the same effect on them that Snape would have, immediately silencing any talking students, even the fifth and sixth years, who feared Draco as much as the rest of them. Crabbe and Goyle wandered through the crowd of robes, pushing and bullying, while Pansy made her way to the head of the group with Draco and shrugged his arm over her shoulders.
"Where'd you go?" she inquired worriedly.
"Business for you-know who," he answered immediately, thinking up a quick lie. How pathetic did it sound that he wandered the corridors before losing an argument with a filthy Mudblood? Pansy seemed to like his answer better anyway, although she didn't get it at first.
"What kind of-" He jerked his head at his arm, and her eyes widened dramatically. "Oh," she said. "That kind of business."
"Yes, that kind of business," said Draco in a tone that made it pretty clear that he thought she was dumber than a Gryffindor. For once, she finally read between the lines and seemed to understand what he'd implied, which ended any conversation they would have had. In fact, that was the last word Draco spoke that entire night.
He retreated to his room as soon as they reached the Dungeons. He was tired, and it didn't take him long to fall asleep, but as was becoming tradition, his night was plagued by nightmares. This time, Granger and him were facing off in a duel, and she kept pelting him with spell after spell, but he could do nothing but stare. She started laughing, but within seconds that laughter turned to that of the Dark Lord, whose snake-like eyes watched with amusement as he failed to conquer the Mudblood.
I updated early because of how introduction-like that first chapter was. Hopefully this was somewhat more exciting, although it is somewhat long. I tried to cram quite a bit into it so that the more exciting things could start right away. Please review, and thank you if you reviewed the first chapter or favorited the story. I really appreciate it.
