"Sorted Too Young"
Dumbledore tells Snape, "Sometimes, Snape, I think we sort them too young."
A/N: As you can see, teens outgrow their teen loves. It is perfectly normal. Who will marry who later in my story? *shrug* If I know, I am keeping that secret for now. The books explore Harry's growth through the years with some hints into Ron's and Hermione's. The movies hint at Draco's. That is where I want to focus, Draco's character development.
CHAPTER 2 – EARLY DRABBLE DREAMS
This was a different, dark, and damaged world Draco would wake to. It matched who he was at the moment perfectly. For now, he lay asleep, drugged, dreaming, and healing.
He must have been three years old when he was taught to ride a broom. "From silver spoon to golden broom," was the saying. Well off wizarding families taught their sons to fly as soon as they were able to stand and walk with control. Draco loved flying on his broom. It was likely the only really good memory he had of his father. The smile of pride at his flying skills burned into his heart and he deeply wanted to see that rarity again.
Draco shifted in bed, the faint smile faded from his face as a pang caused his heart to wince.
"Now remember, Draco. Some families are just better than others. Not everyone has had your excellent upbringing. If they were more intelligent or skilled, things would be different. That is what happens when the muggle world mixes with the wizarding one. You end up with mudbloods and squibs and witches and wizards with low standards." Lucius walked through Diagon alley with his son.
Narcissa frowned at this education. It was not really different than her own from the black family, but mudblood was a crude term and she did not approve of crassness. After some purchases, she witnessed the famous Harry Potter walking with Hagrid. "Try to make friends with that boy, no matter what house he ends up in?," she asked Draco quietly, hoping that The Boy Who Lived might have a gentling influence on her son that his father did not.
Draco mumbled for his mother. Molly smoothed his hair and gently shushed him back into slumber.
He held out his hand to Potter on the train but the youth did not take it. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks." Potter's words stung and reminded him of things his mother would say quietly to him. Draco's cheeks turned slightly pink. He failed his mother already. Fine, he won't fail his father.
Draco stirred awake to hear someone reading. She always was reading. He always thought she was smart, his only equal, even if she was muggle-born. And since the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he had started to think she was even beautiful. But she was forbidden. Hated. The enemy. A mudblood. His mother hoped he would be made Head boy and Granger Head Girl as they were both similar and opposites, a good challenge for her son. It was the first time Draco had witnessed his father strike his mother at the suggestion. Although, by that time, he knew it was not the first time it had happened. Draco found himself stepping between them to coolly take the punishment himself from a father who dealt it out dispassionately.
Now Granger sat by his bed and read from a complicated on magical theory. She read it out loud for him to hear. His mother used to read to him when he was little. He never dared read out loud like a child, though. Even his correspondences from each parent he had kept secreted away, read them then burned them. It was easier to do his father's bidding at the school. Easier, yes, but lonely. Crabbe and Goyle were poor excuses for friends. They were more like… servants. Big and stupid. He envied Potter and the easy friendship that was shared with Weasley and Granger, the trust.
Draco hated everyone in his House, disliked most of his teachers, and wished he could be part of the Golden Trio. They really would have been better sorted into other Houses. Granger would have made an amazing Ravenclaw. Ron, even though he was a Weasely, was hard working and very loyal. He would have been a great Hufflepuff. Harry showed conniving abilities that rivalled anyone in Slytherin. Draco snorted thinking how funny it would have been if he had been himself sorted into Gryffindor. His father would have killed him at age eleven and promptly gone about making another son to replace the disgrace. That was the common threat after all. Draco had no doubt in his mind that his father would have done it, too. He closed his eyes again, trying to shut out the thoughts of the things his father had done to him.
House elves suffered the first experiments and tortures. Lucius, even though he had denied being a willing servant of the Dark Lord, truly believed in the rewards he would gain from being a member of the Inner Circle. Draco had been forbidden access to the extensive library on Dark Magic that his father had been writing and accumulating since his time serving the Dark Lord. That magic served the family well. However, much of it was still in complex ancient scripting or was new and untested. Draco was permitted to watch as a reminder of what his place and how easily it could be him there and not the house elf. And when he did fail in some way, it was him there, chained in the dungeon. Like when his grade were found just shyly behind Hermione Granger's.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood," His words tumbled out as ordered by his father. Mudblood was a bad word and he knew it. His mother had washed his mouth with soap any time he had said it without Lucius around. The moment he said it out loud on the Quiddich field of his first practice day as a seeker, he knew he would pay for it. The hurt look in the girl's eyes shot deeply into Draco. She was such a selfless and brilliant witch. He knew she did not deserve the slander. His mother would be so ashamed of his action, his crude self-disgracing. It was not the gentlemanly behaviour she had read to him about and had taught him with every effort she could. He felt filthy. Dirt and blood.
Draco squirmed under the sheets. It had been days. The external gashes had finally showed evidence of mending, but the bones still took muggle slow. It was only the hope that the internal damage was healing as well as the external damage. Only time would tell.