A/N: Thank you annaea3077 and Elased for the reviews! They are very appreciated.
Chapter One: Second Year
It wasn't the first time Draco found himself second-guessing his father's words, but it was the first time regarding the topic of blood purity. Over the holiday, while reviewing grades and exam work, Draco had found himself ranting about "that insufferable mudblood Hermione Granger," and Lucius became furious to discover that this muggle-born had bested his son in academics. That name had been discussed before at Malfoy Manor, namely over Christmas when Lucius drilled Draco about Harry Potter's habits and friends. Lucius decided that it wasn't possible for Draco to try his hardest and still lose out to "their kind," which Draco found utterly infuriating.
So to say that Hermione Granger made Draco grind his teeth in anger would be a slight understatement.
The holiday was spent with more demands from his parents to study, in addition to the regular lessons any high-class wizard should expect. Draco frequently practiced his quidditch skills with a personal trainer, was made to suffer through dull galas and dinner parties, and even had to learn the waltz from his mother. He found dancing downright dreadful, but tried to put on his best smile for Narcissa. She, at least, looked forward to their lessons.
As the summer dragged on, Draco found himself locked in the Malfoy library for yet another afternoon, rubbing his eyes and scowling at some decrepit book, and he thought about Hermione Granger.
She really wasn't anything special, not in the way of looks or personality (Draco really disliked do-gooders) but he had to admit, she was brilliant. Smart as hell. And Draco knew that as much as the witch studied like it was a pasttime, she also spent large chunks of time with Potter and Weasley, so reading was hardly the only thing she did. That much had come to light at the end of the year, when Quirrell was outed and rumors spread about the infamous Sorcerer's Stone.
From what he'd heard growing up, Draco would have expected any muggle-born to spend inordinate amounts of time and energy just to keep up with the purebloods. But that wasn't the case, was it? What if magic really did come naturally to them? What if they were just as capable?
He tried not to think about it.
When the end of August approached, Draco noticed that his father spent more and more time away from the manor, and took even greater interest in Harry Potter. Draco didn't quite know why - it seemed to go beyond stubbornness, at any rate. Then Lucius and Narcissa sat Draco down and explained.
The Dark Lord would return, they said. Certain measures had been taken long ago to ensure His eventual success, and the Malfoy's found themselves deeply honored with the opportunity to aid in this endeavor. It all came down to a book.
Part of the Dark Lord's rise would include the death of twelve-year-old Harry Potter. When Draco realized as much, he felt a bit sick, not that he showed it. Sure, he found Potter to be pretty obnoxious, and would rather see him expelled (or perhaps hexed on regular occasion) but... dead?
Draco couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to die at age twelve. It sounded deeply unfair.
"Now now, Draco," his mother said, running her hand over his hair. She gave a sad smile. "Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater good, don't you see?"
At the time he'd nodded. Maybe he even believed.
...
Some time later, Draco found himself lost among stacks of books in Flourish & Blotts, trying to ignore the pitiful ooh's and ahh's which accompanied the gaggle of women crowding in. Some big-shot with a pretty face was doing a book signing. To Draco's chagrin, that big-shot would be his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Splendid.
The door opened to the sound of a tinkling bell and a new assortment of voices. Draco looked up.
In came Potter, Hermione Granger, and a slew of red-haired Weasleys. Draco scowled at their entrance, thinking back on all the extra work he'd put in over the holiday. All thanks to them. His hand crumpled around the page he'd been turning, not that he noticed.
Lucius approached them right off, sneering and accosting them for their poverty and truly disgraceful conduct. The Weasleys, anyway, were a longstanding pureblood family, and yet Arthur dabbled in muggle studies (of all things) and they bred like rabbits. What a blemish upon the pureblood society, indeed.
Then Draco saw it; while examining the tattered books of the young Weasley girl, Lucius had slipped the diary in among her possessions.
Draco tried not to stare at it.
"And you must be Miss Granger," Lucius said, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. "My son's told me all about you."
Draco felt his face color - he hadn't talked about her that much - and Hermione's eyes landed on him. She glowered, mouth in a thin straight line.
While his father went on, now addressing Harry, Draco found himself lifting his chin and mustering all the superiority he could manage. No way he'd let a lowly muggle-born get the wrong idea.
...
It was... a difficult year.
Even knowing that something would go wrong didn't alleviate the wariness Draco felt at almost any moment. Then Filch's horrid cat was found, petrified. Then the Creevey kid, and Nearly Headless Nick. Each event had Draco's chest feeling tighter - what kind of bloody monster could petrify a ghost?
And he knew why it was all happening. He spent nights laying awake, tossing and turning, conflicted about what his mother had said. Sacrifices had to be made.
But it was only supposed to be Potter who died, and that was bad enough. What if they had less control over this monster than they thought? What if the thing came after him?
So when Draco found himself staring at a blood-spattered wall, jostled by the many terrified students who came to read the words, Draco glared at Harry Potter. It was all his fault, after all.
"'Enemies of the heir beware?'" Draco said. His eyes landed on Hermione, who stood just beside Harry Potter. "You'll be next, mudbloods."
At that, Hermione's face flushed, and this time it wasn't in anger, but fear.
Good, Draco thought. She should be afraid, or that big head of hers will get her into trouble.
He'd called her a mudblood before, when she'd nearly humiliated him on the quidditch pitch. She'd deserved it that time - what right did she have, to say that Draco Malfoy couldn't get on the team without buying his way in? When her words hit his ears, he'd seen red. Fortunately, Weasley's wand backfired at the same moment, and the attention wasn't on Draco anymore, but on the Gryffindor who was suddenly puking up slugs. Served him right, didn't it?
Hermione Granger didn't seem to learn though, still sticking her nose into everyone's business. Meddling. She was just a know-it-all, albeit a know-it-all who scored higher on every exam and paper that entire year. Draco heard about this plenty in regular letters from his father.
...
Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.
"That's what it says?" Draco asked, sitting on the edge of his seat. While the fire in the hearth blazed on, a distinct chill had settled over the Slytherin common room. Snape had arrived earlier that evening to announce a temporary curfew, and only just now had any news arrived. A few seventh years had cast disillusionment charms on themselves and ventured out (no one mentioned this to the prefects) to discover what they could.
"That's what I said, isn't it?" snapped the older boy. He pulled his cloak tight around his rail-thin frame, shivering. "In blood. Did I mention the blood?"
Draco sat back in his armchair while multiple conversations started up at once, all in worried tones. He knew all the Slytherins were accounted for, since the prefects had taken a roll-call soon after Snape left. No one felt like going to bed, so they all crowded into the common room - the only reason Draco had snagged an armchair was that he'd already been sitting there reading.
Greg nudged Draco with his elbow.
"Looks like you won't have to worry about Granger anymore, eh?"
"Shut up," Draco hissed.
Blaise Zabini, dark-skinned and highly intelligent (he and Draco had taken a liking to each other late last year) nodded in agreement. "It does beg the question, though..."
Draco looked at his friend. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, who is the 'she?'" said Blaise. More people were listening now. "We know it's no one in Slytherin." The students cast worried glances among each other. Many of them had friends or acquaintances in Ravenclaw, at least.
"It's probably a muggle-born," someone said. Others seemed to agree.
Blaise looked at Draco. "It's a good thing Granger's petrified already, or it could have been her."
"Yeah," Draco agreed absently. That did make him feel better. Then he realized that Blaise was staring at him.
"What?" Draco said.
After a long moment, Blaise shrugged. "I'm glad it couldn't be Granger. After all, I wouldn't want anyone pointing fingers at you." When Draco's eyebrows drew together in confusion, Blaise crossed his arms. "Since, you know. The last thing you said was kind of a threat."
Draco winced, having forgotten himself, while the others went on about how the monster would finish off the rest of the mudbloods anyway. Draco didn't listen, losing himself in thought instead. He should be concerned about saving his own skin, not about the welfare of some muggle-born.
Telling himself just that, Draco ignored Blaise's curious stare. It would be a long night.
...
Draco managed to get through the last weeks of class with little distraction. Most things were coming right, including that no one had died that night in the Chamber of Secrets. Those petrified were being healed. Harry Potter was still alive.
He knew deep down that, once home, he would see things differently. His parents would lament that the plan failed, and that the Dark Lord hadn't prevailed... But for now, Draco was just glad that nobody was dead.
Sitting among his classmates on the final day of school, eating lunch and chatting about summer plans, Draco heard a few gasps and noticed many others turning toward the entrance hall.
Nearly Headless Nick, Colin Creevey, and Hermione Granger stepped in (or floated, in the case of the ghost). Others began clapping, and then standing, and then a mass of Gryffindors were rushing at each other and hugging. He saw that, somewhere amid the joy, a bushy-haired girl was clinging happily to her friends. His father wouldn't like this at all, but Draco did breathe a sigh of relief and tried to rationalize to himself that it would all be okay, they always had next year to think up a new plan to help Voldemort, right? But for now, he could enjoy the fact that no one was dead.
Blaise Zabini looked on, somewhat unsurprised.
A/N: Hey guys! I know we skipped first year, but more happens in the years following that isn't given to you in JK's books. I thought that would all be too boring to read here.
Tell me what you think! Third year gets even more interesting. Then things really kick off. *wink*
PennyDreddful