The time continued to drag by slowly as Ariadne returned to her predictable pattern – lessons, reading, sleep, lessons, reading, sleep – with only an interlude when Draco returned home for the Easter holidays.

Not much excitement occurred over the course of the that fortnight, however, as Draco was absolutely laden down with work ("It's a break, for Merlin's sake!" Narcissa had bemoaned), and their rare moments of mutual freetime were often spent in a languid food coma after gorging themselves on their new mammoth stash of chocolate eggs. A few thousand calories later, Draco returned to school, and the pattern began again. Lessons, reading, sleep. Lessons, reading, sleep…

A few weeks after Easter, Ariadne finally received her second letter from Draco. The top simply read "CONFIDENTAL," which she assumed was underlined several times in case the giant lettering was somehow too subtle.

Within its pages (he had written three), Draco detailed a rather fantastical story about a night he was forced to spend in the Forbidden Forest from dusk until dawn, fighting off all manner of vile magical creatures as his classmates and the school gamekeeper stood by helplessly. Though Ariadne discerned rather quickly that its contents were less than accurate, she found herself still engrossed in his narrative, lapping up every detail about Hogwarts that she could glean from the letter's pages.

As far as Draco's story went, though, she deduced that the truth was more along the lines of the following: Draco had broken a school rule by venturing out past curfew (for something to do with Harry Potter, of course), he had received a detention that involved a trip into the forest, and he most definitely did not want their parents to know about it.

It was always strange to her when Draco told her secrets. She certainly did not make a habit of confiding in him; all past experiences had taught her that if he had any sort of sensitive information on her, it would automatically be stored away in his conniving little brain to be used as ammunition to get something he wanted later on. So when he did chose to divulge something to her, Ariadne had to wonder what his motive was, or at least why he thought she wouldn't simply emulate his own merciless tactics.

But, in the end, she knew that there were several reasons why. First of all, she was simply much less disposed to engage in any nasty – or really even unpleasant – behaviors, including blackmail. Secondly, he seemed far too aware of the way that he intimidated, and sometimes even downright frightened, her. And, finally, she suspected that he knew that she rather liked feeling as though she was, at least at some times, his confidant.

Draco had possessed a few different little friends growing up, mostly the children of his father's acquaintances, who he had communicated semi-regularly with. Sometimes these friends would join their fathers when they came to call on Lucius, and Draco and the visiting child would go to play in the nursery or in the gardens, consistently either ignoring her completely or putting her in some torturous role of servitude within their game. Ari had taken on the role of a house-elf, fetching countless drinks and snacks from the kitchen, many a time.

Ariadne, on the other hand, had never really had those sort of friends, or really any other children (besides Draco) who she actively desired to interact with. It wasn't due to her parents' lack of trying; she just could never seem to relate much to any of the suitable Pureblood girls put forth as potential playmates. Thus, she kept more or less to herself throughout her entire childhood.

And for that reason –the glaring absence of any other source of confidential information in her life – Ariadne chose to keep the contents of the letter to herself, despite Narcissa's prying.

"Well, I think it's just lovely that he wrote you so much. He's never written me three entire pages, you know." Narcissa's tone did not match her words. Was that jealousy that Ari detected? "Come now, what all did he have to say?"

"It's just a bunch of nonsense, Mother," she responded, never looking up from her dinner. "Seems pretty chuffed about his grades."

"I hardly think 'chuffed' is a suitable word for a young lady," Lucius reprimanded before snapping his fingers to get Dobby to refill his wineglass.

"Sorry, Father. He seemed rather pleased, I mean," Ariadne corrected, trying her best not to sigh audibly.

"I suspect our boy will be a Prefect like his father. Maybe even Head Boy," Narcissa remarked, delicately cutting a petite bite off her steak.

"Unlikely," Lucius drawled. "Not with that halfwit Half-Blood as Headmaster."

Ariadne wanted to tell him that such insults didn't seem suitable for an old man, but she stuffed a roasted new potato into her mouth instead.

"Yes, you're probably right," her mother conceded, carving off yet another tiny morsel of meat.

No wonder dinner always takes so long, Ari groaned internally.

"But at least in a few years' time, we will have two prefects living in the house." Lucius glanced over at Ariadne expectantly, but his daughter wouldn't meet his eye.

It was these sort of conversations that would sometimes make her dread going to Hogwarts, where she knew a laundry list of expectations awaited her. It was as though she and Draco were born with a checklist to complete over the course of their lives. They were both to join Slytherin House. They were both to become prefects and graduate at the top of their class. They were both to marry into another respectable Pureblood line and have lovely little Pureblood children. And, most importantly, they were both to die without ever managing to tarnish the precious Malfoy name in any way.

A moment of silence passed before Ari accepted that her father was not going to move on without a response. "Absolutely, Father," she agreed halfheartedly.

"As you know, I was a prefect, as was my father, along with your grandfather, Cygnus. Your great grandfather Cassius was Head Boy, as well as your fourth cousin Arcturus, but of course that was while your great-great-great grandfather, his grandfather, Phineas was Headmaster…."

Ariadne tuned her father out, as she often did when he launched into a tirade involving her prestigious pedigree and all of their accomplishments. Sometimes she wondered how much brain space he had used up memorizing every single branch of their family tree that he deemed "relevant" – meaning that they hadn't married any Bloodtraitors, Muggle-borns, or, Merlin forbid, Muggles themselves.

"Ariadne – Ariadne, are you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry, Father, I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"You had best correct your habit of drifting off if you desire to perform well in your classes next year. Nevertheless, I was just telling your mother that I received a letter from your grandmother today requesting a visit from you and Draco this summer. I suggested the first three weeks of July."

"Three weeks!" Ariadne exclaimed, unable to help herself. "Which estate?"

"The French one in the countryside, of course."

"Oh, but Father there is absolutely nothing to do there! And Grandmother always wants me to help clear the Horklump infestation in the northeast garden and then makes me juice them for her potions."

"Well that's something to do then, isn't it?"

From her father's expression, Ariadne knew that arguing was futile. So instead, she resigned herself to her fate and commenced the only portion of family dinner that she ever really enjoyed: dessert.

…

Draco Malfoy had never been so livid in his entire (admittedly short) life.

Special Potter with his special scar. Who's ever heard of 170 points doled out at the end-of-year feast? To hell with him and that Bloodtraitor Weasley and that awful Mudblood Granger with her fancy top marks…

Slytherin had won the House Cup for seven years in a row before he came to school, and he had eagerly been awaiting sharing in their glory. But then that halfwit Dumbledore had gone and lavished points upon Gryffindor for their so-called bravery in the dungeons when they stopped Professor Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. Draco had spent almost a year taking in Quirrell's quaking form and trembling voice during every Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The events that had transpired didn't seem like much of an accomplishment to him.

Draco spent the entire ride on the Hogwarts Express moping about his compartment as Crabbe and Goyle stuffed their giant, beastly faces with a multitude of sweets from the cart. For his entire life, Draco had looked forward to his time at Hogwarts where he envisioned himself at the top of his class, leading the Quidditch team to countless victories, and surrounded by countless sniveling admirers who wished to be his friends. After all, he was Draco Malfoy.

But instead, it had been Potter who became the youngest Seeker in a century. Potter who earned the veneration of all the students in the school. And his stupid little Mudblood friend was currently positioning her filthy self right at the top of the class.

Perhaps worst of all, Draco's father always seemed to have a way of hearing about things, and he was not looking forward to Lucius's reaction with he found out that his son was currently being bested by a Muggleborn.

And react, he did.

All had been well when he greeted his family at Kings Cross. He had suffered through Narcissa's kiss on the head, smiled at his father when he gave him a generous pat on the back, and dodged Ariadne's attempt at a hug. Then the family had returned to the Manor where life seemed little changed since he had left. But then, one night at dinner, the other shoe dropped.

"I heard some interesting news today, Draco," Lucius began, voice betraying no emotion whatsoever, "when I was speaking with Silas Nott today – whose son Theodore is in your year as I am sure you are aware – and he informed me that according to his son, a Mudblood by the name of Hermione Granger received the top marks in every single one of your classes. Is that correct?"

Lucius's eyes flashed a bit when Draco met them but his face otherwise remained impassive. Narcissa's expression was equally blank, so Draco assumed that they had already discussed this matter. Ariadne was staring determinedly at her plate, her favorite means of mid-dinner confrontation avoidance.

"Well, Father, I can't be expected to be sure exactly where all of the students in my grade stand in every-"

"Oh, so a Mudblood is not outperforming you in every class then?"

"I didn't say that I just-"

"What a shame," Lucius lamented, sighing heavily. "What a shame, Draco. How could you expect to become Head Boy, or even a Prefect, if a Mudblood is managing to best you in every subject?"

Draco felt his cheeks grow hot, and he found himself glancing at his sister, who finally met his eye to flash him a small, sympathetic smile. His face reddened even more. Ariadne was not supposed to feel sorry for him. But despite his humiliation, he hardened his expression and looked firmly into his father's eyes. "I will do better next year."

Lucius studied him for a moment. "Good," he finally responded before returning to his meal.

Dinner continued to drag by in an awkward half silence as Draco moodily picked at his food, avoiding Ariadne's concerned gaze because every time he met her eye and saw the pity there, he could feel his angry steadily mounting. Finally, they finished their dessert – a bit of chocolate cake that Draco would've quite enjoyed under normal circumstances – and the children were dismissed from the table. Draco attempted to dash up to his room, but Ariadne managed to successfully keep pace with him the entire way, much to his chagrin.

"I'm sorry that he was like that. It's not your fault that there's a smart Muggleborn in your year," she began as soon as they were out of their parents' earshot.

"Isn't it?" he sighed, already hating where this conversation was going.

Her brow furrowed. "Of course not. How would it be?"

"Well, we've had tutors in half of this stuff for, what, five or six years? She found out that she's a witch probably less than a year ago. And yet, somehow, she got better marks in everything."

"Well surely she isn't the only one who beat you? It's not that big of a-"

Draco stopped midway up the stairs. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, scarlet-faced again, though this time more from fury than shame.

Ariadne's eyes went wide, and she looked a bit appalled as she realized the implications of what she had just said. "No, I didn't mean…I just meant…what I was-"

"Do you think I'm daft or something? 'Surely not the only one.' Piss off." With that, Draco began marching back up the stairs as Ariadne jogged up behind him, attempting to explain herself.

"Of course, I don't think you're daft, Draco!" she began, her voice steadily getting higher and faster as she went along. "It's just that surely a couple of Ravenclaws must have done better, maybe? They're the smart, studious ones, right? That's all I meant by that. I just don't get why the Muggleborn girl in particular is such a big deal."

Draco finally reached his door and whipped around to face her. "You never understand things like this, though I don't know why because it's not that hard to understand," he sneered. "They are below us, Ariadne. Their blood is inferior, their magic is inferior, everything about them is inferior. But those bloody stupid Muggle-loving professors gave her top marks!"

Ariadne paused, obviously searching for words as her mouth opened a few times just to close again before any words escaped.

"You look like a dumb fish doing that," Draco mocked. "Just shut your mouth already and leave me alone."

Then Draco marched into his room, slamming his door in her face so he wouldn't have to deal with her reaction.

…

A little over an hour later, there was a knock at Draco's door. He briefly considering feigning sleep, but instead sighed and reluctantly called, "come in!"

It was Narcissa, a dark silky dressing gown billowing out behind her as she trod quietly into the room and over to his bed. She perched herself gracefully on the edge, simply looking at him quietly for a moment before speaking.

"I've just come from your sister's room," she began.

Oh, lovely, Draco thought.

"She seems rather upset, but she will not tell me why. Do you by any chance happen to know the reason?" She arched her brows in an expression rather similar to one that Draco was known for. When it came to both of them, it often accompanied a purely rhetorical question.

"Who know," Draco shrugged, those his attempt at nonchalance was admittedly unconvincing. "She's always been a bit of a crier, that one."

"Draco…"

"Look, she just doesn't know when to stop talking!" Draco exclaimed. "It's not my fault she has no social awareness."

Narcissa looked like she was considering scolding him for insulting his sister, but instead she simply sighed. "Would this be about the dinner conversation, then?"

"Possibly," Draco sniffed.

Narcissa's face softened a bit. "Draco, you know that you still made wonderful marks this year, don't you? You're such a clever boy…"

"Well, tell that to Father, then."

Narcissa hesitated again before responding. "Your father does think you are very clever, Draco. We are both very proud of you. It's just that your father has very high expectations, you know that reputation and prestige are very important in this family. And I do believe that you could do better if you perhaps applied yourself a bit more–"

"Wow, thank you, I feel a lot better now." Draco rolled over moodily, facing the wall. He felt Narcissa reach over and begin to stroke his hair.

"It will be fine, Draco. Your father will get over it. And besides, you have three more full years left before they pick prefects. It will all be fine in the end."

Draco rolled his eyes, though he knew that she couldn't see. Reminding his that there would always be a chance to be perfect later on was such a quintessentially Malfoy means of comfort.

"But, Draco, do apologize to your sister. You know she only ever means to help," his mother gently reprimanded.

"Well that would be fine if she'd just get better at it."

"Draco…"

"Alright, alright. I'll apologize," he conceded.

Narcissa stayed in his room for a few more minutes, gently running her fingers through his hair in a way that reminded him of nights when he younger and would have night terrors. While his pride made him want to tell her to stop and let him go to sleep, he found himself unable to, luxuriating in the feeling of just being her little boy for a moment.

…

A. N. - Hello! I'd like to apologize for the lengthy gap between this chapter and my last two. My goal is to post every week to week and a half, but for the last two and a half weeks, life has been barraging me with a load of boring things that none of you want to hear about. I'm sorry for the fluffy nature of this chapter - it is not how I typically prefer to write - but I will be sending Ari off to Hogwarts with her brother within the next couple of chapters, and I am trying to give you (the readers) a firm sense of the various relationships between the members of the Malfoy family.

Please comment and critic! It's a bit late for me here, so just know if there are more errors than usual, I will be doing a reread through again tomorrow and will edit and repost if it seems necessary.

Cheers!