"Draco," Lucius spoke coolly, staring across the station. "I want you to perform one task for me."
Draco, eleven-years-old and eager to please, bounced on his toes. "Yes, Father?" he asked, barely able to contain his excitement. Lucius jabbed him with his cane and Draco ceased his enthusiastic motions, adopting a look of solemnity.
"I want you to befriend that boy," Lucius said, indicating with a tilt of his head. "That skinny boy with black hair and glasses."
Draco craned his head and with a sudden jolt of shock, he recognized the boy Lucius was referring to. "I've — I've met him before," he said quietly, glancing at his father. "At —"
"Excellent." Lucius interrupted him, his cool eyes still on the boy. "Then you will have an easier time befriending him."
"But why him?"
"He's famous," said his father simply, and that was all Draco needed to hear, but he didn't understand something.
"He doesn't look famous," he persisted, eying the boy's baggy clothes and awkward demeanor with distaste. "He doesn't act like us." He watched a group of red-haired Weasleys swarm around the boy, hearing their clamor from a distance, and saw his father's lip curl with disgust.
"Not everyone thinks and acts like us," was the sharp reply, and Lucius leaned on his bronze cane as his legs shook with the effort. His father was more dependent on the cane than anyone realized, but he didn't like to draw attention to his weakness. "It is our duty to educate them in our ways and introduce them to our lifestyle. Once they have a taste, they will join us."
Draco wasn't sure what he meant by us, and the gleam in his father's eyes wasn't telling.
"Okay, Father," said Draco, squaring his shoulder. "I shall do what you ask."
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