Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson sat in the train compartment most of the fifth year prefects had already vacated, her arm over his shoulder as she whispered in his ear.
"Yes, Draco," she said. "The only boy at school interesting enough to throw a girl off a Malfoy brother is ANOTHER Malfoy brother. I need you to get Ronald to move on from Granger, by distracting her with you."
He rubbed his ear to clear her whisper away. "Pansy, I don't know how you and your sisters get on, but I'm not about to go to war with my one and only brother over a girl who has only ever annoyed me."
She sat back, pouting. "Come on, Draco. Help me."
"You don't need my help getting boys' attention," he laughed. "Look at you. You're a stunner. The problem is Ronald, not you."
She scooted away from him, her voice getting louder. "Spare me your false compliments. If I was really so attractive you and I would still be together."
At this, the remaining prefects stopped chatting to gawk at them. Draco ignored it, scoffing at Pansy. "What is the matter with you? You're acting like we're not well past this. There's more to dating than just - "
"Oh, don't start," she said, standing up. "Goldstien, get up and come patrolling with me."
Anthony Goldstien's eyes darted around the compartment, as if he couldn't believe she wasn't looking for someone else before he hopped up to slide the door open for Pansy and follow her out.
Finding herself left alone in the compartment with Draco Malfoy, Padma Patil tossed her head and scowled out the window. Padma had been the object of Ronald's consolation snog after his row with Hermione Granger after the Yule Ball last Christmas, and now Draco was the object of her silent treatment. He sighed heavily and stood up to leave, jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers as the door slid closed behind him.
Inside his pocket, something was warm against his fingers, the signal galleon his father had given him after the quidditch world cup last year. Ron had been forced to attend the cup with the Weasleys and didn't know what had passed between Lucius and Draco during that time. Ever since then, Lucius had been drawing Draco closer, discreetly grooming him to come into his own as the Malfoy heir when he came of age less than two years from now.
There was no doubt that Ronald would be well-provided for his entire life, but there was also no doubt that he wouldn't be the one to inherit the family lands and fortune. There was old blood magic in Malfoy Manor, right down to its foundations, and though the manor seemed to respond to Ronald as if he was a natural born son of the family, it was better to be safe, and to make sure it passed to a true Malfoy son bound to it by blood. Draco had to be the one. Ronald seemed to expect and accept it - which was another good reason for Draco to return the favour and respect Ronald's claims when it came to things like relationships with girls.
Draco pulled the galleon from his pocket to read its message, wincing a little, reading it with one eye closed as if to protect himself from it. The messages on the galleon were getting stranger every week. At first they had been instructions about which of his classmates to build a network with - encouraging him to spend less time with Crabbe and Goyle and more with boys like Nott and Zabini. Building alliances with girls was important too, especially the Greengrass sisters. Astoria was only thirteen but Draco was expected to start courting her in the next year or two. She was pretty enough, but in a little girl way that was decidedly unsettling in a romance.
The newest development in the galleon messages was their sudden shift toward Harry Potter. For the first four years they'd been at school, Lucius was content to have Ronald carrying home tales of Harry Potter's business - the mundane, the fantastical, and the stories that had to be bald-faced lies. Whatever Lucius thought of them, he didn't try to colour Ronald's perceptions of Potter. He smirked, tutted quietly, sneered secretively at Draco, and let it be.
Draco had never needed much prodding to get him to pester Potter. A rivalry existed between them that felt somehow natural, unavoidable. Everyone at school seemed to put it down to Draco being jealous of Potter's closeness to Ronald. Maybe they were somewhat right, but it was more than that.
And now there were adults involved in the rivalry, taking all the fun out of it, raising the stakes far too high. Professor Snape had always goaded them on, and Lucius joined in ever since that run-in with the Weasleys in a bookstore at the beginning of second year, when he and Mr. Weasley had scuffled and a shelf full of books had fallen on their heads and Mrs. Weasley had pressed her hands against each of the men's chests and shrilled at them to leave each other alone, for stars' sake.
Today on the train, Lucius was ordering Draco to deliver a message to Harry Potter. Draco read it from the surface of the galleon in a whisper. "You can be sure I'll be dogging your footsteps," it read, complete with a direction to put particular emphasis on the word "dog." Draco sighed and pulled at his hair. How was he supposed to storm up to Potter and say something like that without seeming like a nutter?
Groaning, he came scuffing down the corridor of the train, peering through every window of every compartment until he got to the end, where Potter was packed in with Ronald, Granger, Longbottom, that Loony girl from Ravenclaw, and Ronald's blood sister, who he was too obviously trying to ignore as he gorged himself on chocolate. Honestly, Ronald, it's not as if Mother hadn't packed a splendid lunchbox for each of them. It was right here in Draco's bag.
He took a deep breath and opened the door. Except for the Loony girl, everyone inside cringed at the sight of him in such close proximity to Potter. Either he would speak perfunctorily to his brother, or else he would try to start something with Harry. There were no other possibilities. Ronald hoped for the first one and called out to him, something indistinct, choking through a mouth full of chocolate.
"Chew it nicely, Ronald, I'm not here for you," Draco snapped, his anger about being sent on this ridiculous errand powering the exchange. "You, Potter. We saw you at the train station. And you'd better believe we'll be DOGGING your footsteps this year."
Ronald merely rolled his eyes but Potter flinched and Granger, never any good at keeping her feelings off her face, shot Potter a look of panic. What was she afraid of? What made her forget that this was all a stupid game and Draco wasn't much more than a harmless, bratty little brother? Whatever it was, she was springing to her feet, standing up, launching herself into Draco's space, her face turned up to his as she hollered, "Get out!"
He should have been relieved to have delivered the message, spooked Potter, and been sent on his way. He should have backed out the door and left. But Granger had come too close, flared too angry, and it all felt too much like she was getting the better of him by chasing him off so hotly.
"Right," he said, and as he backed out the open door, he clamped his hand around her wrist and tugged her outside with him. She stifled her own involuntary scream as he pulled her into the corridor and pushed her against the wall beside the door.
He lowered his face to her level. "Get out, you say? Out here? Like this?"
"You let go of me," she snarled, snatching her wrist out of his grip where he held it between them.
He released her without any resistance but didn't move his feet, standing close, stooping so they were face to face, prefect's badge to prefect's badge, swaying with the movement of the train. Angry, embarrassed, helpless to defy his father, Draco's breath was coming hard and fast, and in return, he felt hers on his face.
And strangely, the sight of Granger glaring at him was making it all better. He was regarding her with curiosity rather than contempt. This was the girl Ronald had liked for nearly a year - the one he had fought a troll for, climbed onto the back of a massive enchanted chess knight to fight for, but also the girl he had brought out into the open and exposed to danger at the World Cup, the one he had stood in the marble staircase and argued with until she cried for dancing all night with another man.
Draco wasn't angry anymore but his pulse was still drumming in his throat. Could she see the rush of blood through his skin, the red in his neck and cheeks? Was this anything like what Ronald felt when he was close to her?
He was raising his hand to cover his throat. At the movement, her eyes were growing larger, as if she was afraid he was going to touch her again - look at that, Malfoy, her eyes are brown...
The door was flung open as Ronald threw himself out into the corridor with them. "Draco, what are you playing at?" he was demanding, trying to step between his brother and Hermione but finding it would take more force than he was prepared to use.
He seemed to understand, his pale ginger eyebrows rising into his fringe. "It's him again. Dad put you up to coming in like that - "
Draco whirled away from Hermione to glare at his brother. "Quiet, Ronald. Have her back. And here, you forgot your lunch."
He heard Granger shouting as he retreated down the corridor. "Have her back? What is that supposed to mean?"
Draco didn't turn back as Ronald told her. "Don't be mad at me. It was him who said it."
"Listen, I am not a quaffle for the two of you to lob back and forth as it suits you."
"Of course you're not. And don't make it sound like a habit."
"Well then, see that it doesn't become one…"
Draco had reached Crabbe and Goyle's coach - the one no one else wanted to ride in. He shoved the door open and fell into a seat, propping his feet on the cushion opposite him. The pair of them said nothing, nodding their welcomes before going back to their massive sandwiches. Draco swatted Goyle's arm.
"Wha?" he grunted back at him.
"Nothing," Draco said. Crabbe and Goyle were great like this - uncomplicated, easy, like smelly quidditch equipment that should really have been gotten rid of but that was so well broken in it seemed like a shame. Pansy, Nott, Zabini, the Greengrasses - all of them were much, much more difficult.
Draco turned over in his seat. "Wake me when we're almost there."
The first weekend after classes recommenced, the students spent Saturday night in their common rooms, buzzing over the new quidditch rosters, despite them being much the same as the old rosters. Harry Potter was seeker for Gryffindor, Ronald Malfoy was the keeper, Fred and George Weasley were beaters, and so on, and Hermione Granger was concerned that no one was taking the vicious onslaught of homework which came with their OWLs nearly seriously enough.
Meanwhile, floors below Gryffindor Tower, the Hogwarts board of governors was holding their annual autumn alumni fundraising banquet in the Great Hall. There was food, sleepy chamber music, speeches heady with school nostalgia, a silent auction of goods no one wanted and services no one would ever use. And trudging through it all were everyone's parents, dressed in evening dress robes they hardly ever wore and which, truth be told, would have fit most of them better a decade earlier.
This description did not apply to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, who looked quite at home overdressed anywhere, even in a school hall. They stood arm-in-arm at the head of the room, on the floor in front of Dumbledore's lectern, bowing and nodding, making genteel smalltalk with all the usual donors.
But not everyone greeted him. Coming in late and seating themselves as close to the back of the room as they could were Arthur and Molly Weasley. They had never attended the school's alumni gala before, but the twins had done substantial damage to the castle over the years, and with them peddling their new, untested products here now, things only stood to get worse. It was high time some of it was repaid. And, Arthur reasoned, if they could get a meal out their donation, they may as well jump at it.
They were regretting it now. After the long, painful dinner, Arthur promised Molly they would leave just as soon as he was finished glad-handing with some of his Ministry colleagues. She agreed to wait but would not spend a minute more in the banquet hall.
"Look for me in the courtyard. And do hurry along," she said, swishing off toward the exit in her best pink taffeta robes.
The courtyard had been replanted as a hedge maze for the evening, making for endless corners and crannies where the grownups could confer and negotiate and nurture their networks of influence and power.
Molly was fanning herself, sighing with relief at being out of the hall, when she turned a corner into a lovely clearing decorated with a statue of a rearing unicorn and furnished with a low stone bench. On the bench, legs stretched out in front of himself as if admiring their length, sat Lucius Malfoy.
At the sight of her, he stood at once, smiling unevenly, one side of his mouth tugging the other upward, as if against its will. "Mrs. Weasley," he drawled as she stepped between the hedges.
She startled slightly, covering her inelegant jerk at the sound of his voice crooning her name by smoothing her skirts, nodding a curt reply, eyeing the tiny liquor glass in his hand, glinting with moonlight. "Mr. Malfoy."
He tipped the rest of his drink into his mouth and set the glass down on the plinth of the statue. "My congratulations on your sons' new enterprise. They're already causing a stir, and not only in business circles but also in," he paused, pacing closer to her, " potions."
"Well, I should hope so," she said, drawing her shoulders up with a prim stiffness even as she said, "they'll need to do well enough to make some mighty donations to the school after all the damage they leave in their wake."
Lucius laughed, a low rumble. "Don't speak of money, Mrs. Weasley. It doesn't suit you."
Her posture stiffened even further. "What is there to speak of but money at an alumni banquet?" she said. "And I, Mr. Malfoy, do not enjoy the luxury some women do of acting as if money is immaterial. Now, if you'll excuse me - "
"Please, Molly," he said, snagging her long, billowing sleeve between his white fingers as she attempted to pass by him. 'Don't take offense. I meant none."
She gave a bitter laugh, snatching her sleeve away, her powers of politeness disintegrating.
"About your sons' forthcoming shop," he went on. "I am told they plan to sell an extraordinary love potion. Did you know? One of their own brew. A Prewett family secret recipe perhaps?"
In the low evening light, it would have been impossible for him to detect the sudden flush in her cheeks but she turned her back to him all the same. "I couldn't possibly explain the origins of all Fred and George's goods. They have nothing to do with me."
"You wouldn't know all of them, to be sure. But the love potion, Molly," he was close now, speaking over her shoulder. "Surely it's brewed from the Mellitus shrubs growing all over the land around your ancestral home. Or are all of those plants still regularly purged, prone as they are to," the front of his robes was nearly touching her back, "accidents?"
Spinning on the ball of her foot, she moved to brush past Lucius Malfoy and back into the Great Hall, to Arthur and the throngs of boring people and sanity. But his arms were around her, pulling her up and against him.
"Molly," he purred, the softness of her between his arms, his face dropping into her hair, inhaling her scent, still so sweet.
She pushed against him. "Lucius - Lucius, what are you doing?"
It was a question, not a refusal so he held her closer, humming into her ear. "Molly..."
"Lucius, you are drunk."
He laughed. "A little."
She twisted in his hold as he waited for her to demand with words that he let her go, as if it wasn't plain enough. "Arthur and the boys will kill you, Lucius."
He raised his face out of the ginger ringlets she'd set in her hair for the evening. "You know, I hope they do," he said, his tone no longer teasing and playful, but profoundly sad. "It would be better for me than what's to come."
She looked up into his face. She wouldn't have had to know him at all to be able to read the pain on it. But it had nothing to do with her, not directly. "You must tell me if something is happening, Lucius, especially if it endangers - him."
He was smirking again, tapping the end of her nose with his forefinger. "You're an Order of the Phoenix spy this time 'round Molly. Always knew it was just a matter of time."
She was struggling against him in earnest now and he let her go, his arms falling limply to his sides. Molly huffed, straightening her hair, tidying her clothes.
"I do love him," Lucius said, slumping to sit on the stone bench again. "Ronald - I love him exactly as a father should, with all my heart."
Molly gave another curt nod. "You had better."
"Of course I do. There isn't any reason why I wouldn't love Ronald like my own son," he said, the curving half-smile returning to his face. "Is there, Mrs. Weasley?"
The signals the Malfoy brothers used for calling each other out of their respective dorms needed improvement. The Slytherin dormitories had no door at all, nothing for Ronald to knock on, so when he wanted his brother, he took a quaffle and hurled it into the wall of the dungeon corridor where the door should be until Draco appeared or someone else came out to tell him Draco wasn't in.
Maybe they would have improved this system if it didn't work so well. Tonight, while their parents entertained donors in the Great Hall, and Harry Potter sulked about being thought a liar by half his classmates, and Hermione Granger frantically wrote essays, Ronald threw the quaffle at the stone wall just three times before Pansy Parkinson conjured the door and stood framed in it, smiling coyly at him.
Ronald swallowed. "Draco in?"
She nodded. "He's working. Got scads of homework this year, or maybe you hadn't noticed."
"Get him anyway, will you?" he said.
She smirked. "Why, so the two of you can row over his manhandling of Hermione Granger on the train?"
Ronald scowled. This was exactly why he'd come. With everyone in Gryffindor in a bad mood, he thought, he may as well come to Slytherin tonight and enjoy a fight with Draco. But hearing Pansy say it made it sound petty and overblown. "It wasn't manhandling," he said. "We won't row. Just go get him before I throw you over my shoulder and storm in, breaking that two hundred year streak of no-Gryffindors in your dorms."
Pansy laughed. "Promise?"
"Parkinson - "
"Fine, I'm going."
Draco took her place in the door, wiping ink from his hands. "What?"
"Come down to the pitch with me."
"Why?"
"Because I want to throw things at someone and it's better you than someone who'd sue Dad over it."
"Savvy," Draco said, summoning his cloak.
Ronald's eyes bulged. "Well, that's coming along nicely, isn't it. We just learned that this week."
"You just learned it," Draco said. "It's wandless so I practiced it with Dad all summer while you were playing chess."
They gave the Great Hall a wide margin as they moved outdoors, past all the grownups at the donor dinner.
"Look, I'm sorry I grabbed Granger," Draco said. "She got in my face and - I don't know what came over me. But I'm sorry."
It was enough for Ronald. He was already shrugging. "She's alright. Don't bother apologizing to her. That temper of hers though - it does take some getting used to. And frankly it's been vile since we got back. Even Harry's noticed and demanded we stop squabbling. I miss it though."
Draco shoved him sideways as they walked down the hill. "Maybe find someone to like who you don't fight with."
"I've tried that," Ron said. "I've tried dozens of nice girls but it's just - it's as if I feel nothing for them. As if there's something wrong with me."
"You're not even sixteen and you haven't found true love yet. There's nothing wrong with that," Draco said.
Ronald sighed deeper than ever. "It's alright. I'm over it."
Draco laughed at him, but not unkindly.
"Anyways," Ronald resumed. "What's up with Dad sending you to pester Harry about dogs?"
Draco felt his face blanch. "'Dogging your footsteps' is just an expression. It's not literally about dogs."
Ronald stopped walking. "Isn't it?"
Draco stopped beside him. "Why does it matter so much?"
He didn't know. But something had changed right before the beginning of fourth year, when Lucius split the boys up to send them to the quidditch world cup apart. They couldn't see into each other as clearly as they once could - or perhaps they could, they just didn't like what they saw inside each other anymore.
Ronald tossed the quaffle as high into the air as he could. It was getting dark and as it flew up, it disappeared from view. Draco darted out in the direction he'd thrown it, his arms outstretched, catching it all the same.