Narcissa was a woman on a mission. Her black and white hair was pulled back into a sharp, neat twist, head held high, shoulders back. She rapped on the door to her husband's study and swept in at his call to come him.
"Cissy," he said, surprise almost turning the name into a question. "Good afternoon, dearest." He was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk, but came around to lean against the front of the polished solid wood surface. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She straightened herself further, pale blue eyes distancing herself from her husband as she spoke. "It has come to my attention that you used corporal punishment to discipline Draco." Lucius nodded, arching a black brow. "Are you planning on using such means in the future?"
"It's effective," he responded evenly. "Perhaps your sisters would have made something of themselves had your father employed it."
Her eyes further narrowed. "He's a delicate boy, Lucius. Need I remind you the circumstances of his birth?"
Her husband's jaw firmed even as he remembered how his frail wife's heart had pattered weakly on her birth bed, the child's breath wheezing desperately. He hadn't cried, instead whimpering in a frightful way that caused him to worry his heir would die then and there. And they'd lost so many as they tried to bring a child into the world.
"I won't have the boy further weakened, Narcissa." He dragged his eyes across her face, reading something there. "What is it you suggest?"
At that, she sat primly in a cushioned seat across from him, crossing her legs at the ankles. "Some of the Twenty-Eight have taken to fostering an Institution child should they have only one heir, and physically disciplining that child in the place of their own."
"An Institution child?" He repeated. "From one of the mud huts?"
She tsked at him. "Yes, Lucius. I am suggesting we foster a muggleborn child." As his expression grew dark, she listed a palm to hold him off, to allow her to say her piece. "It is beneficial in multiple ways. As Draco is still young, he will be both attached enough to a child his age this will be effective as a form of punishment. It will also look good, be seen as us doing our part, as it were. If the muggleborn child we take in happens to flourish and prove competent, it is a boon to our name. If not, well… Draco will have a good example as to their inferiority."
"And if he takes this to mean mud bloods are our equals?"
"Lucius, please," she said with a soft laugh. "Charity to those less fortunate has never made the haves see the have-nots as equals. The child's entire life, all of their accomplishments, everything, will be at our sufferance."
"I don't like the idea of a mudblood in my home. My father would rollover in his grave."
"It is a good thing your father died before we ever married," she said. "Think on it, Lucius. I know `this is how your disciplined you, but you have always been robust. Draco must be coaxed into strength, rather than be born to it."
Lucius rolled his jaw, then nodded. "I will consider it," he said at last.
"Thank you," she murmured, then rose, crossed to him to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, and left the room. She knew her husband well; he cared for family before all else, though power and social capital were high on his list as well. He would agree.
The building where the mudblood children lived was neither made of mud, nor a hut. Draco was glad not to have to worry about getting dirty, but a part of him also had wanted to see a hut made of mud. Instead, it was almost as large as a manor (not Malfoy Manor, of course), grey brick, block-like, completely fenced in. Draco was six, and his parents wanted a child who would attend Hogwarts the same years as he would, so they followed the Matron of the house up to the second floor.
The mud hut was apparently split up by age; Both the very oldest children and the youngest (both of which they had the smallest number of) were on the first floor, along with classrooms, offices, a small infirmary, kitchen, and meal hall. The second and third floors were bursting with lavatories and dormitories for children not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts. Apparently the fourth floor did for the rest, since they were only at the Institution for a few months out of the year.
This as, according to his mother, the best Institution in Great Britain. He wasn't quite sure why, though it had a large library on the second floor. He took special notice of this as the Matron prattled on. She was eager to see a family of such prominence at her Institution, and showed the extent of her facilities. As they stood in the library, she showed them their rare book collection, all donated by families such as theirs, she said. There were four children of an age with Draco, and most of them were in the playroom.
"We would like to see them," Narcissa said in a lull of the older woman's speech.
Draco tugged gently at her sleeve. "Mother," he pleaded as he spotted a copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, "Can I stay here?"
She glanced to her husband, then nodded, and he took off. Once the book was in hand, he searched out a table. He rounded a row of shelves and found one near a high window, but someone was already at it.
This someone had a lot of hair, brown and curly and wild. When she looked up, Draco met a pair of warm, inquisitive eyes that studied him with the same startled curiosity he had. The girl had a smattering of freckles over her nose, and two books open in front of her.
"Hullo," she said at last. "You can sit here if you're looking for a place to read."
He nodded shyly, uncertain of the etiquette of reading beside a mudblood, but slid into the chair across from her.
"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl informed him. "You must be new here. It's not so bad, really."
Draco looked down at himself and his fine robes, then eyed her rather humble clothing. "I'm not a mudblood," he replied. "I'm Draco Malfoy."
Her dark brows furrowed. "What's a mudblood?"
"It's-" he said, struggling to find the words to explain it. "Well, I mean, it's- it means you're not from a proper wizarding family."
"Oh." Hermione puzzled over that for a moment, then nodded. "That's right, I suppose. Mum and dad were non-magical, which is why I had to be taken from them. It wasn't safe for any of us." She looked back to her books and flipped a few pages of one, to a section with illustrations of mermaids, then began skimming it for specific pieces, going back and forth between the two.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked as she continued her research.
"I'm comparing muggle stories of magic to magical literature," she said. "This is Newt Scamander's book on magical beasts, and this is a book of fairytales, like Beedle the Bard is for wizards, it's stories for children." He leaned over as she pointed at the story she was on. "This is The Little Mermaid, and I'm comparing it to the section on real mermaids."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "I thought it would be interesting to see how they differ." Draco thought about that for a moment and decided it was logical enough, so he turned to his own book.
"If you're not a - not going to live here, then why are you here?" the girl asked after they had spent some time in companionable silence.
"We're going to foster one of the children," he answered. "The Malfoys are a prestigious family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It's our duty to better the wizarding world, and that means helping those less fortunate than we are, like you." Draco eyed her once more, and added, "How old are you?"
Hermione seemed a tad put off by his response, if her narrowed lashes were any clue, but she said, "I'm six. How old are you?"
"I'm six too." He flipped a page, studying the illustrations in this edition, which were more colorful than in his at home. "Mum said we should bring home someone my age, so they'll start Hogwarts at the same time, and we'll grow up together."
"Oh." She paused in her reading and tapped her lips with a finger. "There are three boys here around my age. There's Dean, who's been here as long as I have, and Justin, who came last year. And Kevin only came last week. He's still getting used to things, so I wouldn't suggest him."
"What are they like?"
"Dean is nice, but he rather talks too much about a muggle sport called football, and how different it is from Quidditch. I don't know how he knows so much about either, or why he cares." Hermione rolled her eyes. "He should read more. He never seems to care about classes. Justin's, er, well, he's nice too I guess." Draco felt that meant he was anything but. "He and I just don't get on. And I don't know Kevin much yet."
"What about you?" Draco said. "What are you like?"
Hermione blinked her large brown eyes at him owlishly. "I'm a know-it-all, according to the others. I like books and learning. I enjoy going outside getting fresh air too, but I always have a book with me."
He nodded. He liked learning too, though he'd never been called a know-it-all. "Are you nice?"
She laughed. "I don't know, you'd have to ask someone else. You can't ask me if I'm nice or not, because everyone likes to think they're nice, so I might be lying."
"I don't," he retorted. "I don't care if I'm nice or not. I don't have to be as long as I'm smart and business savvy and a good heir."
"What does that mean, a good heir? I mean, I know what the words mean, but what does it entail?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Entail?"
"What is necessary to be a good heir?" she clarified.
"Oh. I don't know." He paused. "Do you know lots of words like that?" Upon her nod, he said, "If you were my friend, you'd tell me all the things you know, right?"
"Yes."
"That would make me even smarter. I'm already smart, but with two smart brains, I could learn even more," he reasoned. "That would help make me a good heir. Maybe I should ask for you."
"Can you even do that? Just ask for me? I'm not a puppy," Hermione stressed.
Draco smirked. "I'm a Malfoy. Of course I can. Come on, then. Let's find mother and father and I'll let them know I've chosen you." He stood, pushing his chair back into the table and holding out his hand. When Hermione hesitated, staring down at her books longingly, he said, "We have loads more books than this at Malfoy Manor. And if we don't have something, we can easily get it. Come on, then." Finally, she nodded and took his hand.
He led the girl into the playroom and approached the tall, well-dressed couple as they stood by the Matron, observing children at play.
"Mother, father." They turned to face him, both of them surprised to see him holding the hand of a small girl. "Hermione, these are Lady Narcissa and Lord Lucius Malfoy, my parents. Mother, father, this is Hermione Granger. She's quite smart, serious about her studies. I'd like her to be the foster."
Narcissa gazed down at the girl with atrocious hair, frowning. "Wouldn't a boy be better, Draco?"
"No, mother," he said quite seriously. "Hermione's told me about the boys, and I think she's smarter than them. If I'm going to have a mudblood, it should be the best one, and not one that talks about football or some such. That's Hermione."
The woman turned to her husband, who was studying the small creature thoughtfully. "Are you smart, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, Lord Malfoy," she responded at once.
"Do you know what the word 'resilient' means?" he asked.
"Able to withstand or recover from difficult conditions; also to recover or spring back to shape," she quoted.
"Are you resilient?" pressed the man.
She scrunched up her face as she considered, then nodded. "I think so."
Lucius peered at his wife from the corner of his eye, then to his son, and back to the girl. "You must be quite sure, Miss Granger. Being our son's companion means you will have to take on responsibilities that will be difficult. We need someone who can handle being responsible both for herself, and for my son. To displease us will mean punishment, and you'll bear the brunt of it."
The girl was not one to answer serious questions without thought, at least. She stood without speaking for a moment, tapping a finger against her lips as she stared past the small family. When she settled her mind, she nodded again and said, "I'm sure."
Lucius held up his palms to Narcissa, leaving the decision to her.
"You're sure, Draco?" said the woman. He nodded solemnly. "Well, then. It's decided."