Time of Your Life

Time of Your Life

Chapter Two: Meet the Malfoys

By Mina

A/N: Malfoys, meet the Malfoys, they're your average pureblood family… From the Malfoy Mansion, they're the biggest snobs you'll ever see… The second part of my "epic saga". Hope you like it! Be sure to tell me if it gets too annoying and repetitive. Oh, and Bridget Doublon is pronounced "Brid-jet Doo-blon". Ok? Ok! Thanks to Borgin, my beta!

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"Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood."

--Rubeus Hagrid, Chamber of Secrets

"You say you wake up crying

Yes, and you don't know why

You get up and go lie down

Inside my baby's room

Yeah, I guess I'm doing ok

I moved in with the strangest guy

Can you believe he thinks

That I am really alive."

--I Will Buy You a New Life, Everclear

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It was a grey, rainy day, quite appropriate for Mrs. Bridget Doublon's mood. She was not exactly what you'd call melancholy, but she had a grave air about her. Maybe it was just her job choice that did that to her.

She checked her watch again. One o'clock, and yet that dreadful girl still hadn't arrived. Didn't people have any consideration for anyone else's feelings? She had a life too, even if her employer didn't seem to realize it. Mr. Malfoy was very rich, however, and gave good pay.

Bridget was in her late thirties, and widowed. Her husband was fifteen years older that she, and frankly, she wasn't sad to see him go. She married him because her parents insisted, not out of love. His money also had quite a bit to do with it.

Well, what a waste, she thought, reminiscing about the old times. The bastard died and left everything to charity, every single penny of it. He wrote her a long letter, explaining how those people "needed it more that you ever could, Bridget." He said that she'd be able to get along on her own, being the able woman that she was.

Mrs. Doublon scoffed. A passing pedestrian gave her an unpleasant look, and she glared right back. These Muggles had no business staring at her like that, as though she was one of them.

"Mrs. Doublon?" a timid voice rang from behind her. Bridget swirled around to find a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years looking at her.

"Yes, that would be me. Ms. Hermione Granger, I presume?" Bridget asked grandly. She twirled her wand nonchalantly, and gave the girl a scrutinizing look.

"Yes. But please, call me Hermione," said the girl. Mrs. Doublon looked down at her. A rather scruffy girl, she decided. And that hair! Completely unlike Master Draco. And she probably had no manners, and most likely ate like a savage. Bridget disapproved of those sorts of girls; they grew up to be nothing better than women on the streets or poor secretaries.

"I shall call you Ms. Granger, as it is a more formal title. I will expect to be called Mrs. Doublon, and to be treated with the proper respect." The girl looked shocked. She had not expected such a cold and harsh response. Would she burst out crying, wondered Bridget. The last thing I need is a howling teenager on my hands.

"Yes, Mrs. Doublon," responded Hermione meekly. She played with the straps of her heavy backpack, and kicked her trunk with the tip of a muddy sneaker.

"Look at me when speaking to me, Ms. Granger. You are a pureblooded, I presume?" Bridget asked in her most indifferent voice.

Hermione went red. She mumbled something, and pushed a lock of bushy brown hair behind her year.

"I Beg your pardon?" asked Bridget.

"Muggleborn, Mrs. Doublon."

"Oh. Yes, then…" she cleared her throat. "I was just wondering, as to see how you would adjust to living in an all-magic operated household." Mrs. Doublon started walking towards the street, meaning to take a shortcut through Diagon Alley.

Hermione muttered something under her nose. Bridget looked at her sharply, and stopped. Hermione returned Bridget's glance.

"What did you say?" Bridget narrowed her eyes. Hermione looked up at her in what seemed like mock-innocence.

"Why, nothing!" Hermione grunted as she heaved her trunk along the asphalt.

"Ms. Granger, I know perfectly well that you said something. I don't enjoy this sort of disrespect."

"I'm very sorry. I said, 'It's very kind of you to care'. I'm sure that I have a lot to learn about living with the Malfoys," Hermione said, a tinge of defiance in her voice.

That girl has a streak of insolence, thought Mrs. Doublon as she helped Hermione throw the trunk into the backseat of a cab. I intend to stamp that streak out if it's the last thing I do. I will not be insulted by a worthless Mudblood, Bridget added maliciously.

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"WHAT?" screamed Lucius Malfoy. He picked up a semi-expensive vase and threw it across the room. It hit the wall, and shattered into a thousand tinkling pieces.

"Now, Lucius… Calm down…" Narcissa Malfoy said, pushing her husband down into a black leather armchair. She gently brushed his hair back. Lucius looked up at her, his grey eyes stormy and malevolent with anger. Narcissa hated it when he was like this.

"But… Why wasn't I notified? Don't I have a right to know when someone's about to dump a goddamn KID off at my house?" Lucius groaned and leaned back on the chair. Narcissa gracefully sat down in another armchair, across the room, that wasn't in throwing distance.

"Lucius, it was either the kid, or facing more Ministry inquiries. After your little… outing, I'm surprised you're not in Azkaban. Can't you control that bloodlust of yours?"

"Narcissa, you know perfectly well that I can't control what happens at my meetings. The others decided, I couldn't go against their decisions. Master has looked down at me since Potter's last victory. He blames it on my weaknesses." Lucius slammed his fist against the table. "MY weaknesses. And that despicable little rat Wormtail…"

Narcissa sighed and leaned her face against her hand. "Dear, don't start on that again. I know, I know–"

"-that Potter deserves to die-" Lucius continued.

"-and Draco really doesn't need this sort of talk around the house," finished Narcissa firmly. She actually cared about her son, unlike many socialite mothers. She couldn't say that she loved him; he was a sneaky, slippery little villain, just like his father. However, what kind of a mother would she be if she didn't care?

"Damn it, Narcissa!" Lucius exclaimed. "Who is this girl that they're sending over?"

Narcissa shrugged and looked down at her nails. "Helen, or Hera, or… What was her name? Hermione Something-or-other, I think."

Lucius gritted his teeth. "Granger."

Narcissa looked up in surprise. She quickly looked down and nodded. "Yes, that's it, I suppose. Hermione Granger. One of Draco's friends?"

Lucius laughed bitterly. "A Mudblood. A know-it-all Mudblood would be Draco's exact description. And a Gryffindor at that! One of Potter's friends!"

Narcissa bit her lip. "Oh, my… I… I… didn't know. I had no idea that she was… well…"

"…everything we hate, the exact opposite of everything that the name 'Malfoy' stands for, a piece of muggle scum, Potter's goddamn girlfriend – well, shall I go on?" Lucius stood up and reached towards a pot of Floo Powder that stood on the mantle next to the fireplace.

"Why, yes. Lucius, dear, where are you going?"

"I'm going to go have a party with the house elves, Narcissa," said Lucius sarcastically. "Where do you THINK I'm going? To fix this little mistake of yours, obviously, over at the Ministry. Oh, and Narcissa…"

"Yes?"

"Never, ever let a muggle into my house without my permission. EVER. AGAIN." Lucius threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the burning fireplace and yelled, "Ministry of Magic Headquarters, London!" He disappeared in the blue-green flames.

"Temper, temper, bastard…" muttered Narcissa as she walked downstairs to make herself a nice cup of tea… spiked with a bit of brandy, of course.

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Draco Malfoy was bored. Extremely, almost-to-death BORED. His broomstick was broken, his father was away on business, and though there was a vast library in the mansion, he wasn't the type of guy who'd read books for fun. Only Mudblood Granger would do that, he thought.

Therefore, Draco amused himself by torturing the house elves and the few servants they had around the place. After a very busy morning (splashed all the gardeners with water balloons, set of a firework in the house elves' room, and let a very valuable unicorn loose on the grounds), he was extremely tired, and very dirty. He figured that he could take a quick shower before the usual dinner guests arrived, but for now, it didn't matter if ran about looking like a dirty ragamuffin.

Draco yawned and sat down on the couch in the first floor waiting room. He stretched out and left muddy fingerprints all over the silky pink material. He smirked at a painting in the corner of the room as the figure looked over at him disapprovingly. Draco, however, was proud of what he was – a spoiled little rich boy. He thought that since he was rich, drop dead gorgeous (so said Pansy Parkinson, his long time girlfriend), and talented (so said Professor Snape, his favourite teacher), he should be able to do whatever the hell he wanted. Soiling a 5,000 galleon couch was certainly not his top priority, but while he was at it…

"Draco! Up!" he heard his mother yell behind him. She was standing in the doorway, holding a cup of tea. She saw the couch, sighed, and took a big gulp. Draco looked at Narcissa nonchalantly.

"Why mother… what is it that you wanted to tell me?" Draco asked innocently.

"We are expecting company. Please clean yourself up a bit. As nice as it is to see you… exercising, I would prefer a son that doesn't resemble something that rolled around in the dirt for an hour when there are people around."

"Oh, mother… I'll get cleaned up, honest," Draco smiled sweetly. Narcissa chugged down the rest of her tea and rubbed her temples. She set the cup down on the coffee table in the corner and walked out, muttering something under her breath.

Draco sighed and walked towards the other door leading out of the room. He accidentally knocked the tea cup over on his way out. He stooped down and picked up the two pieces of glass (the handle broke off).

Say… What's that smell? he thought as he pushed the broken mug to the far end of the tabletop. Yes, it's Father's best brandy… I wonder where that's coming from…

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"Quickly, before he gets out!" giggled Artie Bremmenstone as he and his friend Klaus Brumman snuck into Malfoy Mansion's best bathroom, where Draco Malfoy was currently residing.

Clouds of steam enveloped the two eleven-year-olds as they opened the door and grabbed all the towels off the racks.

"Accio bathrobe," whispered Klaus when he spotted a light grey bathrobe hanging by the shower curtain. The robe flew into his hands. Klaus grinned at Artie, who looked back at him with a certain respect. Klaus stuck his wand back into his pocket.

The two ran outside the door. Artie shut it gently and the duo broke out in laughter.

"Man, that was genius!" Artie exclaimed. "Where'd you learn that spell? Seemed pretty advanced!"

Klaus grinned. "Found it one of Master Dumbass's old school books. T'was hard to learn, but definitely worth it!"

Artie whistled. "Whoo… we got ourselves a child prodigy, ladies and gentlemen."

"Thank you, thank you very much…" Klaus bowed to his imaginary audience. "Well, Malfoy deserved it all. After those water balloons!"

"Yeah!" Artie grinned evilly. "He's going to LOVE having to run around the house naked for a while."

Klaus frowned. "Wouldn't he call the house elves?"

"Ah, my talented friend, that is why you could never get along without me…"

"Well, what'd you do?"

"Say there just happened to be a fire in the kitchen right at the time he got out of the shower," Artie commented. Klaus grinned.

"I bow to the master…"

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Draco spent a relaxing 40 minutes in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him for most of the time. After a while, he felt as though he was going to drown. It seemed as though he used up all the hot water in the house, too… Oh, the house elves wouldn't like that. All the better…

He climbed out, reached for his towel… and grabbed thin air. Draco looked around in confusion. He was sure there was a towel around here somewhere, and his bathrobe as well, now that he came to think of it.

He saw a muddy footprint by the door. His eyes narrowed after he worked it out…

"GODDAMN KIDS!" Draco yelled with all his might. Oh, he was going to get those little…

Outside, Artie grinned at Klaus. "What'd I tell you? We're geniuses, we are…" and he proceeded to light a small fire in a pile of dry wood.

Draco searched through the bathroom frantically. Finally, in the corner of the bathroom (which was quite big), he found what looked like… a fuzzy pink bathrobe? Draco sighed. It was either this, or running up three floors to his room butt naked. Draco squeezed into the tiny robe, which reached to about four inches above his knees. He noted (to his disgust) that there was also a flower trim on the edges

He scowled and ran out of the bathroom, his hair sticking out in wet, dark blonde tufts in all directions. He was at the foot of the stairs when–

The doorbell rang. Draco cursed under his breath. This must be the company mother was expecting… His face twisted into an evil grin. He imagined the look on the faces of his mother's best friends (socialites like herself; he doubted that they had ever seen anything even slightly obscene) when they saw Lucius Malfoy's son dressed in pink. Oh, this was just too good a practical joke to resist…

"I'LL GET IT!" he yelled loudly to any servants that might be going to get the door.

He ran towards the main entrance, leaving little puddles of water everywhere. He stopped in front of a mirror on the way, mussed his hair up a bit more, hiked the bathrobe up higher… and saw a bright purple lipstick lying by the mirror. Oh, what the hell, he thought. I'll give them a real scare, he added as he carefully applied the lipstick. He smacked his lips together, and kept running.

Draco pushed the door open, let out a high giggle, and turned to see the horrified looks on the faces of some overly made up ladies, dressed in designer robes. Only one problem…

There weren't any ladies there. In fact, the only person there was Hermione Granger, standing with her overflowing trunk. And she looked just as horrified as Draco felt.

Malfoy froze. He stared at the girl, and backed away slowly.

"Draco… That lipstick's REALLY not your color," was all that Hermione could say before collapsing into peals of hysterical laughter.