Lucius grabbed the small jar of Floo powder, this time going first. Draco could have easily stayed behind without his father noticing but he thought better of it. If his father did notice, there was no doubt in Draco's mind that Lucius would not be amused. Even a boy of Draco's status would be wise to realise that Knockturn Alley wasn't safe for a child, even if he was almost a teenager. Rather reluctantly, Draco reached for the powder and created his own emerald green flames in the cramped fireplace.
Arriving home at last, Draco stole a glance at the only clock in the house that gave off the real time - the rest were wizarding clocks that he never bothered to read. The short hand was rounding towards two . Just in time for lunch, Draco thought.
"Mother!" he yelled.
"It's already on the table, Draco," she replied, appearing at the doorway.
After stepping out of their much larger fireplace in the main study room, he began to dust himself off while peering into a mirror to straighten his hair. The light blonde strands had become severely covered in black soot, much to his dismay. He would have loved to fix his appearance with a wave of his wand but he knew only too well what his parents would say if they got an owl from the Ministry of Magic.
The table in the dining room was, as his mother had said, already set and lavished with a variety of foods. There was a delicious looking plate of fish and chips that Draco helped himself to, washing it down with a bit of pumpkin juice.
Stacking a few crackers and cheese in his hand, he headed toward his room to get a better look at the books he had purchased.
After settling himself comfortably on his bed he cracked open Year with the Yeti. Draco was in stitches of laughter within minutes of beginning the first chapter, which went into detail on Lockhart's more personal life. Whoever thought this rubbish was true was obviously mistaken. Even with the entertainment of reading such ludicrous material , Draco was bored quickly.
There really was no point in reading them all now, knowing he'd forget what was said before term began, if he had to read them for assignments throughout the year. He wasn't even sure if he'd make it through every class, he was already really agitated that he'd have to spend what was one of his favourite classes with Lockhart.
The handle of one of his Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones glittered in the sunlight through the window on the East side of his room is, reminding Draco that there were seven broomsticks sitting in his room, begging to be used. The wood was highly polished, almost giving the effect that it was fake maple. The twigs at the end were shaped to look like a paintbrush while two brass metal footholds stuck out on the sides.
His thumb stroked over the gold letters and admired the fine carving work of the whole broom. Gryffindor didn't stand a chance with the Slytherin team riding on these. He smiled to himself, he would love to see the look on Potter's face when they won the Quidditch Cup.
Out the window, the sun was still hanging in the sky, alone, without a cloud in sight. It was perfect weather to test the steering and maneuverability, even the speed, of the new Nimbus. Draco hadn't flown very much all summer- his father wanted him to focus more on his studies after learning of Draco's disappointing end of term grades. Now with the chance to get on the House Team, he couldn't imagine his father objecting that Draco get a bit of practice.
With his Nimbus in hand, Draco descended the stairs toward his father's study where Lucius was known to spend most of his time doing work for the Ministry. What he did in that room was unknown, but Draco had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't anything good.
"Father?" he asked, tapping lightly on the door with two slim fingers.
"Come in," was the muffled reply.
Draco creaked the door open. His father was sitting at a desk in a tense position, pouring over a long roll of parchment with words in another language. Lucius hardly looked up as his son entered.
"Could I ride one of the new Nimbus's? I've hardly had any practice all summer," he trailed off.
"Be in before dark then," Lucius muttered, waving an absent hand to dismiss Draco from the room.
The fields surrounding the Manor were bare, with only a few lone trees to be seen for what felt like miles. The architecture, or lack of it, of the outlying land was intentional. The Malfoy's had lived in this particular manor for centuries and the men of the family had always prided themselves on their Quidditch abilities-- so when the house was built, trees were exempt to make for easier flying. Ordinarily, it would've looked quite odd to a passing Muggle, but self-respecting wizards had learned long ago to put Muggle repelling charms on their houses.
The moment Draco had stepped out of the front door, he had already mounted the broom and was soaring through the air weightlessly. He felt as though he hardly had to do a thing, the Nimbus seemed to take control of speed and direction, letting Draco's mind drift elsewhere. He could almost feel the Quidditch Cup in his hand, the cool gold on his fingertips as he lifted it into the air, the crowd chanting his name.
His feet were resting easily on the footholds, balancing him back as he started to lean forward. The sudden jerking motion of trying to save himself from falling off the front interrupted his short lived fantasy, though.
He practised a few loops and sharp turns. If he hadn't known better he could have sworn the broom had a mind of its own. It slowed itself down to brace for the turns and did all of the physical work that usually had to be included when making loops.
All too soon, the sun began to hide itself behind a hill and Draco was forced to trudge back into the house, feeling as though he had just hit rock bottom from an extreme euphoria.
"You look like shit," a voice said. The owner was hidden in the shadows, their somewhat bulky yet elegant frame leaning against the wall.
Draco's head shot up just in time to see Pansy Parkinson emerge into the darkened candle light with a playful smirk on her pug-like face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, straightening his back to appear taller and more superior. His hair was wind blown from the hours he had spent practising and his cheeks were an air-beaten rosy colour.
Pansy's smirk flickered. "I told you I was coming in the letter I sent- didn't you read it?"
Draco wanted to laugh in her face. As if I'd waste my time with petty letters from silly little girls. If it had been any other person standing in front of him right now, asking this insanely obvious question, he would have given them a truthful answer, but it was Pansy Parkinson, and he knew all too well that their fathers were in alliance with each other and the Dark Lord. The moment he said anything crude to Pansy, she would be at her father's side crying like he had just killed her beloved pet.
"I didn't get it," he said defensively. The owl that had delivered the letter to his bedside hadn't looked too strong in the first place, so it was a plausible excuse that it hadn't made the journey to the Manor.
Pansy shrugged slightly, a look of hurt still on her face. "Well, we won't be leaving for awhile."
Draco groaned inwardly. He'd experienced having Pansy and her father over far too many times already. Usually in such an instance he was reduced to play baby-sitter, entertaining Pansy so she wouldn't whine and interrupt whatever important matters were taking place in Lucius' private study.
"Is that the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One?" Her eyes scanned the gold letters incredulously, her fingers twitching to get a touch.
Draco instinctively backed away with his prized possession in hand. He would never let her dirty fingers come anywhere near such a prized object.
"Yes, my father bought a whole set for the Slytherin Team." His chest puffed out in pride. Even if it was just Pansy, he felt the need to impress her. No doubt the whole Slytherin House would find out about this before the start of term with her knowing - she was the queen of gossip.
"Wow..." she muttered, her hands instinctively twitching once more.
Draco sighed, finally letting her grubby hands get a feel of the broom. This was going to be a long night.
Arriving home at last, Draco stole a glance at the only clock in the house that gave off the real time - the rest were wizarding clocks that he never bothered to read. The short hand was rounding towards two . Just in time for lunch, Draco thought.
"Mother!" he yelled.
"It's already on the table, Draco," she replied, appearing at the doorway.
After stepping out of their much larger fireplace in the main study room, he began to dust himself off while peering into a mirror to straighten his hair. The light blonde strands had become severely covered in black soot, much to his dismay. He would have loved to fix his appearance with a wave of his wand but he knew only too well what his parents would say if they got an owl from the Ministry of Magic.
The table in the dining room was, as his mother had said, already set and lavished with a variety of foods. There was a delicious looking plate of fish and chips that Draco helped himself to, washing it down with a bit of pumpkin juice.
Stacking a few crackers and cheese in his hand, he headed toward his room to get a better look at the books he had purchased.
After settling himself comfortably on his bed he cracked open Year with the Yeti. Draco was in stitches of laughter within minutes of beginning the first chapter, which went into detail on Lockhart's more personal life. Whoever thought this rubbish was true was obviously mistaken. Even with the entertainment of reading such ludicrous material , Draco was bored quickly.
There really was no point in reading them all now, knowing he'd forget what was said before term began, if he had to read them for assignments throughout the year. He wasn't even sure if he'd make it through every class, he was already really agitated that he'd have to spend what was one of his favourite classes with Lockhart.
The handle of one of his Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones glittered in the sunlight through the window on the East side of his room is, reminding Draco that there were seven broomsticks sitting in his room, begging to be used. The wood was highly polished, almost giving the effect that it was fake maple. The twigs at the end were shaped to look like a paintbrush while two brass metal footholds stuck out on the sides.
His thumb stroked over the gold letters and admired the fine carving work of the whole broom. Gryffindor didn't stand a chance with the Slytherin team riding on these. He smiled to himself, he would love to see the look on Potter's face when they won the Quidditch Cup.
Out the window, the sun was still hanging in the sky, alone, without a cloud in sight. It was perfect weather to test the steering and maneuverability, even the speed, of the new Nimbus. Draco hadn't flown very much all summer- his father wanted him to focus more on his studies after learning of Draco's disappointing end of term grades. Now with the chance to get on the House Team, he couldn't imagine his father objecting that Draco get a bit of practice.
With his Nimbus in hand, Draco descended the stairs toward his father's study where Lucius was known to spend most of his time doing work for the Ministry. What he did in that room was unknown, but Draco had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't anything good.
"Father?" he asked, tapping lightly on the door with two slim fingers.
"Come in," was the muffled reply.
Draco creaked the door open. His father was sitting at a desk in a tense position, pouring over a long roll of parchment with words in another language. Lucius hardly looked up as his son entered.
"Could I ride one of the new Nimbus's? I've hardly had any practice all summer," he trailed off.
"Be in before dark then," Lucius muttered, waving an absent hand to dismiss Draco from the room.
The fields surrounding the Manor were bare, with only a few lone trees to be seen for what felt like miles. The architecture, or lack of it, of the outlying land was intentional. The Malfoy's had lived in this particular manor for centuries and the men of the family had always prided themselves on their Quidditch abilities-- so when the house was built, trees were exempt to make for easier flying. Ordinarily, it would've looked quite odd to a passing Muggle, but self-respecting wizards had learned long ago to put Muggle repelling charms on their houses.
The moment Draco had stepped out of the front door, he had already mounted the broom and was soaring through the air weightlessly. He felt as though he hardly had to do a thing, the Nimbus seemed to take control of speed and direction, letting Draco's mind drift elsewhere. He could almost feel the Quidditch Cup in his hand, the cool gold on his fingertips as he lifted it into the air, the crowd chanting his name.
His feet were resting easily on the footholds, balancing him back as he started to lean forward. The sudden jerking motion of trying to save himself from falling off the front interrupted his short lived fantasy, though.
He practised a few loops and sharp turns. If he hadn't known better he could have sworn the broom had a mind of its own. It slowed itself down to brace for the turns and did all of the physical work that usually had to be included when making loops.
All too soon, the sun began to hide itself behind a hill and Draco was forced to trudge back into the house, feeling as though he had just hit rock bottom from an extreme euphoria.
"You look like shit," a voice said. The owner was hidden in the shadows, their somewhat bulky yet elegant frame leaning against the wall.
Draco's head shot up just in time to see Pansy Parkinson emerge into the darkened candle light with a playful smirk on her pug-like face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, straightening his back to appear taller and more superior. His hair was wind blown from the hours he had spent practising and his cheeks were an air-beaten rosy colour.
Pansy's smirk flickered. "I told you I was coming in the letter I sent- didn't you read it?"
Draco wanted to laugh in her face. As if I'd waste my time with petty letters from silly little girls. If it had been any other person standing in front of him right now, asking this insanely obvious question, he would have given them a truthful answer, but it was Pansy Parkinson, and he knew all too well that their fathers were in alliance with each other and the Dark Lord. The moment he said anything crude to Pansy, she would be at her father's side crying like he had just killed her beloved pet.
"I didn't get it," he said defensively. The owl that had delivered the letter to his bedside hadn't looked too strong in the first place, so it was a plausible excuse that it hadn't made the journey to the Manor.
Pansy shrugged slightly, a look of hurt still on her face. "Well, we won't be leaving for awhile."
Draco groaned inwardly. He'd experienced having Pansy and her father over far too many times already. Usually in such an instance he was reduced to play baby-sitter, entertaining Pansy so she wouldn't whine and interrupt whatever important matters were taking place in Lucius' private study.
"Is that the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One?" Her eyes scanned the gold letters incredulously, her fingers twitching to get a touch.
Draco instinctively backed away with his prized possession in hand. He would never let her dirty fingers come anywhere near such a prized object.
"Yes, my father bought a whole set for the Slytherin Team." His chest puffed out in pride. Even if it was just Pansy, he felt the need to impress her. No doubt the whole Slytherin House would find out about this before the start of term with her knowing - she was the queen of gossip.
"Wow..." she muttered, her hands instinctively twitching once more.
Draco sighed, finally letting her grubby hands get a feel of the broom. This was going to be a long night.