[Usual disclaimers apply for all chappies. Sorry about mistakes from previous chapter.]

Chapter Three

Draco Malfoy stared out the window, wishing he could go and practice Quidditch. But it was too hot to do anything outside.

Draco loved Quidditch, but best of all, he loved flying. Soaring at breakneck speed with the wind in his hair, he felt free, away from his family, away from his troubles, and away from thought.

Life's so free, Draco thought. He soon erased that thought.

He had almost sounded sentimental.

"Draco, dearest, you've got to come out of there. Your father'll be home soon."

"No, Mother. I need to finish my holiday work." Of course, Draco was lying. But what other excuse was there?

"Draco, just come down to the lounge. I have something to show you. And your Hogwarts letter came in too, dearest."

"Alright, Mother. Five minutes." 

Downstairs in the large, classy, lounge, Narcissa sat on the richly upholstered chaise lounge, elegantly sipping tea. 5:00, she noted. Lucius'll be late today.

"Mother, what have you to show me?" said Draco eagerly.

"Some school things," she replied.

"Let me see."

"Here they are, dearest. I do hope they fit well."

The first "school thing" was dress robes.  They were black velvet-y satin with thin platinum stitching and tiny platinum-colored buttons from the high collar to the knee. The rest of the robe hung to his feet.

"Why'd you get them?" Draco asked.

He didn't need them, even though he had grown out of his old vicar-like ones from last year. And his parents never let him attend his father's dinner parties, only to greet the guests and be shown off.

"Dearest, your school letter requires that you have them this year. And you've outgrown your old ones," Narcissa replied. "Here, these are the others."

She put her cup down and handed to Draco a package.

A Broomstick Servicing Kit.

"Awesome! Thank you, Mother," he said, remembering his manners.

As a child, his mother had taught him the proper manners and etiquette that (quote Lucius) "comes handy". But they weren't just our normal 'please' and 'thank you' and 'pass the salt' stuff, it was (probably) the most severe form of manners ever.

"Proper etiquette makes a proper man", as his father had lectured. Having the etiquette does not make a proper man.

Draco remembered that fateful day in Flourish and Blotts when his father had forgotten his "proper etiquette" and tried beating Mr. Weasley to a pulp.

Later that day, his father had lectured him on "putting the right people into their right place".

Lucius did his part in teaching etiquette by summoning Draco to his study and for an hour or so, lecture him on being a proper Malfoy, as well a wizard.

All of a sudden, there was a faint pop! followed by "Draco! The study! Immediately!"

'Course that was Mr. Malfoy.

Draco put down the broomstick servicing kit, thanked his mother gain, and trudged upstairs.

Not all the times when Draco was called up to his father's study did he get lectured, but once or twice they would play chess.

It was not for idle pleasure, but "to gain combat experience for future use". Of course, not real combat, but opponents that are in the way of one's "rise to power".

Draco enjoyed these chess games, even if it wasn't for idle pleasure and for Death Eater training, which he should complete by seventh year.

He didn't really want to be become a Death Eater, just plain old Draco Malfoy, but NO. His parents would (literally) kill him.

From Day 1 he had been lectured on upholding his family's prestige and history and to keep maintaining that rank for many more years. This is why his middle name is Atlas.

Being the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune and name, he had the Malfoy fate on his shoulders.

Like Atlas, he held up everything. Draco used to like this authority of being Malfoy, but since last week, he had begun to resent being Draco Atlas Malfoy.

More and more responsibilities weighed.

Like, who should he marry? Must be a proper lady, a pureblood, a well-to-do family, high rank, beauty, well-brought-up, a pedigree, his mother's list went on and on.

When his mother put it like this, it made the girl in question sound like a dog.

There was one candidate Draco did most definitely not want as a partner.

Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced girl in Slytherin.

She was constantly bothering him. That bitch.

He had reached his father's study. Draco knocked and walked in. "Father, good afternoon."

"Yes, Draco, you too. Now sit down. We have some things to discuss."

"Yes, father?"

"Your mother and I have—"

"Master Malfoy?" it was their house-elf, Mopsy, who had come in with tea.

"Put it on the table, then leave, elf." Lucius spat out the last word like overcooked broccoli.

"Y-yes, Master Malfoy." Mopsy left the room and quietly shut the door.