Disclaimer: Much as I'd like to, I don't own Draco Malfoy, or any part of the magical world that J.K. Rowling has all the copyrights to ... please don't sue me. There are some parts of this story that are quotes from the book - it can't be helped - events are the same as in the book, but Draco's opinion of these events may vary from Harry's.

The Tardis Charm came from Slytherin Rising, but was originally pilfered from Dr Who's T.A.R.D.I.S. - I don't claim it, at all.

Author's Notes: I needed to do some re-writing, after reading OotP. I have made some minor changes to this chapter, mostly spelling and grammar.

Chapter 2 - Holidays? What Holidays?

I re-read the letter I had received that morning, again, still not believing it.

'Fellow Slytherin,

Since you are now in your second year,

you are now old enough to try out for the

house Quidditch team.

This year, in order to be ready in time

for the start of the school year, I will

be holding try-outs at the Quidditch field

near my home. If you wish to have a hope

in Hell of getting a position on the team,

this year, be at Silver Grove Quidditch

Pitch, at 7am this Friday.

No latecomers will be allowed to try out.

BYOB.

Marcus Flint, team captain.'

Seven in the bloody morning, and Friday was the next day ... and I didn't have a good broom yet. I mean ... a Comet 260 isn't bad, but I've had it for years and all the house team's brooms are way better than it. Still, it was better than what some of the other teams had.

I made a point of getting to the appointed meeting place early so as not to give Flint any excuses to keep me out this year. Flint and the rest of last year's Quidditch team were already there, as were a few other students who looked nervous and jumpy.

I joined the other would-be team-members. The team's Keeper and one Chaser had both graduated last year, and the try-outs seemed to be only for these free spaces. Flint seemed adamant that none of the existing team would be replaced. I flew Seeker against Higgs and two others, and I won ... but Flint wouldn't let me join the team.

So, back at the Manor I was yelled at for not getting on the team. Father was still on-edge and didn't listen to my explanations. Either Flint had a grudge against me or he was just a stupid, stubborn git. I'd say both.

* * *

A few weeks before school was due to start, Father decided to make an unscheduled trip into Diagon Alley.

"Why are we going today, Father?" I asked, as I followed him out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the crowded magical street.

"I have a few important matters to attend to. I will also be buying you a new broom."

"But -" I started to protest that I couldn't make use of a new broom if I wasn't on the house team, but he didn't let me finish.

"First we will have to go to Borgin and Burkes," he said quietly to me, before turning sharply into the darkened side street that few civilised wizards use.

I followed him down Knockturn Alley and started to walk ahead, I knew exactly where I was going. I entered Borgin and Burkes, followed by Father who made a beeline for the counter and rang the bell to get some service. I'd been here once or twice and knew well enough that I shouldn't touch anything on display.

I reached up to see if the glass eye would watch my hand but Father snapped at me, "Touch nothing, Draco." I wasn't going to touch it ... just looking. How stupid did he think I was?

"I thought you were going to buy me a present?" I asked, hoping he might decide to get me something from here, instead of a broom that I'd never be able to put to good use thanks to Flint. I was looking at a small crystal pendant that said it was cursed to kill, by 'bad luck', any Muggle or Mudblood that wore it (yes, I still think of Muggle-borns by that word. Honestly, the main reason I use it is because it's a shorter word).

"I said I would buy you a racing broom." Father growled impatiently.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team?" I asked, staring at the pendant and wondering who I might use it on if I had it, "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year." his mother was a Mudblood - maybe the pendant would work on him, "Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead..." I continued to look around the shop. I really didn't like some of the things they sold here (most of it was cool, but some was horrible) - there were human body-parts, in various states of decay ... or preserved. A whole shelf full of human skulls - that's creepy. "... everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick -"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times, already." Father snapped. If someone didn't appear to deal with him, soon, I might want to make myself scarce, again. On the rare occasions that he loses his self-control, his temper is unbelievable, and it was now being tested. "And I would remind you that it is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear -" and then Borgin appeared. "Ah, Mr Borgin."

"Mr Malfoy. What a pleasure to see you again. Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too - charmed." I gave him a smile that looked every bit as fake as his voice sounded, "How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced -"

"I'm not buying today, Mr Borgin, but selling." Father said, his polite voice almost as easy to recognise as fake as Borgin's.

"Selling?"

"You heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids. I have a few - ah - items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call..." No duh. The collection in our dungeon is fairly dangerous, even to proper wizards, if it were misused. And that's nothing on what's under the drawing room.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?" Borgin asked in an obvious ass-licking voice.

"I have not been visited, yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect -" from ignorant bureaucrats and those who agree with Father's opinion of Muggles and Mudbloods. Even I am losing respect for him ... our family may always have been Masters in the use of Dark Arts, and we have always considered ourselves better than Mudbloods (even I still hold that opinion - and there's always an exception to the rule - namely Hermione), but my Father was the only Malfoy who would ever have joined Lord Weirdo in attempted genocide. "- yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle-Protection Act - no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it, and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear -"

Meanwhile, I had browsed half the shop, while eavesdropping on Father's business conversation. I had just gotten to a shelf full of bewitched mummified body-parts, now.

"I understand, sir, of course. Let me see..." Borgin muttered.

I had spotted something that looked like a human hand ... I read the label and asked, "Can I have that?" well, it looked like a useful thing to have, by the description.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory! Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder!" Borgin enthused, hoping for a sale. Yes - I HAD read the label - I had figured that out, already. "Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir." Yeah, and it'd also be useful for spying ... getting around Hogwarts in the dead of night ... and yes, I might find a reason for stealing things, too.

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin." Father growled.

"No offence, sir, no offence meant -" Borgin said immediately.

But Father interrupted, with an acid tone that could cut through steel, "Though if his school marks don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for."

"It's not my fault." I complained, for the umpteenth time, "The teachers all have favourites, that Hermione Granger -" I was lucky I thought quickly, there - I had started to say her first name, and realised in time to make it sound like I was just saying her full name. Whew. I mean if I'd just said 'Hermione', I'd be in really deep trouble.

Father interrupted my complaint, with the same line he's been using all summer, "I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam." I squirmed, trying not to look as embarrassed as I felt - I didn't like to be made an idiot of in public ... by anyone, not even my father.

I just stopped myself from jumping, as I heard something that definitely was not either Borgin or my father. Something behind me. I stopped listening to the conversation, instead trying to listen for another sound. I moved slowly round the room - the things you can buy in this shop, I doubt whatever it was could surprise me, but I didn't want to scare it off. It sounded like it came from the cabinet. I moved closer, but stopped, my attention drawn by some more cursed jewellery - I don't know why, but I like the idea of giving someone something that looks so pretty and innocent, as a way to dispose of them. Still, it only seemed to be cursed to work on Muggles, so not so good. I continued around the room, and was just about to get to the cabinet when Father called me away. He had finished bargaining with Borgin and was heading for the door. I gave the cabinet one last suspicious glance, before following Father outside.

I stopped outside the last shop before Diagon, to look at the selection of illegal creatures' eggs. Dragon-eggs, Runespoor-eggs, Acromantula-eggs. It's amazing how many of these you can get, considering how strict the import-export laws are. I always wanted a Runespoor but Father said I couldn't get one until I'd learned to deal with the normal snake I got for my seventh birthday.

"Draco! Don't dawdle!" Father snapped, "We have things to do." I sighed and left the display to itself. Father led me into Flourish and Blotts, which proclaimed that it was hosting a book signing, starring Gilderoy Lockhart, today. Why did we have to be here when the place is overflowing with middle-aged, star-struck, gullible women, who think that writer wrote so much as one true word? "You can get your school books while we're here. Go." he said, indicating that I should get out of his way while he does whatever he was up to.

I climbed the staircase to the upper level, where the Standard Book of Spells series is kept along with several other standard educational titles. Of course, Lockhart's books wouldn't be found with the normal school books, but I didn't care. We have a fiction section in the Library at our Manor and no one would notice if those six books went missing from it. I got my textbook and looked down at the crowd of women who were there to see the king-of-fraud. It was pathetic.

I spotted a small sea of red hair in the middle of the line and guessed that that would be Weasleys. And I was just in time to see Potter being dragged up to get his picture taken with Lockhart. I actually think he was embarrassed - Potter, I mean - he looked like he didn't want to be there. Is it possible, could Potter not like the attention? Well that just makes it worse, now doesn't it? I, a self-confessed attention-seeker, am overlooked in favour of someone who doesn't even want to get noticed. That is so unfair.

I continued to observe from my vantage point above the crowd, and the worst was yet to come. Gilderoy bloody Lockhart is going to be teaching DADA, this year! I doubt he'd be able to tell the difference between a werewolf and a vampire without looking it up in one of his fraudulent books. I shook my head in bemusement - incompetence seems to be a required trait for DADA teachers - and decided to bring my own books for that class - I'd teach myself Dark Arts, without the defence ... and Lockhart could go and do something obscene with a yeti, for all I care.

I picked up a nearby copy of 'Deadly Monsters and How To Avoid Them' from the selection of official DADA textbooks and flicked through it. I stopped when I got to the Basilisk, remembering what I'd read in Fantastic Beasts and deciding this was a more detailed explanation of the creature.

I glanced around, checking no one was watching me, and ripped the relevant page from the book. I was mildly surprised to see the page grow back but realised that real DADA textbooks usually have re-growing pages in case of accidents in practical classes. And then looked down to see that Potter had escaped the publicity-o-holic and was making his way towards the assemblage of Weasleys.

I put the page in my pocket to read in detail later and wandered down the stairs just in time to come face-to-face with my rival. Time to see how much I can annoy him, today, "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" I asked, trying not to be sarcastic enough for a Gryffindor to notice. He looked up from the cauldron full of books he'd just donated to the Weasleys' youngest (well youngest that I'm aware of - there may be more), and glared at me. "Famous Harry Potter. Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page." I sneered, hoping I sounded like it was just spite and didn't betray my jealously.

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" the little Weasley-girl said to me, giving me a look that had to be intended to be scary - in my opinion, I thought it made her look cute.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend." I taunted. Weaslette's face went bright red, to clash with her hair.

Weasley-the-sidekick and Hermione appeared from the crowd, to stand near Potter and his girlfriend. "Oh, it's you." Weasley snarled, on seeing me. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

I had no idea what he meant but he was right. I would have to threaten Dobby with a good flaying, when I got home. "Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley. I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month, to pay for that lot." I commented, idly wondering if I really was kidding or if I'd hit close to the truth. Weasley tried to go for me but Potter and Hermione held him back.

Just then, three more Weasleys (the evil-twins and their father) emerged from the throng of love-struck Lockhart fans. Mr Weasley then said, "Ron, what are you doing? It's mad in here, let's go outside."

I was considering commenting but was saved the trouble when Father's voice spoke from behind me, "Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley." His tone was also taunting but he managed to sound more ominous than I could ever manage. As he placed a restraining hand on my shoulder, I smirked viciously in a way that says 'I've got back-up and I'm a smug git'. Well, I am a smug git - have I ever denied it?

"Lucius." Mr Weasley said, nodding curtly, as if he thought that that much acknowledgement was too much trouble to go to for us.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids ... I hope they're paying you overtime?" Father taunted. He then snatched one of Weaslette's second-hand books from the cauldron and proceeded to examine it with a suitable degree of distain. "Obviously not. Dear me, what's the point of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?" I stepped aside, not wanting to get in the way and wanting a better view. As I did so, I saw Father open the pathetic excuse for a book in the process of what looked (from the Weasleys' angle) like he was still examining it. I saw it from the side and noticed the small black leather-bound book, which I had 'spoken' to at the start of the holidays, slip out from Father's sleeve and in between the pages of the innocent Transfiguration book. The textbook was tilted at such an angle that no one else could have seen it. Snapping the book shut, the whole process took mere seconds. Slight of hand was one way to put it, but it doesn't do him justice.

Mr Weasley was looking redder than his offspring - I'm not sure if that was embarrassment or anger ... it could have been both. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy." he responded, sounding like he was trying to keep his temper in check. I kind of think they're both disgraces, to opposite extremes.

"Clearly." Father sneered, looking past the Weasleys to a pair of confused-looking adults, who could only be Muggles. "The company you keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower -" he didn't get to finish whatever he was going to say, because Mr Weasley had lunged at him. I was torn between watching the fight and trying to figure out who those two Muggles were and why they were here ... watching the fight won, by a long shot.

Various Weasleys yelled both encouragements and disapproval to their father/husband (depending on which Weasley you're talking about). I kind of enjoyed the show, hoping for a good, long, unfair fight, but it was cut short by the Hogwarts gamekeeper grabbing both men by the scruff of the neck and pulling them apart.

Father all-but threw Weaslette's book back at her, "Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can give you." in spite of the beginnings of a black-eye, Father still managed to give the impression of one who had just done a particularly malicious deed, and gotten away with it, scot-free. Well, he had, hadn't he? He removed himself from the gamekeeper's gasp, beckoned for me to follow him and departed without a second glance.

I gave Weaslette a calculating look, before following my father out of the shop.

* * *

We collected all of my school supplies before going to Quality Quidditch supplies. It was our last stop. On entering the shop, I made straight for the display of the latest broom - it still showed a Nimbus 2000, at which I proceeded to stare ... I had to make a conscious effort not to drool.

Meanwhile, Father approached the assistant, "Have you received the order I placed, yet?" he asked. Now that was cryptic - it had attracted my attention and I was now only pretending to be staring at the Nimbus, while I listened.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, sir." the assistant, whose name I don't know, answered enthusiastically, "It just arrived last night."

"Good, I'll take it now, then." Father said, as he took out a very large moneybag from a pocket that couldn't have contained it without a Tardis Charm.

The assistant fell over himself in his haste to get to the back room. Moments later, he returned carrying a large, non-descript box.

Father handed the moneybag over, "That should be the amount we agreed on," he said, taking the box and peering inside. I couldn't see into it from where I was, but it must have been what Father had ordered, because he nodded, smiling, "This appears to be in order." and with that he dragged me out of the shop, and away from the racing broom I was sure he'd promised to buy me.

* * *

End of chapter 2