Author's Note (1): Thank you again for the reviews so far. Please keep them coming. They are my performance barometers.
Author's Note (2): I'm using Microsoft Word 2000 and I have not installed the grammar check feature. I will install it soon. In the meantime, I try my best to spot all spelling and grammer errors before publication. Alas, grammer is not one of my strong points, there might still be errors. My apologies.
Chapter 4 The Malfoy Heir
Draco Malfoy snorted in irritation. That stupid house-elf had forgotten to pack his favourite robe! And after Draco had reminded him! Reminding house-elves was almost unheard of in the Malfoy household. House-elves do things right the first time round or else!
Draco ran a pale hand through his hair. At sixteen-years-old, Draco Malfoy was one of the best-looking students in Hogwarts. While Harry was warm and charming, Draco exudes aristocracy. His striking features, the result of generations of Malfoys that came before him, were framed by streaks of silver-blonde hair that came down to his eyes. His eyes. Those cold, grey eyes. Always expressionless, it gave nothing away. For Malfoys never show emotion, unless it was necessary. The act itself was a sign of weakness. Lucius Malfoy has taught his son well.
After Draco's dismal first years results at Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy decided to take Draco's upbringing into his own hands (instead of leaving it to the indulgent Narcissa) and had coldly issued threats of "demonstrating what happens to Malfoys who do not live up to expectations". Twelve-year-old Draco was afraid of his father, and was well-aware that his father is fully capable of executing his threats, son or no son. Henceforth, from his second year on, he worked hard. In the beginning, he cursed and sweared at the amount of time he had to sit at his desk and poured over school books when he could be out loafing. Draco, who was never forced to spend more time than necessary to study by his mother, found the experience torturing. He wasn't used to working hard for anything.
Nevertheless, his hard work paid off and the grades improved by leaps and bounds. Draco continued to work hard each term, but the motivation was no longer just because of Lucius' threats. He still fear Lucius, of couse, but Draco was no longer the spoilt twelve-year-old that he was. On the contrary, he strive to shine because he wanted more than anything in the world to please Lucius, to gain his approval.
Over the years, Draco had come to worship Lucius. He feared and respected his father, and the fear and respect only grew with time when Draco saw the tremendous amount of energy and time (which Lucius had very little) to educate and train Draco himself. Lucius was cold and demanding, and rarely gave praises. He imparted to Draco duelling arts, dark magic and most importantly, the art of power acquisition. From Lucius' harsh demands of him, Draco sensed only his father's love for the Malfoy Clan, and Lucius' burning desire for him to excel so that he could one day succeed him as the next Malfoy Lord. For that, Draco hero-worshipped Lucius.
But now, our Malfoy heir was not thinking about his father expectations of him. He had a more mundane task to see to. He dipped his quill into a bottle of ink and started writing a piece of parchment to his house-elf, demanding for his favourite robe. He peppered the parchment with a few death threats to further scare the house-elf and tied the parchment to his eagle owl. The owl gave a sharp hoot and took off into the night.
"Incompetent elf" Draco thought. Still, he couldn't complain much. This house elf was a gift from Zabini's father to Lucius Malfoy. After Lucius had carelessly freed Dobby ("Damn Potter!", fumed Draco), the Malfoys were left with three house-elves. Zabini's father had taken the opportunity to present a house-elf to the Malfoys. An effort to further lick Lucius' boots, of course. Although the Zabinis were wealthier than the Malfoys ("By only a few more million galleons!" thought Draco) Lucius was the centre of power after the Dark Lord himself. No one could command more obedience or fear from anyone than Lucius Malfoy, except for the Dark Lord. Not even the Minister of Magic, the vain, porky Cornelius Fudge, whom Lucius had eating out of his hand.
Draco turned and flip the blankets off his four-poster bed. It was good being a Prefect. You get your own room, and very well-furnished at that, although it's still a far cry from his room in Malfoy Manor.
Draco flopped down onto the bed and fell asleep, dreaming of taking points off Gryffindor when he officially commence Prefect duties tomorrow.
