AN: I'm getting tired of reading all these stories about Draco dominating Harry and forcing him to realise his gayness. I mean wouldn't a family as uptight about a pure wizard bloodline (which could be translated into the human racism and Voldemort and Death Eaters into Hitler and the nazis, etc.) be homophobic as well? (That should give you guys a clue about where I'm taking this story.) Anyway I'm trying to play up Narcissa's character. I always felt like there was a reason why she never spoke in person. And remember that she wanted Draco to stay close to her while he was at school. I'm a pretty big supporter of her being a nice person dominated by evil Mr. Malfoy. (In case anyone is confused Aquilao was Draco's eagle owl. Yes the name is semi-randomly selected, but in the real books we're not on a first name basis with Draco's pets, so I had to embellish. And he has a new owl because well that would be giving things away, now wouldn't it?) Please ignore the long author's rant. Many thanks to my beautiful beta readers and please read and review. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of J.K.Rowling's WONDERFUL creations and I am sincerely sorry about the butchering that they receive at my hands.

Parlance of the Serpent

Chapter 5

Draco Malfoy sat at a private table in the Leaky Cauldron trying to pretend that he was interested in his copy of the Daily Prophet. Actually he couldn't have cared less who the contenders for the open position of Minister of Magic were. What he was really doing was eavesdropping on the loud conversations from the Weasley family's table. He gritted his teeth as he heard his fellow students congratulating Mr. and Mrs. Weasley on thirty years of marriage. It irked him that other people were happy when he and his mother, who had been so instrumental in aiding the fall of the Dark Lord, were forced into solitary sadness and decline. He knew that his morose attitude was clearly out of place where everyone else had caught the Weasley's contagious good humour, but he privately enjoyed the attention he was getting.

"Harry Potter," Mrs. Weasley's voice roared over the din. "If you didn't have that head of hair, I'd think you were one of my own boys, you know me so well!"

Potter. That star child of the whole wizarding community. Draco's fingers clenched automatically. He wished, as usual, that he could somehow gain even half the respect and admiration that Potter got as a mere infant. The mutual dislike for Potter and his followers had probably been the only thing Draco enjoyed about his father's elevated Death Eater status. The young wizard flinched as his familiar nightmare images popped up in his mind's eye. Forcing back the wave of loathing for his father mixed with pity for himself, he slammed his fist on the table as if by beating the wood he could make the frightening feelings disappear.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir?" Tom was beside his table in a moment. "Is there ought I can do to be of service?"

"Um, no," Draco never blushed, but at that moment he sincerely felt like he could. Aware of many pairs of eyes fixed on him, he made sure to hold his head up especially straight. He gestured regally to his dish. "Well, perhaps you might clear my plate."

Tom took the dish and walked off. As Draco watched his retreating back, he caught Potter staring at him. For a few moments their eyes met. Draco was stunned to realise that Potter held no anger in his bright green eyes, only questions and confusion. Draco broke away from their staring and rose to leave. Gathering up his slightly crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet, he stalked across the room towards the stairs. Carefully avoiding Potter's eyes, he walked past the Weasley table.

"See Mum. I told you he was here," Ron Weasley made no attempt to lower his voice. "We ran into him twice while we were buying our supplies. Stupid git. He won't be so cocky when we're back at Hogwarts with the rest of Gryffindor. Harry'll slaughter him in Quidditch. Not that he was ever any good anyway..."

Draco stiffened, but made himself keep walking towards the stairs. Yes, he had lost some of his pride, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being insulted by Weasley and he wasn't stupid enough to try to pick a fight. He knew that if he confronted the other wizard he would have a whole family of Weasleys to deal with, instead of one. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, another voice from that table carried over to him.

"Ron," that was Potter. "Shut up."

Draco glanced back in surprise. Potter was looking at him again or had he ever looked away? This time there was a sad look in his deep green eyes. Draco hurried up the stairs, flustered by the actions of his long-time rival. Pulling the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door to his room. Slamming the door shut behind him, he flopped down on the bed ran his fingers tiredly through his hair. What would ever make Potter stand up for him? It's not as if Draco had done anyone any favours. But perhaps

Draco sat bolt upright. Potter must have found out. But how? Dumbledore, obviously. Those two were always together during the war; they even killed the Dark Lord together. With a scowl Draco slammed his fist petulantly against his pillow. He didn't want Potter's pity, or anyone else's for that matter. He and his mother would do just fine on their own. Even as he thought it Draco knew it was a lie. His mother was swiftly becoming a wreck. Cast out by all her former friends, she lived cooped up in their huge old house with only the house elves for company. She wasn't able to work to support their former lifestyle, and Draco had to go to school. He had offered to stay out, but she insisted that he would be safe with Dumbledore and that his education was more important. Because of her obstinacy she was forced to live in a lifestyle much poorer than the one she was used to.

A rush of feathers and the arrival of a huge black and white owl ended Draco's internal troubles. Altair, Draco's new northern hawk owl, dropped a letter in his master's lap and flew to sit on a mantle where he preened his black and white feathers. Draco smiled fondly at his new pet, and opened the letter he knew would be from his mother.

Dearest Draco,

Already I miss you. I hope your shopping went well. I miss Aquilao, but I believe Altair is lovely and his disposition is charming. Even Tinder, who as you know is terrified of owls, didn't mind him nibbling some food in the kitchen with us. Whatever made you pick that name for him?

I am quite looking forward to your first Hogsmeade trip as I am planning to go there as well. You know I tend to worry about your safety, my dear, but I am sure that Severus will take good care of you. He really is very grateful for what you did, even if his gruff nature won't let him show it.

Good luck my little dragon,

Mummy

Draco folded the letter and stared off into the distance. It made him sad to think of his mother relegated to the level of eating in the company of house elves. And in the kitchen no less. Draco immediately reprimanded himself for having such thoughts. He was having trouble adjusting to the fact they his family was no longer supremely wealthy. True they were not poor, but the splendour and luxury he had been raised with was gone.

He had almost slipped that afternoon when he had first run into what Professor Snape called the "dream team". Making stabs at the Weasley's near-empty purse had become such a second nature to him that he had forgotten their sudden accumulation of wealth during the war. Joke shops seemed to be a very lucrative business, Draco thought bitterly. In his head he heard his own words repeatedly mocking him, " I suppose you and your family must have bought it with I suppose you have one of your many siblings behind the bar?" He had been about to talk about the Weasley's poverty before he remembered that they were now better off than he was. How had he lost so much control that he had made that stupid blunder? The question forced him to turn his thoughts reluctantly back to another person: Potter.

Potter's polite, if not familiar greeting had thrown Draco off guard almost as seeing his classmates. Now that he knew Dumbledore had told Potter about his actions, it wasn't quite as surprising. Perhaps the Boy Who Lived now considered Draco worthy of a courteous manner. As Draco thought this he shook his head. Potter had bothered him since the day they met in Madame Malkin's shop when Malfoy had insulted Hagrid's lowly position at Hogwarts. Why couldn't Draco be allowed to like whom he pleased without caring about their rank? Not that the one comment had made much difference; Potter had clearly disliked him from the moment they started speaking. And on that first train ride to Hogwarts hadn't Potter been the one to hurl the first insult? Draco had made an effort to be friends with the other boy and had instead been snubbed. Wasn't it natural for children to repeat what they heard at home? He still thought that Potter was unfair to have judged him on that. Draco's thoughts were interrupted yet again when he heard someone walking past his door.

"Goodnight Ginny."

Speak of the devil, Draco thought wryly. Potter's deepening voice was recognisable anywhere. Trying to erase Potter from his unwelcome place in Draco's thoughts, the pale wizard took a piece of parchment and a quill out of his trunk. He sat down at a small desk in his room and began to write a reply to his mother, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that repeated, What about Potter