For I am a wicked child

Horseface

***CHAPTER TWO***

Something to look forward to

Draco did a double take, as his father's words registered in his mind.

 "Durmstrang, father?" 

Lucius leaned back in his chair and nodded. "That's right."

Draco looked at his mother, who was strumming her fingertips on the table.

"You agreed to this mother?" 

Narcissa took a deep breath. She would not meet Draco's gaze as she said, "It's in your best interests."

"She's right," said his father, taking a sip from his goblet, "An education at Durmstrang will prepare you for the future."

Draco stared at his father quietly. " Or more specifically… a future as a Deatheater."

Draco sensed his mother tense up in her chair, but his father merely sat there before saying "Yes. That's correct."

"A little presumptuous of you, wouldn't you say?" said Draco, raising his eyebrows at his father.

His father brought his hands together and leaned forward, "I have been given no reason, Draco, as to why you wouldn't become a Deatheater."

Each word was drawn out and chosen deliberately, as to make Draco uncomfortable.

"… Unless…" continued his father, " You would care to enlighten me now?"

Draco remained silent. He knew a lot of people who would've jumped at the chance to become a Deatheater, but there was something about it that really didn't appeal to him. Acting as a lackey for some psychotic megalomaniac, who had been defeated by Draco's archenemy a few times now, just didn't seem to be what it used to be. Granted, being a Deatheater worked for Lucius, but then again, Draco wasn't his father. Lucius was still waiting for a reply, staring at him with those pale blue eyes. Those ice cold eyes.

Draco broke away from his father's gaze.

"Nothing comes to mind."

 Lucius smiled coldly.

 "Good."

He took one final sip from his wine, before standing up from the table. "We will discuss details when it is time. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Draco stared at his soup, as his father marched out of the room. He looked over at his mother, who stared at him, emotionless, before beginning to eat her soup. For the rest of the meal, only the sound of clinking from the cutlery and goblets was heard amongst the heavy silence.

          Draco spent most of his vacation preparing for his transfer to Durmstrang. He could usually be found reading language dictionaries, brushing up on his Bulgarian, despite having argued with his parents that he spoke many languages fluently, Bulgarian included. Around the middle of his vacation, his father took him to Diagon Alley. They stopped by Flourish and Blotts to pick up his schoolbooks, but since Durmstrang focused more on the Dark Arts, they spent a fair amount of time in Knockturn Alley. The last place they visited was Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions. Although Draco got new school robes every year, he had to be measured earlier than normal. Seeing as it was so cold in Bulgaria, the robes had to be made of fur, and they took much longer to make. Madam Malkin was taking a long time to take Draco's measurements as well, and Draco was slowly growing more impatient by the minute. Glancing into the full length mirror in front of him, he saw his father Lucius patiently standing behind him, watching Madam Malkin fiddling with her pins and measuring tapes.

"Make sure it fits," commanded Lucius, "I'm not going to pay for poor quality robes."

Draco watched as Madam Malkin flushed at his father's insinuation. From his father's reflection in the mirror, it was easy to see why people became nervous in his presence. His posture gave the impression of royalty and when combined with the self-assured upward tilt of his head, Lucius was a natural born leader. It was hard to see him as a servant to anyone else, even if it was Voldemort. A sudden movement from Madam Malkin caught Draco's attention, and he looked away from his father to see that she had pricked herself with a pin. Unconcerned, Draco looked in the mirror again, this time at his own reflection. The more he looked, the more he tried to discern the difference between his father's reflection and his own. Although they were incredibly similar aesthetically, there was something missing in Draco's appearance. Lucius exuded power, while he was still a boy. Draco's mouth tightened, silently scowling at his thoughts. He glanced back down at Madam Malkin, who was cradling her hand. The pin must've struck deeper than Draco had originally thought. He shifted slightly on his footstool.

"Careful," said Draco, "Don't get blood on my clothes."

Madam Malkin blinked twice, visibly taken aback by his comment. Rising to her feet, she called for one of her assistants to finish up with Draco, before scuttling off to wrap her bleeding finger. Draco took a look in the mirror again and for a second his father's and his own reflection combined, showing only one face looking back at him. He blinked and took a closer look, but each face appeared on it's own again.

When Draco wasn't preparing for school, he spent most of his time flying on his broomstick, practicing his seeker skills. After, four years, he STILL hadn't been able to win a single game of Quidditch against Potter, the natural born seeker. It was so frustrating for Draco that even if Potter broke his arm, he'd still manage to capture the golden snitch. Draco had always been a good flyer, but when Flint had first put him on the Slytherin team, he didn't realize that Draco would've been a better chaser as opposed to seeker. However, after years of playing in that position, it was too late for him to be anything else. For the remainder of the holidays, Draco could usually be found in the fields behind the manor house, swooping and swerving, often practicing late into the night. He still hadn't managed to get the hang of the 'Wronski feint,' he either pulled up too early, or too late.

A month before the new school year was to begin, his mother threw one of her social dinners. Among many prominent wizarding families, the Goyles and the Crabbes were there. Seeing as Draco couldn't stand any of his mother's parties and his father still refused to let him listen to any of his conversations with other wizards, the three of them had gone into the fields behind Malfoy Manor, where they were proceeding to hex any wild rabbits that ran through the field. There was so much magic surrounding the manor, that it was impossible for the Ministry of Magic to tell if there was any, say… illegal underage hexing going on. At the moment, Crabbe was trying to use the 'Incendio' curse on an owl that was hooting at him, when Goyle said,

 "Hey Draco, are you going to Durmstrang?" 

Draco nodded.

"… but that means… you won't be going to Hogwarts anymore."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh well done, Goyle. Nothing gets past you, does it? "

"How come you're going now?"

Draco was silent.

"Hey Draco, I said 'How come…"

"I heard you… Goyle," interrupted Draco, still not answering the question.

"How come you didn't tell us then? We could've transferred with you."

 Draco let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"I highly doubt it. Durmstrang has a certain level of standard, and 3 O.W.L's just doesn't cut it."

 He was referring to Goyle's pathetic exam results. Goyle scowled. "Are you making fun of me?"

Draco stared coldly at him.

"Yes," he replied simply.

Goyle's scowl faded for a moment, before returning.

"Well… don't."

Draco looked at him blankly, before turning and quickly using the 'Petrificus Totalus' curse on Crabbe's owl. It fell to the ground with a thud, it's eyes still wide open. Draco turned, his wand aimed at Goyle. He watched, as Goyle's eyes widened in fear, and smirked.

"All right then."

Goyle took a step back, as Draco walked past him and back up to the manor. Goyle stood there for a second before motioning to Crabbe, "Come on, then."

Crabbe started to follow, but then went back to where the owl lay. He picked it up and frowned, before hurling it a good 50 metres away.

For the next few days, Draco had thought about the conversation he had with Goyle. Although it was mostly inconsequential, it had started Draco thinking. Attending Durmstrang, he would be leaving Crabbe, Goyle and Slytherin behind him. It meant starting a new school year without anyone backing him up. Starting a new year unguarded, in a school that was renowned for it's lessons in the Dark Arts, wasn't something he was comfortable with. Draco tried to find a solution to it, but weeks later he still hadn't solved his problem, (other than practicing his hexes), and school was about to start in 2 days. He was still thinking about this, over his last dinner at the Manor, the evening before he and his father were due to leave for Bulgaria.

"Draco darling…"

 Draco glanced up to see his mother looking at him worriedly.

"Is something the matter? You seem distracted."

Draco shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Draco… you must learn to lie better," said Lucius, from the head of the table.

"To survive in this world, it's a skill you must acquire," he continued, still eating his dinner. He raised his goblet to his lips, pausing to say, "Among others…" before taking a drink.

 Draco said nothing, and turned back to his plate. Narcissa was still looking at him anxiously,

"Draco darling… are you sure you're alright?"

 Draco looked up and nodded, "Why would anything be wrong?"

"Because… I do worry about you,"

"Don't trouble yourself mother. You know I'd tell you if I had any problems."

Narcissa smiled, relieved. "That's comforting to know Draco. It really is. "

Draco forced a smile at her, before turning to his father. Lucius smirked and gave Draco a small nod of approval. He went back to eating his dinner, feeling better.

AN: Short chapter… but I wanted to get through his vacation quickly, so that I could finally 'start' the story.