Draco Malfoy awoke with a start. Sweat coursed down his forehead, evading the strands of white-blonde hair matted down upon it. He had been dreaming again. Draco rarely put much stock in dreams, but this was different. The same sequence of events had appeared to him in his sleep every night for weeks. He would never admit it, but they were starting to disturb him… a little. The boy in that dream had seemed familiar. But it couldn't have been him, could it? That scar…
Draco lay there in his bed, allowing the cool summer breeze wafting in from the nearby window to calm and refresh him. It was just a dream, he thought. Nothing more. Certainly not something to worry about. Certainly not today, for he had much to do. His father would be taking him to Diagon Alley to purchase his new books and supplies for the school year. It would be his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts. At school he commanded a measure of respect from his teachers and peers. At school he was in charge, unlike at home. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had been on his nerves all summer. He was an overbearing person by nature, but these past few months had been much worse than ever before. As a Malfoy it was his duty to uphold the family's reputation for excellence, and his father was of the opinion that Draco hadn't been up to snuff lately.
"Bah," he said aloud. "What does he know… always stuffed up in the mansion. He's the one who's lost a step, not me."
"Master? Are you awake?" Draco rolled his eyes at the sound of that insufferably squeaky voice. That new house elf was just another reason he was so eager to get out of here.
"Master," the voice inquired again from the hallway. "Are you awake?"
"Yes, Roald. Be gone," Draco snapped. The pat of tiny feet down the hallway followed his words. Sighing, Draco heaved himself out of bed, stretching as he surveyed his room. Like the rest of the mansion, it was luxuriously appointed. Draco had been raised in luxury, as was befitting a pureblood family. The Malfoys were one of the oldest and most respected wizarding families in Britain, if not the world. He was proud of his lineage. He expected the lesser families to defer to him, and for those wretched muggle-borns to bow to him. Well, the latter may be a bit extreme, but he demanded the respect of those filthy mudbloods. They were inferior to him in every way, after all. Perhaps one day they really would bow to him.
"Draco, be ready to leave in a half hour. I will not be held up by your childish whims yet again," his father said from the doorway. Draco nodded, glaring at his father.
"I'll be ready."
"You had better be. And wipe that look off your face, or I shall do it for you." Lucius paused, narrowing his eyes at his son. "How can you expect to gain the respect of your classmates when you disrespect your own father?" he asked softly.
Draco did not respond, but merely turned away and walked toward his wardrobe across the room. Lucius Malfoy's eyes burned with fury as he stared at his son's back. The disobedient wretch had been like this all summer. At first the elder Malfoy had chalked it up to youthful rebellion, but he had finally had enough. Stalking across the room, he gripped Draco's shoulder and spun him around, pushing him toward the corner. Before Draco could react, his father slapped him on the face.
"You will learn the meaning of respect, boy," Lucius growled in a dangerously quiet voice. "By the rod, if necessary. I will not have my own son act in such a manner. Do you understand?" Draco stared up at his father, up into those cold eyes. Draco had never understood why his father was so hostile toward him. Even as a child, long before his time at Hogwarts, Lucius had been distant, often ignoring Draco completely. When he did bother speaking to Draco, it was usually to correct or berate him. Upholding the family's honor was a worthy pursuit… but Lucius was obsessed. Draco believed his father cared for nothing quite so much as the Malfoy reputation and prestige, even putting it above the family itself. After all, it was only a name…
"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" These cold words snatched Draco from the depths of his reverie. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he managed a slight nod. Lucius raised an eyebrow.
"Yes father," Draco said weakly.
"Yes what?" Again, the question was not so much said as it was spat out.
"I will respect you." Glaring down at his son, Lucius grimaced in disgust. To be cursed with such a weak-minded son, what had he ever done to deserve this?
"Hurry up and get ready." With that, his father strode from the room, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. As he opened the wardrobe door and fished out a robe, a single tear rolled down his pale white cheek. He would just have to work harder to please his father.
If such a thing was even possible.