Disclaimer: The HP isn't mine. Honestly, why do I have to keep reminding them . . .

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Chapter Three

"You had been doing well, Draco," Father said. "This is not a reflection on your past behavior."

I tried not to expel a sigh of relief. There would be no punishment today.

It was still unclear, however, why my father had summoned me to his private study after one of his usual visits to the Ministry. Undoubtedly new information had come to light. Father often would launch into one of his newest discoveries, lecturing like an irritable professor about why I had to be nice to a certain classmate or show respect to a certain figure, appear some way in public in order to seem like the perfect child. He would also often tell me to do the opposite, the result usually being a certain air of aloofness around people whom Father no longer approved of.

Sometimes, Father would give me no explanation and make a brief show of force, but these incidents had become rarer since fourth year. It had been months since I was sent from the room limping or nursing my injuries. So now was about time for another little skirmish, and I was nervous.

Not that I showed it, of course.

What kind of a Malfoy do you take me as?

"It seems that you have finally proved yourself, from years of loyalty to everything that your name represents," Father continued.

"Thank you, Father," I responded. My eyes snapped away from the books on the walls and directly to his face.

"You may not have yet joined our ranks," he said, leaning back in his impressive leather chair, "but that is simply a matter of age. It is for this reason that I deem it appropriate for you to help us in a small task, which would usually be granted to a member of the Outer Circle."

My eyes widened. I had heard about his peers far too often not to know who 'us' was. "Thank, you, Father," I repeated, only this time I meant it.

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Alright, I thought to myself. If I were a book-loving, attention-seeking, big-toothed, perfectionist Mudblood brat, what would I like?

I pondered this as I tapped the bricks next to the trash can behind the Leaky Cauldron. The wall opened up in front of me, and by the time the arch was formed I was halfway to Gringotts. I could simply charm some money to spy on her, and project the noises produced into one of my galleons . . . no, I remembered. She doesn't care about money.

I would try a diary to ensnare her, but she was too clever to write in one that wrote back, as the youngest Weasel had. It was amazing, really, how stupid that Ginevra was for a pureblood.

Trying to come up with something discreet yet powerful, I withdrew a few dozen Galleons from my private account and left the bank without a second glance, pulling the hood of my black robe up over my head to avoid those accusing glares that were being aimed at me.

No one seems to have looked at me or my father the same way since the end of last year, and the attack on the Ministry.

Of course I had read the papers, the accusations that my father had committed 'crimes against wizard-kind.' I had laughed at them for a while. It was completely ridiculous! Wizard-kind were purebloods, others who were interested in preserving our way of life, who Father never would have harmed. Well, harmed without orders to do so . . . Or unless he felt like it.

But then the shopkeepers started refusing to serve us. So I began to go to stores with familiar owners, who were also purebloods. They said that my presence was bad for business. It was around the time that my father was sent to Azkaban that I began wearing a cloak in Diagon Alley, to hide the shock of platinum-blond hair that every wizard knew so well. If I kept my head down, most people couldn't recognize me. But the fact that I had to hide the identity that once made my name so well-respected was disgusting. The world that I had been raised in was crumbling at the very foundation: purebloods were royalty, and Malfoy was king. That no longer applied.

So it was with a hidden face that I thought of the best way to tap into Granger's power.

'Granger seems to have found a way to impress emotion onto others. Find out all that you can without raising suspicion, and report your findings to me until a more formal arrangement can be made. Your role is only temporary, Draco, but I expect much as a result,' I remembered Father saying. Translation: Figure out how she did it or suffer the consequences.

I shivered despite the warm weather and made my way into Flourish and Blotts.

There were plenty of books on the shelves, which I knew Granger would devour like a hippogriff attacks a fish. I browsed a few titles, looking for something that screamed 'Muggleborn,' turning the corner into the section of spelled books.

"Welcome!"

I jumped, my eyes darting around for the person who had recognized me. No one. I looked back around the corner, where a large, bespectacled wizard was browsing a few titles on divination. Frowning, I stepped back into the Spelled Books section, where my eyes landed on a large display that said, 'Greeting cards.'

"Welcome," the thing squeaked again. I looked closer and saw a piece of paper flapping shut, a picture of a cottage printed onto the front. It was a bloody card! Why would anyone need a blimey card to say anything as stupid as . . .

Why, to capture a mudblood, of course.

The card squeaked at me again. I could have cursed it into next week if it hadn't given me an idea. I grinned, though my face was hidden in shadow, and plucked one of the 'Get Well' cards off of the shelf. My plan was already halfway formed by the time I approached the counter.

"Six Knuts," the witch at the cash register said in a bored tone. From the looks of her, she was a seventh year who had only gotten a summer job.

I slid a galleon onto the counter. "Keep the change," I said. "I was never in here." She smiled back at me.

"Thank you, sir," she said, nodding slightly, and moved to help someone else.

With the card safely tucked into a pocket of my robe, I stepped out into the sunlight of the street and pondered my exact wording. Within moments I had retreated back into the Leaky Cauldron and thrown a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and whispered, "Malfoy Manor," so as to not be overheard.

Someone did overhear me, though. I saw Potter's fat head whip around just in time to see me step into the fireplace.

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"Master Draco is too kind," Ginger said in a voice that sounded like a balloon deflating. "Thank you, Master, for Ginger's biscuit," she added.

I snorted. "I didn't want to finish it, elf, it tasted like stale tripe," I said. With a kick she squealed again. "Now get out before I change my mind."

"Y-yes, Master Draco." POP!

I sat in the floor of my room, parchment and quills spread out in all directions over the oriental rug and bart of my bed, which was now acting as a backrest. A stack of books sat over by my desk, bearing titles like Enchantments Made Easy and The Intermediate's Guide to Persuasion Spells.

Ginger, my personal house-elf, had been helpful enough to perform most of the spells that I could not, what with the restriction on underage sorcery. Otherwise, I would have gladly done the spells myself. To be fully responsible for the Mudblood's unknowing corruption, without assistance, would be priceless.

But, alas, the sacrifices we make. I sighed again and looked at my work.

The card was simple, with a picture of bandages flowing into the shape of a phoenix, a wand clamped in its beak. Though it could never be mimicked perfectly, the noise the card made when closed sounded remarkably like a phoenix cry. Unfortunately, it held none of the same effect. Any imitation or recording of the cry sort of worked as a placebo for the actual noise.

I opened the card. It squeaked out, "Get well soon!" as more pictures of bandages arranged into a neat version of my cursive that said, 'Wishing you the best for a speedy recovery, signed A Secret Admirer.'

Aside from the directly visual, there were also several other charms and spells on the card. A very subtle dark spell ensured curiosity in the reader, so that Granger would be compelled to find her admirer. Series of cloaking spells covered my identity so that it was as if I had never touched the card. Finally, a fake magical signature of David Gleans, covered in a few weaker cloaking spells with purely light signatures both made it appear that this Gleans was the sender and that no evil intent had come into play when the card was sent.

It was such a fine piece of spell work that I was almost tempted to keep it.

"Ginger, come now," I shouted out to nowhere in particular.

With another resounding POP the small, bony thing appeared almost instantly. "Fetch the finest owl we have," I directed. "Not black, pick another color. Send this card," I held up the envelope, "to a girl by the name of Hermione Granger, care of the Ministry of Magic, Department of Accidental Magic, room number six. Do not mark the family name, she needs to think that this card came from David Gleans. If she replies, make sure that anything addressed to that name comes to me." I handed over the card. "And send over some . . . roses, or lilies, or whatever the hell these women like, as well."

Ginger just looked at me. "Master?" she squeaked hesitantly.

I stared her down before responding. "What is it, elf? You have your orders."

Ginger gulped and directed her huge, round eyes at the floor. "With the knowledge of this assignment, Master, may Ginger suggest something?" she asked quietly.

"What is it, elf?"

"Would it not be better if young Master Draco did not overwhelm the Granger with flowers? Master always is saying Mudbloods is easily overwhelmed," Ginger suggested.

I thought about it for a moment, and nodded. "Thank you, Ginger, you are not totally worthless."

She bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master. Master is too kind."

"You have your orders," I repeated with slightly more menace. Ginger took the hint and disappeared, leaving me to the feeling of anticipation in my throat.

I grinned to myself. This will be great!

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a/n: Thank you to my reviewers, you guys are fabulous. I'm trying not to rush the inevitable, if you haven't noticed so far. Because these things always seem to take forever in real life. Yes, I know that a fanfic can be the most unrealistic thing I want it to be, but still!

dracodolenz: ahh, my first reviewer! I hope you're enjoying it so far.

Fiona McKinnon: Alright, girl, I'll try my best.

kriCket xO: that's totally the way it is, I'm glad someone understood my reasoning! At least, that's the way I was . . . but my parents don't keep such close tabs! (wink, nudge)

devilzangel69: ohh, sounds fiesty! I will as soon as I get it done and pops gets off the computer.

As for mooching, never ask the hyper kid. He's bad news, whatever he has got is laced. Always go for the mellow kid. Hermione will be a lot like this, later on: totally hyper when sober and healthy, but really chill when messed up.

Possibly.

But how will she be at Hogwarts? You won't know till I tell you! Hehehe.

Damn I'm hungover.

Okay! Thanks again, please review. Remember, I'm a newbie, don't be shy!

And always drink your Ovaltine!

Luv, Cameo