I've got a good mother
And her voice is what keeps me here:
Feet on ground, heart in hand
Looking forward, be myself
- Jann Arden, Good Mother
SIX YEARS LATER:
All things considered, Draco Malfoy could have felt much more enthusiasm about going back for his final year at Hogwarts.
It was sort of strange, because he actually had every reason to be happy about it. His parents were immensely proud of him for having been made Head Boy – the third generation of Malfoys to hold the position at Hogwarts. Furthermore, going back to school would mean getting away from his parents for the next ten months. It was possibly awful of him to like his parents better when he was far away from them... but the way they treated one another made him uncomfortable. They'd barely spoken to each other all summer, and when they did need to communicate, more often than not they asked Draco to pass along a message. It was as if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were each pretending the other didn't exist.
Finally, once he'd completed his last year of School, Draco would officially be of age, and ready to receive the Dark Mark. He'd been looking forward to that, to finally being privy to the inner secrets of the Death Eaters and maybe even being sent on missions by them, ever since the Dark Lord had returned, three years ago. The thought that it was less than a year away gave him an excited tingle in the bottom of his stomach.
So yes – he certainly had plenty to be excited about, but somehow none of it was really inspiring any emotion in him. Instead, he felt a sort of vague foreboding, as if a dark cloud were hanging over his head. Something just wasn't quite right with the world, and he didn't know what it was. The fact that his father left home on August 30th and hadn't yet returned by the time Draco left for school, early in the morning on September 1st, only compounded his worries. Narcissa pretended there was absolutely nothing wrong with this, but she looked even more pale and drawn than usual, and Draco was worried about her.
However, she seemed cheerful enough as the two of them portkeyed to King's Cross station on a drizzly September morning. Narcissa stood on her tiptoes to kiss her son's cheek before leaving him.
"You have a good year, sweetie," she said. "Don't forget to write."
"Mother," he groaned. "People are watching." Draco was firmly of the opinion that seventeen was much too old to be called 'sweetie'.
"And you don't want people to know that your mother loves you?" She smiled and put her hands on his shoulders. "Draco," she said, "I don't mean to embarrass you, honey, but I really do want you to know: I love you, and I'm proud of you, no matter what. And your father loves you and is proud of you, too."
"I know, Mother," said Draco. "You tell me all the time." She'd actually been extremely repetitive about it lately, which hadn't helped his general feeling of impending disaster. Why was she emphasizing it? Yes, she was his mother, which meant she was going to be sappy about certain things whether he liked it or not, but she hadn't used to tell him that four times a day.
"Well, it's important," she said. "It bears repeating."
"Trust me, I know," said Draco, "and I'll owl you once a week, just like last year."
"That's my boy," said Narcissa. "I'll see you at Christmas, sweetheart."
"Yes, Mother," said Draco. She grasped the portkey and vanished, and Draco turned around to head for the Hogwarts Express.
Pansy Parkinson was waiting for him. "Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco!" she squealed, bouncing into his arms. "I missed you so much!"
He laughed and kissed the tip of her adorable turned-up nose, feeling better already. Having his parents around, even his mother, made him feel he needed to be stiff and stodgy. At school, as long as there was no-one around whom he needed to impress, he could loosen up. "I missed you, too," he said. "How was India?"
"Too hot," she replied as he set her down. "And muggy – you wouldn't believe what the humidity did to my hair." She tucked a stray lock of sleek brown behind her ear. "By the time I'd been there a week, I was starting to look like Potter's little girlfriend, with a ruddy bush on my head. But Mum and Dad had a good chat with their friends... while I had to put up with the attentions of their son. He's an elephant animagus." She rolled her eyes. "Can you believe that? What good is it to turn into an elephant?"
"Well," said Draco thoughtfully, "a male elephant does have a three-foot..."
Pansy giggled. "Sssh," she said, and kissed him.
It was only after they came up for air that Draco noticed something important. "Hey," he said, pointing to Pansy's badge-less lapel. "You're not Head Girl?"
"No," Pansy sighed, and shook her head miserably as they climbed the steps into the train. "Apparently I'm not."
"I thought you'd be the natural choice," said Draco. Pansy had the second-highest marks in their year, and was from a well-respected family. No-one else going into seventh year was as qualified.
"So did I," grumbled Pansy. "But apparently not."
"Who is, then?" asked Draco.
"Who do you think?" she snarled.
Draco pushed open the door to the prefects' compartment... and very nearly turned around and walked right back off the train again. There, opposite the red-headed Weasel, was none other than the insufferable Hermione Granger. With a Head Girl badge pinned to her robes.
"Oh, no," said Draco.
Granger looked up from the book she was reading. "Disgusting to see you, too, Malfoy," she said.
The Weasel just stared in wide-eyed horror. "You mean he's the Head Boy?" he burst out.
"Better me than certain other people in this room," Draco snarled back. "Apparently even Dumbledore refuses to sink low enough to promote both a Mudblood and a Weasel. Thank heavens for small mercies, eh?"
"He's got no problem with ferrets, though," said Weasley.
Draco whipped out his wand and poked the Weasel's big, freckled nose with it. "Say that again," he said.
Pansy reached out and grabbed the wand. "Draco," she said. "Don't bother. He's not worth your time."
"Funny," Granger spoke up. "I was about to say the same thing to you, Ron."
Pansy looped her arm through Draco's. "Come on," she said. "Let's go find some better company."
"One minute," Draco replied. He stepped between Granger and Weasel, and bent down to look her in the eye. "Let's make one thing perfectly clear," he said. "You can study until you're blue in the face, Miss Prissy-Prissy Know-Everything, you can ace every exam they throw at you, but being a real witch isn't something you can learn from a book. Understand, Mudblood?"
She met his gaze evenly. "At least I earned this poison," she said coldly. "I worked for it. How much did your father have to pay to get you in."
Draco sneered. "You really think your oh-so-powerful brain is going to count for anything once you're out of school? In the real world, people want more out of a witch than book-learning. What do you think you're going to do with yourself? Do you want to be a teacher? Have you noticed that not one teacher, even at Hogwarts, is a Mudblood?"
"Yes," she said evenly. "I also know that Muggle-borns are less likely to be promoted in industry, and have a harder time getting research grants. I subscribe to the Muggleborn Monthly. They have articles about the lack of opportunity in almost every issue."
"Then you ought to know," said Draco, "that you need a name to get by in the wizarding world. They only way you'll ever go anywhere is if you marry into a respectable wizard family, and I can't think of a single one that would take you. Weasleys," he added, "don't count."
"Thank you, Malfoy," said Granger. "If I ever find myself lacking in motivation, I will just remember that not only am I working for Muggleborns' rights and trying to build a life for myself, I am proving that you are an ass. Good day." She opened her book again and focused resolutely on the print.
Draco raised his wand again, all set to turn her into something awful – a monkey seemed appropriate; something with a big, bright-pink backside that reacted to things by throwing shit at them – but Pansy stopped him again.
"Don't sink to her level," she said. "Let's go sit."
It remained gray and drizzly, depressing weather, as the Hogwarts Express chugged out of the station. Draco and Pansy sat with some of the younger Slytherin prefects, munching on candy and drinking pumpkin and licorice soda that was charmed never to go flat. Granger's words had left Draco seething – the presumption of her! Well, he would show her what real power in the wizarding world was about. If he had to make it his personal business to ensure that she never, ever amounted to anything, he would do just that.
"I knew something awful was going to happen this year," he grumbled.
"Could have been worse," offered Pansy. "You could have lost your position to Potty or the Weasel."
"That doesn't help," said Draco. Knowing Dumbledore's sympathies, he didn't want to think about how close he might have come to it.
Pansy laced her fingers through his. "You can handle it," she said. "You're Draco Malfoy. You can handle anything."
"That's better." Draco smiled and kissed her knuckles.
The rain had stopped by the time they arrived at Hogwarts, late in the evening, and they got a bit muddy but not too wet as they got out of the train and into the thestral carriages. Draco and Pansy, as usual, sat with their friends: Blaise Zabini was in the carriage ahead of them, his arm around his girlfriend, Millie Bulstrode.
"Hey, Draco! Hi, Pansy," he greeted them as they climbed in. "Draco, still growing your hair?"
"Yes," said Draco, reaching up to run his fingers through it. His silky blond hair was past his shoulders now, and his mother said it made him look like an angel. Draco himself was more concerned with the fact that it also made him look like his father. Lucius never seemed very pleased with his son anymore... Draco wanted badly to change that. "How've you been?" he asked.
"Pretty good," Blaise replied. He moved over as Crabbe and Goyle climbed in, the latter hand in hand with his own girlfriend, Susan Bones from Hufflepuff. "You?"
"Fine," lied Draco. "Except for the Mudblood being Head Girl, of course. How the hell did she manage that?"
"I couldn't say," said Blaise, "but I'm sure you can manage her. It's only one year, after all."
"True enough," said Draco.
On the way up to the castle, Blaise, Pansy, Millie, and the others exchanged stories about their summers, but Draco mostly kept silent. When Goyle asked, he said he didn't have anything interesting to say – not much had actually happened at the Malfoy place that year. This was true enough; summer had indeed been uneventful. But its very dullness had been part of what was troubling him. His parents had both seemed lonely and lethargic. Draco knew by now, of course, that Lucius and Narcissa had been growing part for the last five or six years, but over the last two months the slowly widening gulf between them had suddenly expanded into an absolute abyss. He hoped it wasn't something he'd done.
They disembarked at the gates of Hogwarts and trudged up the muddy road towards the main entrance. In the foyer, they removed their coats and boots. Draco was lacing his indoor shoes, when a voice behind him said, "Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco looked up, and was surprised to find Professor Snape standing over him. "Yes, Professor?"
"The headmaster wants to see you," said Snape.
"To see me?" Draco echoed. Why was Dumbledore asking for him? It was the beginning of the year. He'd only just arrived – he couldn't be in trouble already! The only... oh, Merlin, this had better not be about his argument with Granger.
"Yes, you, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Snape. "And only you. Your parents are waiting for you in the headmaster's office."
"They are?" That was even more bizarre. If they wanted to talk to him, why not before he left?
Professor Snape nodded stiffly. "Follow me."