Professor Snape, just down the table, was looking at his former student with an unreadable look on his face. Malfoy. The elite of the wizarding society, or pretty damn close. It was difficult to realise that Lucius had raised this boy, fed him, clothed him. Lucius was always such a cold character that the air in any room he entered suddenly went frigid. Snape had always wondered how he and Narcissa had ever managed to conceive. Maybe that's why they had only one child.
Anyway. Draco sat down, and stared at the food appearing on the table on golden platters. At home it had always been silver, with a green enameled snake there, the Malfoy crest there. He glanced at the golden goblets, with beautifully embossed stems. At home it had always been elegant stained glass, blue, purple and green. He smelled the pumpkin juice. At home it had always been wine, or water.
Malfoy. The elite of the wizarding world.
But, Draco mused as he chewed on roast chicken, maybe he didn't want to be "Malfoy" so much anymore. Maybe that's why he came here - to teach at Hogwarts. Teachers are not particularly renowned for their large paychecks. Nevertheless, without teachers, the society would fail. Ha - maybe Draco liked the responsibility.
Finishing off a creme brulee, Draco shot a furtive look at all of his teachers. Snape, greasy as always, McGonagall, the same old woman, Trealawny - still the same ancient, batty lady. Some things didin't change, and Draco Malfoy was not one of them.
