Disclaimer is in chapter 1.

Narcissa Malfoy nodded to her son as he entered the manor, smiling warmly. "Welcome home, Draco."

"Thank you, mother." The blond boy said, dropping his school trunk to the floor. "Dobby!"

The house elf popped into being, flinching back from the boy, "Yes, Master Draco?"

"Put my trunk in my room, and mind you don't go looking through my things." Draco growled.

"Right away, Master."

The elf and trunk popped away as Narcissa sipped her tea. "Hard semester?"

"No more than usual." Draco said, slumping into his chair.

"Sit straight, Draco," She corrected instantly. "Slovenly posture is for your private rooms, we entertain here. You do not wish to get into that habit."

Draco sighed and shifted until he was sitting up, "Of course."

"You seem perturbed."

"No, not really. Just thinking about things."

"Such as?"

Draco glanced around, as if looking for someone. "Where's Father?"

"Lucius is at the Ministry, he won't be home early."

Draco nodded and sighed, giving Narcissa a clue to what was on his mind. Something he didn't want his father to know about, at least not just now.

"Mother..." The boy suddenly seemed many years younger as he hesitantly spoke up, "I... Why are purebloods better than mudbloods?"

Narcissa raised her eyebrow, both eyes widening in surprise. "Pardon me?"

"I mean, I know we are!" Draco said quickly, hands up as if to stave off punishment, "But I need to know why."

"I am curious," Narcissa said after a moment, "What brings this up?"

"One of my housemates challenged me to answer that question," Draco admitted, "And I still can't. Not the way he wants me to. I know that the reasons have to be there, we ARE better than they are, but I don't know what they are."

She smiled slowly, "Very good, Draco. You're learning to question, be careful however... your father is not the sort who likes to be questioned."

Draco nodded, swallowing.

"But... we are better, right?"

Narcissa smiled a little wider, "Yes Draco. Purebloods are, at least to a degree, superior."

"So... what makes us better?"

"There are many ways to answer that question, most of which I will tell you now, your father does not understand, nor does he care to." She told her son. "I heard a word recently that describes muggle borns far better than the term you tend to prefer. Not mudbloods, Draco... Wildbloods."

Narcissa was shocked when Draco hissed and grimaced at the term. "What's wrong?"

"That's what Harris, the housemate I was talking about, calls them."

Harris. So that was the one who had the book, or it seemed likely. Interesting.

"Well they are," Narcissa replied, then shrugged, "Or at least those who are not descended from a squib line are. Consider a well-bred hound, Draco, and compare it to a fox. The fox is a wild blood, the hound a pureblood. You can, to a certain degree, predict how a Hound will perform based on its bloodline. You can even, if you are very careful, influence how a hound's blood line will develop."

"And... that's good?"

Narcissa smiled thinly, "Sic a hound on a fox and see which one is more likely to come out on top. The fox is generally quite lucky to escape with its life."

Draco nodded slowly, understanding at least slightly.

"There are more factors, however. Blood traits, such as Speaker talents, follow a bloodline. Muggle-borns almost never develop even the weakest of these," Narcissa continued. "Parseltongue is a known trait of Salazar Slytherin's line, for example."

"The Dark Lord." Draco said, nodding.

"Precisely. Rowena's bloodline has been rumored to have strong instances of Second Sight, perhaps ironic since Rowena herself was a powerful detractor of seers and the like," Narcissa said, "though it's perhaps because she herself suffered from an uncontrolled gift. Each of the founder's lines had powerful gifts, as do many of the older pure blood lines."

"What were the others?"

"Gryffindor supposedly had a very advanced instance of Mage Sight," Narcissa said thoughtfully, "And Helga was a powerful emotive caster. The Malfoy line has begun to show hints of several talents, but nothing steady quite yet."

"What about the Blacks?" Draco asked, eager to hear about his own heritage.

"The Black line," Narcissa paused, sighing, "The Blacks were known for several uncommon talents, but the signature trait of the Blacks was a form of Mage Sense similar to Gryffindor's Mage Sight."

"What can you do with it?"

"Those with a strong gift could feel raw magic," She told him, "including wards, natural lines of ley magic, and conjunctions of such. Many Blacks took on duties as curse breakers, and were unparalleled at it."

"Could I...?"

"It's unlikely, Draco," She told him gently. "That was a trait of the main Black line, you're from a cadet branch. I'm afraid that the wars have all but destroyed that particular gift."

For the first time in a long time, Narcissa could see her son really thinking about things instead of parroting what her husband had told him. It wasn't that she disagreed with her husband's position, but she knew that blind faith often led to a dead end and was pleased that Draco was considering the ideas for himself.

"There is one thing to remember, Draco." She said after a moment.

"Yes, mother?"

"The fox is a wild blood, as I said... but never forget, so is the wolf." Narcissa told her son, "And a wise hound will think twice before stalking a wolf."

Wednesday Addams paused outside the door to Xander's room, and eyebrow going up as she heard conversation from within. She knocked after a moment and waited until she heard Xander's voice inviting her in.

Inside the room she was only mildly surprised to see Xander leaning back on his bed, chatting with a headless ghost.

"Hey, Wednesday," He greeted her with a grin, "This is Anne."

The ghost tilted slightly at the waist, not a bow but a greeting. "Good evening, young Wednesday."

"Your Majesty," Wednesday returned, with a respectful tilt of her head.

"Majesty?" Xander blinked.

"Boleyn, I presume," Wednesday directed at the ghost.

"Indeed."

"She is a former wife of Henry the Eighth, and one time Queen over England." Wednesday said to Xander, slightly disdainful of his lack of awareness.

Xander grinned, shrugging as he caught the tone, "hey, what do I know about England? I'm a Cali boy, remember? And it's not like they bother teaching us anything about real history in Hogwarts."

Wednesday had to concede the point, "True."

"Anyway, we've been having a nice conversation... at least we have since my heart started again," Xander said with a playful scowl.

"Must I apologize once more?" The ghost asked, her eyes rolling as she held her head against her side. "Few are the living who can see me, and even fewer are those who can do so consistently as you two do."

"We aren't normal." Wednesday replied dryly.

"I had divined as much." Anne replied in kind. "Though we did officially repudiate witchcraft, I was aware of the Royal Wizard young one. You are of his sort, I assume?"

"We are."

"Fascinating. I have not seen any like you before, and I have been wandering these halls for many years."

"You likely have," Wednesday corrected, "However were likely ignored. Ghosts are commonplace for those of us who live in the magical world, and this building holds little interest for wizards. So those who did bother to come here, would have no particular interest in yourself."

The ghostly woman winced, "I suppose that makes some sense."

"No, it does not," Wednesday replied evenly, "however it makes as much sense as anything else done by men... wizard or otherwise."

Xander got a sinking sensation when the ghost laughed bitterly at the joke, and the two began to chatter about how oblivious his gender was. That was his queue to escape and he quietly sidled up to the door before bolting down the hallway. No way he was hanging around a ghost of some woman who got her head cut off and Wednesday Addams when they started talking about men.

He was congratulating himself on the escape as he explored a little when he heard sounds from ahead and decided to investigate. Xander made his way into a large setting room and noticed that Gomez had apparently taken the room over, having setup a large train set. Xander idly walked around it, checking out the impressive layout as he did.

"Ah, Alex my boy, how are your rooms?"

"Inhabited."

"Pardon?" Gomez frowned curiously, teeth clenched on his ever present cigar.

"Wednesday and Anne Boleyn are complaining to each other about men," Xander explained. "Given that one had her head chopped off by order of her husband, and the other is Wednesday, I did the smart thing."

"Ran for your life," Gomez nodded, "Good job, lad."

"What's with the trains?"

"Every man needs a hobby, Alex," Gomez grinned, waving Xander over. "Have a look."

Xander did so, marveling at the detail of the set. It really was a pretty spectacular layout. He peered closer as one of the trains moved past, and tilted his head slightly as he could have SWORN that there was a man looking out at him.

"Uh..." Xander held his hand up questioningly.

"Not the same though," Gomez sighed, setting down the controls. "No explosives clause... it's a travesty."

"Um..." Xander shifted, trying to see if he could spot the train's passenger again.

"Terribly annoying. Frightfully unfair." Gomez went on, pacing around the table. He suddenly stopped and shook his head, "Listen to me, here I am in lovely historic London, in one of the most haunted places in the world, and I'm pouting like Fester and Pugsley over the lack of explosives."

Gomez laughed, "I'm truly a spoiled American, Alex. Can't live without the modern pleasures. Well, time to correct that."

"Uh, right..." Xander said, eyes still following the train.

"I think a little old world entertainment is in order. You game, my boy!?" Gomez bellowed.

Xander blinked, then shrugged, eyes still on the train. "Uh, sure."

"Excellent. En Garde!"

"What?" Xander snapped up, looking around in time to see a sword coming his way. "Ahhh!"

He caught it on reflex, but unfortunately not by the hilt. The blade bit into his palm, blood running freely as Xander fumbled it twice, cutting his fingers as well, then got a grip on the hilt before the weapon hit the ground. "Ow!"

He looked up, eyes betrayed by the injury Gomez had inflicted, just in time to see the attack coming. Gomez vaulted the table, flipping easily over it in a perfect summer sault, and landed just a few scant feet away as he slashed his own blade in a cutting stroke at Xander.

"Ahhh!"

Xander screamed, throwing himself back as the blade ripped his robes open.

"Defend yourself!" Gomez cried, lunging in.

"Gahhh!"

Xander swiped his own blade across, but totally missed the strike, and winced as he felt a slice open up in his leg.

"Come on, lad! You can do better than that!"

"No I really can't!" Xander cried out, dodging to the left and nearly impaling himself on Gomez' next strike.

Luckily Gomez pulled the blow and paused as Xander gasped for breath. "My lord, lad. Didn't anyone teach you the basics?"

"Sword fighting isn't 'basics' anymore!" Xander snarled, glaring at Gomez, "it stopped being basics a hundred years ago!"

"Nonsense!" Gomez declared, shaking his head at the state of education in the world today, "Alright then, let's start with footwork. We have a great deal to cover, and so little time to do it in."