Malfoy Manor

It was very late into the morning before Draco Malfoy decided to get out of bed. It was a rare thing for him to be able to sleep in like this, he certainly wouldn't have been able to if it had not been the summer, so he savoured it. He sat up for a while, stretched, yawned loudly, and wondered what he would do today. He paced back and forth in his large gothic styled bedroom as his mind adjusted to being awake. The sunlight shining into the room seemed almost cruel and he quickly drew the shades.

He sighed. It was quite boring here. He hated everything. He hated this stupid room, he hated this house, and, and…he hated those stupid toys! Draco looked over his huge treasory of toys, which he had cared for and cherised for so many years. There were miniature dolls of all his favorite quidditch players which walked and talked, and even flew a bit on their tiny brooms. There were his gobblestones, his Goblin coin bank, a slingshot that hit any mark you wanted, a board game 'Leaping Toad Eyes', his collection of 'Marvin the Mad Muggle' comic books, a fake wand that shot out bursts of water, and of course his complete Quidditch set (broomstick, four balls, and a whistle.)

Draco looked at them with the upmost revoltion. Such things were for little babies, and Draco was practically a man! He was already eleven and was going to be starting school in exactly one month – Draco looked longingly at his calendar – one month and he'd be in the greatest place on Earth, Durmstrang.

Oh, often had Draco's father spoken of Durmstrang, always with praise.

"You study hard boy," he would say many a night as Draco struggled through homework, "I didn't pay for you to have the best private tutors money can buy just for you to embarrass our family name! Durmstrang will shape you up! They'll show you what real wizards are. You're far too spoiled. You have to be strong Draco! One day our noble Lord will return, and when that day comes you must be trained in Dark Arts, so that our kind can finally be free of Mudbloods and slime!"

Draco picked up one of hid favorite player dolls and began dismantling it limb by limb, enjoying the screams of terror the doll made. Dolls, at least, wouldn't tattle on you. He finally decided that he should get some Quidditch pratice in – he wanted to be ready for when school started so he could get on the team. He'd send an owl to Crabbe or Goyle and make a day of it.

He suddenly realized how hungry he was almost half an hour after waking up. After changing out of his pyjamas, he scurried through the long stone corridors of the Malfoy Manor, a house not as old as the family but still quite ancient. He passed the potraits of all the great Malfoys and the various awards and decorations they had gained by all means necessary through the centuries. He went down one spiral staircase, just to go down a hall to the staircase that led to the dining room, wishing that the elf had cooked up some eggs and toast today.

When he got there however, he found it completely empty. His parents always had breakfast at this time, he thought, looking at the ten foot grandfather clock.

"DOBBY!" Draco hollored. With a crack, a pitiful looking creature with large round eyes and bat ears stood before Draco, who immediately bowed before the child.

"Young Master Draco, how may Dobby serve you?" he said.

"Dobby, where's breakfast and where are my parents!"

"Well, Young Master…"

"NOW DOBBY!" Draco yelled.

"Yes, Draco's mother, Dobby's Mistress, asked Dobby not to cook breakfast at the same time today, sir."

"WHY!"

"Dobbt doesn't know, sir. Mistress did not tell Dobby."

"Well, you go make me some breakfast! Toast and bacon, now!"

"Yes, Young Master." And with another crack, Dobby was gone.

With Dobby gone, Draco set to to learn just what his parents were doing. He knew they only hid away like this when they were arguing, his mother just could not stand her baby being exposed to such things, even though Draco always found a way to expose himself to it anyway.

He crept away to the secret room where his father kept the things he bought at Knockturn Alley. They weren't there. He then went up to the attic on the fifth floor. They weren't there either. He went out through the back door and searched through the grounds. They weren't anywhere! Draco racked his mind, where could they be? He finally gave up and decided to go get the owl and write to Goyle (he was a much better playing the Crabbe).

As he hurried up the second flight of stairs, he heard angry voices. Draco slapped his forehead. His parents were in their bedroom! He got in very close to the door (thankfully it hadn't been sealed silent) and listened.

"-YOU LISTEN TO ME, HE'S MY SON TOO!" he heard his father roar. His mother was crying audibly.

"But…but, b-b-but…" his mother moaned, "He's so young. And Durmstrang is so far away. He couldn't come home for the holidays you know, and it would so long for our owls to get to him.."

"If you think I'm going to let my son into a school full to the brim with mudbloods, run by the great bloodtraitor, that Dumbledore, well…"

"EVERYTHING ALWAYS HAS TO BE YOUR WAY DOESN'T IT!" shouted Mrs Malfoy with newfound courage. "WE BOTH WENT TO HOGWARTS AND TURNED OUT FINE!"

"It was different back then Cissy," said Mr Malfoy. "The Dark Lord was just rising to power. There was a real sense of comradery between the Slytherins. We were united, we had a cause, we knew that the elimination of muggles was necessary. Now, it's all different. He'll go soft there. He needs to be under the arm of a proud wizard like Igor Karkaroff."

"Karkaroff? KARKAROFF!" cried Mrs Malfoy in utter disbelief. "How can you defend a dispicable piece of scum like him! After what he did!"

"BETTER HIM THAN DUMBLEDORE!"

Narcissa went quiet once more, and her loud moaning resumed. "Oh Lucius…please! He's my baby…"

"Breakfast is ready Young Master." Draco jumped in surprise, and only barely contained a yelp.

"Dobby!" Draco hissed.

"Would Young Master want salt and pepper on his eggs, sir?"

"I don't want any ruddy eggs!"

"Oh, but Dobby already…"

"PLEASE DOBBY!"

"Does Young Master want anything else?"

"NO! Please, Dobby, why don't you go…hurl yourself down the stairs until you pass out!"

"But Young Master…"

"Are you defying my orders?" said Draco with a hint of glee in his voice.

"NO! Oh no, good, kind Master…"

"Oh yes you are. And as punishment I say you should…keep hurling yourself down the stairs until you pass out."

"Yes, Young Master," said Dobby retiring.

Draco hurried back to the door, but soon regretted choosing such a loud punishment for Dobby. Between the tumbling and the cries of pain, he could only catch a few scarce words.

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP ALREADY!"

"HOW DARE YOU!"

"DON'T THINK I WON'T!"

"CRUC…"

"EXPELLARIARMUS!"

"I'M SO SORRY MY LOVE!"

Draco swallowed hard. From what he had heard it sounded as though the fight had reached to a physical level. He was too scared to move. And what were they fighting about anyway? It sounded like the same debate that had been going on over the dinner table for months, but Draco never dreamed it would reach to some points. Finally, after wiping his eyes, he heard,

"Alright Narcissa, have it your way."

"Well thank you for finally listening to reason!" Mrs Malfoy spat out. "I am sorry though, about what I just…"

"Forget it Cissy," said Mr Malfoy, exhausted. In sudden horror Draco realized that the doorknob was turning. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, he quickly got up and made as though he just happened to be walking by.

"Draco, my precious baby!" Mrs Malfoy cried and quickly grabbed her son into a very wet hug. Her eyes were quite red.

"Good morning, mother," said Draco, trying to dismiss this overt cuddling but still relish in it at the same time.

"Sweetheart, your father and I have been talking and well, we think it's time you considered having a look at the letter that came for you last week," she said, pulling out a brown envelop from her pocket with the address in green ink.

Mr D. Malfoy Third floor bedroom

Malfoy Manor

Salisbury Plain

Wiltshire

"I'm not going to look at the letter," said Draco, ever the more rebellious, "as I'm going to Durmstrang and not that filthy school!"

"Draco Malfoy, do not speak to your mother in that tone!" said his father.

"Now, Drakey," said Mrs Malfoy in a gentler tone. Draco shuddered at the horrendous nickname. "Why are you so against Hogwarts. Your father and I went to Hogwarts and it was some of the best years of our lives.

"But it's not fair! Father told me I was going to get to go to Durmstrang! It's not fair!"

"Draco, I must say that…" began Mr Malfoy, "DOBBY COULD YOU PLEASE FIND A MORE QUIET PUNISHMENT WE ARE TRYING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION HERE!"

"Dobby is very sorry Master!"

"Yes yes, now, as I was saying, I believe your mother may have a point. Open the letter, read it at least."

"Oh fine," said Draco and he tore open the envelope. Despite how upset he was, he could not help snickering at the fact the school motto had his name on it. He skimmed through the letter and list of required objects as quickly as he could but the last line caught his eye. "See, first years can't even bring their own broomsticks! How am I supposed to play for England when I grow up if I can't even play Quidditch at school for a whole year!"

"Draco, a wizard of your heritage should aim higher than Quidditch player," said Mr Malfoy.

"Fine, whatever, but you said so yourself, they don't teach dark arts at Hogwarts! How am I supposed to help the Dark Lord like you always tell me father!"

"You're eleven years old, you have absolutely no need to be thinking of such things yet!" cried Mrs Malfoy. "Think of all the disadvantages of Durmstrang. It's oh so cold up there in the north. And they don't speak English! Do you want to be burdened learning Bulgarian while having to train in magic at the same time."

"I don't want to talk about this!" Draco shouted.

"All your friends will be going to Hogwarts, think of it. Vincent, Gregory, Theodore…"

"Nott isn't my friend!"

"Son, admit I too had my own doubts about which school was right for you." Mr Malfoy said, shooting an odd glance at his wife. "Yet, the more I think of it the more I think that Hogwarts is the proper school for you. Certainly it has fallen into dismal hands, Dumbledore is the worst thing to ever happen to Hogwarts. The number of pure bloods keeps dropping every year, they have the most ridiculous staff. The only good one among them is Severus and I don't know how he can stand it. That McGonagall, and Flitwick, not to mention that giant oaf groundskeeper Hagrid. A drunk, you know."

"Oh yeah, I know about Hagrid!" said Draco lighting up. "Adrian told me all about him!"

"Yes, yes. Hogwarts needs to have more of our kind, the ancient families," said Mr Malfoy, as though all of this were just dawning on him. "Running away from the problem won't solve it. You need to uphold the traditions of Hogwarts, and work to change the school – from the inside. Yes. After all, Salazar Slytherin was one of the founders. And you will be a Slytherin, I'm sure of it. All the Malfoys have been Slytherins for centuries."

Draco felt something open inside his mind, going to Hogwarts was not punishment, it was an honorable duty. He was going to be a great Slytherin. He was going to take down the other houses. To hell with Ravenclaw, and stupid Hufflepuffs, and those damn Gryffindors. They had not met the match of Draco Malfoy. And his father would be proud of him.

"I'll do it!" said Draco at once. "I'll go to Hogwarts!"

"Oh, then we have to hurry!" said Mrs Malfoy.

"Hurry for what?" asked her husband.

"Oh, but his school supplies, we have to get them! If we wait to the last minute the prices are all going to skyrocket. Oh, I'm not busy today are you dear? Good, we'll go straight after breakfast."

"Excellent!" said Malfoy. "But can I still have a broom, even if it says not to? You know I was reading in Which Broomstick that they've got this really cool new model out called the Nimbus 2000…"

And that was all it took to convince Draco to go to Hogwarts. After Dobby got around to frying up a second batch of toast and bacon (his feet were still quite cold from sticking them in the ice box for a half hour), they were off.

They chose to go by Floo Powder, and ended up in the Leaky Cauldron. The Malfoys left quickly, not wanting to socialize with anyone who actually enjoyed being in the Leaky Cauldron.

They made their way down the bustling street, passed witches and wizards going about their daily business. Draco seemed very bored with all this and kept trying to talk with his parents. "Oh, after we get my school things can we go down to Knockturn Alley? I'd love to go back to Burgin and Burkes. Ooh, look, look! In that window, that the Nimbus 2000! Can't we go back there later, mum? I just want to see it, I swear. C'mon, let's just get all this shopping stuff over with already!"

As much as Draco said he wanted to get everything over with quickly, he still managed to delay his parents at every turn. He complained that he thought the bottom of his cauldron was too thin, moaned loudly that he just needed the most expensive set of scales, and argued that if his parents would buy him the working model of the solar system he wouldn't even need a telescope. He spent no less than half an hour in the Apothecary, examing all the fascinating ingrediants they had and telling the shopkeeper that a store in Knockturn Alley had much better stuff than this.

"Hurry along Draco," said his mother as they left 'Fino's Finest Phials.' Draco was looking across the street at a large collection of kneazles in a window.

"Yes, I was hoping that as long as we're here I could attend to some business I have at Gringrotts," said Mr Malfoy.

"Now, Drakey, run along to Madam Malkin's by yourself for a bit," said Mrs Malfoy. "Your father can get all your books and I can get started at Ollivander's, I already know all your wand measurements. This will save us all plenty of time."

"And then we can go see the Nimbus…"

"We'll see," said Mrs Malfoy, handing her son a small pouch of galleons.

Draco went to entered the shop and was greeted by Madam Malkin.

"Come on in, dear," she said. "You're here for your Hogwart's uniform, I suppose. Well just step on here, my assistant will fit you." Draco looked at the younger woman who had just dropped a box of pins of the ground and was scurrying to pick them up. This did not bode well for him.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing," said Draco as he stepped on to the footstool, not concerned if he sounded rude.

"Oh yes, quite sure," said the woman, not sounding sure at all. "I know exactly what I'm – ow! Just pricked myself." The rest of the fitting did not get much better. She seemed to take much longer than was necessary. She kept putting pins in the wrong place, pricking herself, apologizing prefusely when she pricked him. She had to do several measurements over again because she could not remember the numbers. Draco had very specific instructions on the quality he wanted his robes him, and the woman would only vaguely nod and fail to do as Draco asked, resulting in having to start from the beginning.

Draco was starting to get very bored. So bored that he was excited when another boy came in to be fitted, even though he dressed like a muggle and looked poor.

"Hullo," said Draco when the other boy would not start talking. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," was all the boy answered.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said Draco. The boy did not seem to be interested. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Draco knew that would impress him.

"Have you got your own broom?" Draco went on.

"No," said the boy.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," said the boy. This was by far the most dull person Draco had ever met. Despite that, he felt the need to show him he was far superior to him.

"I do – Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house," Draco lied with no shame, "and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said the boy. He sounded more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said the boy, but Draco no longer cared what this skinny boy was saying. Outside the window was standing a gigantic man, twice the size of a normal person. He looked wild and dangerous, like an animal let out of its cage. It was qutie scary.

"I say, look at that man!" said Draco, trying to hide his fear. The beast was grinning like a simpleton and was madly pointing two ice-creams at the poor skinny boy.

"That's Hagrid," the boy said, sounding very pleased with himself. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, somewhat relieved. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," the boy answered sharply. Draco did not like his tone.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in the hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant." Draco was fed up of acting polite. If possible he always tried to make friends with people, in case they had something to offer. But this boy was utterly boring, stupid, obviously poor, and maybe a mudblood. He was not even strong like Crabbe and Goyle.

"Do you?" Draco answered. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," was all the boy answered.

"Oh, sorry," said Draco, trying to get past this unimportant stuff as fast as possible. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?

But before the boy could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and he hopped down from the footstool without another word. He was rude on top of being stupid.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," Draco called as the boy hurried out the door and to the Hadrig or whatever his name was. "And you woman, aren't you finished yet!"

"Er-uh, yes, let me see. Yes, all finished. Here are your robes, I hope they'll be to your liking."

"Well they certainly took long enough." Draco banged a few galleons hard onto the counter and left. His father was waiting there with a large pile of books.

"Were you just speaking with a muggle-born?" asked his father sternly.

"He said he was pureblood, but I don't know if I believe him."

The rest of their walk to Ollivander's was silent. As they walked into the tiny shop, Draco heard a man's vocie speaking softly.

"Yes, of course Mrs Malfoy, I assure you I make only the finest wands and do not let my customer leave without a perfect match. Your son Draco will be well served, ah, speak of the devil." The old man's wide eyes stood fix on Draco's father.

After only a couple of tries, Draco was in possession of his first real wand (Dragon heartstring, oak, ten inches, 'rather sturdy', according to Ollivander.) He knew now that he was really a man. If it were not for his father being there, he would have ran out into the street and tried doing magic right then.

With the shopping through, Mr Malfoy went to attend to his business at Gringrotts (which seemed to mostly involve his shouting at some Goblins) while Draco sat impatiently in against a wall with his mother. While they were leaving, they passed a young man going in who seemed to know Mr Malfoy.

"H-h-hello there," he said, his mouth twitching to the left. "This m-m-must be your family. So nice t-t-to see you ag-again."

"And nice to see you to," said Mr Malfoy, though his voice was very dry. "Draco, this is, er Professor Quirrel. He teaches at Hogwarts, Defense Against The Dark Arts." He looked as though he might spit in disgust.

"Q-q-quite a d-day, isn't it," he answered, is eyes never staying still. "Harry P-P-Potter coming back, im-ma-ma-magine!"

"What?" cried Mr Malfoy.

"Oh, y-yes. I s-s-saw him, at the Leaky C-Cauldron."

Draco eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He scanned all the people passing by the street, expecting to see someone with a huge lightning bolt stamped in the middle of their face.

"W-w-well, I n-n-need to go now," said Quirrel, who went into Gringrotts covered in sweat.

"Who was that?" asked Mrs Malfoy, as though it were shocking just to have been near such an absurd man.

"Ugh, just another example of the trash Hogwarts has teaching. I met him at one of the governor meetings last year. Didn't always seem so nervous though."

"But did you hear him! Harry Potter! He's here somewhere!" said Draco. His parents said nothing. Of course, he always heard that Potter was the same age as him, but he had never thought that would mean they could go to school together. The Harry Potter, the most famous person in the world could be right around him. Sure, he may have been the cause of the Dark Lord's fall, but all that showed was just how powerful he was. Draco knew that he and Harry Potter would become the best of friends.

They were walking back to the Leaky Cauldron to go home, when Draco realized he'd forgotten something. He saw it, the Nimbus 2000, in one of the display windows, and ran over to it.

"Oh, please, please, pleeease!"

"Draco, we've already spent a fortune here today, and you have a perfectly good broom at home!" his father yelled.

But Draco took no heed, he pressed his nose against the glass to get a better look at it, but his father grabbed him by the collar, and he was gone.