Draco resolutely stuck his chin up, looking at his father in the eye. Lucius, as regal as ever, sniffed down at his only son and went back to the parchment on his desk, effectively ending the conversation for both of them.
"You are dismissed."
The young Malfoy heir — seriously, wasn't that title supposed to give him anything he wanted? — stood up and left his father's study as calmly as possible, pretending not to be rattled.
"Father," he bowed slightly as a farewell, then opened the door and sprinted to his wing of the Manor, ignoring the sharp looks he got from the portraits on the way. He would not make the same mistake again. He was not a little kid anymore, and Malfoys did not cry. Specially not where some lousy dead-relatives could then tattle to his parents.
Draco inwardly sighed with relief once he got to the familiar dark oak double-doors. He all but ran inside, slamming the bloody things in lieu of the retort he had in mind for his father. How dare he?
He headed towards the nearest windows on his chambers, feeling the unfamiliar prickling sensation on his eyes and gripping the windowsill so hard he thought the material would break from the sheer force of it.
All of a sudden, his bedroom windows were blasted outwards, startling his father's stupid peacocks prancing nearby on the gardens.
Darn it! He'd done it again.
As he predicted, his dear mother was by his side in the blink of an eye, casting a cursory Reparo on each window. Meanwhile, he hid from her worried gaze, already aware that the second she asked, he'd cave.
He both wanted and didn't want to tell her what was up. He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud! Emotions were useless. He needed control. But he found all the control he fought to maintain had already been slipping from his fingers since the very beginning.
"What's wrong, my dragon?" she asked, kneeling down in front of him while lovingly stroking his cheek with one hand.
Draco really tried with all his might, but he wasn't strong enough to keep the fat tears from flowing freely.
"H-he told me to-to stay away from Blaise! S-said that-that a Malfoy would not be parading around the school with blood traitors" he hiccuped, hugging his mother tightly. He was told Theo would do the same, but Draco knew better. Theo despised his father and would not follow orders while being at school — or so he'd confessed to Blaise and Draco that very morning. That could only mean that he would be stuck with his least favourite friends — Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle — as companions. Why, for Merlin's sake, did his father hate Blaise that much?
"Oh, my dear" his mother cooed, comforting Draco. She caressed his hair softly as she allowed him to let everything out. Thank Morgana she'd suspected what was coming and took the precaution of silencing the room beforehand. She really did love her husband, but disapproved of his ruthless parenting methods. Alas, there wasn't anything she could do apart from comforting her only son.
Draco cried and screamed until his throat was raw at the injustice of it all. The three of them had been attached at the hip since they practically were in nappies, and after roughly a decade of sharing your life with the same two people he couldn't fathom how he'd cope without them at school. They had loads of inside jokes, knew each others' favourites as well as pet peeves, and had made so many plans already! Together, they were going to rule the school! And now, thanks to his very own father, everything was ruined.
"Don't you worry, Draco. You can still spend some time together," Narcissa whispered lovingly into his ear. "Perhaps not as much as before, but I could still take you to visit whenever you come back from Hogwarts. In fact, we can invite them over when your father is not home, if you promise not to tell" Narcissa said, threading her fingers through her son's soft hair. He almost instantly stopped crying.
"You promise?" Draco asked, a sparkle of hope in his gray eyes.
"I promise."
Draco first saw her in Flourish and Blotts, after meeting a scrawny-looking boy at Madam Malkin's. He was not much of a conversationalist, that much he could be sure of. He got the impression the bloke did not like him very much, but no matter. He just hoped he didn't end up in Slytherin with him. What a disgrace would that be, with such a shabby appearance and dreadfully Hufflepuff-like discourse!
He perused the multiple shelves as he ruminated his thoughts, skimming over the titles in hopes of finding an interesting new book to read. So engrossed he was on his task, that he didn't see the bushy-haired girl he accidentally bumped into, making her fall flat on her arse with a tiny 'oomph!'
He was immediately frozen into place, staring down at her deep, dark brown eyes. She was wearing some curious blue pants and weird-looking shoes instead of dressing robes. Her frizzy, brunette hair stuck everywhere, defying gravity in a strangely endearing way. What finally caught his eye were her buck teeth and round cheeks, which were faintly coloured with her embarrassment.
Mentally scolding himself for staring — how horrified would his mother be! — he offered his hand to help her up. He felt himself grow hotter by the millisecond, yet decided to ignore the queasy feeling.
"I'm awfully sorry, I was so absorbed by the books that I did not see you coming, Miss…?"
"Granger," the girl answered politely with a shy smile. "Hermione Granger."
Looking at her closely, she seemed to be about the same age as him. His heart skipped a beat, wishing she was going to Hogwarts with him.
"Say, Miss Granger," he asked, feeling brave. "Are you looking for something in particular? Something for school, perhaps?" He hoped the titles she mentioned would give him a clue on whether she was attending Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang.
"Not really, no, I was only looking for some light reading. My parents are in line to pay," she said, motioning towards the queue, "and they gave me permission to buy a couple of extra books. What about you?"
Draco gave her a warm smile. Perhaps it was silly to think so — they certainly weren't the only people in there looking for books — but to him, it felt special. Like they had something in common.
"Why, I was doing the same. Father is buying the tomes for my first year at Hogwarts, so I decided to come take a look at anything I fancied."
"There are so many books around here, I kind of want to read them all!" she said, giggling a bit in excitement. "I haven't seen anything quite like this before. Is there any title you'd recommend?"
Draco nodded eagerly, glad to find someone who'd listen to his blabbering about books. His mother always tried to spend time with him, but frequently had to tend to other important matters — or so she said.
"Of course! There's the classic Quidditch Through the Ages in non-fiction, as well as Quintessential Cities of the Wizarding World…" he answered, raising an eyebrow in thought. "Of course, if you haven't already, you could also read my favourite fictional saga, The Crimson Keep. The third book will be out very soon, and I honestly think they're brilliant. You should be able to find them at the very back."
He stopped himself, suddenly embarrassed from speaking so excitedly. Malfoys were supposed to be cool, not chatty! Despite this, Hermione was beaming at him like she'd never met a fellow bookworm in her life.
"Thank you very much. I'll definitely look out for them" the brunette said, balancing on the balls of her feet. She seemed like she wanted to say more, but was rudely interrupted by some kind of high-pitched noise coming out from her wrist-watch.
"Drat. I should hurry, my parents must be about to finish now..." Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, unsure of what to do next. "I'm sorry for cutting it short. It was very nice to meet you. See you in Hogwarts! I hope we get sorted into the same House!" she cheered, walking swiftly away from him with a last backward glance in his direction, taking the warmth with her. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of blue eyes was watching from afar.
Narcissa Malfoy re-read her son's latest letter next to a roaring fire on a cold, November morning. She couldn't decide whether to be worried or amused as she scanned the contents of the misieve. Once again, in between everything else he mentioned, was Hermione Granger.
"...I don't think she's got many friends. I thought she got along well with Potter and the Weasel, but I heard him dissing her in the courtyard, saying she was a nightmare just as she walked by. How stupid must he be? Yes, she may be the swot extraordinaire, and perhaps her hair is kind of appalling, but I think calling her a nightmare is going too far. She's one of the most brilliant students in that dreadful House of theirs, if not in the whole year. I'm tired of her getting better scores than me on everything — except on Potions, maybe — but just you wait! I'll turn the tables around before Christmas.
Speaking of which, I've been thinking about getting a Nimbus 2000 this year, as well as…"
Sighing, she stood up and walked towards the closed mahogany doors in a brisk pace. There, she murmured the spell she needed.
"Homenum Revelio."
Lucius was home, as she feared, but he was busy somewhere else in the Manor with another person. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to be careful, especially regarding her own son's well being.
There was an almost ironic advantage of being the perfect, pure-blood wife: nobody knew exactly how proficient she was with a wand. She had learnt much more than colour-changing spells throughout the years.
Waving her wand around, she cast a Room-sealingspell, an Imperturbable Charm, and a Caterwauling Charm for good measure. Finally, going through the motions several times, she cast her last spell to strengthen them all.
"Fianto Duri."
Satisfied after examining her spellwork twice, she headed towards the furthest corner of the room. There, she kneeled and pointed her wand at one of the planks.
"Finite Incantatem."
Reaching out inside the enlarged and previously concealed space, she Accioed all of Draco's letters from school and walked back to her favourite seat. Once there, she opened and read them all again, searching for more evidence of her son's infatuation with the mudblood.
"They were saying she almost transfigured a match into a needle in her first class! I knew she was infuriatingly smart, but I don't think anybody's done that before, not even a Ravenclaw…"
"You should have seen her, mother, balancing on the edge of her seat with her hand high up in the air as Severus humiliated Potter on the spot…"
"...the nerve of that woman, correcting my grip on the broom? And then, of course, Longbottom got hurt and Potter defied me as soon as Hooch was off the field. Granger told him not to, but he dismissed her anyway. How can they ignore the only smart person in that crowd of baboons is beyond me. You should have seen how she looked when her broom wouldn't come up…"
Mother and son wrote to each other at least once a week. On every single letter from Draco, to a greater or lesser extent, the funny looking girl was mentioned. Whether she was having a horrible hair day, or spending more time with the Weasley boy instead of Longbottom, there was no detail that escaped her son's notice.
Was he aware of what was truly going on inside his head or — Morgana help them all — was he blissfully oblivious?
She could only hope, for his sake, that the Granger girl was a passing fancy in her son's early youth.
In an effort to save him from the clutches of her fanatic husband, she decided to plan ahead of time and take the matter into her own hands.
Narcissa went back to her hiding place and returned the old letters, along with the new one, before re-warding the spot. Then, deciding against sitting on her armchair, she went to the ornate desk in the middle of the room. There, she dipped her favourite quill on her finest inkpot. The only sound that could be heard as she worked was the scratching on the elegant piece of parchment.
"Dear Mrs. Parkinson,
I hope my missive finds you well…."