Author's Note: I haven't thought about this story in a while, but the idea of writing one of these from Draco Malfoy's point of view came to me the other day, and it all sort of flew out my fingers. I still haven't figured out my next long project yet, but in the meantime I may be posting a couple of short pieces. I have a new 1-shot I'm writing about Neville and Hermione (not as a romance).

In the meantime, I know there's a lot of scary stuff going on in the world right now. Stay safe. Take care of yourselves and each other. And hopefully I'll post some things to make you smile or laugh.

Author's Note 2: Updated 12/24/2020 for grammar fixes. Thank you SunshineKatz for Beta-reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

The station was still fairly quiet. The train wouldn't be leaving until 11 o'clock; they had plenty of time. A few families stood around in clusters starting their goodbyes.

"You're eleven, son. Time to live up to the Malfoy legacy. I know you'll make us proud." Lucius squeezed his son's shoulder briefly with one hand.

Draco's heart thudded in his chest, but he tried not to let his nerves show on his face. His parents were always so calm, no matter what. He wanted to be like that. "Yes, sir."

Narcissa reached out a hand and tucked an errant strand of hair back behind his ear, letting her finger linger on her son's cheek just a second longer than necessary. "If Dobby's forgotten to pack anything, write home and we'll send it."

"My br—" he started hopefully.

"First years never make the house team—even with your skills. Besides, you're not allowed a broom. Even with natural talent and intelligence I'm sure you'll have more than enough to keep you busy with your studies this year," she said firmly. She was going to miss him.

"On the train now; you'll want your pick of the compartments. You get on early and you'll be able to choose who gets to sit with you. Never hurts to have the upper hand." A hint of a smirk appeared on Lucius's face. It was always good to hold the cards.

"I'll...I'll see you at Christmas, Mother, Father." He thought about leaning in for one more hug from his mother, but he resisted. He was eleven. He wasn't a little kid anymore. Three and a half months wasn't so far away really. He swallowed and turned around. "I'll be sure to write," he offered over his shoulder. He stepped on to the train. His future was waiting. He was a Malfoy. He was a Black. He was the result of centuries of brilliance and training that would all come out. He was the best of the best and now was the time for the rest of the world to see it.

"A Mudblood. A Mudblood has beaten you in every class? What is wrong with you?"

Draco wasn't sure what was worse. The sneer on his father's face or the disdain in his voice. He'd seen both in practice often enough—but it wasn't usually directed at him. Maybe next year he wouldn't come home for Christmas. Greg and Vince wouldn't treat him like this. He grit his teeth and held his chin up. "She must be cheating. It's the only possible answer."

The look of disgust on Lucius's face deepened. The thought had occurred to him as well, but there was no indication of it he could find. Even Severus hadn't accused her of it, though he had plenty of uncomplimentary things to say about her. Others on the board of governors seemed pleased that a Mudblood was doing so well. And speaking of mongrels... "And that Potter boy made the house team. If any first year should have made the house team it should have been you. I heard he's been raised by Muggles. Never touched a broom until this year. And you couldn't even show him up? I expect better from you, Draco."

He dropped his eyes to the floor. Straight anger might have been better than the disappointment he was sensing. "I'll do better, sir."

Lucius opened his desk drawer and withdrew a pile of parchment. He had work to do. "Severus says you're doing well in Potions, but that your Charms work is sloppy. See to it that you practice all of the first term exercises for the rest of break." He turned away and didn't even wait for Draco to respond before shouting for Dobby to bring him tea and brandy.

Draco slunk out of his father's study. Maybe he'd try to do a little flying before opening the Charms book. It wasn't that cold, and surely being outdoors would be better than staying inside right now. Lucius hadn't even told him he was proud of him for getting sorted into Slytherin. There would have been anger if he hadn't been, but no praise for doing it. It was simply expected.

Draco smirked as he stood with his mates, admiring their Inquisitorial Squad pins, his shining right next to his Prefect badge. It was almost as good as watching the Potter Stinks badges he made last year. He couldn't help but think his Charms work was superb.

Whatever Potter and his merry band were up to, he'd catch them. They couldn't be allowed to get away with supporting that crackpot Dumbledore. There was an extra spring in Draco's step for weeks.

The spring nearly disappeared when he received his next letter from home.

Draco,

I can't help but feel I've wasted my time trying to teach you the subtleties of power. The Inquisitorial Squad. Really?

We'll be discussing this when you come home.

Remember: people should feel your dominance when you exercise it; if you have to tell people…you don't have it.

And if you do have power, you should be exercising it on your own behalf, not turning your classmates over to petty school officials. There are so much better ways to make use of it. Personally, I prefer to hold until the critical moment.

Have I taught you nothing?

Lucius Malfoy

His letters were always signed with his full name. Never father. Never dad.

Draco crumpled the letter up and threw it in the bin. He sat fuming for several minutes before summoning it back to read over again. Blackmail. Apparently he was supposed to be blackmailing his classmates? Wasn't detention bad enough?

Draco had shut himself in the haunted loo again. At least here he could be sure no one would find him. His hands were shaking. It was hard to breathe.

Dumbledore was a crackpot. He favored Potter and his gang. He even liked that miserable sod Longbottom. He had been opposed to the Dark Lord for decades. He stole the house cup from Slytherin in first year.

It should be easy to want to kill him.

But he was such an old man. He was nuts, but a cheerful sort of nuts.

And there was iron underneath those twinkling eyes. Trying to do anything substantial to him was like trying to push over a two hundred year old oak tree with his bare hands.

His hands were shaking.

He'd had two failed attempts already. Two.

The Dark Lord would kill his family if he didn't get this right. He couldn't breathe. He gripped the sink trying to steady himself. He was brilliant. He was a Malfoy. He was a Black. He was the result of centuries of the best breeding and excellent training and should have every reason and capability to succeed.

He wasn't sure he believed it.

He looked in the mirror. For a moment he saw a disheveled, pale boy, with eyes red from crying and dark circles from lack of sleep. When had he cried? How long had he been here?

The image in the mirror shifted. It wasn't him. It was his father, sneering at him. Telling him he wasn't good enough. That he'd never been good enough. That he let down the Malfoys and the Blacks. That the Dark Lord would kill his mother because he wasn't strong enough. Draco Malfoy, letting the family down again, the image sneered.

He broke the gaze and splashed water onto his face. He looked back and saw only his own exhausted reflection. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe it ran in the family. The rumor was that Azkaban hadn't turned his Aunt Bella's mind. The truth is she didn't come out any crazier than she went in. She was already crazy a long time ago.

A pale figure floated up behind him. "A good cry always helps me. Do you want to share my toilet?"

His skin crawled. Even with the Dementors gone, Azkaban was a chilling place—dull, dreary, and isolated. How his father could have stood it the last two years Draco would never understand. As much as Draco hated to owe anyone anything, he was grateful Potter had testified for him and his mother. Potter had felt he owed them that much for the role they played in keeping him alive; Lucius received no such exemption. Lucius had known what he was getting into.

Truth be told, Draco doubted Potter would ever forgive Lucius for the whole diary business in second year.

Still, that wasn't his problem today. The Ministry official had found it odd that Draco wanted to visit his father now when he was close to his release. Hermione had sent a letter and Draco suddenly had his authorization. It was a relief really; there were some conversations he'd much rather have with his father when they were separated by two inch bars and the older man didn't have his wand.

Draco fingered the cufflinks on his robes, the fidget the only sign of agitation he allowed himself as the guard processed him through and led him to the visitor's room. There were no bars here, just two chairs. One was a perfectly adequate chair you might see in any low level bureaucrat office. The other chair was stone growing out of the floor. Lucius's ankles were shackled to it. There was enough space between the chairs that Draco's father couldn't possibly make contact with him unless Draco chose to leave his own chair.

Lucius's hair hung lank and overdue for a wash. Prison robes were not a good look on him. His face was more pinched than Draco remembered, and even paler than usual. He sat stone-faced, waiting for Draco to begin. It was the first time Draco had come to see him since he was sentenced. Narcissa had requested the right to visit and been denied. Still, Lucius was only two weeks from leaving. It was a slap on the wrist compared to what he could have gotten.

Draco seated himself in the chair, steeling his nerves. He let out a long breath. "Well, Father, only two weeks to go."

"Indeed." He paused. His voice was hoarse, not the smooth voice Draco had always known. "It is good to see you, son. But I can't help but wonder what brings you now."

"You've been here for quite some time now. Some things have changed. I thought you might like to be appraised of the changes before you're released—to give yourself some time to get used to them." He was surprised at how steady his voice was. Then again, he had practiced this speech. His father nodded slightly and his mouth twitched in something somewhere between a grimace and a smile. Draco took it as his cue to continue. "As we'd discussed I went back and completed my final year of Hogwarts. I received quite good marks. Mostly O's, some E's."

Lucius nodded and after a beat offered, "Well done."

"Mother arranged for a job in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes with a friend of hers, as you'd requested before your…time away. I declined that job."

Lucius stiffened.

"A position elsewhere had opened up that I felt was more suitable to me. I took it." He met his father's eyes.

"What did you feel was more worthwhile of your time?"

Draco's face was placid. "I'm working at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley." He was also doing some consulting with George Weasley, but that probably didn't bear mentioning yet. The whole experience had been rather surreal.

The older man pursed his lips. "I believe you are capable of far more than that."

"It's not a question of capability. I'm capable of many things. I don't think sitting in a stuffy office all day shuffling papers would be very satisfying. Particularly not with people shooting me nasty looks just for being Draco Malfoy."

Lucius's hands were tight fists in his lap. He took a deep breath. "Well, it wasn't the plan. But I suppose sometimes plans must be…flexible."

A genuine smile crossed Draco's face. "Indeed. It's important to adapt to changing circumstances. What good is a snake who can't shed its skin? You laid out some quite comprehensive assignments for me, but I've modified them as necessary over the last couple of years. In particular I think you'll find I made great strides in the social circles you wished me to advance in."

"You've managed to get friendly with—" There was a clash of teeth as though he didn't dare say the word that was in his mind. "Miss Granger?"

"Quite friendly. We both prefer our privacy really, but there has been the occasional piece in the Prophet remarking on our time out together. She and I attended Ginny Weasley's first professional Quidditch match a few weeks ago and sat in the family box with Potter."

A grim smile etched itself on Lucius's face. He had given thorough instructions to Draco and Narcissa before the trial, knowing it might be some time before he saw them again. Making the right connections while he was away, showing that the Malfoy family had turned over a "new leaf" was essential to getting the family back on solid ground. Old bridges had been thoroughly burned, and his own sacrifice in Azkaban was hardly enough to satisfy those who wanted the Malfoys' heads on platters. "Well done. Her hero complex is nearly as bad as Potter's. I thought she might take pity on you."

"Oh it's going quite well. We're engaged. We'll be married around Christmas."

"What?"

"She is a remarkable woman. We'll be married in four months. When I leave here I'll be going to have a word with Mother. I do have to let her know before the Prophet gets sight of Hermione's engagement ring and runs a story on us." He held an image of Hermione in his mind. It was funny how unexpectedly someone could grow on you. Hermione had seen that he was trying to make nice for some of the wrong reasons, but she was willing to be his friend if he dropped the pretense. To give him a chance to prove that he could be different than he was. He suspected that she may have had a long talk with Moaning Myrtle as some point, but neither of them had ever admitted to it. One day…it wasn't friendship anymore.

Lucius's voice was low, his jaw tight as he spoke through clenched teeth. "You were only supposed to become friendly with her. Build up the Malfoy image in the eyes of those sodding Ministry prats. You're not supposed to taint the Malfoy bloodline with...with..."

"With Mudbloods?" he asked coolly.

The look of disgust Draco had often seen turned on others appeared on his father's face. Draco matched it with one of his own.

"I am sick of living up to your expectations. For eighteen years I tried to live up to your expectations. And I was never good enough. Not once. Now, I'm living up to my own ideals. I don't want my son to see me go to Azkaban. I don't want my daughter to have to decide whether it's worth killing an old man to save my life. I want them to have a damn childhood. I don't care if you cut me off. I fully expect it. I have my own Gringotts vault. If you somehow burn my bridges at the Apothecary, Headmistress McGonagall will take me at Hogwarts. I've already been offered a prospective position; I've turned it down for now because I'd prefer to live with Hermione." He'd been surprised at how quickly Hermione had argued Potter and Weasley into taking him into Grimmauld Place after the last school term—at least until he could stand on his own two feet. The thought of going back to Malfoy Manor still made his hands shake. He could endure a Christmas dinner with his mother, for her sake. But the thought of living there, of waking up there and going to sleep there and trying to ignore the torture that had gone on…he closed his eyes, taking several steadying breaths. It was the past. He had his own flat now with Hermione, and they had been living there for six months.

"I tried to give you the world," Lucius hissed. "You ungrateful—"

"Look around you, father. I know you tried. But you gave me nightmares. I am making different choices. I am not working at the Ministry. I am going to marry Hermione Granger. And furthermore, I am relinquishing any claim present or future to the title of Lord Malfoy. I don't want it." His voice was clipped. "I will never live in Malfoy Manor again. Furthermore, I don't think I want to burden my children with the name Malfoy. I'd rather become a Granger." The thought brought a smile to his face; he hadn't particularly voiced that idea to Hermione yet, but she suspected it would please her. She was an only child herself and her family name would end with her at this point. Yes, the idea of becoming Draco Granger held quite a bit of appeal at the moment. "I spent eighteen years living for you and trying to live up to your expectations. I'm finally living for me. I finally feel awake." He kept eye contact with his father for a few more seconds.

The great Lucius Malfoy was a shell of his former self. He looked away, his face unreadable.

He gave a curt nod and rose to his feet, straightening the cuffs of his robes. "Well, you have a couple of weeks to get used to things before you have to put on a pretty face for the rest of the world and tell them you've served your debt and are ready to make a new start. I'm sure that given the time you've had to reflect on your choices that you'll decide you'd rather not cause a scene. I'll give Mother the news tonight—she does know some of it already of course—so she has some time to get her thoughts settled before you come home and stir things up." Draco turned on his heel and left, calling to the guards to let them know he was done with his visit. He felt lighter. He suspected his father would never entirely come around. But he'd probably behave himself reasonably well in public at least. Even if he didn't…it didn't matter. Draco knew what he wanted now and who he was.