The first time he had met Potter was a moment to remember with pride, theoretically, but the world is not just flowers. Draco Malfoy never thought he would be turned down so easily by the most famous wizard of his time, who was, ironically, a nobody, raised by muggles. Perhaps that very event had started all their rivalry, not just because of Malfoy's wounded pride, but due to his disappointment. The blonde boy had grown up listening to the legendary story of a baby hero who had defeated Voldemort, the darkest wizard ever to live. The boy was his age, and Draco had a chance to study with great Harry Potter. What a thrill to become friends with such a powerful, yet young individual. At the time, Draco wasn't looking for someone to serve or look up to, he wouldn't go as low as to lick another person's boots, and neither did he need a servant. Malfoy simply wanted to come across someone similar to him, with a name and skills. A person he would be able to look in the eye, much as his father did in his inner circle of acquaintances.
As the years passed, however, Draco matured and saw that his father never looked at Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson or Rosier eye to eye. He looked down at them, as they were just acquaintances, almost subordinates. When the youngest Malfoy looked around himself he saw the same. Crabbe and Goyle were two idiots in need of leadership, Pansy would clench to his arm as if he was a lifeboat and Blaise… Well, Zabine was the closest he would get to a companion, fighting the same wars Draco did for a while. Looking at the mirror, Draco was the image of his father, and at first, that was a virtue. Being the same as great Lucius Malfoy, proud, pure and influential. Hollow as well, manipulative, but you can deal with those problems, after all, nobody knows. Draco himself only knew it by his fourth year at Hogwarts.
During the Quidditch Championship, he had seen the Weasleys, Potter, and Granger. Teasing his colleagues in front of Lucius never felt so dumb - his father seemed to demean Arthur Weasley with much more exquisiteness - but he did it anyway. Humiliating those good-to-nothing redheads and the Golden Trio was suppose to feel good, right? Nevertheless, that night turned out to be disturbing, and the reason why wasn't exactly the mad crowd running, or the fire, or the torn tents. It was the hooded figures, the Dark Mark he had read about in the past and his missing father all at once. It was the fact that he had once seen that same skull, now blurring the sky, moving on Lucius' left arm, black against his pale skin and terrifying.
That day ended when Narcissa apparated them away and, back at home, the boy pretended to be ignorant, asking the House-elf to make them some tea while trying to calm his mother's nerves.
"I am fine, dear, thank you. You know I am naturally worried. I am certain your father will come home safe and sound."
Narcissa cared for her family immensely, but Draco grew up admiring how skillfully his mother usually kept her composure. This time, however, he could see agitation in her eyes. They were both on edge and when Lucius arrived he seemed relaxed. He was having a private talk with the Minister when it all happened and, being a good citizen, Lucius had to escort Fudge back to the Ministry. Narcissa knew better in Draco's opinion, but she nodded and, without further ado, they went to bed. In the corridor of the top floor, the youngest Malfoy could hear murmurs coming from his parents' bedroom. Their conversation seemed serious, remembering Draco of the fateful night he overheard them as he passed in front of Lucius' study room. It was late then and Draco, excited to fly his new broom, sneaked out towards their courtyard. Curiously, a yellow light came from his father's private room, where he wasn't allowed to go in, and voices could be heard through the heavy doors. Were his parents fighting?
Draco carefully opened the next pair of doors which led to the library, and he searched for the leaked shelve standing by the wall next to the study room. Silently, Draco removed two large books of potions out of his way and a copper grid appeared, from which he observed his parents' discussion. Though Draco could only see Lucius' back, the man's voice was very unnerving and melancholic itself, as his son had never heard before. It sounded defeated. Narcissa was across the table, her upper body entirely visible, her expression alarming. Concern was visible in her face as she listened to her husband, lips puckered tightly, frown lines showing and intense eyes taking in his every move. Her long fingers were hidden, although her hands were on the table, both fists closed to the point her knuckles went white. Her usual light and natural mannerisms were gone, her entire body language rigid.
"Lucius, you can't possibly think of answering his call! After all this time he should be dead as everyone suspected he was."
"Cissa, you know it doesn't lie. It's moving again vividly, see for yourself. A couple of weeks ago, when I saw it darken I thought it was a figment of my imagination, but apparently, it is the truth. I have talked to Crabbe and Goyle, they have been summoned too, but are afraid to go. We will gather everyone before we meet him."
"Meet him? Are you mad?! He will not tolerate our complete detachment throughout these years. We banished him from our lives, we didn't even dare to think of his possible survival. If he is truly back, do you think gaining his pardon will be so easy?"
"Cissa, you know not reaching him will be far worse than begging. There is no way out. Aurors and the Ministry would never be able to protect us, I wouldn't be strong enough to protect you and Draco. He would come for us all. Now that he is back it means he will have his rise once more, and it will be best to serve him again."
"I fear for you. What if he… he kills you?"
"Then, he probably won't care to harm my family, not so quickly."
"He would exploit us!"
"If anything happens I want you to take our savings and run with Draco, hide in one of your father's old places, the furthest, and come back only when and if he is ever defeated."
"No! Nothing will happen. You will be fine, darling, I am sure. Words have strength, so do not use them in vain.
"Cissa, you know it is completely possible…"
"Lucius, please! Nothing will happen."
"Very well then, contradicting you is innocuous."
"Better, much better. You need to rest now, enough of thinking the problem through."
"I don't think I can shut my eyes."
"Have some tea, please. It's chamomile, it will help."
"Thank you, love." They gazed at each other for quite some time, though their uninvited guest had already subsided his watch.
The conversation had been confusing to Draco, but he understood they were all in danger because of a certain someone. What was it that was moving so vividly anyway?! Was it a warning? He had never seen his mother so preoccupied and his father so drained. It didn't take long for the boy to piece the puzzle together: at that moment his father lifted his teacup to his lips and this dark silhouette danced on his skin, like a slithering… No. Nevermind memories for now.
Before falling asleep, Draco wondered what had happened to his colleagues, inevitably envying Ronald Weasley. His father probably had gone to his rescue alongside more than a couple of brave Aurors; most importantly, when they got home and Mr. Weasley rolled up his sleeves before having some tea, Ronald had not seen a speck on Arthur's arm beside his common freckles.
Later on, the Triwizard Tournament came to Hogwarts, bringing French girls, some of which he knew already due to family connections, and the Bulgarians. Sitting next to Viktor Krum during dinner had been awesome too. The Durmstrang's champion was Draco's role model when it came to Quidditch, but it was embarrassing to tell Krum he couldn't win the Inter-House games for Slytherin. He never got the Golden Snitch when Harry Potter was on the field.
"People alvays say I'm Quidditch star and just vin, but ven I vas yunger I lost many Snitches too. Keep training and you vill get them all. You need hard work to vin!"
Of course, he should have seen the worst coming, as lately, his days were too good and calm to be true, (except for his constant broom flights under heavy rain). At the minute Harry Potter's name was expelled from the Goblet of Fire, everything crumbled. Again, his rival was at the center of all attentions, the most singular wizard of all, ready to be bathed in glory. A cheating Gryffindor. In the beginning, nobody supported him; even the professors had their doubts. People teased Potter at any chance. Granger, the Weasels, even Longbottom seemed to be far from him as if he had the plague, but no one quitted gazing at him along with all the school. He was becoming an outcast.
Surprisingly, Malfoy rejoiced Potter's apparent defeat for two seconds, creating badges and provoking the Gryffindor, until frustration took over him entirely. Even after being morally questioned and joked at Potter had not given up, gaining applause, cheers and his allies back. The Slytherin was childish sometimes, insensitive at best, but at that moment he had realized why his rival was still standing by now. For a minute the world was against Potter and he looked weak, pathetic. However, when his friends came to his aid he finally ascended a Champion, and that was all that happened year after year. It would probably keep happening forevermore. Sadly, Draco acknowledged that should the day come he would hit the bottom, no one would rescue him, for he had bodyguards, wealth and self-serving acquaintances. He knew gold was not enough to buy loyalty, nor was its power and fame. For a minute, being the spitting image of Lucius wasn't an advantage, it could even be the death of him, and the boy wondered once more what was it like to have a name different from Malfoy.
But what was he even thinking? Malfoy was the only way. Mere friendship wouldn't lead him to the top and trusting and expecting help from others was a waste of time, besides being an act of foolishness. Caring too much for outsiders was a weakness, it was dangerous. The family was all that mattered and his loyalty would be pledged to his name as usual, as the traditions said, as his heart said. Now more than ever he should prepare for dark times. Cedric Diggory was dead, Potter claimed the Dark Lord was alive and the Wizarding World was chaotic. No one believed Potter, logically, except Draco himself. As soon as he heard Scarhead's allegations, Malfoy knew he shouldn't be surprised if his father got caught by Aurors at some point because that black snake on Lucius' arm would likely be slithering across the man's skin and under his flesh, a fearful warning Draco wanted to forget.
His last resort was to pretend to live in a world of childishness as much as he could, just as a boy should, after all...
"Nobody knows. Not yet."
When the time came he would do anything for his family, much like his father, much like his mother. They had qualities and flaws, they had committed numerous mistakes and sins, but they were all virtuous too, for their biggest triumph was loving each other unconditionally.