Draco had thrown a tantrum after Mother told him I was going to Hogwarts. "I want to come, Mother!" He whined. "Why can't I come?"
"Darling," Mother said, "You'll go when you're old enough, Draco." She turned to face me.
"You've already got your own wand, and Lucius can get everything else." I nodded solemnly, though it was hard with Draco making faces at me from behind her back. "Now then, go pack up!" She shooed me away and turned back to Draco, who immedietly assumed the look of an angel.
I rushed up to my room, where I had been practicing various hexes on a dummy I had created out of old clothes and my trunk. I had noticed that all my jinxes were more powerful when I imagined doing them on Draco. What a coincidence.
"Expelliarmus!" I said, and the old stick I was pretending was the wand of the dummy flew out of its hand and hit me in the face. I swore and picked up the stick. It had broken in half, and I attempted a Repairing Spell. "Reparo." The stick mended itself. "At least I can do household spells right," I muttered. Before the letter came, I'd thought I would become a wife to some Pureblooded bigot. Now I wasn't so sure. I didn't even know if I was Pureblood. So much was uncertain now. I was balancing on a pole of lies.
"Titiana! Come down here right now!" I started, and then went into action. I pushed the dummy into my mostly empty closet (despite Mothers dreams, I never had been much for clothes) and shoved my wand into the sheath at my waist, given to me by some Death Eater for my ninth birthday.
I sprinted down the stairs, mussing my hair uncontrollably. Mother stood at the bottom, along with a sullen Draco. "Little Draco says you hexed him," she said grimly. "Is this true?"
"No! I would never do such a thing to my little brother!" I smiled at Draco fondly.
Mother turned to him. "Draco, it is not dignified for a child of your upbringing and blood to lie about such trivial things. Apologize to your…sister right this moment!"
"Sorry, Titiana…" Draco looked down.
"That's better." Mother took Draco's hand and walked away with him, shooting me a suspicious glance. "Now Draco, let's go see Mr. Yaxley."
I sighed. Another punishment narrowly avoided. This happened near to every day. Draco would accuse me of something, and I would have to slither out of it. It was never true…usually.
"Ms. Titania?" A squeaky voice startled me out of my reverie. "Master wants to see you, you will please come with Dobby now, please."
"Oh!" I looked down and met the eyes of a scrawny house-elf. "Dobby! Yes, of course, I'll come." I followed him up a grand staircase in the ballroom into a large council chamber. Dobby was the only "Malfoy" who was kind to me, and I could guess that that was no order. He deserved better, the poor elf.
"Dobby will leave now, Master." Dobby shrunk out of the room.
"Yes. Leave us." Father had always scared me. He was imposing, and I knew he would not hesitate to hurt me if I damaged his pride, house, family, or beliefs. Practically anything.
"Now, Titiana, I needed to talk to you for a very…specific reason. You are going to Hogwarts." His voice was silken, filling the room. "You will realize that most…all of our family is in Slytherin, or once was. I will not say that this is required of you, I just say it is…preferred. If not…well then, I'm sure there are plenty of other families who are willing to take you in. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." I quivered.
"Leave me!" He swirled his dark robes about and seemed to disappear, leaving a swirl of black smoke behind him. I gulped and sprinted out of the council room.
I ran up to my room, almost knocking over Dobby. "Sorry!" I gasped at him.
"Mistress need not worry, Dobby is fine." Dobby picked himself up off the ground. He insisted on calling me Mistress, even though I was not officially a Malfoy.
I burst through the door to my room, breathing hard. I crashed into the the trunk which I had been packing, knocking half the contents out and swore. Trying to pick up the spilled clothing, I swept my wand about and cried to the empty room; "Wingardium leviosa!" One sock did a feeble flop into the air, but then fell to the ground. I swore again and resorted to manual picking-up-of-clothes.