Posted: May 9, 2012
Last Updated: May 9, 2012
Word Count: 2,151
Summary: My name is Draco Malfoy. I am a pureblood wizard from an ancient family, born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and apparently it's up to me to restore honor to the Malfoy family and reverse all the damage my father has done by using the Malfoy house motto: Patientiâ vinces - By patience thou wilt conquer.
Parallel: Harry Potter
Patientiâ Vinces
My name is Draco Malfoy.
That's right, Malfoy. I am a pureblood wizard, descending from an ancient family. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, as they say—born into wealth and power and everything a young boy could want. My father is one of the most influential men in magical Britain and my mother one of the most beautiful women in high society. Everyone respects and fears my very name, because after all, I am a Malfoy.
Oh, and did I mention that I hate my father with a burning passion?
It's not teenage rebellion, thank you very much. I have hated him for years, since before I even started Hogwarts. I think it may have started when I saw him slap my mother. It was a very un-Malfoy thing to do—not that I care about her either, mind you. She's the most pretentious, stuck up woman I've ever met, and that's really saying something. But my father is worse than her with the way he walks around, preening like a peacock.
Idiots. I can't stand the lot of them.
Is this what the Malfoy name has been reduced to? Squabbling over scraps dropped by the Minister? Gossiping like Muggles? Engaging in acts of violence like common criminals? And in plain view of the public too! The Malfoy name had been tarnished, perhaps irreversibly so. We had once been wizarding nobility, the elite of the elite. And now?
Well I for one will not stand for it any longer. I will retake the Malfoy name and return it to what it had once been. And I'll do it the Malfoy way—by any means necessary.
Patientiâ vinces
By patience thou wilt conquer
o-O-o
I hummed under my breath as a witch bustled around me, pinning up the robe I was wearing so that it could be adjusted to the correct length. The humming was only to distract myself from my internal rage, however. I couldn't even believe that my father had dropped me off here to get my robes. Me! A Malfoy! In my ancestors' days they would have had a proper seamstress come to the Malfoy manor for a fitting.
Madam Malkin hustled another young boy into the back and stood him up on a stool for his fitting.
I cast him a sidelong glance, noting his high cheekbones and wondering if had nobility in his blood. He was certainly a pureblood wizard, at the very least.
"Hello," I said at last. "Hogwarts, too?" Not that there was really anywhere else he'd be attending. He'd probably be shopping closer to one of the other schools if he was. Of course, he could always just be getting robes for a social function; the boy didn't look like he was quite eleven yet.
"Yes," the boy replied. Hmm, not much of a talker.
"I'm doing all my school shopping today," I pressed on regardless. "My parents are away in Italy for the weekend so I want to get it all done before they get back and insist to come along with me." The boy gave me an odd look. I resisted the urge to crack a grin at the expression. "I would like to get a broom as well. A racing one, not a Quidditch one. I've always much preferred the thrills racing to such a rule bound game. Oh—my apologies, do you enjoy Quidditch? I meant no insult."
"It's fine," the boy said in a small voice.
Frowning, I glanced over at the boy and was that he was staring down at the floor. He was wearing old, broken glasses as well, I noticed now that I took the time to look. Perhaps he was from a fallen family and didn't have the money to play?
"Have you ever ridden on a broom?"
"No."
"Now that is a crime," I declared. "I shall have to lend you my sometime."
I mentally patted myself on the back as the boy looked up at me with wide, surprised eyes. One of the first rules of nobility was to occasionally help those poorer than yourself so that they become indebted to you. Father had never learned this lesson and it was for that reason that he was despised by almost everyone in the lower echelons of society.
"Thanks...?" the boy said, trailing away in a question.
I flashed him a smile. "Of course. It's what a Malfoy should do. Know what house you'll be in at Hogwarts yet?"
"No..." He had dropped his gaze again, and I frowned at his apparent lack of self confidence. Wizards should always be sure of themselves.
"Well," I continued, "No one really knows until they get there, do they?"
The boy shrugged and my frown deepened. Getting this boy to speak was like pulling teeth from a griffon. I cast around for another subject and found myself coming up dry. So instead I stuck out my hand while offering a short bow. "I am Draco Malfoy, by the way."
The boy hesitantly accepted my hand, looking as though he wasn't sure whether to bow or not. "Harry Potter."
I couldn't stop the widening of my eyes, nor the way my gaze automatically flickered up to his hairline, searching for the scar there. When he—Harry Potter!—grimaced, I cursed myself for acting in such an unseemly manner. But honestly, I hadn't been expecting that response. I had always pictured Harry Potter as being a tall, confident boy, striding around as though he owned the wizarding world. Certainly not the scrawny child before me!
"Ah, forgive me," I said carefully. "I hadn't expected to meet you here in Diagon Alley. Please do forgive my rudeness."
Potter blinked, taken aback. "That's, er, fine?"
"No, no, not at all. As a Malfoy I must help to set the standards for the wizarding world, and gaping at you like you're a caged sphinx is certainly not up to standards. Please allow me to make it up to you." Harry stared wide-eyed at me, unable to formulate a response. "I know!" I exclaimed. "I'll buy you a broom! How does that sound? First years technically aren't allowed to have brooms, but so long as you don't use it this year, you should be fine."
And again Harry was gaping at me, looking completely shocked. Honestly, it was as though the boy had never received a gift before!
Although... If I remember correctly, Potter was raised by Muggles. That would explain a whole lot about how he was acting! I wanted to scoff at the very thought of a wizard being raised by Muggles, but instead I smiled confidently at Potter. If that was the case, then I would just have to reverse the damage they'd done to him and turn him into a proper wizard.
As soon as both our robes were done, I hopped off the stool and then turned back to Potter, offering my hand to him once more. "Well then, shall we?"
The boy hesitated for only a second before taking my hand, gratitude in his eyes.
o-O-o
"I don't know why you and Uncle Serverus don't get along," I commented as I took a swig from by goblet of pumpkin juice.
Harry shrugged as he sat down next to me at the Slytherin table. "Blame him, not me," he said shortly. "I've never done anything to him, but he's hated me since the first day."
"It's not hate—" Harry threw me a pointed look. "—just...severe dislike. He always says that you'll be a bad influence on me."
Snorting loudly at the thought, Harry began to pile his plate with food. At the same time he glanced around at the Halloween directions, staring openly at the bats flying over head. He opened his mouth to comment, but whatever he would have said was forgotten when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."
He then sunk to the floor in a dead faint.
There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding form the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.
"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
As all of the students swarmed towards the door, whispering fearfully and quite loudly, Harry hesitated. "What now?" I asked with a sigh.
"Hermione... We were going over our Charms essays—that's why I was late. But she was still in the library when I left. She doesn't know about the troll."
I rolled my eyes. "That Muggleborn Ravenclaw?" I scoffed. "Are still studying with her?"
"She's the best student in our year," Harry pointed out. "And would you stop calling her 'that Muggleborn'? She's a witch, no matter her heritage."
"True as that may be, she's not a witch just yet. She's still too stuck to her Muggle ideals. Until she loses them and becomes more acquainted with our culture, she's still just a Muggleborn."
"You know, technically I'm a Muggleborn too."
"Yes, but I've been working on getting rid of that." Harry was still wearing a stubbornly determined look. I sighed, recognizing it as the one he got whenever he had a crazy plan. I quickly searched around for an alternative idea. What would my grandfather have done in this situation? "Look," I said at last, "we can't take on a troll. They're massive brutes and they smell. Why don't you just tell a professor where she is so that a trained wizard can go get her?"
Harry's face softened at that, his determination cracking. "But what if they don't get to her in time? I know exactly where she is."
"Is there a problem Malfoy, Potter?" Snape asked, looming above them.
I grinned up at my godfather, glad for his sudden presence. "Professor, I was just going to look for you," I said, smothering a smirk.
Harry scowled.
o-O-o
"What do you mean the Sorcerer's Stone is in Hogwarts?"
Harry laughed, as though the situation was actually funny. "Well I've kind of been tracking it down all year," he said, "ever since I heard something between Snape and Quirrell—you remember, I told you about that."
"We?" I questioned.
"Theo, Blaise, Hermione, and I. Yes, Hermione—don't look at me like that. We didn't know it was the Sorcerer's Stone at first though. We just heard something about Flamel from Hagrid and did the research from there. Anyway, eventually Blaise had his mother look into it and he found out that Flamel loaned the Stone to Dumbledore. No idea why though."
I stared at Harry. "He loaned the Sorcerer's Stone?"
"Well not to use," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "For protection."
"...Flamel has been protecting the Stone for what, 600 years? Why would he need Dumbledore's protection now?" Harry stopped at that, unable to find an answer. I sighed and rubbed my temple. "Right, well, never mind. If it's here now, then the how and why don't matter." At least not to Harry. "Do you know where the Stone is?"
"Third Corridor, probably. The one that Dumbledore warned us about."
"...Why would he bring attention to it if he's trying to protect it?" I asked.
Harry shrugged. "Reverse psychology?"
"Or a trap." I hummed thoughtfully. "Or maybe the Stone isn't here at all and it's just a diversion. But that would mean that someone in specific is after the stone, and that they're in this school—why else put it in a school?"
"Yeah, I would think Gringotts would have been safer..." Harry muttered. He started suddenly. "Hey, that's right! There was that whole break-in at the beginning of the year, remember? Well it happened same day that I met you in Diagon Alley. And that same day Hagrid took a small package out of the bank for Dumbledore."
"The Stone," I said with a small amount of awe. "You were that close to it?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's not the Stone itself that matters though. Just keeping it safe."
I quickly offered him a smile. "Oh, of course," I replied. "That's exactly what I meant." Harry could be such a Muggle sometimes. It seemed he still had a fair ways to go within before he was a proper wizard. "So, if Dumbledore is keeping it safe, then what business do you have with it?"
Scratching the back of his head sheepishly, Harry smiled. "Right, back to my original point," he said. "Someone's going to try to steal the stone. Tonight. We tried to warn Headmaster Dumbledore, but Professor McGonagall told us that'd he'd been summoned to London. Very suspicious timing, if you ask me."
Oh Merlin, I could see where this was going—and there was no way it was going to end well.
o-O-o
A/N: Just a few quick scenes, but this is an idea that I've had some interest in and have been working on for a little while. 90% of fanfictions seems to be about "If Harry was like X instead of Y, how would that affect canon."—this story is "If another character was like X instead of Y, how would that affect canon."
Happy reading!
-S.R.