So, this is another reminder that if you read the earlier version, then this is entirely different. I would recommend you go back and at least reread chapter three.
Thank you to all my lovely readers! Review to let me know if you like the new stuff!
Draco was young. Eight or nine years old, and it had been a total of three hundred and seventy-five days since he had seen his father and a total of thirteen days since he had seen his mother.
His nanny, Matilda, was always out on Sundays. Draco was used to entertaining himself, but his mother had strictly forbidden the use of his broom until he was eleven and he had read all of the books on his bookshelf.
Which was why he was ecstatic when his mother arrived through the Floo, her arms immediately stretching wide to wrap around his small body.
She soon suggested they go out to a small park outside London, and he enthusiastically agreed because frankly he did not get out of the Manor enough. He grabbed his mother and pulled her through the Floo with him, and they took the long stroll from the station to the park. He was grinning madly and she had an amused smile on her face.
There was only one other child on the playground: a little girl, probably the same age as Draco. He recognized her immediately, but instead of running to the slide to go play with her, he sat down on the bench next to his mother.
She raised an eyebrow at him, but he kept his eyes on the hands in his lap.
"Aren't you going to go play with her?" she asked, gently, as if she was afraid she would scare him away.
He shook his head firmly.
"Well, why not?" she demanded.
"That's Maggie Johnston," he replied honestly. "She's a mudblood. Father says I can't play with mudbloods."
Her eyebrows shot up, no doubt unaware that her husband had taught him that term. "You shouldn't use that word, dear. It makes many people very touchy. And you don't want to limit your connections to those who don't have pure blood."
"Father uses it," he said-not stubbornly, but confusedly.
She only shook her head in response, fixing him with her iron stare. "Trust me, Dragon, yes? Don't use that word anymore."
He hesitated, but finally nodded his consent.
"Do you want to know what I think about muggleborns?" she asked, her voice somewhat distant, her eyes lost in thought. He tilted his head to the side, but she continued anyway. "Your father hates those sort, you see, because he thinks their blood is tainted. But…" she sighed. "They lived ordinary lives until they discovered something entirely extraordinary. They had no capacity for the existence of magic, and suddenly it was there. Do you understand?"
He shook his head slightly, caught up in the many words he hadn't heard before.
She took his hands in hers, smiling. "All they want to do is be a part of this amazing world that you and I live in, that you and I experience every day. How could we possibly hate them for that?"
And Draco did understand, even as a little boy, that she was right. Her words stayed with him throughout his life. And even as prejudice and expectations surrounded him, suffocated him, he knew that she was right.
...
Hermione's father had told her at such a young age that knowledge is freedom.
"Freedom from oppression, freedom from ignorance," he had continued on, his mouth a straight line. "That's why you must take your education so seriously. We can only do so much for you. Everything else you must do for yourself, and you get there by being better than everyone else. Do you understand?"
She'd nodded, and when her letter arrived her parents had to celebrate all the more. Hermione would be such a bright young witch. She would be better than the rest.
But she didn't anticipate it the way that it went. Didn't expect some of those classmates to hate her, didn't expect them to sneer "mudblood" as she walked the halls. Didn't expect the names. None of them wanted to talk to her.
Terry Boot told her she was worthless on the first day of school.
Draco was her only true comfort, with his shining eyes and his thirst for knowledge. Like hers. She needed it, she craved it. And when he approached her with those books, those spell manuals and those history novels and those lovely science fiction muggle paperbacks.
What she did to Boot was instinct. The one thing she'd done that was purely impulsive. It was simple, really. She didn't think about it as she conjured a Cheating Quill and forced him to take it in his hands, hold it tight as he'd walked into Potions, the Imperius Curse binding him to her will.
Terry Boot was taught a lesson. Terry Boot was taken out of the equation, because all he was going to do was hurt the only thing she had ever loved. And that was unacceptable. She was the brightest young witch of her age. She was the brains of the trio. And she couldn't lose Draco.
…
If anything represented hypocrisy in Draco's life, it was the Ministry of Magic.
Bureaucracy rather disgusted him, and he hated anything that reminded him of his father. Lucius had always considered the politicians behind that giant beast to be pieces on a chessboard.
He was not going to be a player in their game.
Which is why he adamantly refused when Pansy Parkinson, a tiny girl who had never spoken to him before in his six years of school, demanded he attend the annual Ministry Ball with her.
"Galleons," she offered. "I can give you galleons."
"Galleons mean absolutely nothing to me," he said, raising an eyebrow imperiously. "Aren't I the wrong person to ask to this ball?"
"You have the highest social standing out of any of the Slytherins in this entire school, and you know it."
He opened his mouth to laugh and disagree, but it occurred to him most of them didn't know he hadn't spoken to either of his parents for months, nor had he seen them. "I don't see why you can't bother to find your own date."
"I don't want to," she said flatly. "Trust me, if I wanted another boy I would look for one. But you… you'll convince my mother and father that I'm on the right track. You know, being a pureblood boy with piles of galleons up to the sky."
He refrained from rolling his eyes. "Why on earth would I do this for you?"
"I can give you anything you like in return," she replied smoothly. "All I'm asking for is one night. Mother and father are going to pull me out of Hogwarts if I don't…" she swallowed, her eyes tilting downwards. When she continued, her voice shook almost imperceptibly. "If I don't demonstrate my loyalty to the cause."
And in that one sentence, he understood. He understood, to an enormous extent, the kind of deadly pressure the second generation of Death Eaters was under. And if he didn't help her, he would allow the cycle of violence to continue.
Better to play the game and win then to forfeit and lose.
"I assume you want to coordinate dress robes?" he asked finally.
She smiled, genuine relief in her eyes. "I will be purchasing your dress robes for you, of course," she responded. "The Ball is on Saturday. Terribly sorry for the late notice, Draco, I didn't mean to put it off for so long."
"It's fine."
"We'll leave at nine. The ball begins at seven-thirty, but I simply cannot bear an extra two hours with my parents. We'll make an appearance and we won't be longer than an hour. I shall arrive at your quarters to assist you in getting ready."
He nodded, accepting these terms easily. It wasn't as if they surprised or baffled him. And when she flounced off, he wasn't shocked that he hadn't gotten a thank you.
The night came soon enough, and he was stuck in his dorm trying to comprehend the complicated fastenings of the robes she had for him. Looking in the mirror didn't help, and he decided to just leave it be until Pansy arrived.
His jaw dropped when he saw that she wasn't, in fact, wearing dress robes. Instead she was wearing a skintight, blush-pink dress that extended a bit farther than her knees. Her hair was arranged in a complicated set of curls. She looked positively stunning.
"Are you sure you'll convince your parents of your blood loyalty in a Muggle dress?"
A smile played across her lips, but she refused to answer. Instead, she grabbed the fastenings of his robe in her hands, starting to work on them immediately. "You decided that you'd leave the hard part to me, didn't you."
He shrugged. Neither of them minded the silence as she worked.
She broke the silence quietly, her voice curious. "Are they going to make you take the Dark Mark?"
He only blinked in response, unwilling to offer up any information. He wasn't sure where Pansy's loyalties truly lied. She might have some rebellious ideas against them, but he knew from experience it was all too easy to be worn down.
"Would you like to trade parental horror stories?" she offered, and he laughed, because he knew it was a legitimate request. It was something purebloods of any age and stature could share: the knowledge that their parents were controlling, manipulative, and demanding.
And he would play along.
"My father informed me that I would marry a pureblood woman of his choosing be the time I was twenty-three or else I would be stricken from the family tree," he began.
She scoffed. "That's nothing, dear. They threatened to disown me every other day. The real threat was being cut off."
He grinned. "My father used to make changes in the will that indicates my trust fund whenever I displeased him." He paused, considering. "That is, when he was around. I suppose it could have been worse if he hadn't traveled so often."
"I wish my parents hadn't been around so often," Pansy sighed. "They are quite lazy folk, you know. It's a wonder my mother stays so skinny; she hardly lifts a finger except to throw elaborate parties at our manor."
"My father told me the Dark Lord would torture me if I didn't do everything my parents said," he replied. "He was curiously drunk, which might explain why it was such a weak threat."
The full-blown grin had disappeared from her face as she let go of his fastenings and conjured a glass of wine. "I think it was when I was eleven. A few months before I'd gotten my letter. My mother had seen two women walking down the shops at Diagon Alley when we were having Sunday brunch." She tilted her head to the side slightly. "My mother turned to me and said 'Those two are disgusting, Pansy, and don't you ever forget it. Frankly I think we should have all of those homosexuals exterminated.'"
Pansy swallowed, putting the edge of her wineglass against her lips and yet refusing to take a sip. "One of them worked for a Potions Master. She pulled some strings and had her blacklisted."
The room was quiet as she sloshed the wine around in her glass and allowed it to breathe.
"Have you ever been in love, Draco?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, finally nodding his affirmative.
"Only the truly pure can fall in love, I think," she said, her words starting to slur together slightly. Obviously she had had a glass or two of wine before she'd even gotten here. "The rest of us just fall in love with whatever it is we want to see in ourselves. That sort of selfishness is inevitable, I suppose."
And after a short pause, she spun around, grabbing his hands. "We might as well leave, darling, we have quite an appearance to make."