Draco spent the majority of the following autumn at home being tutored by Professor Gaunt, a little old man who stuttered occasionally and was nowhere near as interesting as Snape. However, Draco had to admit that this new tutor knew his stuff and kept Draco on his toes when it came to remembering hard potions. About once a month, Uncle Snape made an appearance and told Draco how his elder brother was fairing: perfectly. Uncle Snape didn't talk all that much about Herculen, however, because the Malfoy's frequently got owls cataloguing their son's omnipresent success at Hogwarts. Instead, Draco received something he realized he was missing since his brother left: companionship.
Draco grew to look forward to Uncle Snape's occasional visit because, although Snape didn't play with Draco, he enthralled the 7 year old with stories and shows put on by spells that he had created in his free time. Sometimes they were shows of lights that shot into the air in various patterns, and other times Uncle Snape would mutter something under his breath and Draco's well loved stuffed dragon would jerk to life and talk and walk like any magical toy.
Once of twice Draco had asked his godfather to read him a story from a storybook, but Snape refused, and so the Tales of the Beedle Bard was left dusty and untouched, for Draco knew better than to ask his own father to read to him. Lucius was much to busy to spend time with his younger son, Draco knew that well, so he didn't even try to talk to his father except at meal times. Even then most of the conversation was dominated by his parent's discussion over Herculen's most recent letter. Although Narcissa frequently asked Draco how he was fairing, he often had little of interest to say, so his father always turned the conversation back to Herculen's successes.
"He's a perfect Slytherin," Lucius repeated at least every other day. "Don't you think Herculen is a perfect Slytherin, Narcissa?"
And every other day his wife would reply, "Yes Lucius, he does seem to be a perfect Slytherin."
At Christmas time, Lucius went to personally meet his son at the train station, while Draco and Narcissa waited patiently at home.
"Do you think Uncle Snape'll come this year?" Draco asked his mother as they sat in the sitting room watching the snowflakes fall lazily to rest on the icy ground.
"He always has before. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes an appearance once again," Narcissa replied.
"I hope he does. He always brings the best presents!" Draco told his mother, who nodded absentmindedly. To be completely honest, it wasn't only the presents, that Draco was looking forward to. Maybe Uncle Snape would also make his dragon talk again, or put on a show of lights, or maybe just talk to him about something and not interrupt. Snape never interrupted, which Draco looked forward to each time his godfather visited. If course his mother rarely interrupted, but Snape was special company.
"Oh, here they are Draco. Straighten your collar. There now, smooth your hair. Very good. Oh welcome home Herculen!"
The moment the door flung open, Narcissa had her arms around her elder son, planting a kiss upon the top of his head and asking how the year had been.
"Well, as I told father, Hogwarts is quite pleasant. Of course the classes are ridiculously easy because they're filled with mudbloods, although that's not what we call them there. There they're called muggle-borns. Anyway, since the classes are so easy I have lots of time for quidditch, and I love being the seeker. It's such a thrill to zoom through the skies atop my Nimbus and catch the little golden snitch."
"He's at the top of his class," Lucius spoke up.
"Of course," Herculen nodded. "It would be hard not to be. And how's my favorite little brother?"
Stepping forward, Herculen enveloped Malfoy in a hug declaring that Draco had grown since the last time they'd seem each other.
Herculen had too. He hardly looked like the same brother to Draco what with his developing muscles and newly styled gelled hair. Draco stared at that hair in fascination. It almost looked brittle like it would break if someone tried to comb it; it was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
"So, have your studies gone well little brother?" Herculen asked his brother, who nodded and was about to talk when Lucius declared:
"Well now that you're home we can have dinner and talk even more about your school year. Then perhaps we shall all go to sleep so the elves can start preparing for the Christmas ball later this week."
"Christmas ball?" Draco asked confused, and Lucius sighed with frustration.
"Have you not been listening these past few nights as I've been talking? We are holding a Christmas ball to celebrate Herculen's accomplishments. Almost all the pure bloods are invited, except for a select few of course."
"I hope you didn't invite the Weasleys," Herculen spoke up with a deep sigh. "There's one boy, Percy, and he's alright, but his older brother is on the Gyfindor team, and he's just terrible. His name is Charlie and he's terrible at magic as far as I can tell, everyone says all he cares about is animals. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe from his elder brother, he's such a Weasley. You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Draco. You don't want to go around making friends with the wrong sort."
Draco stared wide-eyed at his brother, shaking his head his head quickly.
"Of course I wouldn't invite the Weasleys," Lucius purred to his son. "They may as well not even be pure bloods. I'm glad you've realized about blood-purity. I afraid Draco has yet to learn. The other day he almost wandered into the muggle store in Diagone Alley!"
"Don't worry, I can help you there," Herculen reassured Draco, who nodded, still flushing with embarrassment from his father's proclamation. He had received quite the lecture after that event.
The rest of the dinner was spent with Herculen telling story after story about his experiences at school, until finally Draco wandered away upstairs, almost bored of the never ending tales. When he didn't hear again from his family, Draco tucked himself in and fell asleep.
The following week found Draco and Herculen constantly accompanied by Lucius. Although Herculen would always allow his brother to tag along it seemed to Draco that he was being rather left out of the conversations. However, every time as he planned to leave his father and brother to talk alone, Herculen would make a point to include his brother, so Draco stayed by his family's side. Eventually it was time for the ball.
That morning was a flurry of excitement as house elves scurried about and got the house ready for the Christmas party. Lucius had instructed Draco to stay in his room as to not get in the way, and a little house elf named Dobby was helping Draco to straighten his stiff, Victorian holiday outfit.
"Master Malfoy looks all ready for the party, yes in deed," Dobby told Draco, who examined himself in the mirror. He didn't know what his brother would be wearing, but he was determined that he would look just as good as his brother would. He trusted Dobby's judgment, for Dobby was the only house elf who would talk to Draco on the long days when his father was shut in his study, his mother was shut in her powder room, and his tutor wasn't visiting.
"Do you think I'll look as good as Herculen?" Draco asked as he turned around in an attempt to glimpse the golden chain that hung halfway down his back, and Dobby nodded.
"Dobby thinks Master Malfoy will look just as good as Master Malfoy's brother."
Smiling in satisfaction, Draco sat upon a chair at the edge of the room to wait until he was called to come. It seemed a long time to him, but finally a house elf appeared at his door and told him to follow her down to the great hall where he would mingle with the guests.
Arriving downstairs, Draco was shocked by the sheer number of people quietly milling about his home. The tinkle of glass was almost as loud as the polite conversation, and Draco hurried through lines of people trying to find either his brother or Uncle Snape. In his hurry, Draco ran smack into a large plump boy who turned to glare at him.
"Hey, watch it," the plump boy growled. "Wait, are you one of them?"
"One of who?"
"The Malfoys of course."
"Yes, I'm a Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
"Well, good to meet you. I'm Vincent Crabbe. So, some party your parents threw, you must be awful proud being a Malfoy and having all this."
"Er, yes it is rather great isn't it," Draco scanned the crowd for his brother. Finally he spotted him over in a corner opening a present from someone. "I'll see you around."
"Count on it, Malfoy," Vincent nodded, and then Draco hurried away.
Hurrying over to his brother, Draco asked what he thought of the big party.
"Well, I am ever so thankful for father acknowledging the fact that I am the best at Hogwarts. And ever so many presents have arrived for me. Have you gotten many, Draco?"
"Er, no," Draco murmured, glancing at the new green and silver scarf held in his brother's hands.
"Well, I'm sure yours are still arriving. Oh, hello Mr. Zabini! Anyway, did you need something Draco?"
"Well, I was just wondering, I guess. Have you seen Uncle Snape?"
"Oh I don't think Professor Snape is quite the party type. He may not be coming this year. Yes, hello Mrs. Greengrass, your dress is lovely! Anyway, Draco, I guess if you don't need anything you can go talk to the guests?"
"Well, okay. After the party, maybe do you want to play or something? We haven't played very much since you got home."
"We'll see how late the party goes," Herculen replied. "Mr. Goyle, it's wonderful to meet you again."
Silently, Draco wandered away from his brother, looking for something to occupy his time. There seemed to be little to do, no one really seemed to notice him, and that Vincent person had disappeared. Finally, after nibbling on a sandwich and failing to find anyone to talk to, Draco wandered back upstairs dismally. Passing his brother's room, Draco noticed a pile of presents magically appearing. Feeling a little hope that there would be a pile of presents in his room too, Draco hurried inside. There was but one from his mother: A silver hairbrush.
Swallowing, Draco sat on his bed and ran his fingers over the wrapping paper of his present. Uncle Snape had never come, maybe he just wasn't the party type.
Suddenly a pop caught his attention and Draco glanced to his side to see a silver package sitting next to him. Curious, Draco pulled away the wrapping paper to reveal a small stack of books. On top was one that read: The Dragon's Den: Chose your own adventure. Under the tittle was a letter that read:
Draco,
I'm sorry I was not there this year. Your father was hosting a pure blood party which I was unable to attend. Although I couldn't come celebrate with you, I hope through these books you are able to travel anywhere.
I hope you enjoy your Christmas, I'll come visit soon,
Severus Snape.
Swallowing again, Draco frowned. Why couldn't Uncle Snape have just come anyway, just for a little while? Sighing, Draco placed the books next to his bed and wrapped himself in a blanket before wishing himself a Merry Christmas and slowly falling asleep.
"Avada Kedavra, I got you!"
"Nu uh, I jumped out of the way! Avada Kedevra!"
"But I already got you Draco. You can't kill me when you're already dead."
Draco sighed and came out from behind his bed, dusting off his hands.
"Okay, fine. What do you want to play now?"
"It's up to you, Draco. You're the one who wanted to play in the first place. At Hogwarts, we don't play anything except quidditch."
"So what do you do when you're not playing quidditch?"
"Oh we talk and we explore, I guess."
"Sounds boring, but I guess that's just what happens when you get older; you get boring. Like father. He never does anything except sit in his study anymore."
"Well he reads to you, doesn't he?"
"No, he just sits in his study all the time."
"Oh, well I won't just sit. I'll read to you if you like. After all, I'll be going back tomorrow, we may as well get some enjoyment out of today what with father being out with his old friends from school and all. You know, they have sons about your age; granted they're not the brightest boys, but perhaps you'll be friends when you get to Hogwarts?"
"Maybe. I met Vincent at the Christmas party. Father said he's Mr. Crabbe's son."
"Indeed he is. He's the brighter one, little brother. Besides that, he's got muscle. Don't tell father, but sometimes I find myself wishing I had a bit of muscle."
"But you're really strong!"
"Pishposh. The Crabbe boy is made of muscle. He'll be an excellent Beater one day."
"Beater?"
"Yes, for quidditch of course. Oh, you are lacking in knowledge, little brother. Perhaps I should just spend the rest of the day teaching you about quidditch?"
"If you want to," Draco looked up to his brother admiringly, but Herculen shook his head.
"No, when you're older maybe; you're still just a kid."
"Am not!"
Herculen smirked at his little brother and then stood from his emerald bed, striding across the room to his dresser. There he picked up his furry brown hat, placed it firmly atop his head, and checked his reflection in the mirror to make sure every one of his golden hairs was in place.
"You look stunning Master Malfoy," the enchanted mirror proclaimed, and Herculen nodded as if that statement had been the most obvious of the century.
"Come on, let's go outside," Herculen turned back to his younger brother. "I feel like skating."
"Skating?" Draco asked, hurrying after his brother.
"Yes. My good friend Timothy told me about it. Apparently it's a mudblood custom from way back that he learned in muggle studies class which he thinks he should take to be a diplomat. Honestly, I wouldn't take muggle studies if my life depended on it, but Timothy is a 6th year and says he wants to know the most basic principals. Anyway, I don't care if dirty little mud bloods do skate, I'm going to try it, and you should too. Just once though, mind you."
"Don't you think father'll get mad?"
"Pishposh, he's out for the day, and mother won't tell. Besides, haven't you noticed that yesterday he finally obliged to listen to your story about the garden sprite or whatever it is you thought you saw? Clearly my enthusiasm for your existence is rubbing off on him. Now come, little brother."
Hesitantly, Draco followed his brother outside where Herculen cast a charm on the cobble stones of the manor. Immediately, a layer of ice appeared, and then Herculen pointed his wand at Draco's feet. Whispering something under his breath, a shot of light appeared, and Draco immediately toppled onto the ground for upon his feet were a pair of odd shoes with a thin metal piece running down the middle.
"Ouch. What are these?" Draco asked, pointing to the shoes.
"Ice skates," Herculen replied. Ice skates appeared on his feet as well, though he didn't fall. Instead he glided onto the ice, turning gracefully to help his brother up. "Come on, Timothy says you skate like this."
Hesitantly, Draco followed his brother's moves, and soon he wasn't half bad at gliding about the ice. Smiling and giving a small laugh, Draco raced after Herculen, spinning in tight, tiny circles.
"Excellent!" Herculen declared. "You're quite good at skating. Too bad it's reserved for mudbloods."
"Indeed it is. So why, pray tell, are both of my sons performing in such an unseemly manner?"
Draco and Herculen spun to see their father standing at the edge of the ice, watching them with cold, grey eyes.
"Father," Herculen skated quickly to the edge of the ice, transfiguring his skates into boots in seconds. "You're home early."
"Indeed. Draco, come off of there."
Clumsily, Draco followed his brother's example, though he didn't know how to transfigure his own skates. Instead, his grabbed his brother's arm to keep from falling down. His father raised a single eyebrow at him and transfigured the skates himself.
"So, I require an explanation."
"Well, sir, it was just because-"
"Don't try to get your brother out of this, Herculen. I am quite aware that you have never shown any inclination toward mudblood tendencies. Draco, on the other hand, has much to learn."
"But, father, I-"
"You may go inside, Herculen. I need to have a talk with your brother."
Herculen glanced at Draco, swallowed, and then wetted his lips nervously. Moments later, he turned and marched inside, Draco's eyes following his brother's disappearing form forlornly.
"Now, Draco," Draco's eyes snapped back to his father. Lucius returned his gaze with a deep frown which lined his frustrated face. "As your father, it is my place to make sure you are being raised correctly. I fear that you don't understand the severity of associating yourself with customs not created by your own people: pure bloods."
Draco considered telling his father that this whole thing was Herculen's idea, but he wiped the thought from his mind for fear of getting his brother in trouble. Besides, despite the fact that his father seemed to have paid a bit more attention to him due to Herculen's many recent attempts for Draco's involvement with his parents, Lucius would never believe ill of his elder son.
"Now, let us get this straight between us. You will never again do something that will give me the slightest impression that you don't despise mudbloods and all of their customs. Do you understand me?"
"Yes father," Draco murmured, feeling increasing upset under his father's sharp gaze.
"I said, do you understand me?" Lucius repeated louder, shouted in fact, his eyes flashing. Blinking, Draco nodded and found that something seemed lodged in his throat.
"Yes father," he said louder, swallowing in vain and instead finding a tear residing at the edge of his eye.
"And Malfoy's never cry!"
"No sir," Draco shook his head, but the stubborn tears only seemed more determined to fall.
"Good, now run along, and don't let me catch you at it again."
Desperately, Draco turned and fled from the spot. Legs flying, he soon found himself in his bedroom where he threw himself upon the comforter and did that which Malfoy's never do.
Please review and tell me what you think! Also, only got 2 reviews last chapter, but thanks for those! :)