Draco was positively giddy as he ran around the informal dining room's table, waving his letter in the air.

"I got a letter from Harry Potter!"

"We know, dear," Mother said, "We were here when it arrived. Now, sit down and finish your dinner."

"He says he likes the presents I got him!" Draco said, kicking his feet excitedly under the table as he corralled a bite full of peas onto his fork.

"Calm down, or you're going to choke yourself," Father scolded, fondly.

"Sorry, Sir."

"You remember what we talked about, last night?"

Draco nodded dutifully. Harry Potter was Different. Harry had been raised by muggles, and needed help learning all of the things he should have learned as a little kid. Harry thought differently than normal wizards did, because of how his muggles had raised him, and Draco needed to be extra careful to listen to what Harry thought, and make sure Harry felt accepted, before Draco could talk to Harry about the truth. If Draco did it wrong, Harry would never listen to him, and Draco would lose his new, famous friend.

"What words are you never to use where Harry Potter might hear you?" Father asked.

"Mudblood," Draco answered, in a loud whisper.

"What else?"

"Blood traitor. Dark Lord. Filthy muggles. Half-breeds."

"Very good."

"But dad, what do I call the half-breeds, then? That's what they are!" Draco asked.

"If you know who they are, refer to them by name. If you are pointing them out to someone, try to use your words to describe their physical appearance in a way that doesn't relate to their species, or what they're wearing. If you must, be specific, like half-goblin, or half-veela."

"That's silly. Why are people afraid of words that are true?"

"Remember what I said about Harry's mother, dear?" Mother interjected.

"…Yeah."

"Words that are true can still be used to hurt people, if they are used as an insult over and over again. When that happens, it is polite to find different true words, to make sure that no one is insulted, accidentally."

"How do I know which words are the bad ones?"

"If you learned the words from people who were using them as insults, even in a joking way, it is best to avoid them, just to be on the safe side. You can always ask us, if you aren't sure. Eventually, you will be able to figure out which words are the bad ones by listening to other people speak, and by judging their reactions. Sometimes the same joke is funny to some people, but not to others, even if they are both meant to be insulted by it. Sometimes even a joke that his not meant to be hurtful at all, can still cut deep."

Draco huffed. "This is hard. I've been called mean words before, and I'm still friends with Pansy. I don't understand why this is different."

"You understand the phrase 'actions speak louder than words', son?" Father asked.

"Yes."

"Well, these particular words used to be spoken by people who followed them up with action. It is one thing to call someone a mudblood, it is another thing to call someone a mudblood while you are burning down their house, and murdering their family."

"Oh." That made Draco pause, and be put his fork down, suddenly not hungry. "…Dad? You didn't really follow The D- You-Know-Who in the war, did you? It's just, you have the mark, and you still call him The Dark Lord, even though you say he forced you to fight for him."

"Why do you think I say it, Draco?"

"To make people squirm," Draco said, with a smirk. "To scare people into giving in."

Father nodded, in approval. "The rumors about the war will never go away, not in my lifetime. If I pretend that they don't exist, people will keep saying them, in places where I can't hear, and in ways I can't control. Sometimes, in grown-up politics, it is better to say your weaknesses out loud, so people can't use your fear of them against you. By saying it without fear, I make people worry that they might be wrong, and sometimes, when I need them to be weaker than me, I make them worry that they might be right."

It was all so complicated. Draco didn't understand how his father could keep it all straight, in his head. "Father, can you practice talking with me tomorrow?"

"We aren't talking, now?"

"No, I mean introductions and stuff. Talking to strangers to make them like you. Small talk."

"Are you nervous about school?"

"No! …Well, yes, but I'm not talking about me, right now. I want to help Harry. Everyone is going to know who his is, but he'll only know me, so it's my job as his friend to make sure everyone likes him, right?"

"That's almost correct," Mother said, with a soft smile. "It is your job to make sure that the right people like him. If you want him to be your dormmate, make sure he has a good first impression of everyone in a green Slytherin tie. Make sure he is on good terms with your friends."

"I… I'll try. Father, I really need your help."

"Why not get your mother to help you?" Father asked, with a smirk.

Mother rapped Father's his arm with a spoon. "Don't tease your wife, husband."

"Daaaad, Mum's terrible with meeting new people!"

Father adopted a look of pure shock, that Draco new was all pretend. "She is? Son, are you sure?"

"You laugh now, Lucius, but it's going to be a long, cold winter this year," Mother said, sweetly.

Father coughed. "Be nice to your mother, Draco. But yes, I will practice talking with you, tomorrow."

"There's my boys," Mother said, laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Speaking of practice, Draco, your friend's study technique sounds impressive," Father said, not-so-smoothly changing the topic.

"It sounds bloody impossible," Draco grumbled darkly. He just knew father would bring it up, sooner or later.

"Language. You're the one who claimed you'd be first in your year. You're going to need to do more than skim your textbooks the night before classes, if you want to reach that goal."

"But it's summer!"

"And you want to be a Slytherin. Are you ambitious or not?"

Draco pouted. He refused to be stuck as a bloody Hufflepuff for the rest of his life, just because Harry bloody Potter had devised some insane scheme to earn a mastery in potions before he even started first year. He would study as much as he had to, to compete, but he didn't have to be happy about it!

"If I study hard during the days, will you go flying with me at night?" Draco asked, trying to look more innocent than shrewd.

Father snorted unbecomingly. "I will, on nights when I have time. You could always ask your mother, too."

"Mother's no good at finding the snitch," Draco complained. "And she's way too good as keeper. She never, ever lets me score!"

"You could play catch."

"Catch is boring."

"You could have Dobby set up a flying obstacle course for you, again."

Draco sat up straight. "Really?!"

"As long as you get your mother or I to approve it before you actually attempt to fly through it, this time. There is something wrong with that bloody elf."

Draco nodded. Dobby was definitely a weird elf, but he had loads of crazy ideas that were fun when they didn't almost get him killed.

"Deal."