To be a Malfoy
Draco sat quietly in the Slytherin common room staring into the fire. Around him the annoying chatter of his housemates drained away as Draco drowned them out. His seventh and final year at Hogwarts was upon him and his future drew near. He was to finally become a man, a man his father had trained him his whole life to be.
To be a Malfoy meant complete control, not only over himself but over those around him, and Draco had been trained to a sharp perfection. The last year had proved to be one of his most difficult; his father having been thrown into Azkaban at the hands of scar-head Potter at the end of his fifth year had indeed been testing, but nonetheless rewarding in every sense.
He had been forced to take control over his family, his weak whimpering mother had been little help. During his sixth year Draco had controlled his father's business empire as well as do his schoolwork. He had withdrawn from the pitiful Crabbe and Goyle and chose to spend his time in solitude, he did not engage in the hateful conversations of those whose fathers had been captured along with his. Draco knew full well that his father would breach to walls of Azkaban, the Dark Lord was back, and the escape of his inner circle servants was inevitable.
And of course, towards the end of the summer before his seventh year, his father had returned. Without a single word of praise or gratification Lucius had commanded Draco to continue his reign over the Malfoy businesses from Hogwarts and to prepare himself for his new education that would take place after his graduation. To pass the time Snape would be his mentor. Draco smirked, Snape was a strong and arrogant bastard but he knew his stuff, so deep was his professor's knowledge in the Dark Arts that it surpassed his own fathers knowledge tenfold. Draco was grateful for such a competent mentor.
The rest of Hogwarts had taken his withdrawal as an act of humbleness, Draco laughed at it. The Golden Trio had been gob smacked, he knew that among themselves they had gossiped and mocked him. Draco ignored it, they had no idea to what he had become, nor did they know what he would progress to be. Draco Malfoy rose above their petty squabbles and acts of valour and courage; he was superior, learning so much more about those around him in his silence. Draco spoke to but one person… Blaise Zabini, who had become a well trusted and reliable friend, perhaps the only friend Draco would ever come to have.
Potter was made Head Boy and his mudblood lover Head Girl. Draco knew that scarhead loved Granger, even if they were both oblivious to the little fact. Gryffindors hung their hearts out on their sleeves, all except one… the great thorn in his side… that little she-Weasel. He hated her with passion, an unexplainable hatred that made his blood boil every time he feasted his eyes upon her. A Gryffindor in the wrong house, she was evil, deep within Draco could feel it; she should've been a Slytherin. That feisty little bitch should've been made a member of his house, so he could punish her personally for being such an innocent and naïve fool.
Even the simple thought of her made his blood burn, she should've died, perished in the Chamber of Secrets, her mind should've been broken by Tom Riddle's possession of her soul. Oh, he knew full well of the events of her first year at Hogwarts. His father had told him in full when he returned home that summer, Ginevra Weasley will break, Lucius had told him, and he had watched her and waited patiently since he returned for his third year for her failure… it never happened. She prevailed, the little bitch had survived, her mind and soul fully intact, her innocence still radiated off her like a bright beacon against a starless midnight sky, pure and unscathed. She'd sit in the Great Hall laughing with her friends, smiling and joking, like a queen on her throne surrounded by her loyal subjects in court.
But he knew - he knew she was scarred, deep within she was wounded and bleeding. He'd watched her every move, like a vulture waiting for its prey to die and rot so it could feast on the carcass. He'd watched her very closely, perhaps too closely and she had indeed been blemished, there were times when her eyes seemed to flare with a red flame and fires would streak across her deep red hair. Draco had seen the anger and bitterness in her eyes, he smelled her hatred and tasted her fear in those rare moments when she failed to hold back the pain and suffering that the Dark Lord had marked on her soul. It had forced him to keep watching and waiting, now after four years of watching her Draco was impatient, this was his last year, the last chance he had to see if she would fall.
Blaise sat himself down beside Draco at the fireplace, no one dared sit near the Slytherin Prince unless invited, even the Parkinson whore knew to stay away unless called for.
"Drake," Blaise muttered quietly.
Draco nodded. "Blaise," he replied. There were little words between him and his friend, they seemed to read each others minds, a connection that was rare between Slytherins, but when they spoke their voices were barely ever above a whisper, to ensure that unwelcome ears never caught what they said, even within their own house. Matters of any level of importance or unimportance were strictly for those who were involved in those matters or who were invited to be privy of them.
"Your mind wonders a lot lately," Blaise said. His last name was Italian, but his accent was Scottish, his father bore Italian blood, one of an ancient Roman line, his mother was a highland witch also of an ancient lineage, and it was there that Blaise was raised.
"I know, but it's always wondering, I've nothing better to do with it in this shameful excuse of a school." Draco smirked.
Blaise grinned. "Ah, well, 'tis our last year here, soon you'll have no time for your own mind."
Draco's face darkened and his eyes glinted dangerously., "Mmm, so it would seem," he murmured.
"Any fun tonight?" Blaise asked casually.
Draco glanced over at where Parkinson was sat with a band of girls who were as irritable and annoying as Pansy herself and shrugged. "Unless anything else more enticing comes my way, then I suppose she'll make do as my source of amusement."
"It's a good thing with this new system of seventh years allowed their own personal rooms." Blaise grinned.
"Indeed, it's for the N.E.W.Ts, the old man thought it vital that we all get our own space for concentration." Draco smirked, "'it's a useful privilege."
Blaise sniggered. "Undoubtedly the privacy has come into great use for many boys and girls."
"Undoubtedly, "Draco muttered, glancing once more at Parkinson, "Anyway its time for dinner." Draco stood and headed towards the dungeon portrait hole with Blaise following close behind him.
.
.
Sitting in the shadows at the Slytherin table in the great hall Draco stared at her. She was laughing at something Creevey had said as she helped herself to the mashed potatoes.
"Drake." Blaise hissed.
Draco turned to face Blaise, tearing his eyes away from Ginevra. "Blaise."
"Too long you've been watching your Weaslette, Drake, and he's noticed for quite some time now." Blaise muttered.
"I know." Draco replied with a smirk on his face.
"Then why do you keep watching her?" Blaise muttered.
"She amuses me." Draco replied shortly.
Blaise smirked, "Aye, I can see that she does, but it's not wise… not with your future so near."
"She'll not affect my future; I know what is in store for me." Draco hissed.
"Aye, I don't doubt you do. But she will be the death of you, Drake, mark my words. You and I both know she possesses a unique strength beyond normal witches, or even wizards for that matter." Blaise sighed.
"No, Blaise, she'll be my making…" Draco muttered, more to himself than to Blaise.
The truth was Ginevra did possess strength beyond Draco's imagination. Voldemort's possession of her soul should have broken her mind, contaminated her soul with darkness. She had nightmares, Draco knew this, he'd heard of the stories about the little Weaslette screaming and crying in her sleep at night. But she prevailed; her strength had evidently pulled her through. Draco had been infuriated at the end of his third year. He had so much wanted to mock and tease Ronald Weasley of his sister's downfall. But it had never come and still Draco found himself watching and waiting for it to happen. She would eventually turn to the dark side to rid herself of her nightmares, to find comfort in that which had destroyed her. He'd been proved wrong, and a Malfoy was never wrong. Her eyes had changed, he remembered her eyes in Flourish and Blotts when his father had placed Tom Riddle's Diary in her posession, she was privy to something he was not and he burned to know what it was that had changed her eyes.
"Either that or she will be your downfall. You play a dangerous game with her mind Drake." Blaise sighed.
"I'm not touching her mind." Draco retorted coolly.
"Of course you're not," Blaise snorted. "But evidently she is touching yours." He added as he sipped on his pumpkin juice.
Draco frowned; Blaise knew more than Draco was comfortable with. Ginevra Weasley had become his obsession, Draco didn't like this small fact himself, he was drawn to the youngest Weaslette in a way he could not explain.
Blaise sighed, "You should stop."
Draco nodded, "Yes, I should, but I hate her so."
"Drake, you feel." Blaise muttered.
Draco frowned, "Then it's a feeling of great hatred."
Blaise shrugged, "If you say so… whatever it is, it'll be your undoing."
Draco laughed, "She will be my making," turning his eyes on Blaise Draco added, "or as you say… she'll be the death of me." And stared at Ginevra from across the hall.
Ginny felt a pair of eyes on her, the hair on the back of her neck prickled and tingles travelled up and down her spine as goose bumps traversed up her arm, looking up she made eye contact with none other than Draco Malfoy, her smile instantly evaporated off her face and her eyes flashed with hatred before she turned away in disgust. He scared her, his steely grey eyes so cold and yet so intense, they watched her constantly, she could feel them, she knew every time he looked her way, and it petrified her, his eyes seemed to bore into her very mind and stare into her soul, she felt exposed under his scrutiny, almost naked.
"Looks like the feeling is mutual then." Blaise sniggered.
Draco chuckled, "Alls fair in love and war, now shut up."
"Indeed, and you'll never win her over, I bet you 500 galleons."
Draco smirked, "Who says I am trying to win her over?"
Blaise laughed, "I wager that you'd save her life a thousand times over before you even considered killing her."
Draco's eyes flashed, Blaise was treading in dangerous territories, "Stop talking of what you know nothing of." He hissed.
Blaise glanced at the Ravenclaw table, "Who says I don't know, oh I know, Drake, I know well enough… I know the feeling exactly."
Draco followed his gaze, "Lovegood?!" he spat in surprise.
Blaise frowned, "No you fool! Blackwood!" he hissed.
Draco smirked, "Ah, Eleanor."
"Aye," Blaise sighed, "I love her, I'm certain."
Draco frowned Blaise spoke of love, this was something Slytherins would not admit to lightly. Draco had a hunch that Blaise knew of his true feelings for his Weaslette… the fact was that his obsession had gone beyond hatred… it had spurred into an attraction, his hatred had backfired immensely. Draco feared for the littlest Weaslette, he knew what was in store for her, and his outward hatred for her was vital to his future. Blaise was testing Draco for his trust by giving Draco his faith, knowing that Draco could use this trust against him in the future… Eleanor's life was now in Draco's hands… and Blaise had made it so.
As a Slytherin he was secretive and ambitious, as a Malfoy he was expected to be cold and cruel, heartless and emotionless yet knew the identity of all feelings. He could taste fear, smell hatred, he was tuned to acknowledge the presence of emotions yet wasn't supposed to feel anything. The Weaslette had broken his chain, corrupted his blueprint, she had defied his family laws and traditions by challenging him… she'd become his obsession and she was innocent and ignorant of it.
Draco sighed heavily, "How long have you known?"
"I guessed… somewhere in the middle of our sixth year." Blaise replied.
Draco fell silent for a few moments, "I did hate her… with passion, I think I still do."
"Tis strange, but know this, your secret is safe with me, Drake. I'll not betray you."
"Aye, I know this already, Blaise. Likewise to you, your Eleanor, she'll not come to danger from me." Draco replied, a Slytherin rarely said thank you, in fact, a Slytherin never said thank you, things were expected and accepted or they weren't, it was that simple.