A Little Prince

When Draco entered the schoolroom the next morning, it was to a chorus of whispers and murmurs from the other boys. By that time, every last pupil in the school had heard of the newcomer, and, predictably, were very curious about him.

"I´ll wager he´s a spoiled brat," pronounced Zacharias Smith, who was, at nearly twelve years of age, one of the eldest boys in the preparatory form. He was a rather bad-tempered young man, as he had worked hard to gain his spot in the school and at the head of the class, and was not pleased with the idea of someone just waltzing in and taking it from him.

"My father says his father was a real wanker," sneered one of the younger boys, a handsome, dark-haired rogue by the name of Orion Black. "Always walked around like he had a pole up his arse."

"Hush, Rion," hissed his companion, a smaller but older lad by the name of Harry Potter. His green eyes flashed in warning. "Mind your language. Remember what happened last time Fudge caught you swearing."

"I don´t care about Fudge," Orion said pompously, but his cool image was completely shattered when an evil glare from Fudge caused him to squeak and dive back into his reading. Harry rolled his eyes a bit at his younger companion and picked up his own book, still continuing to gaze surreptitiously at the newcomer.

Draco tolerated their curious gazes with equanimity, offering up some interested gazes of his own as he took his seat at the head of the class. His father had told him a bit about some of these boys´ fathers, as he had attended school with some of them, but, having never been around boys of the same age before, he was excessively interested in what they might be thinking, and how they might behave when not under a watchful eye.

After a few minutes of this, Fudge rapped smartly on his desk with his wand. "Attention, gentlemen," he announced, "I wish to introduce you to your new companion." The boys all rose, and Draco rose as well, clasping his hands behind him politely. "I shall expect you all to treat Mister Malfoy with the same respect with which you treat each other," and he cast a very severe glance at Harry and Orion, who tried not to snicker. "His family is old and well-respected, and you will grant him every courtesy while he is here."

The students bowed ceremoniously, and Draco responded in kind, and then they sat down and looked at each other again.

"Young sirs, attend to your lessons," Fudge instructed, and twenty heads bent over their books. Draco sat watching them for a moment before Fudge´s voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"Draco," he said, "come here to me." He was holding a small birch rod in his hand. Draco went politely, although he felt somewhat nervous at the way Fudge was handling the rod.

"It is unfortunate that you have come to join us so late," Fudge began, "as there will be a test this afternoon to place those students who have advanced sufficiently into the full form. Your classmates have been practicing their wand movements, and some have learned some simple spells. It is not at all a failing that you have not had these opportunities as of yet. There are still many students who have not yet mastered the wand." He smiled in what was probably supposed to be a kindly manner. "Your father informed me that he has purchased you a wand. However, I must discourage that until you have been properly instructed."

Draco felt a little awkward.

"I have not yet had the opportunity to formally study wand motions," Draco said truthfully, "but--"

Fudge cut him off. "I am afraid," he said in a slightly sour manner, "that you have always been somewhat of a spoiled child and are used to doing things because you wish it. We are very determined that all of our students learn proper wand motions before they are allowed to handle a wand." He held out the rod. "You may practice with this until you have mastered the basics, and perhaps you will have progressed sufficiently by the next test in six months´ time."

If Draco had been older, or better able to express himself, he might have been able to explain himself. But, faced with a rather severe-looking headmaster, he found himself unable to communicate his concern with this situation. He had not formally studied wand motions, it is true, but he had learned in hands-on experience what worked and what did not, and his father had always corrected him when he´d held a wand incorrectly or when his motions had been overly fabricated.

He hesitated, not wanting to be rude, but feeling very strange as he gazed at the piece of wood being offered to him. "I may not have mastered the necessary patterns," Draco tried again, "but--"

Fudge cut him off. One of his own shortcomings, and therefore one of the things he was particularly touchy about, was the fact that his own skill with a wand was somewhat limited. He therefore had no intention of discussing the matter further, especially not with a student.

"That is quite enough," he said firmly. "You will practice with this until you feel quite comfortable with it, and may test with the next group in the summer. The Charms master, Professor Flitwick, will be here soon. Take this, and this book," and he handed Draco a book with many simple diagrams in it, "and practice until he arrives."

Draco´s face was very red when he returned to his seat and opened the book. He was determined not to be rude, but he felt very odd holding a birch twig and attempting to copy a pattern of lines that showed him precisely how to make a swishing motion.

Fudge peered at Draco over his glasses. "You look rather cross, Draco," he said. "I am sorry if you don´t like the idea of learning proper wand motions."

Draco thought he might try again. "I am fond of it," he answered, "but--"

"Draco," said Mister Fudge very firmly, "you do not say `but´ when told to do something. Look at your book again."

And so Draco did, and did not even smile when he turned the page and saw the diagram for `flick´.

The professor arrived very shortly after. He was a very short and good-natured gentleman with a broad smile, and he smiled very broadly indeed when his eye fell upon Draco, who was holding his wand quite correctly and trying politely to practice his wand movements.

"A new pupil, Mister Fudge?" he squeaked, rubbing his hands together.

"Yes," Fudge replied, setting his book aside. "His name is Draco Malfoy, and he has just come from India. This is his first day attending a school, and has not yet studied wand motions."

"Malfoy," Flitwick repeated, tilting his head to the side. "I remember teaching his father. A very promising child he was. I am certain his son will do quite as well." He crossed the room to Draco, peering up at him. "Have you a wand, Mister Malfoy?" he asked as Draco looked up from his book.

"I have," Draco replied, feeling a small sliver of hope. Perhaps he´d have the opportunity to explain himself after all.

"Professor," Fudge said hastily, hurrying over, "you know it is our policy to make sure our students have mastered the basics first."

Flitwick nodded. "I am aware of that," he returned, "but I would like to see what Mister Malfoy is capable of nevertheless. It is always easier to correct a problem once one knows what that problem is. Besides, his father was very much a natural."

Draco smiled and extracted his wand from his sleeve, while Fudge looked on in irritation. "Very well," he grumbled, although it was clear he was none too keen on the idea.

Flitwick returned to the front of the class and clambered up onto the desk, much to the amusement of the students. "All right, boys," he squeaked loudly, "today I will be watching you to see who is prepared to advance to full form. Remember what you have learned thus far!" He pulled out his own wand, a tiny thing, maybe only about six inches long, and flicked it as if there was something stuck to the end of it. Fluffy white feathers shot out of the end of it and perched themselves in front of each student.

"Now, remember the smooth motion," Flitwick called out. "Swish and flick. And the incantation; repeat after me: Wingardium Leviosa."

"Wingardium Leviosa," the class echoed. Some of the younger students tripped and lisped over the words, and Draco stifled a laugh behind his lips. Those students were merely practicing with rods, similar to the one that lay off to the side of his desk; they were not permitted to advance until they were at least eight years old, which was three years younger than it had been when Hogwarts had still been standing. However, with the new organization of school systems, children were starting younger and learning faster, and many of them would complete their schooling by fifteen or sixteen and go straight on to Auror training or something similar. Desperate times called for desperate measures, unfortunately, and war had changed many of the Wizarding world´s policies.

Flitwick nodded appreciatively. "I shall come around the class and watch each of you individually," he informed them. "Those of you who have both the correct wand motion and are able to levitate your feather will advance to full form. The rest of you may have another opportunity in six months´ time."

Draco bit his lip nervously, watching the professor weave easily in and out of rows. He started with the youngest students who knew they would not be moving on, giving the elder students a chance to practice a bit more and listen to his instructions to the younger so as not to make the same mistakes. He moved through them row by row, continuing to offer advice. When a student met his expectations, he would clap his hands delightedly, and the student´s name would be removed from the long scroll at the front of the classroom that listed preparatory form students. That student would then whoop, or holler, or make some other laudatory noise, and Flitwick would move on to the next student. If a student did not fulfill the requirements, he would pat them consolingly on the arm, and would offer some private instruction as to what they had done wrong, and then would give them the opportunity to try again. Each student had three chances, and, if after three chances, they had still not managed to levitate the feather, they would resign themselves to another six months of prep.

Zacharias, Harry, and Orion all managed their levitation on the first try. The three of them congratulated each other vociferously, and Draco watched their celebration and wondered what it would be like to feel that sort of companionship with someone his own age.

The next boy that Flitwick tested was a short, shaggy-haired creature with rather a dull look in his eye who Flitwick addressed as `Mister Zabini´. He seemed a slow but hardworking boy, although he had a very pleasant look about him. He managed to levitate the feather, but only just, and only on the third try, and even then, his movements were stiff and jerky, but his name came off the preparatory list, much to his delight. He was so delighted, in fact, that small tears began to form in the corners of pale blue eyes, and Draco suddenly felt as if he wanted to cross the room and take the boy into his arms in a comforting hug.

His concern was doubled when Zacharias, Harry, and Orion, still chattering as they lazily zoomed their feathers through the air, gave the boy such a deprecating look and burst into muffled snickers, and the boy´s tears of happiness rolled down his pink cheeks as tears of mortification and hurt. Draco was a very polite little boy, but he had quite a fiery temper, and the sight of those three boys picking on someone who might not have been as clever but who was definitely trying as hard as he could made that temper flare quite severely. In fact, he was about to stand up and give them a piece of his mind when Flitwick paused in front of his desk, an expectant smile on his face.

"Now, Mister Malfoy," Flitwick said kindly, "I know you have not yet had the opportunity for formal training, but give it your best shot, mm?" He laid a small hand on Draco´s arm, which was trembling slightly; he apparently mistook the shaking for nervousness.

"It´s all right," he said kindly. "We do not judge others here. Remember, a smooth motion, and the incantation is `Wingardium leviosa´."

Draco stood, clutching his wand in his hand, and took a deep breath, his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the three boys staring at him, identical smirks on their faces, watching him with barely concealed amusement, as if they were expecting him to make a complete arse of himself.

Well Draco certainly was not going to prove them right. He adjusted his grip on his wand so it was quite proper, pointed it at the feather, and opened his mouth. "Wingardium leviosa," he intoned mellifluously, and moved his wand in a fluid motion as he spoke. As if carried on a breath of wind, the feather lifted itself gracefully and spiraled through the air, much to the delight of Flitwick, and much to the shock of Fudge, who was standing with his arms crossed off to the side of the classroom.

"Oh, well done, Mister Malfoy!" Flitwick cheered. "Just like your father!"

Fudge crossed the room in two strides, stopping in front of Draco´s desk. "I thought you said you hadn´t had any training!" he exclaimed, regarding Draco very sternly.

Draco flushed. "I am sorry if I misled you," he replied quietly. "I meant to say I hadn´t had any formal training, but my father did teach me the basics, and some simple spells." He laid his wand down and folded his hands in front of him.

Fudge was somewhat at a loss, but he knew that Draco had tried to tell him, and therefore he could not fault the child for it. But when he saw that the other children had been listening, and were tittering, he rounded on the class. "Silence," he snapped, "at once."

And from that moment forth, he began to feel somewhat of a grudge toward his show pupil.

Draco, however, scarcely noticed. The rest of the class went by in somewhat of a whirl as Flitwick finished the testing, sending seven of the boys up to the next form. Draco spent the remainder of the class trying to catch Zabini´s eye and pointedly ignoring the stares he was getting from Zacharias, Harry, and Orion. When Flitwick called an end to the class, Draco stood and collected his things, and was crossing the room to speak to Zabini when he was confronted by those same three boys, hands on their hips.

"Cheers, Draco," said Zacharias, the tallest and eldest of the three and therefore the leader. "My name´s Zacharias, and this is Orion, and this is Harry." The other two boys nodded politely. "We just wanted to let you know that you´re quite welcome here and we thought we might invite you up for tea this afternoon and get to know a bit about you."

Draco blinked, a bit taken aback, and, all things considered, rather intimidated by them. In addition, he´d been extremely disgusted by the way they had treated the poor boy whose name he still did not know. But he did not want to be rude, so he inclined his head slightly and said, "I should be delighted."

"Wonderful!" Orion spoke up, clapping Draco on the shoulder. Draco, who was much smaller and thinner than the other boy, flinched. "Then we shall expect you at quarter past two, all right?"

Draco offered up a weak smile, and then had a thought. "Might I invite Zabini?" he asked cautiously. "He seemed to have had somewhat of a trying morning."

Orion sneered, any semblance of politeness gone. "Why would you want to invite that dunderhead?" he snapped. "He hasn´t intelligence, class, or any personality to speak of."

Zacharias smirked. "He´s worse than that boy from the North...what was his name, Longbottom? He´s practically a Squib, he is."

"Be nice to Neville," Harry spoke up. "Merlin knows he´s a good-natured sort, although he might not be the quickest at studies..."

"Oh, Harry, always the mediator," Orion teased, slapping him on the back perhaps a bit harder than necessary. "You´re just like Uncle Remus."

Harry rolled his eyes a bit, although he was grinning, and then turned his attention back to Draco, who was watching the exchange with a polite expression on his face, although inside, he was seething.

"Sorry about them," Harry apologized. "They´re not the most tactful of people."

Zacharias scowled. "You mean we actually speak what we mean rather than tiptoeing around it."

"Yeah," Orion piped up. "Come on, Harry, you know Zabini´s a right idiot. Don´t try and pretend otherwise."

Harry sighed, but Draco noticed he didn´t deny the statement. Instead, he changed the subject. "Anyhow, perhaps it´d be better if it was just you. It´s you we really want to talk to, after all." He smiled a bit apologetically, although he didn´t really look all that sorry.

"In that case," Draco said as pleasantly as he could manage, "I apologize, but I must decline your kind offer. Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen." He bowed slightly and then pushed past them, determined to seek out Zabini. If he´d been the sort to look back over his shoulder once he´d left a place, he might have seen the cold grimace on Zacharias´ face, the irritated curl of Orion´s lip, or the somewhat confused look in Harry´s green eyes. However, he was not, and frankly he didn´t much care to look at any of them at that particular moment.

When he finally found Zabini, he was standing by himself, his arms folded quite tightly across his chest. He didn´t look up when Draco approached. "Come to taunt me as well, have you?" he asked, sounding utterly miserable.

Draco sank into the chair next to Zabini. "Not at all," he replied quietly, reaching out and resting a hand on Zabini´s forearm.

Zabini blinked. "You haven´t?"

Draco shook his head. "What´s your name?" he asked quietly.

Zabini sniffled, drawing the back of his hand across his eyes. "Blaise," he responded, his voice somewhat choked.

"Blaise," Draco returned, smiling slightly. He stood and offered up a slight bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Blaise. My name is Draco."

Blaise stared at him in astonishment. "Are you certain you aren´t poking fun at me?" he asked, his voice wary.

Draco sank back down into his seat again. "I swear it," he replied. Then, he grinned mischievously. "Unless you´d like me to," he amended, a note of teasing in his voice. The other boy sniffled again, and then laughed.

"No, thank you," he replied. "I get quite enough of that from the Gryffindors."

"The which?" Draco asked, perplexed. He thought back to the portrait, who had introduced himself as Gryffindor, but somehow he didn´t think that´s what Blaise meant.

"Zach, Orion, and Harry," Blaise replied with a sigh, running the back of his hand across his nose as he stood up. "We call them the Gryffindors because their fathers were all in Gryffindor when they were at Hogwarts. Gryffindor is supposed to be the house of the brave, you know."

"Oh," Draco replied, quite at a loss. He looked at Blaise as the two of them exited the schoolroom and headed toward the stairs. "Are they always like that?"

Blaise nodded miserably. "They don´t like me much because my father was in Slytherin," he explained. "Apparently there was some enormous rivalry between those two houses. They keep accusing me of being evil, but then they laugh and say I´m too stupid to be evil."

Draco felt his hands clenching into fists. "It doesn´t take much bravery to bully someone," he snarled. "I don´t care how much smarter someone is, or how much more talented, they have no right to judge their companions."

Blaise listened to Draco´s ardent words with some astonishment. He was accustomed to being ignored or made fun of, which he had been for most of his life. He had a very clever father, who was highly successful and possessed well-developed social graces, but he was young and often foolish, and had had no inkling of how to raise a child. Blaise´s mother had died when he´d been very young, one of the casualties in the war, and, as a result, he´d been utterly pampered by a man who was afraid of losing his child as well as his wife. However, Mister Zabini rarely spent any time with his son; he always said he was reminded too much of his wife when he saw Blaise. He hadn´t even thought to send Blaise off to school until recently, and then only because he didn´t know what else to do with him. When he struggled with his lessons, his father looked at him sadly, unable to understand how his child could not understand the simplest of concepts, and then distanced himself further, until Blaise was convinced he was nothing more than a failure. Over the last several months, he had attempted to formulate ways in which to convince his father he was actually learning, but nothing had worked thus far and he had begun to resign himself to the fact that he would always be a disappointment.

But now, listening to the clever boy next to him who was actually angered on his behalf, he began to wonder if perhaps he was somewhat worthwhile after all.

Draco took a deep breath, consciously relaxing. "I am sorry," he said softly. "It was wrong of me to lose my temper. I do have such a dreadful temper, and Father is always telling me that I should learn to control it better, but sometimes I forget and am so horrid. Do forgive me."

Blaise blinked, utterly shocked. "I, forgive you?" he exclaimed, his light blue eyes growing very large indeed. "Why should I need to do such a thing?"

Draco smiled and took Blaise´s hand gently. "Because it is quite proper to ask forgiveness when one has been poorly behaved," he explained, "and I have been."

"Er..." Blaise was at a loss for words, but somehow managed a smile. "Then you are forgiven."

"Thank you," Draco returned, sweeping a slight bow, and Blaise was once again struck by the oddness of his companion. He thought that Draco looked quite like royalty, in the way he carried himself, the way he moved and spoke, and felt somewhat in awe of this slight boy. He was so lost in his examination that he did not notice when they paused. It was only when he felt a slight squeeze of his fingertips that he started, flushing as he looked up at Draco´s patient face.

"This is my room," Draco said almost apologetically.

Blaise nodded. "I suppose I should return to my own room as well," he murmured, loath to part from Draco but not wanting to be rude, and feeling rather awkward all at once.

But then, Draco smiled a bit shyly. "May I...show you?" he asked, looking as if he were asking the greatest favor in the world.

"Oh, would you?" Blaise cried, excited, and then clamped his mouth shut, remembering his manners. Something about Draco´s presence made him feel the need to be quite proper, so he bowed slightly, a smile on his face. "I should like that very much," he replied formally, and Draco laughed.

"Oh, Blaise, you are quite a charming creature," he pronounced, and then rested his fingers on the door handle, a mysterious and eager look coming over his face.

"Be very quiet," he whispered, "and perhaps we might catch her."

Blaise´s eyes grew huge, and he stared at Draco, feeling as if something very thrilling indeed was about to happen. "Catch whom?" he breathed, rising a little bit onto his toes as he did when he was very excited.

"Cliodne," Draco replied, in that same, enigmatic voice. He held his free hand up, resting his index finger over his lips, and then suddenly threw the door open and peered in quite hurriedly.

"Oh dear, she changed back before we could catch her!" he exclaimed, half-laughing. Blaise peeked his head in to the room, staring around in amazement, but even more engrossed in what Draco was saying.

"Changed back?" he asked curiously, following Draco´s gaze to where the most cunning little owl sat, staring back at Draco with the most intelligent expression in her huge golden eyes.

Draco smiled, waving Blaise in and then closing the door behind him. "Cliodne is an Animagus, you see. She was an Irish druidess who charmed birds with her beautiful voice, and could become a bird herself. I am convinced that she transforms into a person and sings beautifully when nobody is looking, but changes back as quick as a flash before anyone can see."

Blaise stared, his huge eyes flitting back and forth between Draco and the owl, who had begun preening her feathers. "Your owl is a druidess?" he gasped, crossing the room and perching on the edge of one of the armchairs.

"I believe she is," Draco replied, sinking into the other chair with a grin. "That is, I pretend I believe she is. And that makes it seem true." He sat up quite straight then, and fixed Blaise with a curious gaze. "Have you never pretended things before?"

Blaise shook his head violently. "I´m not clever enough to pretend things," he said sadly, sliding off the arm and into the seat with a soft whump!

Draco laughed softly. "But pretending is ever so much fun!" he protested. "One needn´t be clever to pretend! It is so easy that once you begin, you can´t stop, and you go on and on, doing it always. I shall tell you all about it, and soon it will be completely natural to you!" He smiled, and held out his hand with a delightful laugh, and Cliodne flew across the room and perched herself gently on Draco´s hand.

"Cliodne, this is Blaise Zabini," he said very solemnly, "and Blaise, this is Cliodne. Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh, may I?" exclaimed Blaise, holding out a trembling hand. Draco merely laughed and deposited the owl onto smooth golden flesh, and Blaise stared in wonder at the owl, who stared back at him with friendly eyes and nipped his finger quite affectionately.

Draco settled himself onto the rug, huddled up into a ball, and looked thoroughly filled with light and energy as he related story after story, of the village where he´d grown up, and the visits throughout India, and the voyage across the snowy wastelands of Russia, but Blaise was most enraptured by the story of Cliodne and how she had discovered the secret to immortality, but now spent her life as a bird so as not to rouse suspicion, only turning into a person when there was nobody around to see her.

"Do you think we could learn to change into animals?" Blaise asked, holding Cliodne quite close in his excitement.

"I daresay we could," Draco said thoughtfully, "but that would not make us immortal. We should have to find the secret of immortality elsewhere, I´m afraid."

As he was telling the story of the search for Cliodne, a shadow seemed to pass over his face, and his face turned very white and his eyes very dark, and Blaise was struck with the thought that his companion might burst into tears at any moment.

When it seemed as though Draco was not going to cry, Blaise leaned forward, concernedly. "Have you a - a pain?" he asked hesitantly, biting his lip slightly. Cliodne hooted softly and climbed off of Blaise´s hand and onto Draco´s shoulder, perching there and nibbling his ear gently.

"Yes," Draco said at last, "but it is not something that a nurse may heal." He took in a deep breath, and then turned huge, storm-sad eyes to his companion. "Do you love your father more than anything else in the whole world?"

Blaise stared, quite taken aback by this. He had never thought about it, but as he did, he realized that what he felt for his father was far from love, and was much closer to dread. However, that was not something one mentioned in polite company, and so he hesitated, struggling with a way to sugarcoat the truth.

"I--I never see him," he admitted quietly, almost shamefully. "He is always busy with his business associates or hosting parties or reading."

Draco sighed softly, biting his lip. "I love my father more than life itself," he murmured, "and now he has gone away. That is my pain." And he laid his head down on his knees and took several deep breaths, and Blaise was quite convinced he was going to cry now.

But he didn´t, and, after a pause, he raised his head, and his eyes were quite dry. "I promised to be strong," he said firmly, "and I must honor my promises. A warrior must always honor his promises, you know."

Blaise stared, thinking that he had never known anyone quite as unusual or as wonderful as young Mister Malfoy.

"I shall tell you about being a warrior," Draco said presently, "for if I keep talking, I may forget my sadness for a time. The best way to bear something is to keep it near you but to pretend it isn´t there. If you can overcome what is true by what you believe, then you can master yourself, and that is the first step to being a warrior."

Blaise felt his eyes becoming moist again, and swallowed hard to try and rid his throat of the lump that had materialized there. "Do warriors have companions?" he asked hopefully, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Will you take me as yours? You are quite the cleverest boy I have met, and I am utterly hopeless at studies, but I do like you very much!"

Draco smiled, stroking Cliodne gently and then offering her across to Blaise again. "Yes," he said firmly, "we shall be bosom companions, and shall tromp through the battlefield together as bosom companions should." Then, his eyes shone. "And I shall help you with your studies as well."