A Little Prince

The very next day, Draco made his way to the library, and spent every moment of his spare time researching the actual specifics surrounding the war. He and his father had rarely spoken of it, and, when they had, it was only in passing, and as a result, he didn´t know very much about it at all. He knew the basics, of course, the Light versus the Dark, equality for all versus Pureblood domination, but that was the extent of his knowledge. However, the library was well stocked with history books, and, as he was ahead in all his lessons, that afforded him the opportunity to learn as much as he could about the war.

As his mental library of knowledge expanded, so did the material he could use to weave a story of which Nott was the hero, a misunderstood and much-abused prince, or a brilliant prodigy who had been unfortunate enough to have been born into the wrong family. The more he read, and the more he learned, the angrier he was about the strong barriers that had been set up between `good´ and `evil´. He was a very moral child, to be sure; Lucius had raised him well, and his Ayah had made certain that he felt everyone should be considered an equal, regardless of social status. After all, it was only chance that he had been born into a rich, Pureblooded family with an adoring father rather than a family of drudges where he would have been forced to take care of his ten younger siblings while his parents scrubbed chimneys for a living. However, his morality often put him in direct conflict with several of his peers, as he didn´t really believe in `good and evil´ or `right and wrong´. Those absolute concepts, to him, were worthless. It was all about circumstance.

And, all things considered, Draco was very much the image of his father. Once he´d come to a better understanding of the war, he felt very strongly that neither side was actually correct in their arguments. The ideal situation would involve a compromise. However, he knew that sharing an opinion like that would be tantamount to revealing sympathy for the Death Eaters, and would likely earn him nothing but disgust and anger. He might have been opinionated, but he certainly wasn´t stupid. Therefore, any opinions he had on the matter, he kept to himself, sharing them only with Cliodne.

As far as Nott went, Draco didn´t see him again for a long time after that evening, but one day, when he entered his sitting room, he found himself confronting a rather pathetic picture. In his favorite armchair in front of the blazing fire, the boy sat curled up and quite fast asleep, his mouth slightly open as he snored quietly. The flickers of light that licked across his face revealed very dark circles under his eyes, pale, thin skin, quite visible blue stripes where his veins lived, and hollowed, sunken cheeks.

Nott was a sad, tired little boy whose job was to tend to the students´ rooms. Since the House Elf Liberation Program some years ago, house elves were to be paid wages, and a school like Fudge´s couldn´t afford to keep too many of them on. There were four or five that worked at the school, but they mainly worked in the kitchens. That left the cleaning up to Nott.

Since there were upward of a hundred students at the school, the cleaning took him a very long time, often six or seven hours. In addition, Nott was only about Draco´s age, and, as a result of malnourishment, was very skinny and small for his age. So, since Draco´s room was quite the nicest room in the school, he´d taken to leaving it for last so he could at least feel that he was enjoying himself a little whenever he went in there, even if it was only to clean. This particular afternoon had been a trying one; a virus of some sort was going around the school, and he´d been saddled with the responsibility of cleaning up after the sick children. So he was very much looking forward to the short time spent in Draco´s room. Unfortunately, he´d been more tired than he´d anticipated, and, when he´d sat down just for a moment to rest his aching feet, the fire had been so warm and the chair so soft that he´d fallen into a very deep sleep.

That particular afternoon, the boys had been outside playing Quidditch, and Draco was still energized, rosy-cheeked and grinning from the exhilaration of flying and the sensation of wind through his hair. When he entered the room, gliding in as gracefully as a dancer and with a slightly longer stride than usual, almost a stalk, in fact, Nott had only been there for ten minutes or so, but he looked as if he had been sleeping for a hundred years at least. Draco, kind-hearted soul he was, did not feel at all cross to see his favorite chair occupied by a little drudge; in fact, he was quite glad to see the boy there. When the ill-used hero of his story wakened, he could finally talk to him, in the privacy of his own room.

He did not want to wake the other boy, as he looked quite comfortable and peaceful, but, at the same time, he knew that, if Fudge found Nott asleep on the job, he would be in deep trouble. "Oh," he said quietly to himself, "I wish he´d waken himself. I don´t like to waken him. Perhaps I will just wait a few moments." So he crossed to the bed, taking up Cliodne gently and perching her on his shoulder as he sat and crossed his legs under him, Indian-style, watching the little drudge with such an expression of curiosity and interest combined with uncertainty as to the best course of action.

"If Fudge comes in," he murmured, "he will be punished. But oh, he is so tired..."

The fire ended his perplexity that very moment, as it gave a particularly loud, sputtering crackle. Nott started awake and opened his eyes with a frightened gasp. He did not know he had fallen asleep. He had only meant to rest for a moment, and...and here was the wonderful show pupil, looking quite like an angel with his silver hair and ethereal eyes, sitting quite nearby and looking at him interestedly.

He sprang to his feet, his hands clenched nervously at his sides, knowing for sure that he was in a great deal of trouble and was going to be quite severely punished for his transgressions. He made a hitched sound in his throat, not quite a gasp, nor a sob, but somewhere in between. "I´m terribly sorry, sir," he murmured, keeping his gaze fixed respectfully on the floor. "I do beg your pardon."

Draco sprang lightly down from the bed and approached the other boy, who stood quite still, his head bowed and his eyes lowered, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don´t be frightened," he said in a low, kind voice. "It doesn´t matter at all. You were tired, and you couldn´t help it. And why should you? I certainly don´t mind."

Nott started at that, actually dragging his eyes, wide with surprise, up to Draco´s face, expecting to see malice or mocking there but finding only friendliness. He was used to being ordered about, treated like dirt, and scolded mercilessly. But this one, the show pupil of the school, was looking at him as if he were just as good as any of the students, as if he had a right to be tired and to fall asleep. Flashes of memory began to stir in his mind, and, for a moment, he actually believed Draco, believed that he was something better. But that moment passed, and he bit his lip, still certain he was about to be hexed.

"Aren´t you at all angry?" he asked in that same flat, respectful voice so devoid of any self-concern that it made Draco´s heart ache that anyone could be programmed to think so little of themselves.

"Of course not," Draco cried, tightening his grip on the other boy´s shoulder. "In fact..." and here he paused, his gray eyes enormous and very thoughtful in his pale face, "in fact, I am only a little boy, just like you. It´s just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!"

Nott didn´t understand this logic at all. To him, an accident was someone splinching themselves while Apparating, or saying s instead of f and ending up with a buffalo on your chest. "An accident?" he repeated politely, his dark brows drawn together in an expression of confused thought.

"Yes," Draco replied, and looked at the other boy dreamily for a moment. After a moment, though, when he realized Nott really didn´t understand what he was getting at, he changed his tone. "Have you finished your work?" he asked. "Dare you stay here a few minutes?"

Nott´s mouth fell open, making him look rather like a fish. "Stay here? Me?" He looked around wildly, as if expecting to find someone standing behind him.

Draco laughed delightedly, pulled out his wand, and cast a quick locking spell on the door. "No one shall come in here now; we are quite safe. I thought...perhaps...you might like some sweets."

The next ten minutes seemed to be better than heaven to Nott. Draco opened a cupboard, and pulled out all sorts of wonderful treats: Chocolate frogs, Jelly Slugs, Licorice Wands, Chocoballs, and Bertie Bott´s Every Flavor Beans, among other delights. He talked and asked questions, and laughed until Nott actually began to feel comfortable with the situation. In fact, he even managed to ask a few questions of his own.

"Is that..." he murmured, reaching out a hesitant hand to Draco´s clothing, "your Quidditch costume?"

Draco laughed gently, slipping the robe from his shoulders and passing it over, much to Nott´s delight. Underneath, he wore a linen shirt, a pair of immaculately pressed black trousers, and a beautifully soft cashmere sweater. "It´s one of them, yes," he answered. "I like it quite a lot, actually. Green is my favorite color." He grinned again, watching Nott´s hands skate reverently over the fabric. "What´s your favorite color, Theodore?"

Theodore - for that was Nott´s first name - was silent for a long moment, admiring the heavy, soft fabric of the robes, the elegant cut, the perfect embroidery on the chest. Then he said in an almost awed voice:

"Once, I saw a prince. I was standing in the street with the crowd in Muggle London, and I saw a huge convoy of...what are they...automobiles go driving by. There was a boy about our age, sitting in one automobile with no roof, and he was smiling and waving at everyone. The people around me were muttering about how he was the prince and how he was going to grow up to be King someday. I called him to mind the moment I saw you. You look just like him."

Draco positively glowed, his eyes shining at the compliment. "I´ve often thought," he murmured thoughtfully, "that I should like to be a prince. I wonder what it feels like! I believe I will begin pretending I am one."

Nott stared at him again, still not understanding but thoroughly enamored of this strange, friendly, wonderful boy who offered food and warmth and comfort as if they were largess. He felt very much as if he could sit here forever. However, he was well aware of what the consequences for that would be, so, presently, reluctantly, he began to move away from the warm fire and delicious sweets.

Draco looked up with sad eyes, but knew better than to protest. He knew as well as Theodore did that Fudge was not likely to be lenient if he found his show pupil conspiring with his servant. However, he wasn´t going to let Theodore off the hook just yet.

"Theodore," he asked, rising gracefully, "weren´t you listening to that story I was telling a few weeks ago?"

Theodore blanched. "I...yes, I was," he answered quietly, expecting to be berated. "I know I oughtn´t have been, but I couldn´t help myself."

Draco smiled. "I liked that you were listening," he said, his voice firm and almost a little fierce. "If you tell stories, you like nothing so much as to tell them to people who like to listen. And you like to listen, I can tell. Would you like to hear the rest?"

Theodore froze. "You mean...you would tell me the story, as if I were a pupil?" he asked in a very low voice, his eyes fixed quite firmly on the floor as if he didn´t dare to hope that that was, in fact, what Draco meant.

"Of course," Draco murmured. "You haven´t time to hear it just now, I´m afraid, but if you tell me what time you usually come to my rooms, I shall try to be here, and will tell you a little bit of it every day until it is finished."

Theodore remained silent, but his shoulders shook just a little bit, and, had he been looking into Draco´s face, Draco might have seen the faintest hint of tears forming there, tears of gladness and adoration and pure joy. "If...if I could do that..." he whispered, "then every day would seem so much happier, so worth it, if I might have that to think of."

Draco felt a twinge in his chest, and, in a quick motion, he crossed to Theodore and wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a quick squeeze. "I shall tell it all to you," he murmured. "All of it."

When Theodore left Master Draco´s rooms that evening, he was not the Nott who had staggered up the stairs, sore and tired and hungry and cold and determined just to get through the day so he could have five minutes of time to himself. Now he was Theodore, almost an ordinary boy, with a pocket full of sweets and a warm place in his chest where only cold, dark emptiness had lain before. He had a friend now, and that fed his hunger and warmed his chills better than anything else ever could.