Daddy's Favorite

The dirt tastes warm and slimy in my mouth as my face slams into the soft loam. I lay there, my mind whirling...

Get up fool!

I press my hands into the ground on either side of my body, attempting to rise, but they sink into the treacherous soil.

Punish them! Show them who you are!

The son of a felon?

I hear grunts as Crabbe and Goyle, ever faithful and dependably stupid, finally realize what has happened and begin looking around for someone to beat. Of course, neither of them reaches down to help me up.

I would hurt them severely for such an insult.

Nevertheless, a clawlike grip suddenly attaches itself to my shoulder and I find myself pulled upwards. I try to protest but my mouth is still full of dirt so I just spew soil. I try to pull backwards and eye whoever it is haughtily with my well-known - and long practiced - cold grey stare, but the hand is too quick and yanks me forward. I find myself looking up, still sputtering, into a round face framed by wild trails of grey hair.

Sprout.

"Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?" She smiles that stupid, simpering smile of hers. I manage to get to my full height, and wipe some of the dirt from my chin with the back of my sleeve.

Your idiot Hufflepuffs tripped me.

Of course I can't say that. I can't think that. A Hufflepuff trip a Malfoy?

"We were just going to the Pitch to do some flying, Professor." Oh that title feels like acid on my tongue.

"You'll want to watch your step around here, Mr. Malfoy. We are about to put in new beds and the ground can be treacherous."

Not as treacherous as your wretched House.

Did I, a Slytherin, just think that?

Sprout is looking at me and smiling. No, make that smirking. The stupid gardener is smirking at me!

"We were about to look in on the Memorial Garden. You know, the one we planted in memory of dear Cedric. Would you three like to see it?"

I must be imagining things. For a minute there I thought I saw Sprout show her teeth at me.

I'm trying to think of some way to get out of looking at whatever saccharine thing they've put together for Diggory (who at least had the grace to die when he was supposed to, unlike Potter), when Sprout looks up and smirks, yes smirks, again.

"Hello Severus. Are you looking for your three escapees?" Laughs all around from the Hufflepuffs.

How dare they! I'm a prefect! I should give them all detentions!

But I can't while Sprout is standing there and they know it, the filthy little cowards.

I turn as Professor Snape strides up. It is very early for him to be out on the grounds. He looks at me and I feel a thrill. He has come looking for me. Has there been news from my father? Has he broken free from Azkaban already.

"Professor Sprout." Severus says the name like he finds it as distasteful as I do. "Headmaster Dumbledore would like to speak with Mr. Malfoy."

Dumbledore? What does that old fool want?

An old fool who just put the Master to flight, by all reports.

I will NOT believe that!

"Well, then you had better hurry and clean yourself up, Mr. Malfoy." She gives me a little shove. A chorus of laughs sounds from the Hufflepuffs.

Severus' eyes glitter and I feel a surge of warmth. They will learn now what it means to taunt Slytherin House! He opens his mouth and...

"Oh and I nearly forgot," Sprout's creaking screech sounds like a dying barn owl, "twenty points apiece from Slytherin for ruining our plant beds."

Severus' eyes bulge like he's been kicked in the groin.

"Is there a problem, Professor Snape?" Sprout is smirking again.

Severus closes his mouth with a crack, spins on his heel, and walks stiffly away. I hurry to follow him, and Crabbe and Goyle scramble to follow me. The laughter of Hufflepuffs follows us all the way inside.

Crabbe and Goyle depart from us with a couple of sharp commands from Snape. He and I continue on towards Dumbledore's office.

"What does he want, Sir?" My father has had many doubts about Snape, but right now he is the best ally I have.

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy."

Suddenly anger and resentment and disappointment all rise in my chest. "That idiot Umbridge!" I hiss. "We had them! We had Potter and Dumbledo...." I am cut off as Snape grasps me by the front of my robes and propels me, none to gently, against the wall.

"Shut up you young fool! Haven't I told you before!"

Yes he has. Snape has always warned us only to talk about the Master's business in the dungeons, where his wards protect us from Dumbledore and McGonagall and their spying methods. I nod.

He releases me and stands while I straighten my robes. Then he leans forward and hisses, "I don't know what the Headmaster wants - he isn't in the habit of confiding in me. Just watch your tongue young man. Remember, your father won't be able to help you from now on!"

He had to remind me.

"Mother is still free!"

Oh good one Draco. My mommy can beat your daddy.

"Boy," Snape looks like I'm something he would like to step on, "do you really think Narcissa is a match for Albus Dumbledore?" He smiles his nastiest, meanest smile. "I wouldn't even bet on her against Molly Weasley."

Oh that really hurt.

"Now see here..."

"Silence!" He grasps my arm and I almost wince in pain at his grip. "You probably think you've been playing a dangerous game, don't you Draco? Well, from now on you're juggling razor blades on the edge of a lion pit! So you had better quit contemplating your family name and start contemplating ways to survive until the Master can make his next move! And I'm telling you now is not the time for your tongue to start wagging! If that old man decides to expell you there isn't anybody from Fudge on down who'll be able to stop him. Not after what happened this week. Not," he sighs, "for a while anyway."

Expelled? But he couldn't!

"He couldn't!" I almost cry.

"Didn't you hear me boy? Your family name isn't worth a phony knut now that everyone knows about the Master's return and your father's support for him." He purses his lips and scowls. "What the Hell did you mean pulling a wand on Potter like that?"

"He sent my father to prison!"

"So he did, and right now he's also the darling of the entire wizarding world - AGAIN! Idiot, idiot, idiot boy! If he's complained to Dumbledore and the old man decides to throw you out you might as well take a boat for Azkaban yourself. Once it gets into the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler that you got expelled for threatening Potter - and never fear the intrepid Miss Granger will make sure it does get into the press - there won't be any refuge for you in all of Wizarding Europe!"

"But you were there! Couldn't you..."

"The Master's needs come first Draco, you know that." His voice is as cold as a glacier.

And of course he is right. The Master needs him here, where he can help loyal students and keep an eye on Dumbledore. My father would be the first to agree. Even if it means I have to be expelled.

We reach the entrance to Dumbledore's office. I look at Snape expectantly.

"He wants to see you, not me. The password is marshmellow.

Stupid old man.

I walk slowly into the office. I've been here before, rarely. I remember it being much more cluttered.

The portraits scowl at me. I note that the frame that usually contains Phineus Nigellus is empty.

"Professor Dumbledore?" I call.

"He will be along shortly young man," the fat wizard behind Dumbledore's desk frowns at me, "so have a seat and don't touch anything."

I start to reply stingingly. But now is not the time to be arguing with a headmaster. Even a dead one in a portrait. I take a seat.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

After about half an hour one of the inner doors opens and Dumbledore walks in. He is carrying a very large book in one hand and what looks like a decanter of wine in the other.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Have you been waiting long?"

"No sir," I lie.

"Oh I think you have." He regards me with that stupid expression that makes him look like a slightly crazed Father Christmas. "I'm sorry. I got caught up talking with Madam Pince and lost track of time."

Why anyone would want to talk to Madam Pince, much less lose track of time in the conversation, I do not know.

"She was helping me with this fascinating book. Perhaps you've heard of it? It's called The Treatment of Magical Diseases in Southeastern Siberia in the late Seventeenth Century. Excellent reading. Why, there is a whole section here about uses of Tundra beetles in curing aberrant fertility charms! I've never run into any research on the subject before."

I wonder why.

"I've never heard of them being used for that, Headmaster."

"Oh, I had. I just didn't know why. But I suppose we can discuss that later." He put the book down - for which I breathe a great sigh of relief.

"Tired?" Dumbledore asks brightly. "Of course you are. O.W.L.s and all, not to mention the trouble with your father. Here," he sets out two glasses and pours some of the wine into them, "have a drink with me. I don't suppose I should offer, but one glass of wine won't hurt. And this is from a very exclusive winery. I would hate to drink it alone."

I take a look at the label, and reluctantly raise my respect for the old blowhard a notch. It is indeed a very exclusive winery. My father only uses this particular vintage on extremely formal occasions.

I accept the glass and clink it with his (the fool insists). Swishing it around, I inhale the bouquet (that is very important) and sip it delicately. The taste is indeed exquisite. Dumbledore, of course, just slurps his down like it was butterbear.

"Now," the Headmaster says briskly, still smiling cheerfully, "I don't want to keep you too much longer. You have so much to do I'm sure. Especially since you might never be coming back."

I almost choke.

He IS going to expell me. The old bastard!

"Not coming back sir? I have every intention of returning in September." I smile my sweetest smile. It really is extremely sweet. Honestly.

"I'm sure you do." Dumbledore's cheer has not slipped one bit. "But you see, we have to decide whether we are going to allow you to come back." He leans back, laces his fingers together, and regards me benevolently.

"Is this about the incident with Potter sir? I can explain! I did pull my wand first, but...." Now why did I just admit that?

"Oh, did you pull a wand on Harry? I had not heard." His face is completely serene.

"Yes I did sir." What am I doing?!

"That is truly regretable. However, I am thinking more about the revelations concerning your family. We can hardly have someone here who is keeping all sorts of dark secrets related to Voldemort, can we?"

I wince as he says the Dark Lord's name so casually.

"What? Does that bother you? Would you prefer if I called him Tom? That's what I called him when he was my student."

Not listening. NOT listening.

"In any case, I thought it would be best if we spoke about some things. I am sure you will tell me the truth."

"I give you my word, sir." This is going to be too easy.

"I take it for what it is worth, Mr. Malfoy. There is also the fact that Professor Sprout was kind enough to lace this decanter with the juice of Alethos berries. Have you heard of them?"

I shake my head, suddenly apprehensive.

"I suppose they are covered in N.E.W.T. level herbology - which I would highly recommend. Fascinating topic. Anyway, the juice of those esteemable berries acts like a very powerful truth drug - something similar to a natural veritaserum.

No wonder the old hag was smirking!

"You've drugged me?" I leap to my feet. I am, in that instant, angrier than, than .... well, I'm very angry.

"I have indeed." His expression is still serene and smiling.

"That's illegal!"

Oh, way to tell him Draco!

"Certainly. Do you want to lodge a complaint? With whom exactly?"

Stupid old man. Of course I'll lodge a complaint. Why my father will....

I sit down heavily.

"Now," Dumbledore says brightly, "we are going to have a little give and take. I'll ask you questions and you will anwer. If I'm satisfied you can stay in school. If not, well I understand that Durmstrang is accepting transfers. Your blood's pure enough."

A little joke. Ha ha. Very funny.

"Give and take," I say. "Does that mean I get to ask you questions?"

"Why of course, it would hardly be fair otherwise, now would it?" There goes that idiot twinkling again.

Except you drank the wine too, old man.

"Although," he continues, holding up one bony finger, "I should tell you that I took steps to render myself immune to the effects of the Alethos berry before coming in. I'm afraid that is why I had to keep you waiting so long. I had to be sure the anti-toxin was working."

My mouth falls open.

"I mean," he continues, "I could hardly have you going home and blabbing all sorts of secrets to your dear mother, now could I? Especially when I'm sure she would run straight to Tom."

"You...."

"Temper, Mr. Malfoy." He smiles that hateful gentle smile. "I am prepared to be as fair as I can. I give you my word that I will answer any question truthfully that does not involve secrets of the struggle against Voldemort. And unlike you my word is good."

Why you insulting old barfbag.

"So, I'll go first. Did you know your father was a deatheater?"

"Yes." Hell and damnation.

"Your turn."

What to ask. So many things. So many questions.

And then it slips out.

"Why did you give Gryffindor House 170 points at the Leavetaking Feast my first year?"

If he is surprised he does not show it. He merely taps his fingertips together. "Good question, Mr. Malfoy. First, because the individuals deserved it. But that does not answer why I did it at the Feast, does it? I mean, I might have awarded the points before the Feast and saved the pride of Slytherin House."

Yes, you might have you miserable old bastard.

"I wanted to make Harry smile."

Did I just hear what I think I just heard?

"Do you have access to any of Voldemort's plans?"

"No." Damnation!

My turn again. I'm tempted to ask him to repeat himself, but I'm not going to waste a question.

"Do the teachers other than Professor Snape really dislike us just because we're Slytherins?"

The Gryffindors might complain to high heaven about Snape, but when you like at the total number of detentions given and points subtracted, it often seems like everybody is out for Slytherin blood.

"Yes."

That was short and sweet.

"Does your mother have access to Voldemort's plans?"

"I don't know." This is incredibly annoying!

"Do you personally dislike us just because we are Slytherins?"

"No."

I blink. He said he wouldn't lie! Lying old scoundrel!

"Have you ever been to a meeting of deatheaters?"

"No."

Dumbledore pats his fingers together again - annoying habit - and waits.

"Do you like me?" Now where in the name of Salazar did that come from?

"No."

Why does that hurt?

"When will you receive the mark?"

"It was supposed to be this year. Now, I don't know." Did I have to tell him all that?

"Why don't you like me?" WHY AM I ASKING THIS?!

"Many reasons. You are arrogant, cruel, and not nearly as intelligent as you like to think. Your beliefs are, frankly, obnoxious to anyone with a shred of decency. You are the foul fruit of a twisted family tree that has produced nothing but pain and sorrow for three centuries. And most of all, because you have tried to hurt Harry."

Why does that REALLY hurt?

"Do you know where Voldemort or any deatheaters are hiding?"

"No."

What to ask next?

"Why did you make me a prefect if you dislike me so much?"

"It was politically convenient for many reasons. It still is. You will likely remain a prefect. You may well even be Head Boy."

I don't feel thrilled.

"Does that mean I'm staying?"

"Yes. I never had any intention of expelling you."

He looks at me expectantly.

"Don't you have any more questions?" I venture.

"No," he smiles, "but go ahead. It's the least I can do. For a little while longer anyway."

Thank you so damned much.

"Do you really favor Potter over all the other students?"

"Oh yes. Very much so." His face is still serene. Damn him straight to Hell.

"WHY?!!" I come to my feet before I realize it.

Now you knew that already. Why does hearing it upset you so much?

"Because I love him, that's why. And no dirty insinuations Mr. Malfoy. He is the son I wish I had fathered." He smiles at me, and for some reason the smile is sad and the look in his eyes is .... pity.

Of all the things he could have given me, pity is the worst.

"I hate you." True, but why did I say it now?

"I know." More pity.

"Can I go now?" I have to force the question out past a knot in my throat.

"Yes."

I turn, seething and angry and strangely hurting. I hear him rising and circling his desk but all I want to do is reach the door and get out of here. I put my hand out and touch the knob.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes?" I say wearily, turning.

I see his wand first, and then the sad look in his eyes. That awful sad, kind, pitying look. I open my mouth to protest.

"Obliviate."

I come awake in a chair in Snape's office, the sound of Hufflepuff laughter in my ears. Damn them and damn Sprout! And right in front of Severus. Crabbe and Goyle are stirring in the other two chairs. I rub my head, which is aching fiercely.

The door opens with a loud bang that nearly causes my head to split. Severus stalks in and gives us a look of pure disgust.

"Very well," he says, "go on. Your detention's over!"

Oh yes. He gave us detentions as punishment for losing points to Sprout. Not very fair. But Severus never is.

I stumble out of his office, cursing. The morning is almost gone. At least Snape lets us sleep through our detentions. Crabbe and Goyle follow along as usual.

Well there is nothing to do but drag myself up to the Great Hall for lunch. Great. Just great. As if things weren't bad enough, Leavetaking is shaping up to be a ruin.

I stalk out of the dungeons. Maybe food will improve my mood.

If only I could figure out why my head is hurting so badly.

If only I could figure out why suddenly I want to cry.