Gingerbread House

Imagine a gingerbread house. The most delicious and beautiful you've ever seen. Golden brown gingerbread walls, covered with fluffy white frosting at the eaves. The frosting is decorated with shining gumdrops, in varying colors; candy apple red, lime green, lemon yellow, licorice black. The windows and doors are marked with melted chocolate, the lines not as straight as those of the frosting; perhaps the hand that created them was unsteady due to the awkward position, or perhaps the hand stopped to taste the chocolate. The doorknob is stuck on with a small dab of white frosting, and made of a small, round chocolate chip.

Now imagine sending this castle of gingerbread houses to Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy read his father's letter over again and sighed to himself. Potter this, Potter that. Perhaps the world would have been better off if Potter had been born to Lucius Malfoy. At least then Draco wouldn't get idiotic requests such as this right in middle of his N.E.W.T.s.

Draco,

A package will arrive at midnight tonight. In it is a gingerbread house. Do not eat it. You must give it to the Potter boy. Make sure he is holding it by 9am. I will arrive by the end of the week to relieve you of the house.

Lucius Malfoy

On one level, Draco supposed, it seemed silly to be worrying about his N.E.W.T.s. His life had been planned from birth: grow up, become Hogwarts Head Boy, return to Malfoy Manor, marry some woman his mother and father picked for him, and then take his place at his father's side either worshiping Voldemort, or if Voldemort was defeated, helping his father rule the Death Eaters as the new Dark Lord. N.E.W.T.s were for people like the Gryffindors. The ones who could blithely go out into the world, feeling fresh, with no expectations placed on their shoulders. No weight. N.E.W.T.s helped them decide what they wanted to do. Draco could fail every single test, and his life wouldn't change.

He idly wondered what his father planned to do to Potter and if this was a plan for or against Voldemort. He assumed the gingerbread house was going to be a Portkey, destined to take Potter away to some remote location where no one could hear him scream.

Draco rolled his eyes as he looked down at the letter a second time. Didn't they learn? The Portkey hadn't worked when Potter was 14. It wasn't going to work now, three years later.

"Draco?" He looked over at Pansy Parkinson as she simpered at him. He regretted the impulse that led him to take her to the Yule Ball three years ago. She hadn't stopped latching onto him since. Draco believed firmly that the one ambition that Pansy had, the one thing that separated her from Slytherin, and say... Hufflepuff, was the strong ambition to marry someone rich and powerful. Draco, in his fifth year, had taken to slipping hints that Goyle would be more than willing to take a trophy wife. Pansy hadn't caught on.

"Yes?"

"Draco, you have the most unbelievable scowl on your face. Have you gotten bad news?" she continued timidly.

Draco looked over at her, and she cringed under the full force of the glare. "Oh, my father just wrote me. Apparently the Dark Lord has taken to disco music like a duck on water. The fool is changing his stance on Mudbloods, and is considering looking up Dumbledore to apologize for all the trouble he's caused the last few years," he lied sourly, before standing up and stalking out of the hall, not even bothering to sneer at the shocked expression on Pansy's face.

He stalked down to the dungeons, heading towards Snape's classroom. He stopped for a moment, smoothing the scowl off his face, and strode into the classroom. Snape was standing at the head of the class, dividing potion ingredients into small groups. Idly Draco wondered if this was for class, or something Voldemort had asked Snape to cook up. "You're early, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said quietly, before turning back to his task.

"Breakfast didn't agree with me," he said simply, sitting down at his usual spot. He pulled out some parchment, and began writing a letter to his father.

Dear Father,

I will do as you ask, but I do hope you realize that Dumbledore has protected Potter from Portkeys. The old fool made a special point of letting the rest of the school know about it, probably in hopes that it would get back to the Dark Lord.

Draco smirked at the parchment slightly. It was always better to cover one's backside when dealing with Lucius Malfoy. Let alone the Dark Lord.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape's voice broke into Draco's writing. He looked up. "Would you care to help me?" There was a faintly menacing note in Snape's voice, one Draco remembered from his childhood. His father must have been in contact with the professor recently.

"Certainly, Professor Snape." Draco put his parchment away in his robes, where he could be sure that no one would find it, and walked to the front of the class. "What would you like me to do?"

Snape pointed to a cauldron near the corner to the right of his desk. "Stir that. Do not let it boil." Draco nodded, and started at his task. "Has the package arrived?" Snape continued.

Draco rolled his eyes. The complicated language involved with being a Death Eater in public places always struck him as silly. "Is the package ready?" "The delivery will be made soon." "Special arrangements have been made." Draco's personal favorite piece of code came from Crabbe's father. He'd heard it when he was about eight; the remaining Death Eaters that his father had rounded up were trying to subtly kill, bribe, or maim their way into high positions at the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy, of course, already had his, but was, as always, an ambitious Slytherin; Lucius wanted the Minister of Magic position. "The biscuits are ready to be eaten," Draco still got a laugh out of remembering Crabbe Senior's dark bass intoning that sentence. No innocent conversations ever went like that. Saying sentences like that was a dead giveaway for suspicious activity. "No, my father wrote me to say that the package," Draco sneered as he said it, "will arrive tomorrow morning. Do you know what's in it?"

"No, your father wanted to make sure the package was a surprise for everyone involved." Draco mentally lifted an eyebrow; was that worry in Snape's normally acerbic voice? Perhaps that was the cause of Snape's annoyed tone earlier. Draco had known Snape since he was a boy. In fact, Snape had been named his Godfather before the Dark Lord's first fall. And the quickest way to get Snape's goat, other than Longbottom's sheer inability to get anything right or Potter's usual display of stupidity, was to leave him out of the information loop. Severus Snape needed to have control. All of his ducks had to be in a row. Draco had once read a Muggle psychology text, and was able to spot many stereotypes amongst the Hogwarts population. Severus Snape was the very definition of "anal-retentive." "What do you know of it, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked.

Draco shrugged slightly, the motion awkward as he extended his arms stirring the potion. "I only know two things: it's a gingerbread house, and whatever it does is set to go off at 9am." He looked over at his mentor. Snape was nodding distractedly.

"A gingerbread house?" he muttered in thought. "Not a Portkey, surely, Lucius isn't stupid enough to try the same trick twice." Snape looked over at Draco.

"I don't know either. Unless Father means to kill Potter with sugar shock, I haven't a clue. You of all people should know how little he tells me." Snape nodded, it was true. While Draco was able to put on all the airs of a Death Eater, his father had refused to initiate him until he was out of school. The reports Draco brought home with him at every holiday, not to mention the furious exchanges of owls whenever the Death Eaters were planning something, were too helpful to the cause to waste. Intelligence gathering would be stopped if any of the children were initiated as Death Eaters. Millicent Bulstrode had been expelled the day after she had been initiated and received her Dark Mark. Draco still hadn't figured out how Dumbledore knew. Unless it was the spy. Somehow, even with all the bits of intelligence that Draco was able to gather, the plans always went wrong. Even when they went right, like giving Riddle's diary to the Weasley girl, or the Portkey during the Triwizard Tournament, the situation still ended up wrong. Draco had once asked his father during his fifth year if it was possible that there was a traitor amongst the Death Eaters, and received a vicious backhand for his trouble. He had learned one lesson from that: don't ask the difficult questions in person.

He stirred, contemplating the various different people it could be. Crabbe and Goyle weren't intelligent enough to be turncoats. Plus, Draco had done enough to ensure their undying loyalty. He'd proven himself to them as a child; Crabbe and Goyle may have the combined IQ of a sock, but they didn't stick around Draco Malfoy simply to copy his homework and push people out of his way. It was simply a matter of knowing who wanted what, and going to whatever lengths to provide that. Crabbe had been easy to garner support from; they had been neighbors as children, and often played together. Draco had been eight when he discovered what Crabbe wanted. The taller, stronger, less intelligent boy simply wanted to be dominated. Oh, he loved the feeling that came from causing blood, pain, and death. But what Crabbe loved more than seeing another person's blood was his own. Crabbe wanted to bleed.

Draco and Crabbe had been playing in the Malfoy Manor hedge maze. Draco had been fascinated with it as a child, the tall green hedges that seemed to grow oppressively as you walked through the maze. His father, seeing Draco's love of the maze had taught him a charm that would always lead Draco safely out, but had refused to tell Draco what was at the center. Two years later, Draco still hadn't found his way through. It was as if the hedges moved simply to foil him in his quest. That particular morning, Draco had dragged Crabbe with him to the Maze, and they walked through in silence. Rounding a left turn, the pair of children had walked right into a large man. The man, tall, bulky, with brown hair, had to have been one of the Death Eaters Draco's father was entertaining in the evening. Draco had demanded what the man was doing in his Maze, and had been punched away. "Little boys should stay away from grownup things," the man sneered, hiding something behind his back. Draco had stood up and glared at the man. He motioned to Crabbe, who darted behind the odious man's back to try and grab his treasure. The man started, and Draco caught a glimpse of something black, and round, and shiny. A ball, or sphere of some sort. The man had retaliated by kicking Crabbe in the head, and walking away. Draco had walked over to his friend, and helped him up. He had been faintly surprised to see a thin trail of blood rolling past Crabbe's lip and over his chin. The other boy had been smiling.

Goyle had been slightly more complicated than Crabbe. While Crabbe craved simple pain, Goyle craved anything that made him feel. Draco hadn't met Goyle until he was nine. While Goyle's father was a Death Eater, Goyle had spent most of his childhood overseas with his mother, apparently in training to be the greatest wizard assassin the world has ever seen. Draco had remembered laughing hysterically when his father told him that after his first meeting with Goyle. When his father coldly inquired what Draco found so amusing, Draco had given his true opinion of Goyle's intelligence. A truly good assassin was smart, Goyle would never live up to his father's ambition. The boy knew more hexes than Draco and Crabbe combined, but always forgot them ten minutes after learning them, for example. Goyle knew he'd never live up to his father's expectations, and did his best to break out of the nine years of training he had endured. Goyle had endured the Cruciatus Curse so many times that the other boy's nerves were dead. Goyle, literally, couldn't feel anything but excruciating pain or pleasure.

Having found the weaknesses of both boys, Draco had quickly stepped into the role of supplier, and ingratiated himself to them for their entire lifetime. Draco supplied what they craved, and they supplied what Draco himself was either too disdainful, or too busy to deal with: namely physical labor.

So, two suspects eliminated. That left the seventh year Slytherin girls, Blaise Zabini, one Ravenclaw, a few Hufflepuffs, and Snape himself. Draco had ruled out all the younger students because they were truly too young to be either invited to counsels, or sneak into them. Not to mention the lack of ability to keep their mouth shut.

Draco pondered Blaise for a moment. The other boy was really too much of a loner to be trusted, and to make matters worse, Draco had no idea what the other boy's ambition was.

"You can stop stirring now, Mr. Malfoy," Snape's voice broke into Draco's thoughts. He looked up, nodded, and took the large wooden spoon out of the caldron.

"What next, professor?"

Snape looked wryly at Draco. "What, you mean you didn't bother to figure out what was in that caldron? I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco instantly did his best to look contrite. "I apologize, sir. I was thinking."

"Potter?"

Draco eyed his professor for a moment. "Yes," he lied simply.

"Just don't hex him in my class, Draco," Snape said, continuing to stare at Draco.

"Of course, sir. I wouldn't want to get you into trouble," Draco replied pointedly.

Snape's eyebrows rose to the vicinity of his hair. Whatever he was about to say in response was interrupted by the entrance of a few students for class. Draco just smiled at Snape sweetly, doing his best to put the other man on his guard. It was possible that if there were a traitor that person could be a student. But the most likely person for a leak at Hogwarts was either Draco himself, or Snape. Snape had the access on both ends of the chain, whereas none of the children were able to get information or take part in planning raids. And unless someone had been Polyjuicing Crabbe and Goyle, Draco himself wasn't the leak. That left Snape as a loose end to be dealt with. It was much more fun tackling opponents when they knew what was coming. Draco and Snape stared at each for a few more moments before Draco broke the standoff and headed to his seat. He pulled out his letter to his father and continued.

I would appreciate it if you could explain what exactly I'm going to be holding onto a gingerbread house for a full week. It would be much easier to hide, conceal, or lie about if I knew what it did.

Draco Malfoy

Draco snorted down at his handwriting. He almost wished he could see his father's face as he struggled to decide if he should congratulate Draco on demanding information as a man would, or punishing his impudence for demanding information, especially when Draco was referring to events without the elaborate Death Eater code. With Draco's luck, it would end up being both. Lucius hadn't been the most stable recently.

"Draco?" He looked up, and Pansy was standing in front of him. He just stared at her. "I'm sorry if I offended you in the great hall."

Draco smiled at Pansy, and waved her off benevolently. She dropped down in the seat next to him, and started to chat absently. Draco didn't pay much attention, but he did catch a reference to "Christmas" and "family dinner." He refrained from rolling his eyes at her. Once, when he had been fourteen, after Draco had taken Pansy to the ball, the Malfoy's had been invited over to the Parkinson's for a Christmas Eve dinner. The whole affair had been a long, laborious event, and to top it off, the food had been terrible. Obviously the Parkinson's had invited them over in hopes of impressing Lucius Malfoy, and perhaps begin a little marriage arrangements while they were at it.

Thankfully for Draco's sanity, his father had been disgusted, rather than impressed, which didn't bode well for the Parkinson's hopes of marriage. Which was just as well, because Draco would marry Potter before he ever touched Pansy. The Yule Ball had been bad enough. She'd even tried to kiss him; a slobbery affair in the middle of a dance. Draco had shoved her off, and left back for the Slytherin dorms.

Draco looked down at his letter to his father and decided to send it after Potions. "You're going to smash the Slytherins today, right Harry?" the Weasel's voice intruded on Draco's thought. He'd completely forgotten about the Quidditch game that evening, a lapse that didn't bode well for the game itself. The Gryffindor trio had sat down right in front of Malfoy and Pansy. Draco vaguely wondered if they were gluttons for punishment. Of course, he was perfectly happy to provide for their masochistic tendencies. He hadn't gotten anywhere near his quota of Potter bashing this week anyway.

"Smash us, Weasel?" Draco scoffed. "You'd have a better chance of getting lucky with McGonagall." Weasel's face reddened. "Oh, how sweet! You're color coordinated!"

"Leave us alone, Malfoy," Potter said quietly, placing his hand on the Weasel's shoulder, forcing the taller boy to turn back towards the front of the room. Draco sneered at their backs. He noticed the Granger Mudblood staring at him hostilely. He smiled sweetly, and waved at her. The Mudblood grimaced, and turned back around. Draco considered their backs for a few moments.

Potter and his cronies had been less hostile over the last year. Draco chalked it up to Diggory's death in fourth year. But regardless of the reason, outside of the Weasel, they seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid Draco. Only the Weasel seemed to seek out confrontations. While this provided less irritation for Draco if his plans backfired, it also provided less pleasure. One of his favorite things to do was to torment Potter. Life just wasn't as fun if he couldn't see that bright red color slowly creep up Potter's neck and face as he got increasingly more furious or embarrassed. Draco absolutely loved that color.

Crabbe and Goyle finally entered the room and sat down, flanking Draco. He could see them both smirking down at the Weasel and the Mudblood's backs, respectively. Looking over at Crabbe, he raised an eyebrow. Crabbe's smile turned nasty, and he pulled out a Filibuster Firework, and pointed at the caldron in front of Potter and his cronies. Draco cocked his head and considered. It would be amusing to see Potter's potion explode. However, since they were sitting behind Potter's cronies, Draco would most likely get drenched in the stuff as well. He shook his head at Crabbe, and mouthed "later." Crabbe looked disappointed, but nodded.

"If you would all please take your seats?" Snape said pointedly, looking over at Longbottom, who was standing in the aisle talking to Potter. Draco poked Goyle, who stuck a foot out and tripped the Squib as he frantically tried to slip into a seat. "10 points from Gryffindor, Longbottom. Go sit down." Snape continued, glaring at his least favorite student. Potter turned around and glared at Draco, who gave him his best "who me?" expression. Potter snorted in disbelief, and shook his head at Draco. "We'll be making the Excidocidi Potion today. It's properties are similar to a simple Obliviate memory charm, however the potion is much more powerful, and much less precise." Draco tuned Snape out, he could make the Excidocidi potion he could make in his sleep. He looked down and saw the Mudblood making copious notes. Just like the bitch. Potter seemed to be daydreaming, and the Weasel was doodling a picture of Snape as a demon on his parchment. It was a wonder those two passed any classes, let alone got high grades. "And you'll be working pairs today. Potter with Malfoy." Draco glared down at Potter and waited for the other boy to move to him. He noticed that the Weasel was with Crabbe, and the Mudblood with Goyle.

Honestly, could Snape get any more predictable? Just once Draco would like to make the number of students in the class uneven so that he wouldn't have to be paired with Potter. Before Crabbe completely shifted away, Draco caught his arm and pointed over at the Longbottom Squib, who was working with Pansy. Crabbe smiled viciously, and nodded. For once, the idiot had caught Draco's meaning without Draco having to make things explicit. "Well, Potty," he turned to his partner, "hadn't you better get started?"

Potter sighed. "Not today, Malfoy," he whined. "Why don't you get the ingredients?"

Draco stared at him. "I don't think so, Potty."

"10 points from Gryffindor, for not cooperating with your partner, Potter," Snape called out from where he was looming behind the Squib. Potter rolled his eyes, and walked away to get the ingredients for the potion. Even if the other man was a spy, his blatant favoritism did come in handy. Draco smiled over at Snape, the other man just nodded in response before turning back to Longbottom and Pansy.

Potter returned, and handed Draco the parts of the potion that didn't need to be chopped, sliced, or diced. Draco tossed them in the caldron, added water and started stirring. He looked over at the other boy as his arms rotated automatically. Potter had grown up a little bit since the fourth year; he was taller than Draco, but also lankier. They were both still the shortest boys in the seventh year, something that irked Draco to no ends. Potter had no right getting taller than Draco was. Potter's glasses were held together with tape, and the hair was still pointed every which way. Draco supposed the biggest change was in Potter's face. He had lost his childhood curves, and his face was more angular. Worry lines had settled around his eyes, giving crow's feet to him. He looked old. "Here," Potter thrust the cut arnica root into Draco's face. Draco pointed at the caldron, and Potter dropped the root pieces in.

Draco sighed slightly. He wondered how the hell he was supposed to give a gingerbread house to Potter. The other boy wasn't likely to accept anything given to him by a Malfoy, so in person was right out. Any type of shrinking spell and then depositing the house on Potter's person wouldn't necessarily guarantee that Potter was holding the house when the spell activated. Same with school owl. Perhaps a challenge? No, that wouldn't work well. They both had Care of Magical Creatures in the morning, and Hagrid was more likely to break up any fights before they really got started. Draco supposed the only way to really make sure Potter was holding it, was to shove it in Potter's hands at just the exact moment the spell triggered. It was either that or face his father's wrath. "You're quiet today, Malfoy," Potter muttered. Draco glared over at him.

"Perhaps I just want to get the assignment done, Potty. Unlike you, I do take my schoolwork seriously," Draco smirked over at the other boy and was pleased to note the first small sign of red creeping up past the collar of Potter's robes.

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy."

Draco laughed. "You're the one who was complaining about me being too quiet. There's just no pleasing you, is there, Potty?"

The red pushed up further and was now staining Potter's cheeks. "Just keep stirring."

"Not in the mood, Potty? Oh, you poor baby. Did something happen? Did you finally discover that Cho Chang is dating Marcus Flint?" Potter's head swung over to stare at Draco at that last taunt. Surprise seemed to be warring with confusion. Draco smiled.

"I have no idea where you got that idea, Malfoy, but Cho has far better taste," Potter replied simply, before turning back to the mugwort he was slicing.

Draco laughed at the unexpected comeback. Seems as if Potter was improving. "Oh, that's right! How silly of me! Chang does have taste. I mean, she didn't ever date you, right? It's not like she could have missed you following her around like a little lost puppy?" Potter seemed to be chopping the herb far harder than was called for. "But no, I have it on the best of the authority that she and Flint are happy as can be. In fact, I heard it from Chang herself the last time I saw the pair of them in Diagon Alley." Potter's knuckles were white from the death grip he had on the knife. "I say, what is the world coming to? I'm sure the Weasel and the Mudblood will be breeding next."

Potter turned towards Draco, and pointed the knife. "If you have a problem with me, take it up with me," he spat furiously. "Leave my friends out of it." Potter turned back to the root and began chopping with renewed vigor.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve, Potty? Would it help if I said I was sorry? And promised to kiss it and make it better?"

"Leave off, Malfoy," Potter said, a warning note entering his voice. Seemed as if Mr. Potter was close to explosion.

"You might want to be careful with that mugwort, Potter. There has to be some left to put in the potion, you know."

"Here, Malfoy," Potter roughly shoved the chopped herbs over at Malfoy, and stalked to the back of the classroom. Draco watched him stomp away in bemusement. He leaned over towards Goyle at the next workstation.

"Seems as if some people in class can't take a joke," Draco commented smoothly. The Mudblood glared at Draco and he pretended not to notice.

"10 points from Gryffindor, Potter. Don't leave your workstation again," Snape called out from where he was standing next to Lavender Brown and Millicent Bulstrode's caldron. Potter returned, looking far more resigned than angry a few minutes later.

"Are you ready for the..." Potter checked his list of ingredients. "Cucumber? Who puts cucumber in a potion?" he asked in a flabbergasted tone of voice.

"It's for taste, Potter. No one willingly drinks a memory potion like this, it's too powerful and too nonspecific. Potions like this are given, not used," Draco replied smugly.

Potter looked over at Draco. "Have you ever --" Whatever Potter was going to say was cut off by a loud explosion. Crabbe had evidently lit the Filibuster Firework and thrown it in the Mudblood's caldron. The Mudblood and Goyle were covered in puce slime. Snape, who had been inspecting their work at the time, had also been drenched.

"50 points from Gryffindor!" Snape roared. "AND GET OUT OF MY CLASS! ALL OF YOU!" He pointed a shaking hand at the door, and everyone, as soon as they could remove their caldrons from the fire and chill them, fled. Seems as if Snape was too angry to care about the reprimand he'd get from Dumbledore for not completing the lesson. Although, given the way Draco had seen Dumbledore handle his professors, a "reprimand" mostly likely consisted of not asking Snape for tea the rest of the week.

The rest of the day had only been marginally better for Draco. While the sight of Snape and the Mudblood covered in slime had been entertaining, his astronomy class with Professor Sinistra had been a disaster. She had assigned a three-foot essay on Andromeda. Dinner had also been eventful, mostly having to do with Crabbe and Goyle letting off more fireworks. Both of them had ended up with detentions for the rest of the month. That left Draco alone to study until the Quidditch game in the evening. That, and of course plan how the hell he was going to get the damn package to Potter in the first place.

Madame Hooch had been refereeing. The Snitch had been released and shot straight towards Potter, as if it was called through a summoning spell. All the other Seeker had to do was hold out his arm and leisurely grab the Snitch. It was infuriating, and Draco had demanded that the Snitch be checked for tampering. The game score was being held until the Snitch could be thoroughly checked.

Then there had been the fiasco with the arrival of the gingerbread house. By the time the house had arrived, Draco had a marginal plan for delivery. It was simple, but he figured it would be effective. The problem was in the timing. He headed up to the Owlrey to accept the package just before midnight. Draco slunk through the corridors, hoping to miss both Mrs. Norris and Filch. He arrived safely, and in time to take the package.

His father's large peregrine falcon glided through the rooftops, and dropped a medium sized box into Draco's hands. On it, was a note:

Draco,

Here is the package. Make sure Potter has it by 9:00 this morning. There are dire consequences if you fail.

Lucius Malfoy

"There are dire consequences if you fail," Draco mocked his father's words in a falsetto. "Who talks like that? No wonder Potter killed Voldemort 15 years ago, all of his supporters were too caught up in a cliché to help him." Draco shook his head, and looked around to see if the falcon was waiting for a reply. It wasn't. "Bastard couldn't even wait to see if I'd gotten the package, could he? He probably trusts the falcon more than he trusts me." Draco patted his pocket, where the letter to his father was still waiting to be sent and grimaced. "Bastard," he repeated, this time referring to his own forgetfulness. Draco opened the package and removed the ornate gingerbread house. It did look quite good to eat. Draco shrugged, pulled out his wand, and shrunk the house until it was small enough to fit in his palm.

Draco stalked back to the dungeons, and crawled into bed. It wasn't so much that he hated his father, Draco just didn't trust Lucius. For good reason. When he was a child, and no real threat to his father's power in either the Ministry, or as a Death Eater, Draco had been pampered, spoiled, and loved. But now, as he was growing older and becoming an accomplished wizard skilled in the Dark Arts, Lucius was slowly starting to keep Draco out of the loop. He had once overheard a discussion between his mother Narcissa and Lucius. Narcissa had compared the father and son to Zeus and Chronos. As for Draco, he would much rather earn his own place. Although, stealing his father's did have its merits.

Draco was too pragmatic to figure that killing his father would earn him an in with Voldemort. Voldemort didn't approve of betrayal within the ranks. Betraying someone like Harry Potter was one thing, but another Death Eater? No.

Draco rolled over in bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and concentrated on falling asleep. His father was a problem for another day.

Morning came quicker than Draco was expecting, perhaps due to his unusually late night. "Draco, get up..." Crabbe was shaking his shoulder. Draco punched out blindly, and ended up socking Crabbe in the arm. Most likely, the punch had hurt Draco more than it hurt Crabbe. "We have Care of Magical Creatures in 10 minutes!"

"I'm up," he muttered. "Wait, did you say 10 minutes? You let me sleep through breakfast?" He gave his most menacing glare at Crabbe and leaped out of bed.

"We tried to wake you," Goyle replied sheepishly from the door. He held a few pieces of toast in his hands. Draco threw on a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, and his robes. He grabbed the toast out of Goyle's hands before the other boy could start eating them. "Hey, Draco, those were mine!"

"'Were' being the key word in that sentence," Draco replied under his breath. "Let's go, or we'll be late." He stalked out of the dorm, chewing on toast, confident that Crabbe and Goyle would follow.

They arrived at Hagrid's cottage just in time for class to start. Hagrid was letting the Cu Sith out of his cottage, where the large creature had been spending time with Fang. Draco idly wondered if the pair of them were going to mate. Now that'd provide an interesting new species.

Draco glanced down at his watch. 8:55. Time to put his plan into action. "Stay here," Draco told Crabbe and Goyle. He casually strolled over to where Potter, the Weasel, and the Mudblood were standing. He fingered the house inside his pocket, and smiled at the trio as they stared at him. "Hello, good morning. It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" the Weasel asked, annoyed.

"Oh, nothing really. Just wanted to chat about the weather," Draco said in the nicest tone possible.

"Weather?" the Mudblood repeated.

"My, is that an echo?" Draco said, in the same tone.

"Shove off, Malfoy. We don't want you here," Potter said firmly, pointing towards Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, is this more of the famous Potter brilliance at judging people? I would have thought you'd have realized by now that you have no taste." The Weasel growled in response to Draco's comment.

"Don't Ron," the Mudblood cautioned. "He's just baiting you, and it's not worth it."

"Actually, given the state of his bank account, I am quite worth it," Draco told her, finally allowing his tone to become disdainful. "Imagine, being both an idiot and poor. What a tragedy. How do you ever survive, Weasel?"

"C'mon Ron, let's go over there," the Mudblood began pulling the Weasel away, but Potter stayed.

"All right, Malfoy, that's it. You can insult me to the world ends, but I draw the line at my friends."

"How altruistic. Just like a Gryffindor," Draco pronounced the word like a curse.

"We'll duel then. Tonight. Midnight. At the Quidditch pitch," Potter replied, his hands clenched. Draco laughed.

"Why wait?" He took a swing a Potter's stomach, aiming low in hopes of dropping Potter to the ground. Potter doubled over, but didn't fall. Draco followed his punch up with a swift push, and this time Potter overbalanced. He sprawled on his back, and Draco jumped on top of him. He quickly reached into his pants, and pulled out the gingerbread house. Once he had that cupped gently in his right hand, Draco grabbed Potter's right hand. Praying that the timing was right, Draco dodged Potter's return punch, and slammed the gingerbread house into Potter's hand. He tensed to jump back and avoid the repercussions of the spell, but Potter had grabbed onto the back of Draco's shirt tightly. Potter swung the same fist the house was in at Draco's face.

There was a flash of white light, and he passed out.

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Author's Notes:

Peregrine falcon: in the hierarchy of falconry, an Earl or a Duke can only fly a peregrine. That seemed to jive with my understanding of Lucius's place in Voldemort's hierarchy, so I picked it for his personal delivery bird. Plus, it being a falcon, and not an owl, it'd stand out as superior.

Cu Sith:

Cu Siths are the green fairy dogs of Britain (specifically Scotland, if I remember correctly). It's roughly the size of a large calf, and generally considered very dangerous to meet. Seems like Hagrid's sort of animal.

Excidocidi:

A rather corrupted version of excido, which in Latin is to fall out, or down, to fall from. Essentially, it's a memory potion. While Obliviate can erase a certain amount of time from someone, such as a few minutes or hours, while this potion is far more powerful and much less specific. Don't worry, there won't be a test until chapter 3.

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