Do You See The Light?

Draco Malfoy inspected himself in the sycophantic mirror before him, then nodded in approval.

"Excellent," he murmured, making a minute adjustment to the stiff collar of his robes.

"Yes, yes, excellent!" the mirror gushed back at him, but Draco ignored it and walked to the door, swinging it open to find his father standing outside, hand raised as if about to knock. He raked Draco up and down with a critical stare, then permitted a smile of acceptance, and clapped a hand onto his son's shoulder.

"Come along, Draco! Our guests will be waiting." The two men, so alike in both colouring and stature, made their way down the grand, ornate staircase to the cold marble foyer that was the entrance to Malfoy Manor. Clustered around in glittering groups were the inevitable members of the Malfoys' social circle: artificial conversation wrapped up in expensive clothes and sparkling jewels, bound together by champagne and a common heritage. Lucius moved forward to greet an old acquaintance, and Draco did likewise, as he always did. This was the way to live, he thought, not for the first time. Potter, stuck at Hogwarts all year round; the Weasel, stuffed in a house full of other Weasleys; Granger with her Muggle family: they didn't know anything. This was how wizards were meant to live: better than other people; better than anyone else. Draco grinned inwardly as he shook hands solemnly with Everard Chastain, a doddering remnant from the time of Grindelwald. Over the old man's shoulder he caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle, doubtless attending with their parents, and a sharp jerk of his head had them hurrying over.

"'Lo, Draco," said Crabbe. Goyle just waved, then stopped mid-wave, looking, if it were possible, marginally more stupid than usual. God, they were thick. He liked them that way, of course, but still - if they had a brain cell between them they wouldn't know what to do with it. Before he could do anything other than greet them in return, Lucius came up with Pansy Parkinson - looking vile in mauve - and her father in tow. Draco noticed that his father was looking particularly jovial about something, then pushed the thought aside as Lucius patted him on the shoulder.

"And isn't it wonderful to see so many of our younger wizards taking an interest in our affairs, Theodore?" he said to Pansy's father, obviously continuing a previous conversation.

"It certainly is," agreed Theodore Parkinson eagerly. "And so comforting that they haven't absorbed any dangerous ideas from Dumbledore."

"Ah. Dumbledore." Lucius spat the name out, his face darkening as it invariably did at the mention of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"Dumbledore's an old fool; everyone knows it," chirped Pansy, as if on cue, and Lucius relaxed, bestowing a benign glance upon her.

"Yes, of course. Only a matter of time, now." And Lucius wandered off again, Theodore clucking behind him, leaving Draco frowning in their wake. 'Only a matter of time.' Only a matter of time before what? The Dark Lord's imminent return to power? The birth of a new order? Fine ideas, of course, but Draco got the feeling that Lucius was talking about something more immediate. And Draco didn't like not knowing what was going on. No, he didn't like it at all.