The World According to Draco Malfoy

The World According to Draco Malfoy

by Marysia (Dec 2002)

Rating: G

Summary: The first 4 books told from Draco's point of view. Prequel to The Marks We Bear.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Chapter 3 - First Class

Draco went straight to bed as soon as they got to their dormitory, he didn't want to spend any more time with his new house-mates. but was woken up by the other three boys he was sharing his room with when they came up from the common room to go to bed themselves.

Zabini was quiet enough but Crabbe and Goyle were blundering around, laughing and joking. Draco lay quietly, the curtains closed around him but the small lamp on his headboard lit, and listened to them. He realised that there was nowhere to go where he could be alone anymore, his room didn't belong to him. The common room would be even worse. He looked around the small square of space that he had to call his own, dark green drapes enclosed his bed and swallowed much of the light his small lamp cast. The sheets under him smelled strange and were scratchy compared to the ones he had at home, the blankets over him didn't feel right. The room outside was long and narrow and the beds were lined up along one wall with trunks at their foot and a small bedside table to their left, facing four identical wardrobes on the other side. His bed was the furthest from the door, there were no windows as they were in the dungeons, but there was a fireplace half way down the room. Why would anyone put a bedroom in a dungeon? He suspected the older years had rooms above ground level though, as the staircase continued up to their dormitories and he was fairly sure, though he had got a little turned around on the way down here, that the common room was only two levels down from the ground. The walls were pale green and the carpet dark green and it felt like an old hospital ward.

Now that he was awake he couldn't get back to sleep, it might have been his imagination but his bed felt and smelled damp and musty. He turned over and wrinkled his nose as plumping his head back down on the pillow sent another waft of unfamiliar smell up. Eventually, after Goyle and Crabbe had stopped talking, he gave up and decided to write a letter home. He peered out through the curtains and found the room dark, opening his curtains enough to see he got a quill, ink and parchment out of his trunk and retreated back to bed.

'Dear Mother,' he wrote, then stopped, crumpled up the parchment, and started again.

'Dear Father and Mother,

I am writing to let you know I have been sorted into Slytherin, as have Crabbe and Goyle. My other housemates are Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Cynthia Nott, Millicent Bulstrode and Morag McDougal.'

He paused and thought about what else he could tell them, there was one obvious topic of conversation...

'Harry Potter is starting at Hogwarts this year too and he is hanging around with one of those Weasleys, they were put in Gryffindor although I don't know why, he didn't look very brave to me. Everyone was so excited about him coming to Hogwarts but I don't see what all the fuss is about, he is rude and scruffy and wears broken glasses. I introduced myself to him but he clearly thinks he is better than everyone else because he is famous.'

He read over that and then continued...

'I think the headmaster may be senile, which would explain why he lets the gamekeeper look after first year students. We almost broke our necks climbing down what was practically a cliff and then had to travel over a lake to the school in some tiny boats which didn't look safe at all. If one of us had fallen in I'm sure we would have drowned as I very much doubt that monster could swim, he's so big he'd probably sink straight to the bottom if he jumped in.

My dormitory is in a dungeon and it is very cold and damp down here, the bed is lumpy too and Goyle just started snoring. I don't know how I will get to sleep.

I met a ghost at dinner who seemed to know father but he didn't tell me his name. He was covered in blood.'

He stopped, having run out of things to say, and wondered how to finish the letter. Should he say he missed them? Probably not, his father wouldn't like that. What would his father approve of...

'Your son, Draco' he finished.

He rolled the parchment up and sealed it with one of the few spells he had learned so far. His father had taught it to him specifically for sending letters home and it meant that only the person, or people in this case, that the letter was written to could break the seal. His father said it was only fitting that he should teach him his first real spell. He wasn't that great at casting it but he could seal it with the Malfoy seal every time now, he just was never sure whether the charm would hold any better than a normal wax seal. His mother had taught him a spell too, it was a spell to make light come out the end of his wand and he had asked her specifically to teach it to him in case there was no night light in his room.

He would have to wait till tomorrow to send the letter as his owl, Mabon, was up in the Owlery and he wasn't even sure how to get there never mind the fact that he didn't want to go wandering around the school in the middle the night. He put the letter and his quill and ink back in his trunk and lay down again to try and get to sleep. This time he was successful.

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Draco took his letter up to the Owlery as soon as he was dressed, but unfortunately he had misjudged how long it would take him to do so and by the time he got back down to the Great Hall breakfast was nearly over. The castle was a maze of moving staircases and trick doors and while his home was inclined to be like that too, he knew the Manor inside out and never had trouble finding his way. Hogwarts was several times the size of the Manor and he didn't even have a map, the best you could do was ask the portraits where to go and a lot of the time they didn't really know.

Crabbe handed him his timetable and he looked it over as he tried to eat his porridge quickly without looking like he was rushing. There was a magical map on the back that showed the location of the next class, in this case his very first class, which was Herbology. Every day was filled with the exception of Thursday afternoon, as a rule he seemed to have two classes before lunch and one after, except for Friday when he had two before, double Potions, and two after. He was looking forward to Potions, and to Charms and Transfiguration and Astronomy for that matter, but he had no real interest in Herbology, which sounded a bit too hands-on, or History of Magic, which sounded really boring and was apparently taught by a ghost, or Defence Against the Dark Arts, which sounded a bit too dangerous. He knew his father wanted him to learn about the Dark Arts, but he'd really rather not. He supposed some of it would be okay, knowing how to curse people and stuff, but everyone else would be learning it too and they'd be able to curse him right back then. The class also covered Dark Creatures, he had read over many of his course books already, and he didn't want to learn about them, he had skipped right over the chapters on most of them despite the fact he knew he'd have to read them eventually. He had enough trouble sleeping without reading about werewolves before he went to bed.

Sure enough, Herbology involved getting dirty, and Draco stopped off in the bathroom to wash himself up before he went on to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and was rather late as a result.

He was pleasantly surprised by Defence Against the Dark Arts, there was actually very little discussion of anything especially frightening. They were with Ravenclaw again, it seemed most of their classes would be with them, which was fine with Draco, he didn't want to be held back by Hufflepuffs and he certainly didn't want to have to put up with the teachers fawning all over Potter and Weasley making snide comments about his family.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom smelled very strongly of garlic and the teacher was a twitchy little man who wore a ludicrously large purple turban. He jumped nearly a foot in the air when Draco pushed open the door.

"My!" he said. "Thought everyone was here already. S-sit down, then."

He introduced himself as Professor Quirrel and went on to tell them a story about defeating a zombie in Africa, though thankfully he didn't go into details, and said his turban was a gift from the thankful natives. Everything he said took twice as long as it needed to because of his stutter and because he kept getting side tracked and forgetting where he had got to. As far as Draco was concerned he was further proof that the headmaster was senile, to have hired someone who was so clearly incompetent to teach his own subject. How could you be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher if you nearly had heart failure because Crabbe snuck up behind you and shouted, "I vant to suck your blood!"

Draco, who had put him up to it, and Goyle nearly died laughing and even the Ravenclaws grinned a bit although most of them were too busy reading their textbooks to appreciate the joke. They were mostly ignoring Professor Quirrel since he wasn't really saying anything important.

Draco was flicking through his Charms book. So far he hadn't really had to do anything, his wand had stayed firmly in his pocket all morning, but after lunch it would be different and he was nervous as to how he would stand up against the others in his class. At least he didn't have Transfiguration until tomorrow, that sounded really hard.

By the time lunch came around he was starving, but he only put a small amount of food on his plate and ate it leisurely, his mother had trained it into him at an early age that a well bred young man did not stuff his face at every opportunity. When Crabbe and Goyle stayed over she refused to eat in the same room as them, she said it made her queasy. Certainly his mother was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen and had a perfect figure so she must know what she was talking about when it came to these things. Much as he found it useful to have Crabbe and Goyle's bulk around to stand up for him he wouldn't be seen dead carrying around that kind of weight. It simply wasn't appropriate for someone of his breeding and besides, it would slow him down on his broomstick.

Across the hall there was a near riot at the Gryffindor table, there was food being thrown and Draco could see Potter and Weasley grinning like idiots. Weasley had food on his face.

"Look at them," he said archly. "You'd think they would have grown out of playing with their food by now." Beside him Goyle quietly put down the fork full of peas he had been about to flick at Pansy Parkinson.

"Harry Potter is rather sweet though," said Pansy thoughtlessly, Cynthia Nott giggled.

Draco glared at them with all the deadly force he could muster and Pansy actually blanched.

"I mean... for a Gryffindor," she stammered.

Charms went fairly well, even though Draco got the impression that many of the teachers didn't like Slytherin very much. Certainly they always seemed to favour the Ravenclaw students, but then it turned out his Charms teacher was head of Ravenclaw House so he supposed that was to be expected. They didn't do any magic at all that afternoon, instead Professor Flitwick tested their knowledge and talked to them about focusing exercises and what the difference was between a charm and a hex.

In fact it wasn't until Transfiguration, next afternoon, that they used their wands for anything. It turned out that the witch who had led the Sorting Ceremony was also their Transfiguration teacher and the Assistant Headmistress; her name was Professor McGonagall. She was very strict, speaking to them sternly about messing around in the classroom, and favouring the Slytherins in the class with particularly threatening looks as she did so. She then turned her desk into a pig and back again. Draco was suitably impressed but it didn't take long before that wore off as she then proceeded to talk for half an hour about techniques and more about focus and then when he thought he was never going to get to learn any magic they were each presented with a match and told to turn it into a needle. Draco stared down at his in surprise, he had no idea where to begin as he had stopped paying attention about fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't meant to, his attention had just drifted away from him. It was something that happened a lot, his father was always getting angry with him for not listening to what he was saying, although over the years he hadn't become very good at bluffing his way through his fathers lectures.

He tried to remember what she had been saying and what he had read in his Transfiguration textbook last night, then pointed his wand and repeated the words everyone around him was muttering as they jabbed at their own matches.

The match stayed stubbornly wooden no matter how hard he tried. He focussed, he waved, he visualised, and finally he dropped his wand on the desk and said, "This is never going to work!" rather more loudly than he had intended to.

"Is there a problem, Mr Malfoy?" said Professor McGonagall dryly.

Draco looked up and realised everyone was staring at him. He pasted a smirk on his face and said, "I think my match is faulty."

"Patience," said McGonagall, "Is a virtue you should work on, Mr Malfoy. As is perseverance."

"Why would I want to turn a match into a needle anyway?" he argued. "Couldn't you just use a spell to sew things together?"

"If you can't turn a match into a needle, I very much doubt you can cast a needlework spell either. Now stop disturbing the class."

Draco glared at her turned back, Transfiguration wasn't fun at all, it was boring and pointless, much like his match. Across the room Mandy Brocklehurst squealed, apparently her match had gone a bit silver. Draco tried not to pout. Maybe his wand was broken, Ollivander had said fig was a temperamental wood, maybe McGonagall's prune-like face was putting it off. Next to him Goyle had given up as well, he lit his match, leaned foward and set fire to Cynthia Nott's sleeve with it. Draco swallowed a shocked laugh and pretended he hadn't noticed as the flame ran up her robes. Cynthia suddenly screamed and leapt up out of her seat, her movement seemed to fan the flames and they licked up and caught her long hair. Professor McGonagall came running over and extinguished the flames with her wand. Cynthia was crying and Draco pasted a concerned expression on his face, big baby, McGonagall was looking at her arm and she wasn't hurt at all.

"Who did that?" McGonagall roared, rounding on the closest likely culprits.

"I didn't see, I was persevering with my match," Draco said, holding up his match innocently.

Goyle just gaped up at her, excuseless and matchless.

"Where is your match, Mr Goyle?"

"It... uh... disappeared."

"5 points from Slytherin," McGonagall snapped. "If either of you two disrupt the class again you will both get detention." She turned away. "Do stop crying Miss Nott, you are not hurt."

"My hair!" Cynthia wailed. "It's burnt!"

"Oh, for heavens sake! Class dismissed." As they put away their things and scrambled out the door Draco heard her muttering something about Slytherins always causing trouble.

The rest of the week went along much the same, they were given only a little magic to do and very few of them succeeded in actually doing it. He found he wasn't too bad at Charms, better than he was at Transfiguration anyway, not that that would be difficult.

Goyle was making a habit of getting bored and causing trouble and eventually on Thursday afternoon Draco decided enough was enough, he had lost Slytherin 20 points already and he could see the older Slytherins glancing at the three of them with disapproving looks. Even though it was only really Goyle that was losing them points, it was getting him into trouble as well.

"I've had enough of you messing about in class, Goyle," he told him imperiously.

"I thought you thought it was funny," complained Goyle.

"I did, but it's getting tedious. Cut it out."

That evening at Midnight they had Astronomy, and while he liked to look at the stars he felt it was very unfair to make them do Astronomy until the early hours of the morning when they had to get up next day. They should have Astronomy on Friday nights so they could sleep in the next day. He was already tired from having to get up much earlier than he was used to every morning, even his father hadn't insisted he was up before nine and here they were supposed to be washed, fed and in class by then. He'd slept right though History of Magic yesterday morning, as had half the class from what he could tell. History of Magic was even more boring than he had expected, he suspected Professor Binns had probably died from the boredom of his own subject. Dumbledore probably hadn't even noticed he was dead, his skeleton was probably still lying in a corridor somewhere. They had History with the Hufflepuffs, but having been asleep he hadn't really seen much of them. He had smirked at MacMillan on the way into the classroom though.

They had to be chased out of bed in the morning by one of the Prefects and if it hadn't been Potions this morning he might have considered just going back to bed after he had showered, but he was looking forward to Potions. His father said Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, was a very good teacher and Draco had always been good at making Potions, it was the one thing he really had done before as it didn't require a wand and his parents were both quite skilled at it.

The Potions classroom was in the Dungeon levels, quite some walk from the Great Hall and their dormitory. It was also colder than even their Common Room as it didn't have a warm carpet on the floor or a large blazing fire, when he breathed out he could see his breath appear faintly in the air. It was a pretty creepy room, he didn't fancy having to be in here on his own. The walls were decorated with pickled animals in jars... or at least he hoped they were animals.

Professor Snape swept into the room and immediately began to take the register. "... MacDougal... Malfoy..."

"Present."

Snape glanced at him briefly and nodded. "... Nott... Parkinson... " he paused and looked up, "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity." He bit off the word celebrity with a look of distaste.

Draco glanced over at Potter and hid his grin behind his hand as Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. He'd heard Professor Snape didn't like Gryffindors much and he should have known that a decent teacher wouldn't fall for Potter's fame. Now Potter would see who was the right sort.

Snape finished the register and looked the class over, his expression reminded Draco of when his father was annoyed, cold and remote. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said in a near whisper that nonetheless carried right to the back of the room, no one was stupid enough to make a noise, not even Goyle. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes," Draco hung on every word, Snape's voice was strangely hypnotic and it almost seemed as if he were reciting poetry. "The delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach,"

This was more like it, the power of life and death, all done at a safe distance. It didn't matter if you were six foot tall and knew every curse in the book, not if someone had slipped poison into your pumpkin juice. You were dead, and you'd never even know who had killed you.

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Draco turned around to see if Potter would know the answer. He did, of course, he had read up on Sleeping Potions ages ago, he could even brew a simple one, although he had never done so entirely on his own. Potter looked completely stumped and was looking to the Weasley next to him for help. No luck there, Potter, Draco thought smugly, should have been nicer to someone who could have helped you out. Next to them a Gryffindor girl with frizzy brown hair was just about standing up she was reaching her arm so high in the air. Snape was ignoring her completely, as he should, he'd asked Potter not her, you didn't see Draco waving his hand around like an idiot just because he knew the answer.

"I don't know, sir," said Potter finally.

Snape was clearly unimpressed, "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything."

Draco was struggling to hold in laughter at the look on Potter's face and the desperate look on that stupid girl who was still waving her arm around. He wondered if maybe she just really needed to go to the bathroom, she did look as if she were about to burst.

"Let's try again, Potter," Snape continued. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Draco didn't know this one, but all he cared about right now was the look of embarrassment mixed with anger on Potter's face, his father was right, Snape was brilliant.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry again, looking frustrated.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Draco was sure he hadn't, probably thought he'd get an easy ride just for being Harry Potter, well at least there was one teacher that would make sure that wasn't the case.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkswood and wolfsbane?"

Draco knew that one too, Potter was pathetic, these were hardly difficult questions. The girl clearly agreed as she had now stood up and was bouncing up and down on her toes trying to get her fingers higher. Were all the Gryffindors this pathetic?

"I don't know," Potter said for a third time, looking more angry than embarrassed now. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few of the Gryffindors laughed at this but Snape wasn't amused. "Sit down," he snapped at the girl. He then proceeded to give the answers to the questions he had asked and took a point from Gryffindor for Potter's attitude.

They were paired off to make their first potion, Draco was thankfully put with Goyle, which meant he could keep an eye on him. He didn't want his friends disrupting the class and making Professor Snape think badly of him.

The potion they were set was simple and Draco told Goyle just to watch and let him make it. It was going very well, in fact Professor Snape was just praising the consistency of his stewed slugs when the class was disrupted by that idiot Longbottom. There was a loud hissing noise and a cloud of bright green smoke billowed towards them. Everyone scrambled to get away from the potion spilling across the floor as it appeared to be rather corrosive. Longbottom was moaning in pain, whatever he had done had left the blundering fool covered in boils. Snape quickly cleaned away the mess and sent Longbottom away to the hospital wing in disgrace. Then, to Draco's delight, he rounded on Potter and told him off for not keeping an eye on his classmate. He was absolutely right of course. Hadn't Draco made sure that the Slytherin's class idiot, Goyle, hadn't caused any trouble? If you were going to take the place of leader you couldn't just sit on your laurels, you had to actually do a bit of leading. It was clear that Potter was to be, unofficially at least, the person his fellow Gryffindors looked up to. He didn't deserve the job of course, but being famous meant you got recognition whether you deserved it or not.

Potter was clearly no leader, he had no poise, no style, and he didn't pay nearly enough attention to what went on around him. It seemed very unfair that Draco, who had all of these attributes, was having to constantly work to make his place as the leader of his house, when Potter, who was manifestly unsuitable for the job, was given it automatically.

By the time they had reached the last class of the day Draco was exhausted. Thankfully it was only History of Magic so he could get some much needed sleep. He had no idea how he was going to survive the coming months if he was this tired after only one week of classes.

As he slept with his head on his arms he dreamed that he was back in Potions, only instead of being taught by Snape they were being taught by his father. No matter how hard he tried to get things right he couldn't seem to stop dropping things, it was as if his fingers were asleep. As his father glared at him disapprovingly he could see Potter and Weasley laughing at him across the room. The noise of the class leaving woke him up.

The weekend seemed to drag on forever. Although he had been looking forward to the break all week he didn't enjoy it at all when it came. He still wasn't sleeping well in his new bed, it bothered him that so many other people had slept there before him, it just didn't seem sanitary and sometimes he could swear he smelled stale sweat and urine through the general damp and mustyness, never mind the possibility of bed bugs! Just lying on it made him itchy and he had a worrying rash on his side, just below his ribcage. He had gone to see the school nurse about it on Thursday afternoon and she had the nerve to say it was probably just the stress of being away from home, or possibly a mild allergy. More likely he was being attacked in his sleep by hoardes of ravening bed bugs, he was sure the blood loss was making him anaemic. The communal bathrooms were awful too, he was sure to catch something. He ought to look up some sort of disinfecting spell. At least he had his own soap, washcloth and towels, which he made absolutely sure nobody else got near. If only his mother had thought to pack him a set of bedclothes.

He had recieved a letter from his mother on Tuesday morning, but reading her words had nothing like the same comfort value as seeing her smile and hearing her voice and knowing she would always be there. Except he had been wrong, she wouldn't always be there. She wasn't here, and summer holidays aside he would spend the next seven years of his life here, the rest of his childhood. It felt like the rest of his life. He would be someone else when he left Hogwarts, an adult. He had never felt so alone as he did now in this castle full of people.

He spent Saturday afternoon writing a letter to his mother in the shade of a large oak tree while Crabbe and Goyle played a game nearby that seemed to involve getting hit with sticks a lot and then acting out grossly elongated death scenes. To the sound of Crabbe's dramatic moans Draco told his mother about his classes so far, going into elaborate detail when it came to Potions and Professor Snape's glorious derision of Potter. He also described his rash, even drawing a picture, and asked her to send new bedsheets and if possible the details of any spells he could use to banish bed bugs or sterilise the shower cubicles before he got in them.

He spent Sunday in a funk, hiding in his bed with the curtains closed, unable to bear the presence of his housemates any longer. It was raining outside and it was so damp in the dormitory he was sure he could feel the water sloshing around in his lungs. If he fell asleep he thought it was entirely possible he might drown. It seemed as though there were people everywhere, in the Common Room, in the Library, in the corridors and the Great Hall and the Owlery. It was intolerable, unbearable, he would surely go mad. You couldn't relax for one second, there was always someone watching. It was like one long, neverending test and he seemed to be failing already. The only classes he was any good in were Potions and, to an extent anyway, Charms, and no matter where he went he couldn't seem to get away from Harry Potter. It wasn't that he saw him that often, they only had to put up with the Gryffindors in Potions and at mealtimes, but all anyone seemed to do was talk about him. Do you think he remembers what happened, do you think he'll play Quidditch, isn't he cute, do you think he has a girlfriend?

"Of course he doesn't have a girlfriend," Draco had snapped at a second year girl only that morning, before he had taken himself to the safety of his bed. "He's only eleven, and besides, why would anyone want to go out with that four-eyed freak? You want to be part of his collection of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers do you?"

The girl had looked very surprised at being spoken to that way by a first-year, but before she could retort Pansy Parkinson said, "I certainly wouldn't date him, he has terrible taste and he's not even a real pureblood. His mother was a Mudblood!" Privately Draco thought that Potter would run screaming from Pansy if she ever did try to ask him out.

"Besides, he's a G ryffindor," put in one of the third year boys. "Can't have our lovely Slytherin girls deserting us for the enemy, giving away all our house secrets." He winked at Pansy as he said this and that was when Draco had stalked out in disgust.

Potter and sex, were these people all idiots? It was all the older boys seemed to talk about, their summer conquests and who they had their sights on next. Rubbish! Everyone talked such rubbish all the time. He wished he was in Ravenclaw, at least then he might get some interesting conversation. He was used to Crabbe and Goyle talkinq rubbish but he had expected better of everyone else. They were just all so irritating, if people were all like this no wonder his father was always in such a bad mood.

People were idiots!