Demons, Death Eaters and Malfoys

DEMONS, DEATH EATERS AND MALFOYS.

~Prologue~

A snob, a Malfoy and the unexpected recipient of a letter.

Draco Malfoy sat at his desk with his head in his hands, his usually sleek white-blonde hair chaotic. He looked up and cried out in angry frustration as he threw another wadded up piece of parchment over his shoulder.

It shouldn't be this frickin' hard to write a frickin' letter! His mind cried. What's your problem?!

Frustrated, he shoved his parchment and his quill aside. Standing up suddenly, he knocked his chair over as he made his way over to his bedroom window. He gazed out onto his family's vast property, thinking about how his father would murder him if he ever found out...

A sudden laugh- a fake laugh- broke the young Malfoy's thoughts. He looked down into the garden below, only to find his mother, the snobby Narcissa, and her equally snobby 'friends' Nora Crabbe and Seraphina Goyle sitting at the garden table drinking tea. He rolled his eyes and walked back to his desk. He sat down and just stared at the blank parchment and quill that lay before him, as if willing the right words to appear onto the page.

Once he finally realized that he would have to do it himself, he sighed and pulled the quill and parchment back towards him.

Dear? To? He thought, trying to work out which opening would be best.

"I didn't think that it would be this hard!" he yelled at nobody in particular. "I've known her for six years and I can't even write her a fucking letter?!"

"Can't write whom a letter?" came an unexpected voice from behind him. Draco jumped, and swiveled around to find his father standing in his doorway. His mind raced; trying to find an appropriate answer. Lucius' eyes fell on all the wadded up pieces of parchment that littered Draco's bedroom.

"Can't write whom a letter?" his father repeated, picking up a ball of parchment. His father moved to open it, and Draco rushed over and took it from him, throwing it aside into his rubbish bin, which was already overflowing with parchment.

"Uh..." replied Draco, nervously tugging on his collar. These next few moments were very critical; the difference between his becoming a Death Eater and not; the difference between his schooling at Hogwarts and, perhaps, Durmstrang or Beauxbatons; the life and death of the addressee of the letter; all depended on his answer at this very minute. His father glared at him pointedly, obviously expecting an answer sooner rather than later. "Pansy Parkinson," he stammered finally. His father's glare subsided as he nodded. He looked on at Draco in mild suspicion.

"Very well," he replied. "I had no knowledge of your interest in her!" Draco opened and closed his mouth, debating on what to say next.

"I thought she would be appropriate," he lied. Lucius nodded once again.

"It's a good choice," he said. "She belongs to a respectable, pure-blooded family." Draco nodded. His father took one last glance at the disgraceful mess that lay before him before soundlessly leaving the room. Draco sighed in relief as he closed the door after his father. He began picking up the parchment-balls and stuffing them into the already over-full bin.

"Pansy Parkinson," he muttered to himself, snorting at the humour of it all. I wouldn't touch that annoying little dog with a ten foot pole if you paid me! He thought to himself. Mind you, she'd probably do well with Potter...he laughed aloud at the thought. I don't know who I'd feel sorrier for!

Once he'd rid his room of the rubbish, he sat back down at his desk and picked up his quill, this time knowing exactly what he wanted to say.

"Dear Hermione..."