Draco Malfoy And The Wily Wizard

Draco Malfoy was a very special boy. Although he was neither exceedingly smart, athletic, or remotely nice, Draco was unlike most other eleven-year-old boys on the planet. He was a wizard - and a very promising one at that.

True, he was no Harry Potter - but that was what made him so much more special. Draco was never meant to be a Harry Potter, born into fame, beloved by all, and the most powerful wizard of his time. No, Draco Malfoy was destined to be overshadowed, misunderstood, and unpleasant.

Draco was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a very wealthy and prominent wizarding couple. The Malfoys were known supporters of the infamous Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, during his reign of terror. In the aftermath of the Dark Lord's reign, they had managed to escape charges by claiming that they were acting under the Imperius Curse, but very few had actually believed that.

Presently, Draco was enjoying his last few days of summer vacation. He loved to boss around the servants and house-elves. It was the way he had been taught to behave; they existed for the sole purpose of satisfying his every whim. Considering this was Draco, there were very many whims to satisfy. He sat down to relax next to the immensely large pool with a glass of cold pumpkin juice, intent on doing nothing for the rest of the day.

"Where could that owl be!" snapped a shrill voice from inside the mansion. Draco rolled his eyes and tried in vain to block his mother's snippy voice from his brain. But apparently Narcissa had decided to join her son by the side of the pool and would not be shut out. "Polly Parkinson told me that Pansy got her letter yesterday - and Vincent Crabbe got his last week!"

"So what if I haven't gotten a letter yet. It'll come." Draco slurped his pumpkin juice loudly, well aware that this completely annoyed his mother.

"But Draco--"

"It'll come, Mum," he sighed.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Draco Malfoy. And the letter had better come. If Albus Dumbledore thinks that he can slight our son…!"

"I don't see why you're so set on Hogwarts, anyway. Dad wanted me to go to Durmstrang, and I'd have got along just fine there."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him. "There was no good reason to send you to Durmstrang - you know that! Hogwarts is a perfectly acceptable school, and you will fit into Slytherin just fine."

Draco shrugged, unwilling to carry the conversation any further. Truth be told, he was not terribly concerned with fitting in wherever he wound up. He had always been a loner - except when circumstances arose where having others around him was absolutely necessary. One of his father's favorite sayings was that friends were good for only two things: advancing your career and exploitation. Who cared if people liked him so long as they respected and feared him?

Narcissa frowned at him, obviously disappointed in his lack of interest. "Draco, dear, do try not to stay out in the sun too long. You know how delicate your skin is."

In response, he set down his pumpkin juice and dove into the water, effectively ending the conversation.

Narcissa stared at him for a moment, then turned sharply on her heel and went back inside.

* * * * *

The next day, Draco hid out in his room, nursing a bruised ego and very painful sunburn. He supposed that he had stayed out in the sun a bit too long yesterday - but at least it had been fun. The Malfoy's house-elves were busy applying a soothing anti-burn potion and waiting for the redness to die down. Draco leaned back against the pillows of his bed, hissing slightly as his sunburnt left shoulder missed the pillow and hit the headboard. To cover it up, he quickly snapped at one of the elves.

"Does it take all day to get a breakfast? I'm hungry here!"

"We is sorry, master," the little elf sobbed. "But the mistress is saying we must heal master's sunburn first!"

"Then one of you stay and apply the potion, and the other go get my breakfast! It will be no good if I am sunburn-free, yet waste away from hunger."

The other elf nodded frantically. "We is understanding. Dobby is going for food, sir."

Draco laid his head back on the pillow, careful this time to avoid the headboard, and thought back to his conversation with his mother. She was right - he really should have gotten his owl by now. Either something was wrong, or Hogwarts didn't want him. Well, fine then! He didn't want Hogwarts either. At Hogwarts he would have to play the part of the nasty Slytherin boy, the son of Lucius Malfoy. Not that he wasn't nasty, but it was the fact that it would be expected of him to be the nastiest - the leader of all the others...

He suddenly sat up, eyes narrowing and jaw set in a firm line. What was he thinking! He was a Malfoy, raised from birth to be a leader.

Draco grunted and reached over to the nightstand for a book. One of Draco's favorite things in the world was reading, as it was a great escape from the reality of his life. He was especially fond of wizard actions books such as The Sovereign Sorcerer and From Everlasting to Everlasting: a judgment day tale, but he had been known to read A Young Wizard's Guide to Joke Telling, the very popular Spells of the Heart (his mum didn't know he had that one) and he had even once picked up The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle before his father burned it.

The book he picked up this time was Flying With Emily, a silly little romance about a world-famous Quidditch star who fell in love with his childhood best friend.

As he opened the book to the last chapter he'd read, he prepared himself to be once more engaged in the life of Alistair Swift - which he was only interested in for the Quidditch, he reminded himself - and the very exciting match against the Terra Pins.

"Master, here is your breakfast." Draco took the food from the Elf and began to eat, making sure he didn't get any food between the pages as he read.

As Alistaire held up the trophy, he looked up in the stands for Emily. He found her watching him. Her eyes were teary, and her smile was telling him everything he needed to know...

* * * * *

Draco's sunburn had died down by lunchtime, and he was allowed to come downstairs to eat. His mother was already at the table when he came in, and she was holding something in her hand.

"The owl came today," she smiled. "Here's your letter."

Draco grabbed it from her and tore open the seal.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress"

Draco lowered the letter and looked over at his mother triumphantly. "Told you it would come."

"Yes, dear," she wrinkled her nose, "but you see how they left it to the last minute? Today is July 30, and they must get the reply by tomorrow. It is a great inconvenience to us."

Draco merely shook his head and fished out the list of supplies. The list was quite long, and it meant they would certainly need to make a trip to Diagon Alley soon.

Privately, Draco agreed with his mother that the letter had come late enough to be inconvenient to him... and so he really shouldn't be so excited about a school that didn't want him. But he couldn't help the slight thrill of excitement at the thought of going to Hogwarts. It was almost like something out of a dream - or maybe like something out of one of his books.

* * * * *

To be continued...