To Be a Slytherin

Disclaimer: As usual, nothing's mine. There are no original (invented by me) characters in this chapter, but you may be seeing some further down the road!

A/N: Thanks again to my betas, kalariah and alice.E.White, who were NOT there for me. I did the best I could on my own, and if you like it, please let me know. I appreciate comments and suggestions.

Phase One

Draco walked to Transfiguration class, which the Slytherins shared with Gryffindor this year. His steps slowed as he reached the classroom door, and he peered expectantly around the corner, to be sure no one else was there. Then he slipped inside. So far, so good. He had come to class ten minutes early so he could begin his plan before the nosy Gryffindors came around. He had an image to maintain, after all. He walked up to Professor McGonagall's desk, hoping she wouldn't see through him.

"Professor McGonagall?" he said in his sweetest voice.

Minerva looked up from her essays to see Draco Malfoy standing in front of her. He had an eager expression on his narrow face, and his perfectly coifed blond hair was even more perfectly arranged than usual--if such a thing was possible, she thought wryly. She didn't like his look. What was he up to? she wondered, but instantly rebuked herself. Just because he was a Slytherin was no reason to judge him before she heard what he had to say.

"How can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" she inquired politely.

Draco watched varying emotions play across the Professor's face. When she finally appeared to accept him, he let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding. He put on his most studious look, and forced himself not to pat down his hair one more time.

"I was wondering if I could get some tutoring in this class. My recent transfigurations haven't been perfect lately, and I think I could use the help--" he trailed off expectantly, looking artfully down at his hands, as if embarrassed. He knew she couldn't refuse him. Professor McGonagall firmly believed in each student reaching their full potential, and was eager to help anyone who wanted to learn more. He was not disappointed.

"Your grades in this class have been fair," she began. "You are actually one of my best students." The disappointed look on his face--could it have been calculated? No, surely not! She went on, ignoring a growing feeling of unease. "However, if you feel that you require more than what I can offer you in class, by all means, pair up with one of your friends, and I can give you some extra credit work to study."

This was not the answer Draco expected, but he hid his disappointment well, and set about correcting the situation.

"Ah, about that, Professor..." he said uncertainly. "I don't wish to criticize my housemates' abilities, but I feel that they cannot teach me anything I do not know. In fact, I do not know of anyone in my house who could help me." That ought to do it, he thought. Just give her a few minutes, and she'll recommend me to her star pupil.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy. If your housemates cannot help you, there is certainly someone in Gryffindor who can," said the Professor. "I'll speak with Miss Granger about your request, and give you her reply by tomorrow. I cannot guarantee that she'll take kindly to your request, you understand." This last she added, against her better judgement. She knew that Hermione loved teaching almost as much as she did--but a Slytherin? Well, only time and Hermione herself could answer that.

Draco went to his seat-almost jubilant. Tomorrow evening he would be studying with Granger! Not that the thought of the Mudblood's know-it-all company was so enjoyable, but he would be in a perfect position to cause some real damage to Potter. He had been so clever about it, too, he reflected. There was no way she could refuse. Not after she found the note in her desk. He could just imagine her reading it now.....

"Dear Miss Granger,

"You are one of the smartest students I know--maybe the smartest, even.

If you're so smart, then perhaps you'll take a piece of advice--continue

sucking up to McGonagall. You never know how you might be rewarded

for your scholastic efforts.

Quidditch is a dangerous sport.

Sincerely,

An admirer

Draco chuckled softly to himself. She would never suspect him--she would be too busy crowing to Weasley that she had an admirer. Granger was always trying to make Weasley jealous. It worked, too. Draco himself could not imagine what Weasley saw in bushy-haired, buck teethed Granger. She was too bossy for his taste. The Weasley girl on the other hand...for one second he pictured waves of fiery hair, surrounding a pale, freckled face like a cloud of flames.

Wait a minute. What was he thinking? Weasley was pretty; there was no denying that. But even the fact that she was a pureblood would not convince his that she was a quality person. Draco could just picture his father's face when he casually mentioned that he was dating a Weasley. He would probably throw a fit of icy rage, and ask Draco what he had done with his son. A true Malfoy would never forget that social status, good looks, and money were almost as important as pure wizarding blood.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you still with us?" Professor McGonagall's strident tones interrupted his train of thought.

"Yes, Professor," he responded, resisting the urge to scrunch down into his seat like a child caught in mischief. He never allowed his thoughts to wander like this in class! Draco was in fact very studious, second only to the annoying Mudblood. He was briefly grateful that his father had taught him the impassive charm early in life. That way, no one would ever suspect that he was embarrassed.

"Then please explain to the class the theory behind Transfiguring a quill into parchment, and back again." Draco could have sworn he saw a twinkle in the Professor's eye.

If she was trying to embarrass him for his inattention, she had miscalculated. This was one thing he was particularly good at, and the whole class would know when he was through.

He put on his most pompous air because it would annoy the Gryffindors, and began lecturing. He left no detail out, no matter how small and ended his beautiful soliloquy by demonstrating. The class was appropriately impressed, even the Gryffindors, although they tried their best to look nonchalant. Gryffindors were so transparent! It was quite amusing. McGonagall was forced to award ten points to Slytherin, and the Potty trio looked positively mutinous, especially the freckle-faced Weasel.

After class, Draco and his two bodyguards headed down the stairs to the great hall. They had an hour before their next class, and it was their custom to have a snack before Potions. Well, Crabbe and Goyle usually snacked (eating Draco's share too), and Draco would keep his father happy by using this time to talk to Pansy. Pansy's family was one of the oldest wizarding families (even older than the Malfoys, but not as wealthy), and Lucius had insisted on keeping friendly contact between them.

Draco suspected that his father privately didn't care much about purging the world of Mudbloods and Muggles--that had always been Voldemort's plan. There were those sick Death Eaters who hated every Muggle ever born, but he thought Lucius Malfoy wasn't one of them. In fact, he knew of at least one Mudblood that his father had secret business connections with. He had been to their house several times over the last summer holiday, and always with the strongest secrecy spells. They were so thick Draco could almost see them, hovering over Malfoy Manor the whole time the visitor had been there and for an entire week after he left.

If only his father knew how disgusting Pansy was. Even more repulsive was the fact that she openly adored Draco. If he let her, she would be worse than the Weasley girl was with Potter. But he was always careful to talk to her just enough to keep her happy, but not enough to give her ideas. They had attended the Yule Ball together, mainly because it was easier than asking someone he really liked. Like the Weasley girl. Not that he wanted her. She was pretty, but he didn't think of Ginny like Weasley thought of Hermione. He merely thought it might be refreshing to spend time in the company of someone who was even slightly intelligent.

The Weasley family was one of Dumbledore's strongest supporters, and Draco knew that to attend a dance with one would be fraternizing with the enemy. Lucius knew that Voldemort hated Muggle-lovers almost as much as Muggles themselves. His father was a bloody coward. Not to mention the fact that Lucius himself harbored a particularly intense hatred toward Arthur Weasley and all of his brats. Draco didn't know why; his father refused to canvas that particular subject with him.

But wasn't Draco himself a coward? He might be fascinated by the Dark Arts (illicit, dangerous things always appealed to him), but he could never understand Voldemort's vendetta against Mudbloods and Muggles. Yet you parade around the school, giving everyone the impression that you can hardly wait to receive the Dark Mark. If you don't like what Voldemort's doing, then take a stand against him, instead of hiding in shadows, putting on the biggest act--shut up, he told his conscience firmly. I want to stay alive.