Chapter 2
The train ride home was uneventful. You spent the entire trip attempting to help Draco recover from the bout of jinxes and curses Potter’s friends hit him, Crabbe, and Goyle with, but Pansy insisted that they didn’t need your help and locked you out of the compartment. She was pretty angry that you were staying with her boyfriend for the summer; she wanted you away from him for as long as she could keep you. It was so frustrating that she couldn’t get it through her big, daft brain that Draco was like your brother.
So that left you riding in a compartment alone, snacking on chocolate frogs as you worked on drawing.
You were picturing what it would be like living with the Malfoys, so most of your drawings were of you and Draco. Some of them included Mr. Malfoy, from what you remembered, and Mrs. Malfoy, who you made up an appearance for in your head: a lovely, well-dressed woman, with long, platinum blonde hair. You knew she was the Death Eater Bellatrix’s sister, so from posters you’ve seen of the criminal, you made Draco’s mother resemble her quite a bit.
Looking at the picture you drew of all four of you together, you felt a terrible longing in your heart for something that never was.
Adding yourself into a loving family made you want to scream; you knew Draco wasn’t entirely happy with his family, but at least his parents loved him. Why couldn’t you get that? Why couldn’t you have parents who sent you sweets every breakfast, who bought you nice things just because they adored you?
It left a faint resentment toward Draco now as well, but you couldn’t hold him accountable for not being a disgrace to his family name.
Then you felt weird for adding yourself into a family that wasn’t your own, and despite the smiling, waving faces on the paper, you ripped it out of your sketchbook and crumpled it, immediately lighting it on fire with your wand. You watched it turn to ash in your hand, which burned under the flames and now stung, red and blistery.
Close to arriving at the station, Draco stumbled into your compartment, looking slightly dazed and paler than normal. He left the door open, plopping down in the seat across from you.
“I’m going to kill him,” he snarled, glaring out into the aisle. “Harry Potter is going to regret ever being born.”
You quickly closed your sketchbook, hoping Draco didn’t see any of the drawings you did of his family.
“Are you feeling better, at least?” you asked, examining him for any residue.
“My head feels light, but that’s about it,” he replied, squinting his eyes for a moment as if the soft lighting inside the train hurt his head, then went back to normal. “If I’m made a prefect next year, I’m going to make his life a miserable, living hell.”
“Be careful. You don’t want to lose the prefect position if you’re abusing your power,” you reminded him. “Not that I’m discouraging it, of course, because I’d love to see you dock points from Harry Potter.”
“Dumbledore won’t do anything about it,” Draco snorted, his signature smirk on his face. “My father will make sure I don’t lose my position. I’m gonna be Head Boy one day, you watch.”
“Make it to prefect first, Malfoy,” you teased.
He smirked back, but this time it was one of true amusement.
The train started to slow down before coming to a halt. Draco helped you get your luggage down, dragged you along with him so he could get his own, and then led you out of the train and into the station.
You followed the crowd of students out into King’s Cross, surprised that no Muggles really seemed fazed by the bout of children swarming out of nowhere.
You glanced over to see Harry Potter trudging along to this massive man without a neck, stopping to say hello to a woman with red hair.
“Look at that Weasley woman,” Draco sneered, looking at the scene with an expression of disgust. “I can’t understand how she cares for Harry.”
You watched all of the red-headed children follow Harry, making their way over to Mrs. Weasley.
“It’s also hilarious how she has so many kids,” Draco continued, beckoning you to follow him with his head. “For a family who has no money, that woman sure can’t keep her legs shut.”
You glanced back at the scene, watching Mrs. Weasley kiss each of her children on top of the head, before giving Harry one as well, sending him over to the robust man afterward. The scene left you feeling miserable, which quickly turned into hatred for them.
Harry Potter got everything he wanted, even a loving family despite his parents being dead.
Your parents were alive and didn’t even want you. Where was the fairness in that?
“You usually laugh when I make comments like that,” Draco said, glancing at you, concern etched across his face. “Are you alright?”
“Why does Harry get a loving family when I can’t even get my parents to acknowledge my existence?” you snarled, wanting to run over and scream at them all, but they had already started to disperse.
“Because Potter gets everything he wants,” Draco replied, that look of disgust once again plastered on his face. “He’s surrounding himself with filth, anyway. Living with Muggles, best friends with a Mudblood…and those Weasleys are a pathetic excuse for pureblood wizards, as I’ve stated before.”
“I wish I was pureblood,” you murmured, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him again. “I wish I wasn’t Slytherin sometimes, too.
“You know, sometimes I actually wish I got sorted into Ravenclaw, just so my parents would still want me,” you added. “The Sorting Hat considered it, actually, but decided I’d be better fit in Slytherin.”
“Really? You never told me that,” Draco muttered, stopping for a second to look at you, then continued walking.
“Well, I think it’s a good thing you got sorted into Slytherin,” he continued. “We’re better than those Ravenclaw prats, anyway. Do you actually know any notable people in Ravenclaw? I mean, the Hufflepuffs only got a little bit of attention this year because of Diggory. Ravenclaws are nobodys.”
You nodded your head, startled to attention once you noticed the tall, blonde man standing near the wall, watching the two of you with narrowed eyes.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted you in faint recognition, nodding his head, before resting his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Hello, son. How was the ride back?”
“Potter and his friends almost killed me!” Draco immediately explained, walking off with his father. “If it wasn’t for Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and I would be near-dead.”
You remained standing where you were, as if rooted to the spot, as you watched Draco and Mr. Malfoy walk away.
There was a slight creak in your heart, a feeling as if you shouldn’t be going along with them.
Lucius had hardly acknowledged you, as if you were nothing. Why did that hurt so much more than your own parents treating you like that? You should have been used to that feeling.
Seemingly sensing you weren’t with them, Draco turned back to you and yelled, “Well, come on, then! Are you going to spend the entire summer at the station?”
Snapping out of your stupor, you quickly ran after them, faltering in your steps at the glare from Mr. Malfoy. Even Valkyrie hooted in worry.
“Go back to your family, foolish girl,” Mr. Malfoy said, a cold look in his eyes. “I’m sure Draco has told you several times that you are not allowed over.”
“She’s going to be staying with us for the summer,” Draco explained. “She has nowhere else to go, so I offered a spot with us.”
At another disapporivng scowl from the blonde, Draco added, “Professor Snape approved, as well.”
“Well, then I will be discussing things with Severus,” Mr. Malfoy replied, a look of disgust on his face that seemed much more intense than the one Draco always wore. “Come along, then.”
You followed the Malfoys through King’s Cross, not surprised to see another disgusted look on Mr. Malfoy’s face. Being so near him and seeing first-hand how much he hated Muggles was almost terrifying.
Although, as you slightly hated to admit it, you shared his mindset.
The three of you walked out of the station to a fancy car, where the driver immediately got out and opened the doors for you, beckoning for the two of you to hand him your luggage. You followed Draco into the backseat as Mr. Malfoy climbed into the front, the driver putting your trunks into the back.
“You got a fancy car and a fancy driver?” you whispered to your friend, wishing your parents had spent this sort of time and money on you.
It’s not like they didn’t have money, of course, with your mother coming from a fairly wealthy pureblood family and your father working for the Ministry, but they never bothered to spend so much as a knut on you.
“It’s a Ministry car,” Draco explained, getting situated in his spot as he buckled the seatbelt. “Father likes to get a driver to take me to and from the station. Mother typically just Apparates with me, which is definitely a feeling you need to get used to.”
You wondered once again how you’ve never seen Mrs. Malfoy. Surely she’s been at the station to pick Draco up before?
Yet again, you’ve never actually followed Draco once you left the train. Your parents (when they showed up) never really let you socialize and say goodbye.
Draco had also always disappeared fairly quickly as well, which made sense now with how far away Mr. Malfoy stood from the crowd. They must do a grab-and-go thing with him.
The car ride was silent, Draco sometimes handing you sweets that he nicked from the trolly when the lady wasn’t looking, casting glances at his father to make sure he didn’t notice.
It was a good two hours or so before the Ministry driver pulled into a long gravel driveway, lined with tall hedges on either side. You swore you could see white peacocks. Why were there peacocks? Draco never mentioned peacocks.
You were about to ask about the animals when the driver suddenly parked the car, stepping out, Mr. Malfoy following. Draco motioned for you to leave as well, crawling out of the backseat after you to collect his trunks that the driver had now set down. You set Valkyrie on top of yours, confused as to why you were getting out.
“Mother doesn’t like that Father takes a Ministry car to me, just because of the Muggles, so she forbade seeing it in our yard,” Draco explained quietly to you. “We just have to walk a little bit. The gate probably won’t let you in, so you’ll need to tell it what you’re doing here.”
Mr. Malfoy and Draco made a strange hand motion, but when you made to follow them through the now ghost-like gate, you crashed into metal bars.
“You cannot just enter ,” Lucius said, a slight smirk across his face as the bars contorted into a face, demanding reasons for entry. “Tell it why you’re here.”
You glared at Lucius through the metal bars, embarrassed, before telling the gate, “I’m here to stay with the Malfoys.”
You hesitantly pushed your hand through the misty bars, pulling your trunks and Valkyrie through as you noticed it was safe.
You caught Lucius give you a pretentious smirk before he turned on his heel, cane in hand, and made his way up the driveway, Draco following.
It was a while before, out of the darkness, a massive building loomed into view.
It was a beautiful mansion, dark and gothic, yet holding a sense of beauty to it. It was something you had never seen before, only imagined from your childhood Muggle fairyttales, a place where you’d dream of staying.
Your parents had a large house, of course, but they had a modern mansion, unassuming to Muggles passing by. They lived in a predominantly Muggle neighborhood (because of yout father’s family), so their mansion was more so something you’d see in an LA neighborhood in movies.
But the Malfoys’ held gothic beauty to it, right down to the gardens, the hedges, the dark exterior, and the albino peacocks (what was it with the peacocks?).
“This is your house ?” you whispered to Draco, afraid that talking any louder would make it a dream instead of reality. “It’s bigger than my mansion!”
“Pretty cool, right?” he boasted, smirking, as you neared the front doors.
Stepping up, making sure your stuff was secure, the doors slowly opened by themselves. You should have been surprised, but it wasn’t much of a shock that the Malfoys would enchant their house. You followed Draco inside.
You were expecting something grand, but this was more like a castle than a mansion!
The walls were gothic and stone, a large fireplace lining the wall as you stepped inside. Staircases rose on either side of you, along with a few halls leading deeper inside the house. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, the candles burning dimly in the late evening darkness. It smelled of cold stone, a soft, yet expensive-smelling floral perfume, and faint scents of something cooking.
Lucius made his way up the far set of stairs, Draco leaving his trunks in the foyer and following. Taking it as a hint, you left your stuff and made your way up as well.
You entered another massive room, architecturally intricate and dark with shadows. The ceilings rose high above you, decorated with chandeliers, and furniture was neatly lined around a dark, polished wooden floor. Directly across from you stood a large stone mantel, a warm fire burning inside.
“This is the drawing room,” Draco explained, standing next to you. “It’s where we hold our meetings.”
“Meetings?” you asked, confused.
“Well, this is sort of the Death Eaters’ headquarters,” he explained. “On days of meetings, we have a large table sitting in this open space right here. And down that way is our dungeon, although none of this has been used for meetings for many years.”
“So…how do you know it’s the meeting place?” you asked.
“Well, with the Dark Lord’s return, they need a meeting place. Father told me it would be here, so I’m sure we’ll be expecting a meeting quite soon.”
You weren’t sure if you were prepared to be here during a Death Eater meeting. You weren’t even sure you’d be prepared to meet Lord Voldemort, despite your obsession with the Dark Arts.
“Come on, I’ll take you to a spare room,” Draco said, motioning for you to follow him down a hall toward the back.
You began to make your way after him before Mr. Malfoy swept in front of you, his glare cold and very unwelcoming. You stumbled, looking up into his cold, grey eyes.
“Don’t think that this will be a permanent thing,” he drawled, eyes narrowing. “I will be speaking with my wife about this arrangement.”
At that, he dramatically swept away, leaving you standing there, slightly confused, but also thoroughly upset.
Draco was still standing where he had previously been, staring at you for a moment, before beckoning you over again. You quickly rolled your things over, following him down the darkened hall. There were square-panelled windows overlooking the garden, which was black with the growing night sky. The only lighting was from candles on the walls, and your footsteps echoed eerily.
Draco suddenly stopped at a bend in front of a dark, wooden door, opening it.
“This is the nicest spare room in the house,” he explained. “My room isn’t too far from here.”
You were half-expecting a shabby, half-put-together room, but you were greeted with the opposite.
It was wonderful ! The bed was massive, dark green curtains draped and pinned back over the canopy, sitting to the left against a wall in the centre of the room. A large mantelpiece sat across from it on the opposite wall, a fireplace underneath. Next to the fireplace, toward the back, was a doorway leading into a private bathroom, and on the side of the fireplace closer to you was a walk-in closet. The walls were painted dark purple, and the floors were soft and carpeted, much unlike the rest of the house. The wall directly opposite from your door had two long, square-panneled windows, a dark wooden dresser sitting between them. Next to your bed was a little nightstand, a vase with black roses sitting atop it. You swore the roses emit a soft glow.
“I’m going to go unpack my things,” Draco said, smiling at you before walking off.
You wanted to unpack your things as well, but the fear that the Malfoys were going to kick you out weighed heavy on your heart, so instead you set Valkyrie’s cage down on top of the dresser, opened a window, and then let her out of her cage. You then removed your sketchbook that you stowed away in your trunk before getting off the train, sitting down on the ground at the side of the bed facing the door (you were too afraid to actually sit on the bed, in case the Malfoys thought you were “contaminating” it, or something).
You took to sketching Draco, someone you’ve always drawn. He knew you did that, of course, because he’d always ask for a portrait of himself. You’ve almost nearly-perfected him, actually, only struggling with his lips now (which is something you’ve always struggled to draw to begin with).
You heard heels clacking down the hall, quickly looking up to see who it was. You weren’t used to hearing unfamiliar footsteps.
A woman stopped in the doorway. She had white-blonde hair, but the top of it was black, pinned back in a half-do. She was wearing an expensive, pretentious looking dress, but from the way all of the Malfoys dressed, you safely assumed this was their everyday-clothing.
You also safely assumed that this was Draco’s mother, given how he was almost her spitting image, down to the seemingly permanent look of disgust.
“You must be our guest that Draco and Lucius were speaking of,” she commented, voice much softer in comparison to Mr. Malfoy’s. “I’m Narcissa, Draco’s mother. And you are?”
You introduced yourself, already feeling much safer around her. She seemed to be the exact opposite of Mr. Malfoy, a sunlit forest compared to his storm-filled ocean. Draco’s personality was the perfect mix of both of them.
“Oh, yes, Draco has mentioned you to me quite a bit,” she replied. “He’s quite fond of you.”
Unsure of how to reply, all you could muster was an awkwsrd smile.
“Is the room to your liking?” she asked, slightly raising her eyebrow. “I can direct you to a more suitable one if needed.”
“No, no ma’am, this is fine,” you replied, taken aback by how nice she seemed.
“Alright. Dinner will be ready soon. Draco will come to fetch you once it is,” she said, leaving without another word.
You stared at the spot she had just been standing, suddenly feeling much, much safer in the manor than you did a few moments ago. Meeting the mistress of the house thankfully seemed to go well; despite the seemingly-permanent look of mild disgust on her face, she didn’t look at you with cold hatred like Mr. Malfoy did.
Finally feeling safe enough to unpack your things, you did so before going back to your drawings, now taking to sitting atop of the bed instead of the floor.
Most of the art you’ve done of Mrs. Malfoy was nowhere near to how she actually looked, so you went back and fixed them all, making your sketches more accurate (and magicking her on the pages to be a blank space to work from).
You weren’t too sure how much time had passed before Draco was now standing in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed.
“You know you’re allowed to shut the door, right?” he asked you. “My parents do respect privacy.”
“Uh…no, I didn’t know, actually,” you admitted, feeling slightly awkward. “Thanks.”
“Dinner’s ready. Mother sent me to get you,” he continued, walking inside before sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “What are you drawing now?”
You had gone back to doing another drawing of Draco, turning it around to show him. He beamed at it, fixing his hair.
“You’re getting good at me,” he commented, taking the sketchbook from your hands.
You almost panicked for a second at him holding it, afraid he’d see the drawings you’ve done of his parents, but then remembered he respected your privacy and never went through it without permission.
Thankfully, especially after the comment he made about your door, the Malfoys respected privacy and taught him to as well.
“I want to learn how to draw,” he muttered, setting the book down on the nightstand. “Come on, we should go before they start wondering where we are.”
You followed Draco through the house, trying to take in as much as you could as you passed by. There was so much to look at, you thought, deciding that you should do some exploring at some point. If you were to live here, it would only be beneficial for you to know your surroundings.
Draco led you down a set of stairs, different from where the drawing room was, and then took you down another hall. The smell of food began wafting up your nose, and you suddenly noticed just how hungry you were.
The two of you entered a large dining room. There was another fireplace similar to the one in your room and the drawing room off to one side, the light from the flames softly illuminating the dark walls.
Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were already at the table, both looking up as the two of you made your way over, sitting next to each other across from them.
There were already plates of food prepared for you, and you were shocked to see it looked almost as good as the food in the Great Hall. As far as you were aware, they never replaced Dobby, their previous house elf. So who had done the cooking?
“My mum’s cooking is actually pretty good,” Draco murmured to you, out of earshot from his parents. “Don’t let her know I said that, though.”
You smiled, shooting him a sideways glance.
“What is so funny?” Mr. Malfoy snarled, and you immediately turned your gaze to him, smile dropping.
“She never got meals like these at home,” Draco spoke for you, saving you from having to say anything. “So I was just saying that hopefully Mother’s cooking doesn’t kill her.”
“She can speak for herself, Draco.”
“My cooking isn’t that bad,” Mrs. Malfoy said, taking a sip from her wine glass before turning her gaze to you. “How was the train ride back?”
You went to answer her before Mr. Malfoy cut in with, “We wanted to discuss with you the…conditions of your living arrangement.”
Oh.
Maybe you thought too soon that you were here to stay. This was it, they must be kicking you out.
“It has been brought to my attention that your dear parents kicked you out because you’re a liar?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And that they take no pride in claiming you as their daughter?”
“Yes, sir,” you murmured, eyeing your plate of food, growing quite hungry.
You weren’t sure if you were allowed to eat yet, and you haven’t had anything since the sweets Draco was handing you on the car ride here.
“Help yourself,” Mrs. Malfoy murmured, as if she caught where your eyes wandered, nodding slightly at the plate in front of you. “I promise we haven’t poisoned it.”
“How did you manage to get sorted into Slytherin?” Mr. Malfoy continued, having not touched his plate of food once. “What makes you different from your family, and what made you choose here of all places to stay for the summer holidays?”
This was beginning to feel less like a dinner and more like an interrogation.
Your dislike for Lucius Malfoy was also now growing.
“I offered,” Draco immediately stepped in. “She’s my best friend, and I’m not going to let that old lunatic Dumbledore stick her somewhere that she won’t be happy.
“It’s time she spent a little bit of time here, too. It should make up for all the weeks I’ve spent at her house, putting up with her Muggle-accepting, Mudblood father.”
You were thankful that he was sticking up for you, beginning to snack on the food in front of you. It was actually quite tasty, and you had to fight yourself from shovelling it into your mouth at full speed.
You caught Mrs. Malfoy’s eye across the table, and you thought for a moment that the corner of her mouth was curled up in a slight, soft smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough encouragement for you to gather a little bit of courage in front of Mr. Malfoy’s cold stare.
“Dumbledore was actually about to send me away somewhere random,” you explained. “The only reason I wasn’t thrown into some weird wizard group-home was because of Draco.”
“I would like to know your thoughts on Dumbledore,” Mr. Malfoy continued.
Gaining a spurt of confidence and pure hatred toward the school, you immediately went into a rant about how much you hated how he favoured Harry Potter, causing the Slytherins to lose the House Cup for several years in a row, along with listening to the boy’s crazy stories and lies he told. From speaking to Draco, you knew Lord Voldemort’s return was not a lie, but you chose to leave that part out, afraid of getting your friend in trouble.
By the end of it, Mrs. Malfoy was staring at you with intense curiosity, and Mr. Malfoy’s scowl had turned into a faint expression of interest.
“So you’re on our side?” he murmured, slightly raising an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”
At that, he began to eat his food.
The rest of dinner passed by quietly, and by the time Mrs. Malfoy had collected everyone’s empty plates, Draco led you back down the hall.
“They never quite told me if I’m staying,” you murmured to him, still afraid of being kicked out, footsteps echoing off the walls.
“That was Father’s way of judging if you were,” Draco replied, putting his hands into his pockets as he looked out the windows. “You passed his test.”
Thankfully you passed. Although, you definitely weren’t expecting an interrogation (interview?) to be able to stay here.
“Your mum is quiet,” you muttered, noticing her only statements she made had been quite casual and friendly toward you. “She came to greet me in my room earlier, actually.”
“As judgmental as she can be toward non-purebloods, she’s heard your name enough to give you a chance. I do know that neither of them are quite thrilled at the fact that you’re not pureblood, but you’ve impressed them in many other ways, so I’m sure they’ll learn to overlook that.”
The two of you arrived at your room, where Draco followed you inside.
“You’re also more than welcome to decorate here,” he added, touching one of the walls. “I can ask Mother to take us shopping so you can buy some decorations…and new clothes, of course. I’m sure you don’t have anything extra besides what you brought back from school.”
You laughed, shaking your head.
“I do have some clean clothes, but I’m quite tired of wearing the same ones over and over,” you grumbled, boredly kicking your trunk. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Great,” he replied, smiling, before making his way out of the room. “Remember, my room is just right down the hall. Come if you need anything. Goodnight.”
At that, he left and shut your door behind him, somehow making the room seem darker than it already was.
You changed into your pyjamas before climbing into bed, closing the drapes around you. Deciding you didn’t like not being able to see into the room, you pinned them back up before lying back down.
The mattress was soft and comfortable, and the blankets were perfect so you weren’t too warm, yet weren’t too cold either.
You were expecting it to be difficult to fall asleep, being in an unfamiliar house, but to your own surprise, it wasn’t. Almost as soon as your head hit the pillow, you drifted off.