I've Got A Job For You, Draco
Draco tried his best not to look; while also trying to appear to be looking and not reacting. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do in his short life.
Maybe it was the screams. Maybe it was the begging. Maybe it was the relentlessness of the whole event. Maybe it was the audience. Maybe it was the fact that she was naked. Maybe it was all of them combined. But Draco couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t even remember the poor girl’s name, being as focused as he was on not collapsing, screaming or being sick, or maybe all three at once. All he knew that she was being tortured in front of himself and all of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, naked. All because she was Muggleborn.
Draco was no stranger to prejudice, he had been heavily prejudiced himself for most of his life, most prominently at Hogwarts when he was introduced to a plethora of different witches and wizards. He had been taught from a very young age that being Pureblood was best and anything else was lesser, something to be ashamed on. His Father never understood why Hogwarts accepted any students that weren’t Pureblood,
“Perhaps some of the Halfbloods I can understand, they should have a chance to redeem themselves. I suppose it’s not their fault their parents decided against purity. Not those who have anywhere close to Muggle related marriages though. Purebloods marrying Halfbloods here and there isn’t the worst thing in the world I suppose, they have a chance at redemption. Mudbloods,” He had sneered, “are beyond hope. They should all be eradicated from the Wizarding Community. Disgraceful if you ask me. No no, Draco, being Pureblood is best.”
“Yes Father.”
He wished he was in simpler times. Perhaps he could maintain a disinterested gaze by thinking of something other than the horrifying sight in front of him. Narcissa had divulged to him when he had been indoctrinated into the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle that although Lucius was much more involved, she had had to be present at some meetings, and so had to let her mind wander and maintain a guise of mild interest.
“The Malfoys - luckily for us dear Dragon,” she had informed him, “are well known for appearing aloof. If anything ever gets too much for you, you can use this trick to your advantage. If you appear disgusted, the Dark Lord will be displeased and may punish you in front of whoever is there - make an…example of you. But if you appear…enthusiastic like perhaps…Aunt Bella, he may ask you to perform more specific tasks.” Draco gulped,
“This is why mild interest is best, dear.” She continued, holding his hands, “You’re less likely to get into trouble.” Draco gazed just above the Muggleborn on the table - he didn’t think he was capable of calling her ‘Mudblood’, she’d done nothing to deserve it. There had been a time when Draco had used the word with glee, thrilled to bits at the reaction it had gotten out of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley when he’d first used it at school. He winced now, to think of the hurt it would have caused her. And the look on Harry Potter’s face when he’d realised what it had meant-
Draco risked a glance - only a glance - at the Dark Lord. The man who wanted Harry Potter dead and felt hatred burning in his chest like nothing he had ever experienced. His younger self would have been so proud of himself, to know where he was now…well his younger self could have it. This was not what he wanted. He let his mind drift back…
*
“You will treat each and every wizard you meet with the level of respect they deserve from you, no more, no less. And what are those levels?"
“Those Purebloods working in the Ministry, especially the Minister for Magic are my superiors, that includes yourself and any of my older relatives until I am of age myself.”
“Good.”
“Other Purebloods my age are are my equals and should be treated as such and I am allowed to befriend them.”
“Excellent.”
“Halfbloods are tolerable, not friend material, but acquaintance tolerable and could potentially redeem themselves through marriage but are not for me to look for in a partner.”
“Very good.”
“Muggleborns-”
Lucius tsked, “M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D-S” he gritted out.
Draco gulped, “Sorry Father, Mudbloods, Squibs and Muggles are far beneath me and must be squashed.”
“One final one Draco…werewolves. Disgusting creatures. Whatever their Blood Status they are not to be fraternised with, am I making myself clear?”
“Of course Father.”
“Very good.” He clapped Draco on the shoulder and left the room. “You may go and play now.”
*
“Listen Draco.” Draco looked up from his lavish breakfast. “It may have come to your attention from the Daily Prophet, which you should make it your duty to read, that Harry Potter is going to be joining you in your first year at Hogwarts.”
“Yes, Father I am aware.” Draco suppressed the urge to get excited. Harry Potter was every Wizarding Child’s Hero, he was famous and had been so since he was a year old. What Draco would give to be that famous and that powerful as an infant.
“You will make it your best interest to befriend him.”
“It would be nice for you to extend your warmest welcome to Harry Potter.” Narcissa said, a little gentler than Lucius.
“But Father, isn’t Harry Potter a…Halfblood? I thought those were tolerated acquaintances only?” Draco picked up on a slight twitch in his Mother’s eye but she didn’t comment.
“Now Draco.” Lucius said, a little patronisingly, “I think we can all agree, that Harry Potter is no ordinary Halfblood. Not only is he famous and obviously greatly magically gifted, but he is a Potter. I think we can forgive James for having a small lapse in judgement after the Potters had been completely pure for so long. Despite her unfortunate Blood Status, Lily Evans, Harry Potter’s Mother, was very…” He stopped, with a smile on his face that Draco’s young mind could not quite place.
Narcissa coughed and Draco observed her to he scowling and red. Lucius collected himself and continued, his gaze back on Draco again,
“Very,” he coughed, “prolific with Potions! No doubt she brewed something to sully his bloodline.” His eyes darted back to Narcissa, who looked even less pleased for some reason and opened her mouth, “Do you remember I told you there were exceptions that could be made?” Lucius continued sharply. Narcissa closed her mouth and sat back.
Draco nodded.
“This is one of those exceptions.”
“Alright Father.”
“He could prove to be a very valuable ally Draco.”
“James Potter was a little weak in his judgement of the company he kept and the wife he chose…” his eyes shot to Narcissa as if for approval, but she was no longer looking at him, but at a peacock chasing a peahen in the yard. Lucius sighed and carried on, ”but his family were extremely noble and very pure and James Potter is dead, therefore has no immediate sway over his son’s views. Harry Potter is very much alive. You remember I told you some Halfbloods could be…redeemed?”
“Yes Father.”
“Harry Potter could be…moulded. I believe if he chooses to become affiliated with us, he and his famous reputation could redeem himself and be an asset to the Malfoys.”
“Of course Father.”
“The first chance you get, you are to inform him who you are, the family you come from and that he should be careful the kind of company he keeps. We don’t want him making the same poor mistakes his Father did now do we?”
“No Father.”
“Just be nice to him Draco.” Narcissa interjected, laying a hand gently on his soft blond hair. “I’m sure he’ll be your friend if you’re just nice to him.”
Draco looked to his Father.
“Harry Potter needs to know where he stands, Cissa. Being nice will get Draco nowhere. James Potter thought he was being ‘nice’ and look how he ended up. Dead. No, Draco, you will do as I have instructed.”
Narcissa’s hand twitched a little but again, she chose to say nothing.
“Finish your eggs, my dragon.”
“Yes, Mother.”
*
She was screaming again…Merlin it was shrill. Was…was she dying?
Once again, Draco let his mind drift, to the one encounter that changed his whole path…the one encounter that, if it had gone differently, could have saved him from this…reality.
If only he hadn’t insulted Ronald Weasley…
If only he had listened to his Mother instead…
*
Draco was going to Hogwarts! Finally! He had met a few young witches and wizards his age on the train and had quickly recruited Crabbe and Goyle, who his Father had told him would make good allies. Their Fathers had told them about him, respectively. And now, they were standing in front of the Great Hall doors, waiting for Professor McGonagall herself to come, so they could be sorted. Draco was just boasting about his third bedroom to his new friends when he spotted a flash of red hair in front of him. He sneered, a Weasley. His Father had told him all about the Weasleys - how they were Pureblood, but a complete disgrace to their Blood Status. They were one of the ‘exceptions’ he had been told about. They should be Draco’s equal, but loved Muggles and Muggleborns and the like. Disgusting.
“Don’t worry Harry!” Weasley was saying, playfully, nudging the boy next to him.
H…Harry?
Draco turned to properly see who he was talking to and to his horror realised that he was talking to Harry Potter. His heart dropped. The Weasley boy was trying to ruin Harry Potter and his reputation! Drag him down to his level! How selfish. Draco was going to fix that. ‘I’ll save you Potter.’ He thought.
“Will you two excuse me, please?” He asked.
“Course yeah” “Yeah sure ok.” They nodded eagerly.
Draco stalked up to the front of the line. “Red hair, hand me down robes, you must be a Weasley.” He spat.
The ginger boy turned and glared at him, “You must be a Malfoy.” He countered.
“Proud to be, can’t say the same for you.”
“Why in Merlin’s Beard would you want to be proud of being a Blood Traitor?” Draco asked, genuinely confused, “And dragging others down with you?”
He could hear a collective gasp around him, but he persisted. He turned to Harry Potter, “You can get off on the wrong foot very easily in the Wizarding World, Potter, end up befriending the wrong kind of wizard. However, there is a right kind, I can help you there.” He stuck his hand out for Harry Potter to shake. To his utter dismay, the dark haired boy frowned at him and smacked his hand away. Green eyes glittering with fury met his,
“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.” Before he ripped his stare away and tugged on Weasley’s arm and walked further to the front of the crowd.
Draco’s ears were ringing. ‘I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.’ Him? The…the wrong sort?
“S’alright Malfoy!” Crabbe clapped him on the shoulder, “If Potter wants to ruin himself…you tried your best.”
He had. He had tried his best.
He’d dreamt, his whole life of meeting Harry Potter, being friends with Harry Potter. He recalled the sheer joy he’d felt when he realised that when he finally got to go to Hogwarts, Harry Potter would not only be at school with him, but he’d be in his year. He’d practiced what he was going to say to him so many times.
Pictured Harry being grateful that Draco wanted to show Harry the ropes. Pictured bringing Harry back for tea in the holidays and how proud his Father would be.
‘Just be nice to him, Draco.’ His Mother’s words drifted back to him.
No.
It was too late for that now. Harry Potter thought he was the ‘wrong sort’. Draco was hurt. So hurt. And Draco didn’t respond well to being hurt and humiliated. But he couldn’t stand the thought that he would just drift into anonymity in the mind of the great Harry Potter. No. He couldn’t let that happen.
“You’re right Crabbe.” He said, turning to him and straightening his robe, “I’ll show Potter who’s the wrong sort.”
*
All these years later, sitting watching and listening to an innocent woman being mercilessly tortured, Draco wished he hadn't been so stubborn.
Why couldn’t he have just taken his Mother’s advice instead?
Why couldn’t he have just swallowed his pride and had the presence of mind to have realised that Harry and Ron were already as thick as thieves and just been nice. Or, even, just ignored Weasley and been nice to Harry when Weasley wasn’t around? Or even apologised? Even if he hadn’t meant it?
Instead, years went by and Draco came up with more and more elaborate things to get Potter’s attention, the bitterness simmering that soon almost everything Draco did was to get ‘Saint Potter’ to notice him, not even realising himself, that it wasn’t mere bullying, it was hurt.
He’d carried the hurt with him for all these years. And that the only reason he still picked on Potter’s friends was because he was jealous. Jealous that they could just go up and talk to him. All because of one stupid mistake. All because he couldn’t let go of his pride and the only way he could think to carry on was to get worse and worse.
And now here he was. Wishing he was anywhere else but-
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
It was over. She was dead.
Draco wanted to think that thank Merlin it was over. But she was dead. Gone.
“Draco.” The Dark Lord hissed.
Oh no. He’d been staring too intently.
The Dark Lord turned. “I have a job. Just for you.”
Draco wanted to die.