Attention

Chapter Four

There were some Malfoy traditions that Draco could do without. Taunting the Weasleys, hating Muggles and Mudbloods, beheading house-elves--they were all fine with him.

But whatever centuries-dead Malfoy had started the tradition of taking the History of Magic N.E.W.T. needed to have their head removed and Scourgified.

There were five students in the class: himself, Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillan, and Susan Bones. No one else would take it, even if they had bothered to pass their History O.W.L. Granger was taking it out of some ridiculous need to prove her worth, Padma because it was something she could ace without any difficulty--she would have been the top student in the school if it hadn't been for Mudblood Granger--and Macmillan and Bones both because they wanted to go into the Ministry and thus were required to have a N.E.W.T. in History.

And he had to take it because it was family tradition. What fun. For the millionth time that year, Draco thought wistfully of taking Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, which would not only have been interesting--maybe a bit too interesting--but would have had the added advantage of a once-a-week opportunity to get Potter all worked up over that half-breed oaf.

Professor Binns drifted through the blackboard, shuffled his notes absently, and began to drone in a monotonous wheeze.

'Last week we covered the Muggle Scare of 1919; today we will talk about the clauses added to the Statute of Secrecy...'

We? thought Draco with half a snore. Funny, the only person I hear talking is you.

He tuned Binns out, trusting Ernie to be willing to 'study' with him later--Hufflepuffs were so gullible--and fished around in his bag for his father's letter.

Draco hated the icy feeling of the parchment, the way it seemed to crackle with energy under his fingers. It was an inevitable after-effect of the Concealment Charm that enabled it to pass through the Hogwarts barriers against mail from Azkaban, but Draco still always felt slightly oily afterwards.

Dear Son,

Life comes and goes; the wheels of time turn in ever-whirling circles, bringing us along their inevitable paths. Roads fork and diverge in front of us, testing us, tempting us, questioning our intent and our loyalty. The heavens spin above us, the stars foretelling events and warning us of the future.

Sometimes it happens that all paths converge on a clearing, on a marker, on a milestone; that all events lead up to one; and in that one moment the choices become clear, the truth is known and thou art free from questioning.

My son, mine only son and heir, the light of my life, mine image, my very duplicate, thou hast never failed me, and it is my devout wish that thou shouldst continue after I finish. Our Lord is a powerful man, a very powerful being, and it is to him that thou dost owe thy loyalty and unfailing devotion.

Thou art my hope, Son.

Lucius

Draco made a noise of disgust under his breath, crumpled up the heavy parchment, and stuffed it back into his bag. The letters were always the same, cryptic ramblings about time passing, about paths and questions and loyalties, about how powerful the Dark Lord was, about Draco's role as Lucius' heir. None of it ever made any sense. Really, if Lucius had wanted Draco to be a Death Eater, Draco would have been better trained for it.

Purebloods certainly had a reputation to keep, and most assuredly Draco couldn't stand Muggles in their filth, or Mudbloods in their arrogance and ignorance--why didn't they just keep to themselves? Why couldn't there be a separate school for them? They simply didn't fit in, never having been brought up to know the culture.

But being a Death Eater meant something totally different. It was a political statement, and Arthur Weasley would be Minister for Magic before Draco Malfoy involved himself with politics. There were so many wonderful things to explore! Quidditch, girls, spending money, Quidditch, girls...

Binns' voice drifted into his thoughts, unwelcome. '... and in 1923, Minister Oakley was forced to step down because of his lenient policies toward Muggle sympathisers. The Knights of Walpurgis, a growing force in the Ministry...'

Draco tried to concentrate on the class, he really did. His eyes drifted over to Granger. She was watching Binns intently, quill paused in hand, tongue caught between her teeth. He frowned slightly; were her teeth smaller? Well, she'd certainly filled out nicely for a Mudblood, though he'd never lay a finger on her. Purebloods were always better in bed: Slytherin girls knew exactly what they wanted, none of this stupid giggling uncertainty that every other House seemed plagued with.

Draco's hand drifted up to feel his cheek and he winced slightly. The skin was still tender--he rather fancied it might be turning purple. He was beginning to second-guess his decision to leave it. The effect wasn't worth the pain. Yes, he'd remove it before Ancient Runes.

Someone jabbed him in the ribs. Draco turned to see Padma Patil eyeing him speculatively.

'Who did that?' she whispered, her head indicating the handprint.

Draco decided to play dumb. 'Did what?'

'Was it Pansy? Did she finally snub you?'

'Pansy? Snub me? You must be joking. No, it wasn't her.'

Too late, the gleam in Padma's eyes told him that he'd said too much. Brilliant, Draco, just brilliant. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk, thereby publicly announcing his mortification.

Instead, Draco looked coldly down his nose at Padma, daring her to comment.

Padma simply gave him a rather superior smile before turning back to her parchment.

Great. She'd tell her sister, Parvati, who would tell Lavender Brown, who would then tell everyone within the surrounding five miles that someone had snubbed Draco Malfoy.

Well, he'd deal with Pansy when--no, if--she brought it up. What an airhead, if a pretty spectacular shag compared with some of the others. Draco idly wondered if the quality of a girl's performance in bed had anything to do with her intelligence. Maybe it was a kind of inverse proportionality. After all, Granger certainly didn't look like she'd be any fun.

Class took far too long to finish; Draco's attention was momentarily caught by Binns saying, 'In 1924 the Knights of Walpurgis, who were later to become the Death Eaters under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, gained a victory in the Wizengamot with the appointment of Grindelwald--' but then the lecture went on to duller bits of laws and clauses and section numbers.

Draco yawned and doodled on his own parchment, staring out the window at the invitingly sunny sky.

Several minutes later, he discovered to his immense horror that his quill had suddenly written 'Ginny' in the margins of his (non-existent) notes. He scratched it out before anyone could see.

Blissfully, at that exact moment the class ended, and Draco scuttled off to the toilets to perform a quick De-Bruising Charm, or, failing that, see if his Perfect Skin Spell would cover the handprint as well as that offending spot on his left nostril.