September 10th, 1991
Mondays are not terrible. Not always. This one was not. I woke up, went for a short run —sub one hour, took a shower, performed no less than eight pink charms for my appearance, helped Daphne and Pansy with some of their own pink charms, and ate breakfast.
Much like the day before, I gave my brother a small smile and waved lightly —but chose to sit surrounded by others. Sunday, when I left the girls dorm for breakfast, the tension was palpable until I made eye contact with Draco and pretended nothing had happened. That is, of course, a deception. I had always been better at cutting off my true self from my mask than he ever had. Thus, when we all left the common room, no one noticed how I was sandwiched between Daphne and Blaise ten feet in front of my brother. No one noticed I sat with Pansy and Nott at breakfast, opposite Blaise, Daphne, and Bulstrode. Perhaps they noticed something was off when I invited Daphne, Pansy, Nott, and Blaise to relax on the green but did not give Draco a glance.
But it was Monday. And I did the very same thing. I said hello, I responded to light banter when I saw Draco, and I said goodbye. I did not sit with him in our classes or chat in the hall. I didn’t invite him to hang out on the shoreline or share any of my sweets.
It was Tuesday morning when I received a letter, written in an intricate script Mother had long ago mastered. I also received one from Father, but his writing is not nearly as refined.
-
Dearest Dea,
I know you and Draco must be busy settling in. How is it? Did the girls like their presents? Do remember to give me the names for families you would like me to invite to our Samhain gala. I will be sending out invitations on the 1st of October.
Before you say anything, yes, I am aware the children cannot attend. As always, the winter gala is exclusive and we must be sure not to invite the wrong sort. Samhain is, of course, the perfect time for such determination.
Your father was complaining about not receiving a letter this morning, though Merlin knows he had that held in for a week. I am sure he was waiting for me to say I was sending a letter before giving me one of his own to attach. Pre-written. Do be sure to give him a response before he feigns an illness.
With love and venom,
Mother
-
Medea,
I have treated the elf well. The thing seems fine -though it still bungles the simplest of tasks.
Your brother has sent four letters over the past week. Four. That does not include the one where he told me he was sorted into the only worthwhile House. Again, four letters. Astounding to think you are suffering from mindlessness before your grandfather.
Speaking of, he will be visiting this coming month and would like to know if you have any gift requests. Maybe send him an owl too —you know how I hate to play go between. Besides, he knows where Hogwarts is. The man attended for seven years. He did not need to go through me.
Your mother’s birthday is coming up. If you need someone to pick up her present, send the shop name and when it will be ready.
Lucius
-
The oddest bit was that there was a third letter with a green Hogwarts seal.
-
Ms. Malfoy,
Come to my office at 4:00 PM.
Professor Snape
-
Mother, of course, sent sweets. Most days she does. It’s the letter that is special. Father sent an additional envelope with three blank checks. And a set of blank letters, envelopes, and silver wax. Subtle. I tucked the checks into my pocket and placed everything else into my bag.
Then I took the sweets back out and placed them on the table.
“What has she sent today?” Daphne was leaning forward across the table, getting ready to snatch one when I laughed and popped one in my mouth.
I felt a gentle warmth spread through me and the taste of blueberry fill my tongue. When I looked at my hands and sides, there were a few light clouds surrounding me.
“She sent Cloud Gazers —I thought it was going to be Bluebells again, they look so similar.” I tossed one into Daphne’s open palm and held out a few to Bulstrode and Pansy, “Feel free, it has a calming effect similar to a low, low grade Draught of Peace.”
-
It was after lunch when Daphne came with me to the library to do a charms essay that she finally asked.
“What has your brother done?”
Daphne is a particular kind of girl, with an arrogant tone and a pretty face to match it, but most importantly I’ve found her to be a menace to the general public. A menace in such a way that, had her family more influence, she would have fit right in at the socials Mother would take me to. Maybe, as Mother said, Samhain is a perfect time to see if the remaining Greengrasses are similar.
Now, Daphne looks like she’s found blood in the water and is thrilled by the hunt.
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s all me.” I gave her half a smile as I caught sight of a paper stuck underneath my own books. Someone must have left it behind.
Daphne arched an eyebrow and looked me over, “You know, you are a bit of a terror.”
“Me?” I laughed, gesturing back to her, “Please enlighten me how I am the terror.”
“We saw you Friday. Or rather, we saw you until we didn’t, and then Saturday came around and you were still nowhere. But Malfoy was on edge the whole day. Even Crabbe and Goyle knew to tread lightly. Then, Sunday, you show up looking -well, as good as always, even though I saw what you were doing the day before. You smile and chat and go about your day. And Malfoy seemed settled for a while. But yesterday, when he realized what you were doing, he was twice as on edge. So what’s he done? And how badly will we curse him?”
“You know, that kind of analysis isn’t meant to be shared, right?” I leaned back, tapping my nails on the wooden table, thinking.
Daphne is a dark haired, dark eyed, dark witch. She is a Greengrass. Arrogant, wealthy, a pureblood. But, this is not the sort of thing a Slytherin just says. These details are meant to be noticed, meant to be catalogued, meant to be weaponized. But the words did not come off as daggers. No, they felt like warmth.
It dawned on me then —that Daphne Greengrass, hateful witch that she is, likes me as a person. It was terribly wonderful.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Daph, do you want to go running with me this week? Just for a bit.”
Her nose scrunched in disgust, “Only if you charm my clothes not to get dirty, Dea.”
“Deal.” I slid my wand out of my boot in a fluid motion and twirled it across my knuckles.
“Oh,” I gave her a Malfoy smile, slight but meaningful, “Would your family be interested in attending the Malfoy Samhain Gala?”
Daph looked as if I had just told her I was a Hufflepuff.
“What kind of question is that? Of course.”
-
It was nearly time for Transfiguration when Daphne got my attention.
“What is that?” Daphne peered across the table at the parchment I had started fiddling with. It had been here when we sat down, and I’d ignored it until I finished the five inches required for Charms. Now, I had unfurled it and was rolling my eyes.
“Some poor sod’s essay for Muggle Studies.” I flipped it over a couple times searching for a name but none was written, “Is it even worth it to turn it in?”
Daphne snorted, “Probably not. No way you get a point for ‘integrity’ or ‘kindness’ or whatever they give out to Gryffs that make them so self-righteous.”
I gave her a smile, both endearing and vindictive mixed together, “I think it’ll drive home how useless muggles are if they have to rewrite the drivel again.”
As I was about to light up the parchment, heavy footsteps began approaching from the side. Daphne was already looking but I had been in the middle of deciding how I wanted to wreck the essay.
“Mudblood incoming,” Daphne muttered just loud enough for me to catch.
Despite elsewhere, despite knowing the truth of it all, I was still a Malfoy. Trueblooded. Witch of all witches. And to be rather honest, I was itching to curse someone anyway. The whole day was aggravating having to see Draco be outraged without allowing myself to also be outraged. So, without hesitation, I pointed my wand in the direction of the quickly approaching steps, “Solaire.”
I hadn’t been looking, and Daphne’s eyes were focused on whoever was headed our way, so the only one affected by the spell was whoever yelped and fell backwards -stopping the approach.
I did love a mild flashbang.
In a measured movement, I turned to look at the frizzy haired, bucktooth Gryffindor who was rubbing her eyes. My chin was resting in my palm, but my wand was still discreetly angled towards Granger.
“You- I can’t believe- Malfoy-“ Anger, or indignation, or embarrassment had her choking on her words until finally, “Take it back!”
I looked down my nose at where Granger had fallen, she was balling her fists but had yet to move and stand up.
“Excuse you?” I looked down my nose at her, my smile long forgotten in favor of my default expressionless face.
“Take back what you said, Malfoy.” Granger’s face was heated and if I didn’t think she was half a breath from hexing me —if she even knew any hexes yet— I would be preparing for tears.
“You’ll have to be more specific.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but if I were to be honest I knew that I didn’t need to feign anything to get under Granger’s skin.
“Muggles are not useless. They have physics, and civil rights, and- and- and- their own medicine! So,” she huffed, as if her point was made, “Take it back.”
“No.” I wrinkled my nose, “Now sod off.”
“But you’re wrong.” Granger was getting ever more red in the face, but I didn’t bother to shift even an inch.
“Muggles are as useful to a witch as the dirt under her boot.” Breaking eye contact, I looked back to Daphne -who was sneering at Granger, and said under my breath, “We’re going. Stand.” and turned back to Granger, standing slowly to look over her.
With purebloods, I needed a mask -of mild compassion, of blatant prejudice, of righteous anger. Hermione Granger was not a pureblood. I didn’t need a mask to interact with Granger for the simple fact I had no plans to make her an ally. She, like the muggles she defended, was useless to me -bright as she was. This, my apathy, was all she would receive.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. It seems you value the muggle more than the magic in your blood.” I held the parchment in my open palm, “Incendio.”
“Malfoy, you said that I needed to accept being a witch. Is this what you meant?” Grangers high pitched voice would have made a weaker witch flinch, of that I was sure, “Being horrible? Dismissing people?”
I clicked my tongue.
“Do you know why muggles are despicable? Why muggleborns are hated?” I gave Granger a cold smile, a smile so true to my heart, so indifferent it was insulting, “You are the spawn of those who stole our children. You are the grandchildren of our grandmothers murderers. You are the neighbors of those who had our sisters stoned. Drowned. Burned. Our grandfathers knifed. Our cousins blinded.”
I stepped past Granger, still trying to contain her outrage -or maybe embarrassment. With my back to her, I felt my cold smile become feral.
“I may despise muggles, Granger. And I may think your lineage is dirt. But,” I felt Daphne pull her wand out, “I have always believed muggleborns were seeds. So, bloody grow Granger -despite the dirt. But leave me out of it.”
Daphne’s spell, solum, whispered through the air, and as we left the library I heard the soft patter of soil coating the frozen form of a frizzy haired Gryffindor.
-
Berating Granger had felt so intensely gratifying, that even now —sitting in Snape’s office as I was, I felt relaxed. Which was a definite mistake. One should never be relaxed around Severus Snape. Not even if you are a Malfoy.
“Ms. Malfoy, do you know why I have called you to my office?” His cold voice shook me out of my thoughts of the library.
“No, sir. I have taken down the new common room decor, have been performing well in classes, and have not hexed a soul.”
Snape narrowed his eyes and tapped his long knobby finger on his desk, right next to a letter with the Malfoy seal on it, “Perhaps you remember our discussion from last fall.”
“Oh.” I leaned back in the chair, looking up at the stone ceiling, “That.”
“Yes, that, you foolish girl,” He hissed, “Eight hours. Without a bite of food.”
I couldn’t help but give a wry grin, “What does it matter? I took the potions, stretched, and slept.”
Silently, I corrected him that it was twelve hours.
“I will not have you become reliant on my potions to remain standing. That is final.”
“It was once. One time. I’d rather be fed to grindylows before you worry about me-“ I bit my tongue to stop from saying anything further.
Usually, running is the only thing that loosens my tongue like this. That lets me perform without it feeling like a performance. But there is something to be said for dramatics freeing the soul.
“I am your godfather, you ungrateful child.” The severe lines of his face only grew darker and I let out a snort.
“No, you’re Draco’s godfather. I have a godmother,” I paused, “And just because she’s in Azkaban does not mean you replace her.”
That is a lie. Mother and Father did not ask Aunt Bella to be my godmother. But it seemed the perfect thing to irritate Snape and I’ve been on a roll with such antics today. Whether I have an actual godmother or not is irrelevant —Snape has eyes for the Heir of Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, Potion Master To Be, there has never been room for another. Not in elsewhere, when Draco was an only child, and not here. And I have never been one to stake a claim on what is not mine and I could never fully take.
“You have been spoiled at the Manor, Medea,” I looked back at him as he spoke my name, a rare occurrence over the years. A look of disapproval has settled in on his face, “That will not stand in Slytherin. And despite your tone, I will not allow you to destroy yourself for no reason.”
“I am not destroying myself!”
“Oh? Then should I stop brewing the Laxamentum potion for you? After six years, you should know why this is dangerous. Surely you remember?”
It was at that moment I felt my stomach drop, but rather than weak my voice came out cold, leveled, controlled, “Ah, so Father told you.”
A secret that was not his to share. Something I had not thought he would spread. Not ever to Snape.
“Of course, child, despite your denial —you and I both know Bellatrix Lestrange would never be allowed to be your godparent. No. That unfortunate privilege is mine.”
“If it’s so unfortunate, pretend it never happened. You’ve done well so far.” I was back, my mask reaffirmed to be a Malfoy first, and an independent second.
To his credit, the man simply looked unimpressed.
“If you do not eat. If you do not control your running. If you fall into poor habits once again. I will confiscate your supply of Laxamentum and will send word to your parents. Then you will have the joy of becoming familiar with Madam Pomfrey. That is all.”