Story Prompt: Back to School

Prompt(s): Lucius Malfoy, Angry

A/N: HC Monthly Challenge, August; Prompt(s); Lucius Malfoy, Angry

Disclaimers; Malfoy's wretched personality and how he views people at this time in his life

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"Draco!" Father's quiet voice carried over the large crowd and huffing train. "What have I told you about that?"

Anger broiled in him, but he hid it well as he turned away from having spotted Blaise and immediately lowered his hand back to his side from the childish gesture of waving. "Yes father. May I be excused?"

"I suppose," he drawled impatiently, hardly looking at him now anyways as his eyes continued to rove over the crowd with disdain. "If you're done acting like a child. Remember to visit with Professor Umbridge as soon as you step into the castle now, loathsome woman, but another ear to Fudge may be-"

He stopped abruptly and Draco didn't have to look around long to see why. Potter had arrived with his usual entourage of freaks at his side, including a dog now. Even a mutt held Lucius' attention more than him, his eyes remained trained on the beast when he'd hardly acknowledge his status of Prefect past the usual cordial nod and reminding him to keep it polished. Just another day in the Manor.

"You're dismissed," father stated, hand now on his wand deep in his robes as he continued to watch the proceedings. Draco agreeably melded back out of sight, but remained in place no farther than a dozen feet behind some gangling lad with thick messy locks who was too busy trying to flirt with an idiot girl behind her mums back to notice his radiating fury.

He was tired of being treated like a child, the same thing had been happening all summer. Told to clear off whenever anyone came over now, where as before he'd often been scolded for trying to leave the room! Father could never keep his hat straight anymore, he always seemed more busy than ever. The Dark Lord had returned and Draco had never even seen him, let alone was told of the plans coming to finally be free of the mudbloods.

He'd prove himself though, he'd already perfected his disillusionment charm and kept himself in half a dozen rooms to hear plenty of things passed along, such the oaf of a teacher in his useless Creature's class wouldn't be back and why, and whatever father was so interested in about Potter now he'd learn before even him.

The sensation of something wet, heavy, and cold trickled down his neck to his unseen eyes, now matched by his own invisibility coating him from others. He shoved his way through the crowd, with no care, there were just too many people around for anyone to notice it wasn't someone's stray trunk on a wild run through to the train as its whistle began to blow.

Close enough now to just hear the parting words, that obese redhead of a Weasley hissed right at the mongrel as she shoved Potter towards the compartments, "act more like a dog Sirius!"

Most useless thing that blood-traitors ever done, he realized as he quickly darted ahead of the idiot still lingering for one last look.

He was the first to arrive in the Prefects carriage, startling the Head Girl as he removed his Charm right outside the door just to watch her jump as he slide the door open, still brimming with righteous knowledge. So Black was still in contact with Potter, and an illegal animagus at that. Father would go a tad green himself when he found this out.

Pansy kept trying to hold his hand and giggle every single time he so much as shifted in his seat, cumbersome enough to even entertain when he had other things on his mind. The meeting itself was beneath him the moment Granger stepped through the door along with that weasel of a sidekick of Potter's, not to mention how trivial this patrolling nonsense was. If you were too stupid to get caught then you shouldn't be out in the first place.

Sneaking up on Crabbe and Goyle was hardly a worthy skill, one could throw a blanket over themselves and accomplish the same, but it would do to make sure their gormless faces didn't ruin the surprise he had for Potter. He'd be watching.

...

"You weren't at the prefects meeting this year," Pansy pouted at him with fat lips as she rested her hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to quit? Who's going to replace you?"

He smiled indulgently at her and played along. She had no use in the mission, the Dark Lord had been clear he was not to tell anyone, but that instruction had not been needed. He would accomplish this task before Christmas.

Still, pandering to the masses was something he'd learned long ago from Father, and he stretched languidly as his answer, leaning against her for a moment as she lit up, and then farther down to rest against her ample lap. She would never be pretty enough to be taken as a wife, but was a fine substitute for her admirational brown eyes in the meantime. "Come now," he scoffed, as if anyone could ever hope to achieve what his plans were, but even she couldn't be so daft not to put two and two together. "Why else do you think Slughorn summoned Zabini?"

"Oh, yes," she simpered. "I'm just going to miss you on patrols."

"I'm sure you'll find plenty to do with me otherwise," he smirked, "frees up time for other things, doesn't it?"

Pansy vibrated with more pleasure beneath him than even the train, cows were so easy to soothe. She began stroking his hair and he allowed it for the simple reason it amused him.

The door slid open, Zabini returning from that idiot Slughorn's invitation he presumed, but did not open his eyes until he heard the first smash. "What's wrong with this thing?" He was slamming the door repeatedly on nothing, the idiot. A simple repairo charm would dislodge whatever it was caught on. He was acting as useless as a brutish Muggle, or Crabbe and Goyle. He really shouldn't expect any smarts from anyone but himself.

It was only amusing to watch the imp play stupid long enough for a headache to begin to grow, but as he sat up to tell him to stuff it the door almost seemed to jump free of its track, flinging itself to the beginning and dislodging Zabini right into Goyle.

There was a flash of color, the smallest indent on the seat beside Pansy, and an unheard creak of metal only his ears could hope to pick up on as the two squabbled and everyone else lost their attention to this circus but him as nothing settled above them. Goyle finally closed the door properly, and he sniggered as he lay himself back down for it all.

Whatever foolishness was happening clearly didn't know the first thing about sneaking. He was in a gracious mood and would teach them a lesson as Crabbe squashed himself on the other side of Pansy leaving him to stretch back out. "So, what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many."

"Who else had he invited?" he demanded, the scorn in his voice for being wrong at his dorm mate and teacher.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor," said Zabini.

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," he acquitted, father's sporadic mentions of Slughorn's old club swimming to the surface. Mother had not been a member either but even been to a few parties.

"Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw."

"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy.

"And Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.

He sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand aside. "He invited Longbottom?" The squib-like slug who had brain dead parents, but he hadn't even been offered!

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" His old Gran didn't even keep good connections in the Ministry that Father knew of, nor was she a member of that stupid Order. She was a nothing, a disgrace and a laughing stock for not putting that son of hers out of its misery.

Zabini shrugged.

This injustice was more than despicable enough, but at least the only true surprise of the bunch. "Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One,'" he sneered, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, watching him out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please."

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased. He sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile." The Dark Lord had mentioned in several meetings to be informed of his whereabouts over the summer, though that had ceased with the information he was to be employed at the school. He heard Edgecombe had been Curcio'd for an hour when she'd delivered that news and dismissed it all. "Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train."

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," said Zabini. "He asked me about Notts father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

An old anger ignited in him, of being dismissed, laughed at, looked over, as if the entire wizarding population had forgotten the name Malfoy. He'd show them all, he'd outdo even his own fathers mistakes. He laughed. "Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." He yawned to punctuate his point. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly, ceasing her grooming.

"Well, you never know," he teased, knowing she'd never understand. Nobody would. "I might have, er, moved on to bigger and better things."

Crabbe and Goyle were gawping as if this wasn't the third time he'd made such an alluding comment in this compartment, their pea brains just hadn't cottoned on yet. Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy resumed the slow stroking of his hair, looking dumbfounded.

"Do you mean —"

He shrugged, he could not allow them to speculate too much, but he would give them a nibble. Even the biggest gossip in school would have nothing to tease, let alone whoever was in those trainers.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it. ... When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many OWLs or N.E.W.T.S anyone's got? Of course he isn't! It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Zabini scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I?" They were so dense it was a miracle any of them knew how to close a door. "Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for."

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.

"I can see Hogwarts," he said, relishing this admiration. "We'd better get our robes on."

Goyle could never accomplish refilling his ink without knocking over the pot, yet even he couldn't manage to hit nothing as he swung his trunk down. A small gasp filled the compartment that belonged to none of them bustling around, and he once again appraised the spot for just a moment before turning away. The lesson was over, time to doll out the homework. He'd ensure whoever this idiot was would have lots of time to practice being unseen as he left them on the train.

"You go on," he told Pansy, who was waiting for him with her hand held out as though hoping he would hold it. "I just want to check something."

She left without too much of a pout, he'd placated her enough for now. He moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, privacy was very important when dealing with snoops. He then bent down over his trunk and opened it again, smiling to himself as he drew his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!"

There was just a moment of time where the space above him rippled with with no visible force, he merely felt it in the air as something crashed in his feat, and Potter's stupid face was now frozen beneath him.

Of course it would be him, the imbecile who dared defy the Dark Lord and actually thought he could get away with it, now sneaking about on his plans? As if he could ever hope to have his glory with his useless blood.

The air around him was still practically obscured by the cloak he'd been using, probably some cheap bit of junk that would wear off in a fortnight. The scum raised by Muggles wouldn't know a real one if it bit him in the arse, it was no surprise really, it's not as if he was competent enough to pull off a proper charm. His frozen expression was priceless as he remained in the stupid crouched position he'd been in.

"I thought so," he deemed an explanation for his poor brain to understand what had happened. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back. . . ." His eyes lingered for a moment upon the filthy trainers. "You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here . . ."

It would do him good to see what a proper boot could do. There was a satisfying crunch as his nose depleted beneath his heel, a gush of blood where it should properly be. "That's from my father. Now, let's see. . . ."

Best not to leave a magical trace, not on Dumbledore's prized student while he put the finishing touches on the first stage of his plan. Potter's own lack-of-magic may have some uses. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the trains back in London," he said quietly. "See you around, Potter ... or not." Taking care to tread on Potter's fingers, he left the compartment.

...

He allowed mother to give him a kiss on the temple in goodbye, something he hadn't condoned even that first day on the platform lest anyone see. He held out his hand for father to shake and they grasped tight to each other, the gesture all they could speak. Words they dared not say to each other in their own house. 'Keep your head down, do as told, and we'll get through this together.'

It wasn't until he stepped onto the train for the last time did it occur to him how quiet it all was, not just to him. The haunting echo of screams never quite faded, while everyone from the softly crying Weasley mother holding tight to her youngest daughter to Longbottom's old Gran whispering into his ear could not speak above the puffing train that even seemed to have a heavier fog than usual around its engine, muffling the sound of the door as he opened his own compartment and sat alone the entire train ride.

War was nosier than he'd expected.

First thing I've ever written for Malfoy. I enjoyed playing with the different time-tables of his life.