Draco
written by Dora Scamander
This is my first fanfiction, and *drumroll* I decided to write about Draco! We all know him as Harry's childhood enemy and rival, but also as the boy who had no choice. I have decided to dive deeper into Draco's world and attempt to show who he really was, in my opinion, anyway. I hope you enjoy it! NOTE: This is a work in progress, and also, this is NOT a Drarry, Dramione etc. ship book or whatever it's called. It's got nothing whatsoever to do with boats (hehe, aren't I contemporary) or relationships. No romance or anything. Just so you know.
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
2
Reads
337
Chapter One
Chapter 1
Draco pointed his knife at his potato and said quietly, "Stupefy!" He drove his knife into the vegetable. Potato flicked off his plate.
The tall blonde woman at one head of the table frowned. "Don't play with your food, Draco." Then she turned to her husband, who was at the other end of this long, oddly set table and said, "I won't send him so far away, Lucius. Northern Europe? It's too far."
The man, with long blonde hair and sharp grey eyes, shook his head and replied curtly, "Durmstrang is a respected institute, Narcissa, and he'll learn the kind of things worth learning. The Dark Arts, for example."
Draco, meanwhile, was not interested in his parent's conversation. He was too excited. He was almost ten, and father said that soon he would be going to school - school, where he would learn magic! He would have a wand, and a broom. A real broom. Draco remembered when the family had gone to the world cup three years ago. He imagined himself now, swooping through the stadium. He picked up his fork and flew it around the table.
"Draco, stop that." This time it was his father who reprimanded him.
"Sorry, father." Draco returned his fork to his plate but shifted in his seat impatiently. "Mother," He asked after a moment, "May I be excused?"
His mother nodded and waved a hand impatiently. Draco slipped gladly down from the table and skipped out of the dining room. The great dark hall he had entered arched over him, but Draco didn't mind. Malfoy Manor was home, after all. He ascended the main staircase, turned left, and entered his bedroom.
It was richly furnished - a large four poster bed predominated the scene; to the left was a mahogany desk and on the right were Draco's many belongings strewn over the floor; his toy broom and the rest of his playthings.
Well, he thought, I won't be needing those anymore - I'm going to be a real wizard!
He was not going to miss the house.
Yes, he was rich and had everything a young wizard could want, but even money couldn't take away his loneliness.
At school, he thought, I'll make friends.
The tall blonde woman at one head of the table frowned. "Don't play with your food, Draco." Then she turned to her husband, who was at the other end of this long, oddly set table and said, "I won't send him so far away, Lucius. Northern Europe? It's too far."
The man, with long blonde hair and sharp grey eyes, shook his head and replied curtly, "Durmstrang is a respected institute, Narcissa, and he'll learn the kind of things worth learning. The Dark Arts, for example."
Draco, meanwhile, was not interested in his parent's conversation. He was too excited. He was almost ten, and father said that soon he would be going to school - school, where he would learn magic! He would have a wand, and a broom. A real broom. Draco remembered when the family had gone to the world cup three years ago. He imagined himself now, swooping through the stadium. He picked up his fork and flew it around the table.
"Draco, stop that." This time it was his father who reprimanded him.
"Sorry, father." Draco returned his fork to his plate but shifted in his seat impatiently. "Mother," He asked after a moment, "May I be excused?"
His mother nodded and waved a hand impatiently. Draco slipped gladly down from the table and skipped out of the dining room. The great dark hall he had entered arched over him, but Draco didn't mind. Malfoy Manor was home, after all. He ascended the main staircase, turned left, and entered his bedroom.
It was richly furnished - a large four poster bed predominated the scene; to the left was a mahogany desk and on the right were Draco's many belongings strewn over the floor; his toy broom and the rest of his playthings.
Well, he thought, I won't be needing those anymore - I'm going to be a real wizard!
He was not going to miss the house.
Yes, he was rich and had everything a young wizard could want, but even money couldn't take away his loneliness.
At school, he thought, I'll make friends.
