#thesovoprodo

LOOK AT THIS CUTE ASSHOLE

11. Memory

Draco Malfoy, at the age of six and three quarters, was perhaps too curious for his own good. His tendency to explore and to discover certain things that his father and mother rather wished he wouldn’t, worried the first-time parents to no end. Try as they might, however, they could not quite be everywhere at once, and the little moppet was bound to get into mischief at some point.

On one such occasion, young Draco found himself wandering the halls of the Malfoy Manor, left unchaperoned after being hurriedly shooed in hushed tones up the stairs so his father could attend to some “business” with the dark strangers that seemed to spend more time in his house than not.

Now, Draco knew very well just how forbidden his father’s study was, so naturally, the desire to enter it was practically magnetic. With a glance in either direction and a devious smirk Salazar Slytherin himself would have been proud of, Draco darted down the hallway to the very last door. Jumping as high as his little legs would allow him, he grabbed the door handle with both hands  and hung with all his weight, trying to turn it.

It was locked, of course. Lucius Malfoy may not have been the most attentive father, but we was certainly no fool.

Facing an outcome he hadn’t considered, Draco slumped against the wall with a disappointed wail.

Tiny gears turning, Draco devised another plan.

“Dobby?” he whispered urgently, not wanting to give away his position. With a loud crack that made young Draco flinch, the elf appeared, holding a candlestick in one hand and a dirty cloth in the other, apparently having been interrupted from polishing the silvers.

Dobby saw who had summoned him and quickly dipped into a deep bow, nose brushing the oriental rug running down the hallway. “Yes, Young Master?” he squeaked quite loudly.

“Shhh!” Draco implored. “I need you to open this door.”

Dobby twisted the hem of his pillowcase tunic nervously. “Dobby…Dobby doesn’t think Master Malfoy would approve of that,” he said timidly.

For a moment, Draco’s face fell in defeat, but his resolve quickened and his mouth hardened, though his eyes were still shining with uncertainty. He had seen the way his father had dealt with Dobby. “I - I command you, Dobby,” he said to the elf, trying and failing to sound stern. “Open the door to my father’s office.”

Dobby, at this point had grown very uncomfortable, and the hem of his tunic started to fray. His eyes grew wide and he entreated, “Master Malfoy will surely punish Dobby for doing so!”

“You wouldn’t betray a direct order would you elf?” Draco said with growing anger. Dobby began rocking back and forth on his heels, still shaking his head. “Dobby, open this door right now!” he hissed, face growing red with frustration, still too paranoid to yell. Dobby began to sob. “Shut up, elf!” Draco raised a hand, threatening to strike him, and Dobby flinched, but the young boy stopped himself. Fearing defeat, he tried for one last attempt to win the elf’s submission. Draco drew himself to his full height, though still two inches shorter than the elf, and pointed at the door, glaring at Dobby with the same false sternness he had exhibited before. Dobby stood head hung, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, but his resolve was visibly weakened. He snapped his fingers once. Draco heard the lock click. He turned to thank the elf, but then remembered his father’s words about house elves and their rightful place and the superiority of wizards. He turned back away from Dobby and marched up to the door.

His fingertips barely reached the handle, but he managed to turn it. Without looking back, he crept through, and closed the door to the sound of Dobby punishing himself with the candlestick he had brought.

Draco tiptoed around the office with practiced steps from his previous escapades, avoiding creaky floorboards, stepping carefully around the various dark magical artifacts his father had on display about the room. Once, he had made the mistake of brushing against a stuffed raven on a pedestal. It screeched so loudly that Draco didn’t even think to run. He just

knelt on the floor, hands over his ears. Not that running would have made much difference; his father was standing tall and angry in the doorway within seconds, Mother fluttering nervously right behind him.

Draco’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something new and interesting and forbidden. His eyes caught on a flicker of blueish light dancing across the wall. He walked up to it and waved his hand in front of it, trying to figure what direction it was being reflected from. He searched carefully and quietly, until he found his way over to a partially open cupboard under the liquor cabinet. He slowly opened the doors, flinching when they creaked. Inside, he found a new and fascinating discovery: a smooth bowl of shining silver, wide and deep, with strange markings engraved along the rim. But Draco was less interested in the bowl than its contents.

It was a substance the likes of which he had never encountered before in his short life. It was like mist but more solid. Blue, silver, white clouds swirling together with an almost live, conscious quality. Kneeling, he wrapped his small arms around the bowl and carefully slid the bowl from the low shelf to the hardwood floor of the office. The bowl was heavy, and thudded when Draco set it down unsteadily, but the substance didn’t slosh. He considered the bowl and its contents for a moment, before prodding the liquid-mist experimentally with a finger. The sensation was new, and not scary but surprising. Draco felt a pull. Some force drawing him towards the bowl. He felt it from the core of his stomach, stretching all the way through his pointer finger which was still stuck in the bowl. It made his head light and dizzy, and he quickly pulled his finger out.

His curiosity now peaked, Draco leaned closed to the surface of the liquid-mist to further investigate, his head dipped almost as low as Dobby’s bow. His eyes tried to focus on the substance, but it was just a mass of swirling shades of blue and silver. He squinted until his head hurt, and a small scene faded into view. It was as if Draco was looking down into a large, busy dinner hall from a small window in the ceiling. His breath fogged the surface like glass. He leaned maybe a millimeter too close, and his nose brushed the top of the substance. Instead of feeling anything - liquid, or mist, or a glass window - he tipped head first and somersaulted down into the scene he was observing.

The hall was brightly lit, and row upon row of children gobbled up a magnificent feast set out for them. Little Draco, swept up in wonder, wandered from table to table, mouth agape. No one seemed to notice the child so out of place among the students. Draco had just made his way to the front of the room, where a line of adult witches and wizards sat eating at the head table, when he heard his name shouted from across the hall.

“Oi Malfoy, you big git, go back to your own table!”

Draco stilled. He had only fallen into this world accidentally, but he didn’t imagine that would excuse his father’s wrath if he were found here. He glanced sheepishly in the direction of the noise, but no one was looking at him. “…Yes?” he called out tentatively. Nobody responded. Draco let out a sigh of relief. So the shout was not meant for him. Now curious, he made his way over to the table he’d heard it from. There, the shouting continued. Two boys with matching red and gold ties appeared to be having a standoff.

“Outta my way, Remus, Malfoy’s got it coming to him this time!” A handsome boy with long, dark hair and a fierce, stormy gaze stared down a smaller boy, whose face was streaked with a series of long scars. The smaller boy - Remus, apparently - pushed sand-colored locks from his eyes, which were a dull green. He looked weary, but he fixed the dark-haired boy with a stern, somewhat pleading look.

“Sirius, it’s all right. He’s just having a bit of a go at me. This is nothing new,” Remus said calmly. Sirius scoffed and looked away, provoking a reassuring hand to grab his wrist. Remus continued, quieter. “Please, Pads. I can handle this.”

Another boy with disheveled black locks, who had remained sitting, cooly regarded his two friends and adjusted his glasses nonchalantly. Clearly the unspoken leader of the group, the other boys fell silent when he spoke and it seemed to Draco that he had the final say in the matter.

“I say it’s about time the self-righteous rotter gets knocked down a few pegs,” drawled the boy with a smirk. “Wouldn’t you agree, Wormtail?” Draco, having not previously noticed him, was startled when a rather plump boy with a round face and small, watery eyes snorted in delight. He was completely out of place amidst his attractive friends, and seemed absolutely enthralled that the leader acknowledged his existence, even though the boy with the glasses never once tore his gaze from Sirius and Remus.

“Thank you, James.” Sirius shot a triumphant smirk at Remus, who deflated and sat down. Fury flashed back into Sirius’ eyes, and he reached for his wand, ignoring Remus’ wary glances.

“OI! MALFOY!” Sirius’ voice thundered throughout the hall, making Draco jump. The little blonde-haired boy was terrified, though he couldn’t quite place why. It was only now he saw his father. Sirius had the attention of quite a few tables now, including one where Lucius Malfoy sat. His white tresses were not quite as long, and the corners of his eyes lacked the touch of age Draco had always known, but it was undoubtedly his father. Draco gave a cry of relief, and rushed to the older Malfoy’s side, expecting to be swept up in a comforting embrace. Instead, his father passed through his hands like mist. Draco let out a heaving sob and crawled under the table, peering out to watch as his father slowly stood, pushed in his chair, and faced Sirius.

“Ah, look. The blood-traitor’s come for a visit.” Lucius sneered, casually picking at his nails. “I’m disappointed in you, truly. A man of such pure status should not associate with such…” Lucius’ cold gaze drifted sideways towards Remus. “Filth.”

Sirius smiled grimly, bringing his wand up to rest on Lucius’ neck Fear flickered in the Slytherin’s icy blues.

“All right, Malfoy, ‘ave it your way. Call my friend’s mum a mudblood again and I’ll roast you alive.” Sirius’ voice dropped, a low and dangerous growl. “Are we clear?”

The hall, usually loud and boisterous, was awkwardly quiet. A couple professors, eating their dinners on the opposite end, began to take notice.

Lucius swallowed. The wand tip in his jugular made him nervous, in spite of himself. He chose to remain silent, poison in his stare.

Sirius laughed loudly.

“What’s the matter, Lucius? I haven’t seen you this nervous since your mum brought out baby pictures at the Christmas party!”

Scattered snickers could be heard throughout the tables, even amongst the Slytherins. Lucius’ face burned red.

“Muggle-lover!” Lucius snarled. “You are a disgrace to the Black name.”

Sirius raised a brow, pressing the wand into Lucius’ skin.

“Word of advice, mate- it’s not terribly wise to insult a man with a wand to your throat.” He grins mischievously, remarking loudly, “Betcha my cousin won’t shag you anymore when you’ve got oozing boils all over, eh?”

A collective laugh could be heard throughout the whole of the hall as Lucius glowed red. A couple teachers, by this time, were bee-lining for the two boys.

“I’ll kill you someday,” Lucius seethed. “I will watch you die and I will laugh.”

Something about the seriousness of Lucius’ tone seemed to strike a chord with the handsome teenager, but before he could retort his wand flew from his wand and both boys were dragged away from each other by their ears. A stern-looking woman with black hair and a Scottish accent held Sirius in a vice-like grip, scolding him furiously as she did so.

Draco watched as his father, tight-lipped and furious, was reprimanded by a plump man with straw blonde hair, who then turned to the woman.

“Really, Minerva, you must learn to keep your students under control!”

“Oh please, Horace, you can’t possibly think Malfoy is innocent in this matter.”

The man opened his mouth to reply, but Draco never heard what he was going to say, because at that moment, he felt a firm hand aggressively grasp his upper arm with an iron grip. With a start, he looked up to see his father - his real, present day father - looking down at him, his expression livid. Lucius’s eye were wide with rage, his mouth a hard line. An ugly flush was beginning to tinge his high cheekbones.