Ladder of Dreams

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬

A soft hand stroked his cheek, and he looked up to meet Mother's piercing eyes.

"Make me proud," she said. Warmth seeped into his chest.

"I will." And he meant it with every fibre — he had to make Mother proud, to make Father proud. Mother inspected every inch of him again before turning and disappearing out the door. She'd be waiting at the top of the stairs like she'd said.

He looked back at his reflection and straightened out the already straight dark green robes. His hand moved almost of its own accord to run through his hair. An inch away, he retracted his hand. Mother had already done his hair, and he wasn't about to mess it up.

Spotting the slight nerves that showed on his face, he pulled himself together. His face fell again into the Pureblood Mask his parents had spent hours perfecting and practising with him. It still occasionally faltered and was nowhere near as strong as Father's, but it had been enough to tug Mother's lips.

He drew himself up to his full height and turned away from the wall-length mirror. He kicked aside the small scatters of clothing littering the way. The house-elfs could deal with it.

Out of his dressing room and into the hallway, he spotted his parents standing at the stair rail. His Mother elegantly stood in the navy blue dress robe that had taken her hours to chose in the shop. In the end, she took it home because he had said it brought out the darker flecks in her blue eyes.

Father had a hand wrapped around Mother's shoulder, the other around a long black cane. The very one Father would gift to him once Father passed him the Lordship. At Father's sharp nod, he stepped beside them. They began their ascent in sync: beautiful wife, respectable husband, and well-mannered son. The epitome of the perfect pureblood family — the Mafloys would never be any less.

It seemed every voice below stopped for them, eyes raising from twirling glasses or mid handshake. Draco kept his gaze away from the sharp stares and looked around the ballroom. Candlelight breathed onto every corner, chasing away the dark shadows which regularly resided. The evergreen tree in the centre dazzled with flashing, twirling, and levitating ornaments.

At the bottom of the last step, he could no longer pretend to be occupied with the decor. His silver eyes turned to meet each stare. He gauged their reactions to their presence. They didn't seem to be at all bothered with the hosts themselves being late to the celebrations, besides a select few in the back who looked on with barely disguised annoyance. Not that he at all cared what the filthy blood traitors thought.

"Lord Nott, Lord Macnair," Draco said, nodding to each. Both wizards had separated from the rest of the crowd.

"Heir Malfoy," the closer grey-haired wizard said. He turned his pointed nose to Father. "Lord Malfoy." Seeing this as an opportunity to exit, Draco cautiously moved out of the way, Father's greetings dimming in his ears.

It didn't take much searching to find them. All Draco had to do was locate the table with appetizers, which was also easy, as the fondue fountain stuck above the crowd. Flat nosed, pudding-bowl style haircut Crabbe and bristly haired, dull-eyed Goyle.

His, erm ... friends, for lack of a better word. Though they could practically be his followers, considering they were too thick to think for themselves. It'd be valuable at Hogwarts, and perhaps after graduating, but not right now. He currently had no use for bodyguards who only stuffed their faces.

Yes, even at formal balls.

"Draco," Crabbe said, swallowing a mouthful down. Draco itched to grab him a napkin to wipe that ugly grimace of chocolate above his lips. "Crabbe and Goyle," he said evenly.