The Boy Who Lived

Aunt Marge's Big Mistake

Draco Malfoy was furious, again. How was it that Potter had finished yet another school year on yet another adventure and come out of it all a hero? How was that the wizen old fool of a headmaster had awarded both Potter and the Weasel two hundred House points each and Awards for Special Services to the School? Why was that his father was in fouler mood than usual? And where was his favourite House-Elf, Dobby? His father resolutely refused to answer that last question and when Draco pursued the matter he was sent to his room without supper. His mother just shushed him and sent him away. Draco wasn't used to that; he was used to getting what he wanted.

It didn't help that it still smarted over the Quidditch debacle. Marcus Flint had ripped into him twice. First for calling Granger a Mudblood. Flint called Draco an ignorant little fucker and told him to watch using that word in public. He said it was acceptable in crowds who understood but that sort of shit could get the whole team disqualified for the year and there were bigger things in life than Draco's money and his name and his Pureblood crap, especially as Flint wanted to get scouted and go professional. Draco had never had anyone speak like that to him before or call him such words. He was so shocked, he didn't even threaten to tell his father, partly because he was afraid his father might agree with Flint. Then Flint gave Draco a proper dressing down in front of everyone in the common room about not being able to see the bloody Snitch when it was hovering right in front of his bloody pointy little stuck-up fucking nose and how come Potter could see from the other side of the fucking pitch when he was trying to avoid what was quite obviously a cursed bloody Bludger and then Potter still managed to catch it with a fucking broken arm. Unsurprisingly, Draco felt utterly humiliated and, as a result, furious with Potter because it was clearly all his fault. And that conflicted with the little bit of envious admiration that he felt about the other boy and that he could see the Snitch from the other side of the pitch while trying to avoid an obviously cursed Bludger and then he could still catch it despite having a horribly broken arm. He didn't even have the heart to laugh about Lockhart vanishing Potter's bones.

His father had promptly sneered at him about the Quidditch match and told him he didn't deserve his Nimbus Two Thousand and One before sweeping off home dramatically.

He scowled to himself, wondering what Potter was up to now. No doubt lording it around his home being spoilt rotten by Minerva McGonagall. He was really intrigued by that story. No one seemed to know anything about why Potter lived with McGonagall; it had been public knowledge that he lived with Muggle relatives in a highly Warded and secret location after the Dark Lord killed his parents. And there were also rumours about him coming into the school regularly, right from being a young child, but no one knew he was 'Harry Potter', just McGonagall's great-nephew called Harry. The older students told stories that he knew the school better than anyone, even Dumbledore, that was why he'd been able to find the Chamber of Secrets (not that it was official what had happened and no one knew for certain). They talked about how he'd been friends with some of the older students, even those in Slytherin. That, for a while, the divide between the Houses wasn't so great. Draco wished it was still like that. He admitted to being intrigued by the Gryffindor Tower, he'd heard it was really homely and warm compared to the dungeons, which were icy cold even in the middle of a heatwave.

He sighed, daydreaming about warm red interior decorations and cosy sofas by roaring fires. That is, until he realised what he was doing and shook the nonsense out of him. He wasn't allowed to think like that.

He wondered what McGonagall was like as a mother. Quite intimidating, he supposed. But he imagined her having a lot of time for Harry, doing things with him, like practicing Transfiguration or Charms, he was really quite good at both, and Defence too. It was just Potions that he sucked at. At least Draco had that over him: Draco excelled at Potions.