'Changes were not going to be made, ' Draco thought as he scanned the grounds for somewhere new to fly. 'Father has no right to treat me like this. I was born for this, I was born to rule. The only failure here were his and Potter's for not doing what they were told. '
He'd get his mother to agree with him, Draco thought as he decided there was nothing worth flying over, or at least nothing new. He had wanted a full Quidditch stadium put in so he could play properly but his father had refused to "erect an eye-sore" on his perfect estate. He'd also just went back on his promise to buy him his new broom. They would just have to see about that.
The Comet 260 he had was nothing. It was almost three years old already, that's ancient, and as much as it galled him, Weasley was right about them. They looked flashy, which was why he wanted it, but they really were no match for the Nimbus series. And then Potter showed up with his gift-wrapped Nimbus 2000 and was anointed the Youngest Seeker in a Century and praised for luck they took as skill. It was ridiculous.
If his father refused to help then his mother should be able to do something about it. She was the last of the Black family who wasn't in prison for following the Dark Lord and there was an entire fortune out there just waiting for Draco to inherit it when he came of age. He didn't need his father; his mother should be able to access it, then he'd get his broom. He'd get his broom, get his way onto the Quidditch team even if he had to buy his way on, and he'd show Potter what a proper Pureblood could do in the sky.
With the Heir causing trouble at Hogwarts, one thing was certain: this was going to be Draco's year. He'd kick the legs out from under Potter by crushing him at Quidditch, he'd find the Heir, and partner with him so he could do what he should've been able to do last year with Scarhead: play along as the stalwart ally until he knew all the Heir's secrets and then stab him in the back and take over. Oh yes, this was going to be his year.
With one last look at the tiny buildings by the lake, Draco wished he knew the really good spells already - the ones that'd cause fires or make things explode - because he'd really like nothing better to blast that gazebo apart and set fire to those stupid swans. Pansy liked the boats though, the few times he'd let her visit, and he liked how she hung all over him, so he supposed they had some use.
With a growing rumble in his stomach, he wondered if there was any food in the house, or even if there was anyone who knew how to make any. How could his father have sold off their servant? He'd better not expect his mother to do any work or Draco suspected he'd soon find himself being the last of his line, which would solve all of Draco's troubles, of course. With a smirk, he thought about getting Pansy to do all the cooking and cleaning for them, she was always very thankful to them for "everything they'd done for her," the idiot.
There had to be a kitchen in the house somewhere, and with that in mind Draco set off back to the manor. By the time he'd gotten home he'd decided: once his father was dead he was tearing the whole place down, building a castle, and buying a whole herd of house-elves.
...
Regardless of what he thought of using the floo, Harry found himself eating. The bit of toast was supposed to settle his stomach but he didn't think it helped much. It gave him something to do as the minutes dragged by though and it was easier to concentrate on taking a bite, chewing, and looking at his watch again than to pay attention to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's pre-going-to-work conversation. He didn't want to be late, but showing up early felt like a bad thing to do too.
Harry found it very hard to focus on anything but the slow passage of time. If the guys had been awake and here to distract him it might not have been so bad… but then again, it might've been so much worse. Fred and George would probably go on and on about the date with Hermione - was that the right word? She had kissed his cheek… he'd probably be so nervous he'd end up getting sick.
He hadn't felt this way since his first Quidditch game last year, but at least then he'd had practices to prepare him for it. 'Was that what this was, ' Harry wondered, 'just a practice for the real thing?' That actually helped settle his stomach a bit so he could pry his attention away from the time; it hadn't seemed to change for half an hour.
"It's up to Harry, of course, but it's not like this is permanent," Arthur said to his wife, drawing Harry into the conversation.
"Sorry, what's that?" he asked, looking to Mrs. Weasley, who was back at home in her kitchen. Once she had made sure Dobby's head was okay and he'd suitably recovered from the fall, she had managed to distract him by sending him out to clean Arthur's "muggle artifacts" in the garage, leaving her free to cook them breakfast.
"We were just wondering what you were doing with Dobby this year once school starts back," Mrs. Weasley said with a wave. "Any more toast, dear?" she asked.
For a moment Harry was unsure if it was him or her husband she was talking to. Her habit of calling everyone dear was kind of confusing. Looking over at Arthur, who had his napkin on his plate signaling he was through with his meal, told Harry she was talking to him.
"Er - no, that's alright," he said, wiping his fingers on a pair of Ron's old jeans Mrs. Weasley had let him use. "It depends on what Dobby wants, I guess," Harry said, answering their question about the elf. "I said he could go to Hogwarts with me, but I'm not sure how much work there'll be for him there. He's free to come here for more work whenever he wants though."
"Well, if he's only here part time, that won't be so bad, will it?" Arthur said merrily. "Molly's afraid she won't have anything to do," Mr. Weasley explained, "but I say she's due for a good break."
"I wouldn't know what to do with myself with a break," Molly said, gathering up the dishes with a wave of her wand and immediately starting to wash them. "It's been non-stop work almost since the day we got married. I may just go mad tottering around this place by myself with nothing to do."
"There's always finding something to do outside of the home," her husband suggested tentatively.
Tentatively or not, Molly still dropped the dishes in the sink with a crash, her eyes popping at the suggestion. "I can't work, I have children," she protested with an astonished look on her face.
"Children who are all school age or older," Arthur gently reminded her.
.....
Want to read ahead. Then Join my P@treon 60+ exclusive chapters that are waiting for you.
Free members can get 2 advanced chapters FOR FREE.
Link: ptreon.com/Lotus_Lover
Join Right Now