The dining room at Malfoy Manor was illuminated by floating candles whose steady flames cast long reflections across polished silver and crystal. The table itself seemed to gleam with inherited wealth—old goblin-worked cutlery, fine china edged in green and gold, and heavy velvet drapes that shut out the Wiltshire night beyond the tall windows.
Draco sat upright, posture instinctively precise.
Lucius Malfoy occupied the head of the table, as he always did, his pale hair falling neatly over dark robes of impeccable cut. Narcissa sat at his right, graceful and attentive, her presence softening the room's austerity.
Draco set down his fork with measured calm.
"I have made my decision," he said.
Lucius lifted his wineglass, the deep red liquid catching the candlelight. "Indeed?"
"Hogwarts."
The word settled in the air.
Lucius did not respond immediately. He took a slow sip before lowering the glass to the table. The faintest tap of crystal against wood echoed between them.
"I had anticipated," Lucius replied smoothly, "that you might consider Durmstrang."
Draco's fingers tightened briefly against his napkin before he stilled them. His face, however, remained composed.
Durmstrang.
A school renowned for severity. For its emphasis on combative magic. For its reluctance to admit anyone not of respectable lineage. It was not an unreasonable suggestion for a family such as theirs.
But it was not where the centre of British wizarding power lay.
"May I ask," Draco said carefully, "why Father prefers Durmstrang?"
Lucius leaned back slightly in his chair, studying him.
"Durmstrang cultivates strength," he said. "It does not dilute its standards for the sake of sentiment. Its students are drawn from the oldest families of Europe. Discipline is strict. Instruction is… uncompromising."
There was meaning beneath the words.
Narcissa added gently, "It is also removed from certain… influences."
Draco understood at once.
"Hogwarts," Lucius continued, "has grown excessively inclusive under Dumbledore's governance. The school admits those of every background without distinction. It fosters notions of equality that do not always serve tradition."
Draco inclined his head as though absorbing this.
Outwardly, he remained the dutiful son. Inwardly, his thoughts moved swiftly.
Hogwarts was not merely a school. It was the heart of Britain's magical future. The Ministry recruited from its graduates. The Wizengamot drew heavily from its alumni. Every major figure in recent history had passed through its halls—including Dumbledore himself.
If he were to navigate the political currents of this world, Hogwarts was the arena in which those currents first formed.
"Father," Draco began, his tone respectful, "our family's standing rests in England. The Malfoy name carries weight in the Ministry, in the Wizengamot, and among the old houses of this country."
Lucius's gaze sharpened slightly.
"If I am to inherit that responsibility one day," Draco continued, "then it would be prudent for me to build my alliances here—among those who will shape Britain's future. The sons and daughters of influential families will attend Hogwarts. Future Aurors. Future Ministry officials. Perhaps even future Ministers."
Narcissa's eyes brightened faintly.
Draco pressed on, careful not to sound argumentative.
"Durmstrang's connections would be valuable," he conceded. "But they would remain continental. Useful, certainly, yet distant. Our influence lies here. It seems only logical that I strengthen what already belongs to us."
Lucius regarded him for a long moment without speaking.
The silence was deliberate.
Draco met his father's gaze steadily. He did not lower his eyes. A Malfoy did not shrink from scrutiny.
At last, Lucius spoke.
"You presume that Hogwarts will offer you the proper cultivation."
"I intend," Draco replied evenly, "to ensure that it does."
There was no arrogance in the statement—only quiet certainty.
Narcissa rested her hand lightly over Draco's. "He is thinking of the family," she said softly. "That is clear."
Lucius's expression remained cool, but there was calculation behind it now rather than resistance.
"You are aware," he said slowly, "that at Hogwarts you will encounter those of… lesser heritage."
"I am aware," Draco answered.
"And you understand what is expected of you."
"I do."
Lucius studied him as though reassessing something fundamental.
"You speak of alliances," he said. "Yet alliances require discernment. Sentiment must never cloud judgement."
Draco allowed himself the faintest curve of a smile—controlled, restrained.
"I have no intention of allowing sentiment to dictate strategy."
That, at least, was entirely true.
The candles flickered gently overhead.
Lucius finally inclined his head, a small but decisive motion.
"Very well," he said. "You will attend Hogwarts."
Narcissa's relief was immediate, though elegantly concealed. She squeezed Draco's hand once before withdrawing it.
"You will represent this family with dignity," Lucius continued. "You will observe. You will remember who you are."
"Yes, Father."
The matter, once decided, was no longer debated.
Draco resumed his meal, outwardly composed, inwardly thoughtful.
Hogwarts awaited.
And with it, a future far more complicated than his parents could yet imagine.
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