This story was written for the Dramione Remix 2014 over on LJ. My prompt couple was Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes and Susie. Now, there's no Calvin without Hobbes, ergo, there's an additional character. Given that the original was designed in comic strips, I'm using the same format. Please bear
with me if there are time and logical jumps (fully intentional) and some inconsistencies regarding canon. There are plenty citations from the original in this story. If it sounds familiar to Calvin and Hobbes aficionados, the credit goes to the ingenious Bill Watterson, who gave us the characters and made us laugh so much. If it's a funny dialogue, it was most likely designed by him, and only adapted to the Harry Potter world by me.

Lastly, a big thank you to mccargi, who not only betaed this fic but also had immense input in the development. Give her a big hand, folks, applause, applause.

Warnings for the faint of heart: Some gorily snow figures, implied murder, threats to bodily harm Malfoy style, some name calling, mild insults

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

Let the comic begin

Chapter 1: Home

"There's a Mudblood girl in our class," the blond boy said into thin air while lifting his broom off the ground.

"Well. What's her name?" came a disembodied reply from behind him.

"Who knows?" The boy grimaced while guiding his broom higher into the sky. He hoped he'd done the Disillusionment and Sticking charm properly. There would be repercussions later from his father if he was caught on school grounds, flying his broom without permission.

"Is she nice?" the voice replied with a teasing lilt in its tone.

"Who cares? Not me!" the young wizard protested.

"Do you like her?" the voice answered slyly encouraging.

"NO!" The boy almost jumped off his broom in protest, ruffling his slicked-back hair with the sudden move.

"Aww, Draco. She must be something special." The 11-year-old could almost hear the grin on the face of his usually loyal companion.

Draco harrumphed. Tied with a sticking charm on the broom behind him sat his pet dragon; an animated miniature that breathed real fire if you tickled it on the belly, and moved about, and rolled up in a ball for sleep. It had been a gift from an aunt "of-whom-one-did-not-speak" when he was born. It had been in his crib, then his bed, then with him wherever he went as long as Draco could remember. At first, it was carried in plain sight; later, when he got older, disguised with a Disillusionment Charm.

At one point, his mother had tried to take it out of his crib with tears in her eyes, but Draco hadn't wanted to let go. He'd made such a fuss, screaming to bring the Manor down, that his father had come in and tiredly agreed to let the dragon stay.

"It's just a toy, Narcissa. He won't remember who gave it to him and why he never sees her around."

Draco had fallen asleep that night secure in the feeling that his companion would stay with him. He'd named him Fafnir after that. Instead of guarding a hoard of gold, it would protect him.

With a blink Draco's awareness registered his parent's presence. He whimpered in response.

" ….but the Prewetts! They are well-known, Lucius. Are you sure about this?" He felt his mother bent over his crib, her voice anxious.

To his left, his father's reply came a lot harsher. "They are blood traitors, Cissi, and when the Dark Lord orders them gone, I'll do it." Draco whimpered again at the harshness.

"Shh, Lucius. You'll wake him. It took long enough to make him fall asleep. He never sleeps well with i him i/ around," came his mother's reprimanding voice. Then it took on a tearful tone. "Please, be careful, dear. They may be blood-traitors, but they are from a strong and abundant family, and now connected to the Weasleys."

Draco heard his father's reply, a snort and then a sharp remark full of derision. "The Weasleys. Don't worry, Narcissa. I'll be back before dawn. Close the floo when I'm gone. Just in case."

Draco felt his mother's hand on his head, stroking his thin blond hair. "Come back safely," his mother whispered from above as Draco heard a door clap, and then, oblivion claimed him again.

"Look, mum, what I got?"

"What is it, Draco?"

"I caught a dragon!"

"Well done, honey. And how exactly did you catch it?"

"Easy, I set up a dragon trap."

"And how does that work, sweetheart?"

"You put a Galleon in a clearing and squeak like maiden witch in distress to draw its attention. Then, when it comes to pick up the gold, you jump on its back and hold its wings down so it can't fly away."

Narcissa Malfoy had a difficult time keeping a straight face, but she managed. She wasn't a born and raised pureblood witch for nothing.

"How ingenious, Draco."

"Mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What am I going to do with it, now that I have it?"

At this, Narcissa allowed herself to smile indulgently. "Why, you could stuff it and put it in your room. Make sure you show your father when he comes home that you caught your own dragon today. He'll be very proud to have such a clever son."

"Of course, mother. Will you excuse me now? I have to talk to the house elves, see if they'll help me with the stuffing."

"Of course, Draco. Go on, now."

She wistfully watched her three-and-half-year-old son waddle out of the room, a pet dragon almost as big as him under one arm. She heard his clear voice calling for Bibi the house-elf, as he reached the entrance hall. What a vivid imagination he had, her little Malfoy heir. At his age, it was perfectly normal. She just hoped that he would develop a brilliant intelligence from it, just like his father. She also hoped a little that, unlike his father, he would be able to keep some of his childlike ardour, even when he grew older. This lovely innocence would be lost forever soon enough, if she knew the world they were living in - and she did.

Later, in his room, Draco watched a horse-sized dragon munch on pumpkin pasties. In reality, the toy was roughly as large as a medium-sized dog. A Common Welsh Green miniature, it had the green scales and dark eyes of its race, but its skin was much softer than actual dragon hide. Made for children, the spikes and claws were blunted and the brown wings less forceful, constructed of a soft, pliable material. Magically enhanced, it exhibited all the behaviours of a real dragon, which included eating, sleeping, flying, roaring, and, last but not least, breathing magical fire - albeit in watered-down, child-appropriate versions to reduce the risk of actual harm. (The owner of the dragon pet toy production had quickly agreed that this was a necessary step after he proof-tested a prototype of his toy on his 6-year old rascal of a nephew. His wife's hair never grew back entirely, and he was forced to endure her biting sarcasm about certain aspects of his anatomy for the rest of his unfortunately long life.)

In Draco's vivid imagination, however, Fafnir was much larger and showed more actual dragon behaviour. His sharp teeth were made to rip his prey to shreds, his lashing tail could topple the sturdiest defences, the strong wings were made for flying, the heat of his fiery breath rivalled that of Fiendfyre, and, of course, he was much taller than his boy-companion was.

In his mind, Fafnir devoured the pasties so avidly that little flakes of shell flew everywhere, while Draco himself chewed slowly on his own piece. He didn't know how much a dragon needed and Bibi had supplied him with plenty, assuring him she would take the rest back if need be, because he wasn't allowed to eat more than one, or he would spoil his appetite for dinner. There would be hell to pay if he stuffed his face with pastry and his father found out.

Watching his dragon chomp down a whole danish per bite, devouring the entire lot, Draco thought with glee that there had to be more he could achieve with this dragon. Feeding him on sweets and candy, and diverting extras for himself, could be only one benefit.

"Hi, Father. Do you know why you haven't seen me all morning?" Draco ambled into his father's study where his father was apparently very busy looking over some paperwork. Tomes of books were distributed over the vast top of his desk.

"… followed by an Imperius for better handling," he mumbled. "Hm, what, Draco?"

"I made myself invisible. Fafnir helped me to turn grandfather's old cloak into an Invisibility Cloak, and I roamed through the entire Manor undetected," Draco reported proudly.

Just then, his mother came in, accompanying a house-elf that carried a tea service on a tray for the Master's teatime. Before she could say a word of praise to her son, Lucius said, "Hm, I bet you cannot do that the entire afternoon, as well," while searching for something in a book on his right.

"Dear!" Draco's mother admonished her husband's very obvious attempt to get rid of the distraction before taking Draco out with her and closing the door behind them on her preoccupied husband.

"Come on, you take me on your back, like a horse, and off we go, flying."

Fafnir huffed. "Certainly not. Do you take me for a mule?"

Draco frowned. "No, not a mule. But you're strong enough to carry me, aren't you?"

Fafnir was insulted and his reptile face showed it. "Don't be ridiculous; certainly, I'm strong enough. But I'm a dragon, and I won't be ridden. That's against the dragon codex."

Draco was intrigued. "Dragons have a codex?"

His companion sneered. "Of course we have a codex. We are a highly developed species, older than mankind and certainly not as stupid."

Affronted, Draco folded his arms over his chest. "Wizards are not stupid, they are powerful. We can brew powerful poisonous potions, breed Basilisks and Manticores, create powerful objects, cast unforgivable curses, hone hexes and jab jinxes to get rid of our enemies, in short, we are powerful enough to annihilate our entire species – oh."

Epiphany lighted Draco's small face and then, his posture slumped.

Fafnir simply held his gaze with a raised eyebrow, and, when it was clear Draco understood, he snickered. "You know, there are times when it's a source of personal pride to not be human," he said, his face set in pompous self-righteousness.

"I see what you mean," Draco admitted grumpily. "Well, can I become a dragon, then?"

Fafnir looked taken aback, before seeming to scrutinize his human friend. "I don't know. Being a dragon is more than just having scales and wings, you know."

"Can you teach me?" Draco asked eagerly.

Fafnir looked dubious. "Hm. You will always be lacking a certain panache. There are some things that simply cannot be taught. You have to i think /i like a dragon, too."

Draco growled. "'Roaar, I'm hungry. What's for dinner?' How's that?"

"Har har," Fafnir sneered. "Do you want me to teach you our dragon secrets or not?"

Draco was intrigued again. "Dragons have secrets?"

Fafnir grinned slyly. "Oh, yes, big secrets. You wouldn't believe."

"Well, tell me!"

"Big, secret secrets. If you only knew, hmhm."

"Tell me, Fafnir, tell me." Draco pleaded hanging from his friend's neck.

"I can't tell you. They are secrets."

"But I'm your best friend. I won't blab. You can tell me."

"Nope."

Draco pouted as only a six-year-old can. "I don't really think you know any secrets."

"That's right, I don't," Fafnir replied smugly and turned to leave.

"Yes, you do." Draco called his bluff. "Tell me! Please!"

Resolutely, Fafnir turned his snout away from his friend. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's about you."

"Aaahhh, tell me. What is it?"

"Do you know how your parents got you?"

Draco stopped short. "I was … what are you saying?"

"Something about the Dark Lord's power and breeding you from a house-elf."

Draco was enraged at the presumption. "I don't believe your stupid secret."

Fafnir stuck his tongue out. "It's true."

"It's not and if all your secrets are lies like that you can just keep them to yourself," Draco said indignantly.

Fafnir grinned self-importantly. "You just don't want to know how little your parents had to pay for you."

Draco consulted one of his books on magical beings. "Oh, hush. I can see that dragons are solitary and won't share their territory. Now, I can understand perfectly well why that is. One would imagine they get on each other's nerves." Bossily, he put his dragon close to the windows and went over to his bed. "So, you'll stay on that side of the room and I'll stay here with the bed. The line from the book shelf to the bathroom door is the boundary."

Fafnir saucily put one claw over the imaginary line. "Look what I'm dooo-ing."

"You cut that out," Draco yelled back at him. When Fafnir had pulled his limb back, sitting himself meekly under the window, Draco slouched down next to his bed and leafed through his book some more. After five minutes, he looked up.

"You know, Fafnir. I thought we would have more fun, as two dragons, but we are not. Here we are on opposite sides of the room and cannot share a territory. More importantly, it says here that dragons are close to extinction. I believe I'll go back to being a boy again, no offense."

"None taken, Draco," Fafnir said amicably. "I just wish we could all afford to switch sides so easily, changing our minds and choosing our friends as we wish."

"Draco."

"Yes, Father?"

"What did I tell you about staying out of my study? What happened to my remembrall magical map? It's covered in ink!"

Agitated, Draco tried to make his father understand. "It wasn't me, Father. I told him not to, but Fafnir went inside and tried to sneak the indelible ink out and then … um…"

"Draco!" The icy tone in his father's voice should have been enough of a warning, but it went unheeded as Draco forged on with his explanation.

"Um, hm, a wild horde of Centaurs barged in, and before I could stop them, they went straight to the study, hm, …."

"One more try, boy!" Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes threateningly, waiting out the next lie in the making; for he was sure it would come.

Draco took another deep breath to tell his father the whole truth. "Mudbloods, father. I don't know how they managed, but they stormed in from the fireplace, using the floo, and before I could tell them to get out, they Imperiused me and made me do it."

Later in his room, lying on his bed because he couldn't sit on his mistreated backside, Draco complained to his draconian companion. "Fat lot of help you were with getting me out of trouble for i your /i fun."

"Oh, shush," Fafnir replied, pouting on his pillow. "Served you right. I wish you would stop pinning your stupid ideas on me."

"And he scores! 10 points to Slytherin!" Draco jubilated.

"You did not! You forgot to touch the post upside down before you put the Quaffle in." Fafnir nagged.

"I did so! You, in turn, didn't hit the ground with your tail before you chased me."

"I did too! But you forgot to circle the dandelion back there before flying straight for the hoop. That's obstacle 23."

"No, it's not! It's obstacle 15. Obstacle 23 is the quacking duck back in the pond, which, by the way, has flown away, I might add."

Fafnir folded his arms over his chest. His wings flapped on his back, holding him 50 feet up in the air while facing his human companion on his broom. "That's 35. You keep forgetting the obstacles, and you're doing them out of order, too. This goal doesn't count."

"What's the score?"

"It's still 300 to 41."

"It is not! I cannot be over 200 points behind you!"

"Then keep track yourself. I get the Quaffle." Fafnir grinned.

"It's so not fair that I'm not a dragon and cannot fly as well as you," Draco grumbled when his friend grabbed the ball out of his hands and scooted to the hoop in a straight line, thereby equally disobeying all the rules they had recently made up.

"Narcissa?"

"Yes, dear?"

Lucius stood breathless in front of his wife of many years, having hastened inside to find her. "Did you see the manoeuvres Draco is flying with his broom?"

Narcissa laughed at her husband's excitement. She rarely got to see this side of him, he was always so composed. "I only took a quick peek outside. Tinky is watching him. He's really doing well, isn't he?"

Lucius beamed, lighting up his face under his blond hair in a way that made him look like an angel. Narcissa adored this so much; it made her fall in love with her husband all over again. "I'll say," he said with laughter in his voice. "And he's only six years old. This dragon miniature of his, …"

"Fafnir", Narcissa inserted evenly.

"Yes, Fafnir." Lucius picked up the name without paying it too much attention, a grin dominating his face, caught in thoughts about his flying son. "It's flying with him, well, as much as a magical miniature can do. Of course, it cannot catch the Quaffle, but Draco is flying and weaving around it, throwing and catching the Quaffle, avoiding the Bludgers, as if he plays every position, and as if he's never done anything else. He's commenting, too. I think he even invented some new rules. Multi-talented, that boy. I don't know whether he's better as Chaser or Seeker. I simply can't tell."

Narcissa beamed back. "Perhaps he'll end up becoming a professional Quidditch player."

Lucius' excitement was palpable, and it made Narcissa giddy. "I'll say. I'll get him a try-out when he does well his first years at Hogwarts, if it's the last thing I do." He laughed aloud in exuberance.

"I'm so proud of him," Narcissa mused.

Lucius answered with a chuckle. "You have all reason to be. Our boy is going to be great."

Then he left with a skip in his step, and Narcissa watched his retreating back while enjoying his overwhelmingly good mood.

On his knees, hidden in the darkness of the deserted hallway before the parlour, Draco slowly pulled back, creeping step by step without a sound, Fafnir silently flapping above him. As soon as he reached the corner, he leapt to his feet and raced back to his room, barely holding his giggles until he closed the door behind his friend and himself. Safely in the room, they burst out laughing, excited over their successful sneaking about the Manor at night when they should be asleep in bed.

Draco flopped down on his carpet, catching his breath from the running and the excitement. "Did you hear, Fafnir?

"How could I not have?" Fafnir gasped, equally breathless from the dash to Draco's room.

The light from the fire and a few candles bathed the three wizards lounging in cosy armchairs in treacherous warmth. Barely able to see them against the backdrop of the dark leather, Draco did his utmost to stay completely silent in order not to be heard.

"I ran into Weasley the other day. Can you believe he didn't even have the restraint to let me pass first? He and his brood took up so much room; I had to change the sides of the promenade."

"And why would he do that, Yaxley," Draco's father drawled, "if he thinks he's perfectly in the right?"

The addressed wizard snorted. "In the right, my foot. If the Dark Lord were still among us, Weasley and his Muggle-loving ways would be the first to go." T

he third wizard just swirled his Firewhisky in his tumbler, making the ice-cubes clink against the glass. For some odd reason, it reminded Draco of the sound of metal meeting metal in flight. "Quiet, Yaxley. We dare not speak of him; it is disrespectful to speak so casually before we have brought about his return. Bellatrix would have you on your knees for it."

"Well, she's not here, is she?" Yaxley replied heatedly.

Lucius stopped him with a raised hand but addressed the other man. "I thank you for not giving orders in my house, Avery."

Avery tilted his head in acquiescence. "But of course, Malfoy. More to the point, how is it going, the bringing him back?"

Now it was Lucius' turn to answer heatedly. "You know quite well, it's not going at all. Whatever the Potter boy did to him not only killed but also made him disappear. I've searched high and low, but there's not a trace of him."

Avery put a finger over his closed mouth, stroking his moustache. "Hm-hm, just how high and how low have you really searched, Malfoy?"

Lucius replied with a stern glance. "Higher and lower than you, I can assure you. I was not aware that you searched at all, my friend."

Somehow, Draco didn't have the feeling this Avery guy was a friend, at all. When his father used this kind of tone, he wasn't really on good terms with you.
Yaxley barked a laugh. "Mudbloods got in your way, Avery?"

"They sure did," Avery bit back. "As they continue to clog up the Ministry, you stumble over them at every turn. It's a miracle we haven't been contaminated by their germs."

Lucius chuckled. "They are so easy to blame, aren't they? But in all honesty, as long at this Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore, has his hold on Hogwarts and, through Fudge, the Ministry we will be thwarted wherever we turn. With the Minster's current agenda for "tolerance" we have to be very politic, keep a low profile, and search rather quietly, as you well know, both of you, which, of course, is the very reason why we haven't tried to free my dear sister-in-law and the others yet."

"It still makes me sick to think that your boy will have to share his education with all these base Mudbloods and Half-bloods. Isn't there anything you can do, Malfoy?"

Lucius smiled benignly and sighed. "Afraid not. I would send him to Karkaroff at Durmstrang, but Narcissa won't have Draco so far away. Who am I to oppose the heart of a mother of the purest of pure blood, my lovely wife?"

Avery shook his head and spat, "I'm just glad I don't have any children. This country is going to the dogs with Mudblood supporters like Dumbledore and without the Dark Lord around to keep the Mudbloods in check, mark my words."

"What do you make of it, Fafnir?"

"Beats me, but this Potter must have superpowers if he can beat this Dark Lord that your parents admire and fear so much."

"They don't fear him. My father's not afraid of anything. Although, the Dark Lord has the right ideas, my father said, and they want what he wants -to defeat the Mudbloods."

Draco wasn't quite sure what a "Dark Lord" was, but the boy felt the respect his parents had for who- or whatever it was. He remembered power seeping through the Manor when he was very little. It had felt awkward, uncomfortable, cry-worthy. Now, he knew it was the Mudbloods' fault.

"Ha, I have superpowers, too. I'm a pureblood, just like Mother and Father. We rule the world, that's what Father said, as we should. Draco the Powerful Pureblood Warlock, Defender of Liberty, Annihilator of all things Muggle, and Pursuer of World Domination for all things Magic. Ha-HAAAA!"

Fafnir looked very sceptical, but Draco dove into his closet with gusto. "A cape, I need a cape. And a mask. To stay in-cog-nito."

Gruffly, Fafnir made his doubts known. "Why do you care that nobody knows your identity? Except for the obvious reason of them laughing themselves silly over your antics, of course."

Draco thought. His forehead screwed up, he contemplated the benefits of a hidden identity. Finally, he shrugged and said, "Perhaps you have to stay anonymous to be able to lead a quiet life when you take a break from saving the world. You know? So, you don't get run-down by fans wanting a piece of you. We Malfoys are quite a catch, my father said. I'm sure some girls will try.

Besides, my father runs around with a mask over his head, too, remember? When he goes chasing the Muggles and Mudbloods? I'm sure there's a good reason. Besides, we can have all kinds of adventures when nobody knows who we are, and we blame it on our alter egos. We'll just say 'It was the Clever Conjurer, not meek and obedient Draco. You got the wrong guy."

Fafnir peeked through half-closed eyelids at his friend. "As long as you don't try to blame it on me again."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, we are all set. So, seen any purebloods who need help against the evil Mudbloods lately?"

"May I be excused?" Sitting in the dining room, at the head of the majestic dining table with settings for possible thirty diners, Draco squirmed in his seat.

His mother looked up from her meal and saw his untouched dish. "You haven't finished your cured-kelpie pie, so, no, you have to remain seated," she replied.

Draco frowned. "I know. I don't like it very much. It looks like mushed doxy poop in a covered pastry shell."

His mother frowned. "Draco, language! And you haven't even tried it yet."

At her irritated tone of voice, his father looked up from his plate and fixed him with a stern gaze. "Eat. It's good for you."

Grumbling, Draco picked up his fork and staked a pie piece on it. Carefully, he tipped his tongue against a prominent part of the filling and dropped his utensil immediately, using both hands to enclose his throat. He coughed and gagged desperately, pretending a poisonous reaction. His parents watched and waited with equivalent frowns and raised eyebrows until his coughing fit subsided.

"See?" he wheezed. "I tried. I almost died from the reaction. I just can't eat it when something tastes so disgusting."

While his mother rolled her eyes and looked away, aware of the confrontation that was coming, his father took the lead in disciplining and said, "Finish up, Draco. I won't have you waste what your mother so carefully planned for the house-elves to prepare for lunch."

"But, fa-ather, if I don't like it …?"

Lucius gave his only son a glare and said resolutely, "Eat. It'll build character."

"Why do I always have to build character when you cannot convince me?" Draco griped while poking in his unwanted food.

His father brooked no argument. "Because you need the right character to follow in my footsteps. To become the master of the Malfoy estate, you cannot be a weakling who lives on fairy cakes and honey, talking to flowers or pet animals. You have to be firm, decisive, and indomitable. Kelpie meat is hard to come by, tough as unicorn hair, and only a powerful man like myself can procure some. It doesn't matter that it tastes worse than doxy excrement; its magic will strengthen our magic."

Draco had listened to his father's outburst with wide eyes, until now. He frowned. "I thought we were already powerful pureblood wizards," he replied.

Lucius frowned at his counter-talk, but wanted to make his point. It was important Draco understood his place in the world. "We are. We are very powerful, indeed, bred and raised over hundreds of years of marrying pureblood to pureblood from the best and purest families. We are as close as you can become to magical invincibility."

"Are we under attack?" Draco anxiously asked.

Lucius scoffed. "Don't be silly, who would attack us? We are the Malfoys, our reputation precedes us. Nobody would dare."

Draco little faced screwed up in deep thought. "Then why would be need to be invincible if nobody would ever attack us?"

Lucius exchanged an exasperated glance with his wife, which said as much as "Why am I being interrogated by your son?" then answered with slight irritation. "Just in case, Draco. There are all kinds of people who would like to show that they are stronger than us and take away what we have. Because we have a lot, you know?"

"We have a lot?"

Lucius was proud to say, "Yes, my son, the Malfoy estate is immense. We are, as they so unsophisticatedly say, rich, and due to our wealth, we can do pretty much as we please."

"Like putting Mudbloods in their place?"

Lucius hesitated infinitesimally. It wasn't prudent to speak so freely and irreverently of Muggleborns and other lower magical beings. On the other hand, it was vital to teach Draco what was due to him because of his pure heritage. Now, how to explain this to a seven-year-old? Lucius decided to avoid the complication for now.

"Do not speak this way, Draco, I forbid you. We can get into trouble if we speak this way. Always be polite."

Cheekily, Draco replied, "I thought we can do as we please?"

"Draco!" His mother intervened at his disrespectful tone toward his father.

Draco frowned. "What? Father said we can do as we please, and now we cannot speak as we please? That doesn't seem right."

Lucius started to sweat profusely. Why was talking to children so difficult? He had enough. "I tried to let you in on our little family wisdom, but now I can see that you are not mature enough for it. Forget what I said. If I ever hear you speak about it, there will be severe consequences. You are excused from the table."

Draco was confused. "What, just because I asked a question about what to do with the Mudbloods? I take it there's no qualifying exam to be a father."

Verbally maneuvered into a corner by open child-talk, Lucius shouted, "That does it, young man. You are excused to your room. No sweets for tea and no dinner for you."

Draco sneered while getting up from his chair and slapped his napkin on the table. Luckily, he was quick to exit the room before his father gathered enough air to find a reply.

Draco made straight for his room, as ordered, and slammed the door behind him. Fafnir, lounging on Draco's bed, looked up in surprise. "What's with you? I thought you were at lunch."

Taking off his dinner jacket and tie and throwing them on the floor (where Tiffy would collect them later), Draco threw out heatedly, "If I had any saying in who gets to be dad around here, I certainly wouldn't choose my father."

Then he threw himself on his bed, lengthwise, where he let Fafnir pat his head consolingly while he fumed.

"What's this?"

Draco looked cautiously at the girl in front of him. She was about his age and pretty enough, he thought, except for her pug-like nose, which made her face always look a little puckered up; as if she had a bad taste in her mouth and always tried to purge it by blabbering. He considered carefully how much he could tell her about the preening dragon in his arms, which she scrutinized curiously.

"Why, it's a miniature dragon. A Common Welsh Green, as you can…"

"Yes, I can see it's a Common Welsh Green miniature," the girl interrupted in exasperation, rolling her eyes ostensibly. "Don't be so literal. I wondered why you brought it here, though, on a visit to my home."

Yep, he was sure, this girl was not to be trusted with confidential knowledge. He would have to go with plan B.

"Well, do you have one?" he replied with a prominent sneer. When she didn't say anything, only eyed him carefully, he ploughed on. "No? I didn't think so. That's why I brought it. I thought you would like to see what wonderful treasures the Malfoys have."

This girl wasn't easily fooled. "Excuse me? You call this a treasure? If it was made entirely from emerald, I would think about it but a simple miniature?" She smiled maliciously. "Unless it's a treasure to you, you mean?" Fafnir spit fire in her direction.

Before he could start to panic or do damage control, they were interrupted by their fathers' coming. "Pansy, everything alright?" a deep male voice said. When a man with a pug-like nose came around the corner, Draco knew he was faced with this girl's father or close uncle. Father was more likely, given the fact that his father accompanied the previously mentioned man.

"Yes, Daddy." The girl confirmed Draco's suspicion and her name to him when she turned to the men with a brilliant smile on her face. "Draco was just showing me his 'pet dragon', and it's so cute. Can I hold him, Draco?" She had turned back to him, turning her back on the men, and her brilliant smile had once again turned malicious. Draco swallowed. This girl was trouble.

He was saved by his father. "It's not a pet dragon," Lucius Malfoy thundered in a tone that would have made ice quite unnecessary in an icehouse. The girl, Pansy, winced and shivered.

"It may look like one of Oglethorpe's animal toys, but I can assure you, it's a powerful magical object, endowed by a Gong Tau Master with ancient, sentient magic. I brought it back from business in China and gave it to Draco as a gift," Lucius thundered on. "And I thank you, girl, for not insinuating that my son has any 'pets.'" He spat the last word. Then he turned to the man next to him. "Perhaps, we should re-consider, Parkinson, whether it is wise to match our children. Your girl seems a bit on the impudent side. A Malfoy man cannot suffer a wife who would embarrass him in public with tactlessness."

"Not at all, not at all, Lucius," the other man, Parkinson, said hastily. "Pansy is a well-bred and raised pureblood girl. She's just a little, well, like a rough diamond, you see? But that's to be expected at her age. They are only 10 years old, after all. Give her a few more years and you'll see; she'll be as perfect, intelligent, and refined a pureblood wife as you, and your boy, could wish for. Won't you, Pansy?" Parkinson turned to his daughter with a threatening gleam in his eyes. When Pansy didn't respond immediately but only stared at her father in surprise, he inquired in a deeper tone, "Pansy?"

The girl shook herself out of her stupor and made a graceful curtsy. "Yes, Father. Of course, Mr. Malfoy, I would never think of embarrassing Draco anywhere."

Lucius was not quite assured. "Hm. Be that as it may, I won't finalize the contract today. I would like some time to think about it and observe a few years longer. If she turns out to my, and Draco's, satisfaction we will pick up negotiations again."

Parkinson was obviously disappointed, but he had no choice other than to nod compliantly. "Very well, Lucius. If that is your wish…"

"It is," Lucius Malfoy replied brusquely. "Come, Draco, we are done here for today. Good day to you, Parkinson. Best regards to your wife. We'll meet again." He did a half turn to the girl who still stood in front of Draco and gave her a sharp nod. "Pansy." Then he looked sharply at his son.

Draco knew his father well enough not to question anything in this moment. He nodded back, said his farewell to Mr. Parkinson and to Pansy, and followed his father from the house.

At an appropriate distance from the front entrance, his father held out his arm, and Draco grabbed it for side-along apparition back to Malfoy Manor. They landed in a sufficient distance from the entrance to give them time for a talk before facing Draco's mother.

While Draco was aware that his father had saved him from uncomfortable questions coming from this meddlesome and presumptuous girl, Pansy, a thought nagged on his mind regarding something his father had said while defending him. They walked for a few meters in silence, and then Draco couldn't contain his curiosity anymore.

"Father?"

Lucius was deep in thought, but he reacted to his son's address. "Hm?"

"You would tell me if you were trying to arrange anything that would change my life dramatically, wouldn't you?"

Lucius exhaled sharply, then answered the unspoken question with a side-glance to his heir, "I was trying to make a successful betrothal for you, Draco, yes."

Draco's throat closed up, then re-opened on a scream. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuughhhhh…."

His father huffed in exasperation. "Draco, this is the way of the world. Your parents find you a good wife of noble blood, you marry when you reach maturity, have other pureblood children, and increase your wealth and political influence to further your societal standing."

"….aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhh…."

Lucius continued as if Draco wasn't screaming at the top of his voice. "With the choice of your wife, and her family I might add, you try to make your social standing more solid, have more influence. It's always about having a bigger piece of the cake."

" …aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggggh…"

Now slightly irritated, Lucius ploughed on, perhaps a little more frank with his son than he would usually be, due to the unusual strain on his nerves. "That doesn't mean you cannot be happy in your marriage. Look at your mother and me. I highly respect and cherish her, and she respects me. We have a very healthy relationship, and we've been betrothed as well. There's nothing so bad about it."

"…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhh…"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Draco, take a breath before you pass out," Lucius snarled.

Draco gasped. "That's the way of the world? Pick a wife, have offspring, and further your income?" he wheezed with barely enough air to provide for his dizzy brain.

His father paused for a second, looked far away over the estate that he inherited from his father, who inherited it from his father, and so on, and so on, and then said, "No, but the truth is more complicated. This will do for now, just so you know what's expected from you."

Draco had a little fit. "Why this girl? Apart from her facial deformity, did you see her nose, she was mean. She looked at me as if I was a freak for carrying a dragon miniature around."

Lucius threw him another sidelong glance. "Well, about that …"

Draco looked up at his father pleadingly, ignoring his previously started statement. "Can't we make an exception for me, in this case? Do I have to marry when I'm grown up?"

Lucius shook his head. "Sorry, son, no exceptions; especially, since you are the last of this line. I had a brother when I grew up, so the responsibility was not entirely on my shoulders. He died when he was 16, so the lot did fall to me, in the end. But you are it. You shall inherit everything here, and you will need a wife. Get used to the idea."

Draco's posture slumped, and he dragged his feet in defeat. His father patted his shoulder in consolation. "Try not to worry about it now. You still have another year before you start Hogwarts, then seven years of education before you even have to think about marrying and settling. I expect you to ace your classes, however."

Draco nodded.

Lucius smiled in remembrance of his own school days. "They'll be teaching Potions, and Charms, and Transfiguration, and Divination, and all the important areas in our life. It will be so enlightening, even though the education has gotten worse since my days, ever since Dumbledore took the reins. Why, they even introduced Muggle Studies, and I halfway expect him to make you do practical exercises. Do let me know if it comes to that, will you, Draco? I cannot have a Malfoy work as a Muggle. I do have some influence as a school governor. I can get you out of it. Understood? Make sure you tell me anything fishy that goes on at Hogwarts."

Draco nodded again and made a mental note: tell father, he could fix anything.

His father continued. "Your godfather is the Potions' Master, a very noble profession, and the Malfoys have their family members who were good at potions. So, I'll expect you to get the highest grades, understood?"

Draco stared. Somewhere between "potion" and "profession" his attention had drifted. Now it was focused on a strange, tall, otherworldly being that kept talking calmly. However, all Draco heard was, "Garble, gronk, garble garble." It was, however, he understood, important to nod at certain points of pause. So he did.

The tall being with long blond hair waved its arm over the landscape dramatically, declaring something passionately, but its sermon only dribbled through in singular words. "… Malfoy legacy … social standing …. only heir … Dark Lord … return …. our contribution ….high praise …"

Draco nodded again as the pause seemed to indicate this was a good time. The pause stretched, so Draco figured it was as good an indication as they came to ask his own question, regarding his future at the hands of the being. "So, what do you want from me?"

The being looked at him with doleful eyes. Draco knew this was it: the human sacrifice was upon him. He readied Fafnir in his arm, to throw a dragon-made fireball at his potential attacker.

" … therefore, your dragon has to stay home."

The shock on Draco's face made even a man as composed as Lucius Malfoy hurriedly assure his son that he still had time. It wasn't meant to be right the next day.

To no avail. Draco's features darkened as his steeled his resolve. "I'm not going to any school if Fafnir cannot come with me. I hate school."

Lucius sighed and looked up to the sky. "I should spend more time in my study. I could get so much work done."

"Narcissa?"

"Yes, Lucius?"

"May I have a word with you?"

"Of course, dear. Is this about Draco and Fafnir?"

Lucius Malfoy was a man of the world. He wasn't easily intimidated, one might even say he fought with the meanest, and nothing much scared him. However, the thought of his son, his only son, starting the ancient and fairly noble - even if one considered that there were schools much more inclined to put the right emphasis on the proper education of young wizards - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a few months' time with a miniature dragon under his arm like a pet filled him with trepidation; even more so than the time the Dark Lord had ordered him to arrange the demise of the Prewetts.

He would not be embarrassed because the Malfoy heir needed a crutch. Something must be done.

"Yes," he admitted on a vehement exhale. "His dragon pet. By Salazar, he even named the beast. When is he going to give it up, you think?"

Narcissa gave her husband an unsure smile. "When he's ready?"

"And when, dare I ask, will that be? Next week? Next month? Surely it won't last beyond the summer?" Lucius looked at his wife with a mixture of exasperation and desperation. People who didn't know him would have seen the icily raised eyebrow as a sign of threat, but Narcissa knew her husband. The anticipation of Draco embarrassing the family scared him shitless.

Narcissa Malfoy knew the reason for his fear. While the Dark Lord was gone, his dogma hadn't disappeared and Lucius Malfoy was one of the leading minds who kept the movement going. If it became known how much time his son and heir spent with an imaginary friend in form of a pet dragon instead of real kids and was, perhaps, even a bit dependent on this psychological crutch, Lucius would lose all credibility. The Malfoy reputation was only as strong as the power of the family members to maintain it. A laughing stock could not be a leader who frightens you into obeisance.

Yet, she also knew her son. His "friend", Fafnir, had helped Draco over many a sleepless night, in particular in his first year. One would think that a babe in the crib wouldn't understand what's going on around the house, but Draco knew. Being an innocent babe, he had felt the darkness brewing in his home. Narcissa could pinpoint the nights he woke up and cried implacably - when a meeting took place in Malfoy Manor. She was very reluctant to simply rip Draco's comfort away from him like an old plaster, especially since she was convinced that he would grow out of it sooner or later. However, she was certain it would take rather longer if she forced the issue. Now, how to tell that to her impatient husband?

"I'll talk to him," she offered reluctantly. "We still have a few months. If I explain, he may understand that he cannot take Fafnir to school. Without him at school, he will have to let go sooner or later."

Lucius relaxed visibly. "Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Let me know how it goes and if you need a strong male hand."

Narcissa nodded despite herself. A strong male hand was the last thing she would need. She would have to negotiate a middle ground.

"Yes, dear."

His relief palpable, Lucius Malfoy stroked his wife's silky hair and returned to his study. If he never had to deal with the education of children again, it would still be too soon. Narcissa would handle it well, he knew that much. That's all that counted.

"Fafnir, I've decided to be a fatalist," Draco said, flying on his broom over the vast property that belonged to the Malfoy Estate. His faithful dragon flew right beside him, his massive wings flapping lazily to keep the mutual pace. "All events are preordained and unalterable," Draco added. "Whatever will be will be. That way, if anything bad happens, it's not my fault. It's fate."

Fafnir blew a blaze of his fire in front of him, barely missing Draco's broomstick. "Are you sure?" He blew his fire again, getting so close this time that Draco had to make a quick turn, barely escaping and almost catapulting into the air. "What the heck, Fafnir?" he exclaimed.

Fafnir grinned. "So, when I put my flame to your broom, and it burns up, and you fall to your death, I'd say 'It's too bad you were fated to die'?"

Draco gasped for air, aware that he had almost fallen to his death. "That's not fate! That's betrayal of the worst kind!"

"Oh, really?" Fafnir smirked. "Methinks your logic only applies to bad things happening because you made them happen. And not if bad things happen to you. Hm?"

Draco wiggled, pushing himself up to right his seat on his broomstick. "You mean fate only applies when, for example, I smash my mother's favourite vase with a bat and a Bludger when playing inside the house even though I'm not allowed, and not when, for example, this Dark Lord comes back, and I have to help him get rid of the Muggles because my parents always did?"

Fafnir shook his massive head, making his ears flap. "No, I mean fate happens when, for example, you meet a person and are instantly fascinated by him or her, and this person is supposed to mean something to you; not when somebody tells you something, and you believe it without question because you think it's fate. If you have a choice, if you can decide to act differently, if you can think for yourself, it's not fate."

Draco sniffed. "I hear our destinies are controlled by the stars."

Fafnir exclaimed resolutely, "No, I think we can do whatever we want with our lives."

Draco huffed. "Not the way Mother and Father tell it."

"Draco, dear?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"What are your plans for Fafnir when you go to Hogwarts after the summer?"

Her little boy paled. Of course, at eleven he wasn't really little anymore. On the contrary, he had grown to be quite a strapping young lad, a little on the pale and lanky side, but those things grew out, didn't they? Yes, Narcissa was sure her boy would grow up to be just as handsome as his father, if not more so. He would fill out when the time came.

However, with regards to his dragon he was still a little boy.

"Why, take him with me?" he offered reluctantly. His shifting eyes looking for an escape showed more than his stiff posture did that this was a less than pleasant conversation for him.

Narcissa felt sorry for him, but something had to be done. "To do what exactly, Draco?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly but Narcissa wasn't fooled; this was a very important topic for him.

"He could sit on my bed and wait for me to come back from class?"

Narcissa grimaced. She had expected this, but it was still difficult to hear it spoken aloud. She bent down to her son and fixed him with her strongest parental glare.

"Dragons are not allowed inside Hogwarts, Draco. Besides, what will the other boys say when they see a plush dragon in your bed? You will be a Slytherin, just like the rest of us, and Slytherins don't have pets, especially not plush ones."

Draco lowered his gaze to the floor, but his voice was firm with conviction. "Fafnir is not plush. He's a fierce dragon. The other kids should be afraid of him if they know what's good for them. If they so much as lay a finger on me, he'll rip them apart and eat them for breakfast, that's what he'll do."

Narcissa sighed. It was a larger problem than she previously thought. Worse, she wasn't sure if Draco, having basically grown up with few interactions with other little witches and wizards, except for the occasional meetings with other pureblood families, was able to hold his own against the other kids. As a Malfoy, he had been inducted into thinking he was something special, only it hadn't quite panned out the way his parents wished. Instead, he had considered himself special because he was the only child who had a dragon for a play companion. Narcissa sighed again.

What to do?

"Don't you think Fafnir would get bored, waiting all day long for you to come back? Then you have homework and study times and many more things, you won't be able to take him along because he would be discovered and then put in a cage. You would have to hide him constantly, and he could be hurt if they discover him. Do you want that?"

Draco's body language showed quite clearly that he didn't. Her son was distraught at the idea that his friend would suffer because of him, but also at the thought of leaving him behind. It was a lose-lose situation.

"But I cannot leave him here either, Mum, he'll be so bored without me, and he'll read all my 'Mighty Magus' books. He always bends back the covers and puts them out of order."

Narcissa hugged him. Feeling his small body quiver in his upset made her heart clench, but he had to grow up eventually.

Pulling back, she looked him in the eye. "Draco, I believe you should get used to the thought that Fafnir stays here when you go."

"But, mum, …!"

She put on her stern face. "No, Draco, think about it. He's a dragon, he can take care of himself and he has much more freedom when he stays here. He can hunt and go out to fly. You can write him and when you come home for vacation, he will be here waiting for you."

"But my books!"

Narcissa's face softened. "I'll make sure he doesn't harm your books, alright? I'll put Tinky up to the task to check every night that the books are in order, yes?"

Draco knew when his opinion was being overruled and so he did what he had been taught to do. He said, "Yes, Mother."

Narcissa Malfoy sighed with relief. She knew this wasn't the last conversation they would have, but it was a start. "Good. Now, go and enjoy the time you still have with him."

"Okay, Mother," Draco replied, suddenly docile and quiet. Narcissa was pleased and left his room with a reassuring smile to her only son. He nodded back absently while his mind was already churning, devising plans to smuggle Fafnir in his trunk and ways to hide him at Hogwarts. Oh, the adventure it would be.

"I won't fit in your trunk, what do you think I am, a midget?"

"Well, it's a magical trunk, alright? And it's the extra special edition, it even shrinks full-size animals, it says here, "For the liberated witch and wizard and their familiars." It shrinks everything. And, …, here, I'll charm you smaller, and then you fit. It's only for a couple of hours, until we get there."

Fafnir pouted and lifted his snout in refusal. "No, no, it's a matter of personal pride for a dragon, not to be shut in a trunk. You can't make me."

"Well, do you want to stay here all year long, until I come back?" Draco yelled. "Because that's your alternative, you know?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy. You should have thought of a solution earlier, then, shouldn't you?"

"Perhaps, but it's too late now to whine over doxies in the drapes," Draco regaled his companion. "You either let me shrink you and hide in the trunk, or you'll have to stay behind."

Fafnir looked at his human with narrowed eyes. "And why can't you disillusion me and carry me as you usually do?"

"How would that look? Even if you are invisible, they would still see me carrying something around. How do you think my parents figured out you were still with me? That's a stupid idea." Draco huffed.

Fafnir crossed his front paws against his chest and raised his snout again. "Well, think of something else, I'm not sitting in the trunk."

"Arrgghhh, why do you have to be so stubborn?" Draco tore at his hair in exasperation. "I wish I had a normal pet, like a tiger or something. I would lock him in a cage and that's the end of it. Why do I get stuck with an inveterate dragon?"

Fafnir smiled grimly. "Stuck? Consider yourself lucky that I stayed, boy. Other kids don't have pet dragons, ever wonder why? We cannot stand kids, at all. Boys don't smell that good, for one."

Apologies. I had to figure out again how to deal with ffnet's way to make a fic readable. I hope this is better, now.