Content Warning: This story contains events which readers may find unsettling

'Reducto!'

The children howled with laughter as the plastic bottles lining the shelf exploded, covering them head to toe in at least twenty different colours of paint, some of which rapidly changed colours once released from their containers. The smears on Draco's left cheek and shoulder flashed from pink to green to blue to yellow and kept on going, changing with every blink of an eye, a hundred colours flashing by every couple of seconds. Sorsha, having received a more liberal dose of the colour-changing paints, looked like an enchanted display of Dr Filibuster's fireworks, explosions of colour all over her clothes and hair in a thousand different hues.

Draco was the first to stop giggling, though it wasn't easy when he looked at the state of his friend. 'What else have they got in there?' he asked once he managed to control himself, wiping his father's wand on one of the few clean patches on his robes. He jumped a little when a small shower of green sparks leapt from the end.

The book itself hadn't come through the paint explosion unscathed. Unsticking a couple of now purple pages, Sorsha pulled it open, and read aloud. 'Depulso: The Banishing Charm. I thought all of these spells were supposed to be for people who already knew a lot of magic,' she said suddenly, 'but these all seem really easy.'

'Because even complicated charms often come more easily to children. Some children even perform difficult magical tasks without meaning to use magic at all,' announced a squeaky voice from the open doorway of the garden shed. A grubby little creature with large, bulbous yellow eyes stood just inside, a filthy pillowcase wrapped around him. Eyeing the destruction all around the shed, and then the children, he yelped a little upon seeing what Draco was holding.

'Master Draco,' he squealed frightfully, 'your father told you not to be taking his wand! You is getting hurt if you make a mistake trying dangerous magic!'

'Oh, give over, Dobby,' Draco scoffed, unconcerned. 'We're just messing about. Nobody's going to get hurt! Besides, I'll have the wand back inside before Father even realises it's gone.'

'But Master…'

'Dobby! I forbid you to tell my mother or father I've taken his wand,' Draco commanded. 'Or this book.'

The elf opened his mouth as if to speak, but decided against it. His ears drooping a little, he disappeared with a crack back inside the house, to punish himself as Draco's father would no doubt instruct him to later, and begin preparing dinner.

'Depulso?' Draco asked once they were alone. Sorsha nodded. 'That could be fun.'

Moving to another shelf, he grabbed a bunch of tins, full of what, he didn't know, and bundled them awkwardly into his arms. 'Come on.'

Outside, they lined up the tins on a low wall.

'Your turn.' Draco held out the wand, and a delighted grin spread across Sorsha's face as she took it.

Tossing him the book, she stood back a little and pointed the wand at the first tin. Her eyes twitched towards a tall elm tree by the corner of the house, then back to the wand. 'Depulso!' she cried.

The tip of the wand flashed white, and the tin hurtled through the air and into the tree, from which a small host of birds darted in every direction.

Chuckling a little, Sorsha handed the wand back to Draco, who moved behind the second tin. 'Depulso!' There was another flash of white, and a second later, a shattering of glass mixed with a startled yell from Dobby as the tin crashed through the kitchen window, and the children fell into fits of laughter again.

'Dobby, how exactly did this wind up in my soup?'

The Malfoys were all seated at a large, polished table in their high-ceilinged living room. Little light drifted through the windows as the last rays of the setting sun began to dwindle in the distance, but the candelabras on the walls and the chandelier above their heads all lay unlit. A single candle sat upon the table, the bright blue flickering flame casting long shadows all about the room.

The meal had passed in silence until Draco's father stopped short of swallowing a small chunk of broken glass he had almost mistaken for an onion.

A tremulous squeak came from the shadows by the door, which creaked open as Dobby, knowing better than to bother trying to apologise, skipped straight to the punishment.

'That will do, Dobby,' Draco's father responded to the elf's agonised scream as he slammed the heavy door on his head. 'If any of this is in fact edible, I think we would prefer to eat in relative peace.'

Stifling his whimpering, Dobby again pulled the door open and left. A second later, he could be heard slumping heavily to the ground outside.

Draco hopped down from his chair and made for the door, but his mother stopped him. 'Eat up, Draco. He's done worse to himself; I'm sure he'll be fine.'

As his father flicked his wand quickly over what remained of his soup, his mother checked both hers and Draco's. Apparently satisfied that it was safe to continue eating, she picked up her spoon, then put it back down as Draco resumed his seat, picking up her wand once again and pointing it at his head. 'Tergio,' she muttered absently, and Draco felt a slight breeze ripple through his hair.

Draco's father looked enquiringly at his wife.

'Draco and his little friend thought it would be fun to blow up the garden shed. They both came back looking like they'd gone swimming in paint.'

'Ahh. I wondered where my wand had disappeared to,' his father murmured slowly. 'Of course, it appeared right back where I'd left it, so no harm done, I suppose. Except, of course, for the fact that I have told you, Draco, on more than one occasion, not to steal my wand and use it as a toy. Have I not?'

Draco sat up as straight as he could, and meeting his father's gaze, nodded silently.

'There are, despite what your mother and I would prefer,' his father continued in the same slow, quiet voice, 'quite a few Muggle families living in the village nearby, and in recent years the Ministry of Magic has become far more strict than usual when it comes to magic that may wind up being witnessed by Muggles, but particularly when that magic is performed by an underage wizard. Therefore, it would be rather inconvenient for my own son to be caught blowing things up with a stolen wand.'

Picking up his spoon again, he added, 'You will not behave in such a way again,' and resumed eating.

'No, Father.'

'And who was this 'little friend?''

'Sorsha Daniels,' Draco answered. 'Her mother told me she knows you. She works at the Ministry.'

It took a moment for Draco, who had also begun eating again, to realise that his father had once again stopped. He was staring fixedly at his son, the bowl in front of him once again forgotten.

'Her mother's name is Cliodhna?' he asked, and the way he said it caused the hair on Draco's neck to stand up. Unable to find his voice, nodded again.

A ringing silence seemed to fill the room from wall to wall. As he looked at his father, Draco felt the air tighten around him, pressing hard against him. It suddenly hurt to breathe.

His mother sat completely still, hands on the table in front of her, knuckles completely white.

Just when Draco began to think that the agonising silence would go on forever, his father spoke again. His eyes seemed as if they might drill right through Draco's head, and his every word dropped in a flat, deadly whisper.

'You are excused, Draco. You will go to your room, and you will stay there until told otherwise. And you are not to keep company with that girl again.'

'But...'

'LEAVE!'

Draco looked imploringly at his mother, but she would not meet his eyes. She simply continued to silently stare at her hands, and was so still now he could scarcely notice her breathing.

With one last glance at his father, who shook in silent fury, a terrified Draco half-ran from the dining room.

Once outside, he stopped beside Dobby, who was beginning to pick himself slowly up off the ground. Pulling the door behind him, he stopped just short of closing it completely, and leaned his head forward to listen as his father began to speak again.

'You knew about this?' he hissed.

'I knew,' came his mother's voice after a moment. 'I told him I would prefer he didn't make friends with that girl, but some things are rather difficult to explain to a six-year-old boy. He can hardly be expected to understand...'

'Difficult to understand?' his father growled, his voice rising. 'I would have thought it very simple to understand that no child of mine belongs in the company of such people. Her filthy parents are bad enough, but the child of two Mudbloods? If nothing else I should at least hope that if, for some reason, Draco fails to grasp this simple concept, you could at least exercise some small level of control.'

Draco felt a tugging at his sleeve, and turned to see Dobby, who reached past him and noiselessly shut the door.

'Master Draco will only make more trouble for himself if caught listening,' Dobby whispered in his high, squeaky voice. 'Best simply to do as your father commands.' He clutched Draco's hand, the world tipped on its side, flashed in a myriad of colours, and when it righted itself, they were in Draco's bedroom.

An old Slytherin pennant that had once belonged to his father hung above the bed, and various Quidditch posters covered the rest of the walls, the occupants of some dashing about on broomsticks, while others stood or knelt in team line-ups, grinning and waving happily. Letting go of Dobby's hand, Draco moved to the window, where in the distance he just about see Sorsha's mother at the door of her own house, calling her daughter in for the night.

'Dobby will bring Master Draco some food.'

'I'm not hungry,' Draco mumbled, walking away from the window.

'Master needs more than a few spoonfuls of soup...'

'Leave me alone, Dobby,' Draco ordered shortly, dropping onto his bed and turning towards the wall.

Although still under instruction to remain in his bedroom the next day, when the doorbell rang and he looked out his window to see Sorsha outside, he dashed from the room. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, however, she had already entered the house, and disappeared into the library, with Dobby by her side. The door clicked swung slowly to, and clicked shut just as Draco reached it.

Peeking through the keyhole, he saw Dobby lead her across the room to a large, squashy armchair. Three others just like it sat around a small, round stone table where a couple of ancient, wood-bound books lay. Dobby gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs, then began speaking to her. Unable to hear what was being said, Draco moved around the hallway towards another door that led into the far end of the library, behind one of the large stacks of shelves. As he rounded the corner behind which the door sat, he jumped back just in time to avoid being seen by his mother, who opened the door and strode in.

Running after her as quietly as he could manage, Draco squeezed inside the room before the door could shut, and crept behind a pedestal supporting a large bust of some long-ago ancestor whose name he couldn't remember.

Peeking around towards where his mother and Sorsha sat, he saw Dobby placing a teapot on the table, along with two cups he conjured. Sorsha was completely hidden from view, and all he could see of his mother was the top of her head, yellow hair shining in the sunlight pouring through the large, cathedral-like windows. He was, however, close enough to hear perfectly.

'I wanted to speak to you about Draco,' his mother said lightly, as Dobby slowly poured pale tea into both cups. 'You two seem to be rather good friends, and I thought… Well, let's just get right to it, shall we? Confundo.'

Dobby froze, the pot still in his hands, a dribble of tea still pouring from the spout. Draco saw him look first towards the chair where Sorsha sat, then towards Draco's mother, and he was apparently silently dismissed, as he then dashed from the room, the teapot vanishing into thin air. He ran right past Draco's hiding place, but never saw him crouched there.

Once the elf was gone, Draco moved around the pedestal towards a shelf-stack nearer where they were sitting. If Sorsha saw him move, she gave no sign; she sat slumped in the chair, her head hanging back, her eyes vacant. In his new hiding spot, Draco had a better view of what was happening, but was still out of his mother's sight.

For a moment his mother sat sipping her tea as if she were alone in the room. Then, placing the cup back on the table, she regarded Sorsha appraisingly.

The two of them made a sharp contrast, sitting across from each other; Sorsha with her long raven hair and bright Muggle clothes was seemingly dead to the world, while Draco's mother, pale and yellow-haired, wore plain black robes and stared purposefully at the little girl across the table.

When his mother spoke again, it was in a firm, business-like tone.

'You will not play with - or speak to - my son from here on in. If Draco comes to your door, or approaches you at all, you will refuse to talk to him or remain in his company…'

The door Sorsha had been led in opened, and in walked Draco's father. Draped over his arm was a dark green travelling cloak.

'I have business at the Ministry, Narcissa,' he announced. 'It seems some idiot has been enhancing the charms on Exploding Snap card decks and swapping them for decks in Muggle shops. Arthur Weasley has called a meeting with Bagnold; I think he may use this to push against my proposals for the amendments to…' He stopped short on seeing the Confunded Sorsha in the chair across from his wife. 'And I take it this charming young… creature… is the famous Miss Daniels?'

'She came looking for Draco,' she replied, not taking her eyes off Sorsha, who remained dazed in her chair, unfocused eyes darting aimlessly about. 'I'm dealing with it.'

'Is that so?' Lucius asked, apparently unconvinced.

Narcissa turned to her husband, her eyes narrowed. 'Do you doubt me? Do you think this doesn't concern me as much as it does you?' she spat viciously.

'Doubt you? Of course not!' he told her, as if scandalised by the question. 'I simply wonder if perhaps a heavier hand might not be called for to deal with this situation. And besides,' he added, producing his own wand and twirling it idly between his fingers, 'the girl is only half the problem.

'Draco,' he called lightly, turning towards the shelves his son was hidden behind, 'would you mind joining us out here, please?'

Draco's breath froze in his throat. His mother's head snapped towards him, pursing her lips when she saw him. Slowly, he rose to his feet and stepped out from behind the shelves. His father, who apparently found the whole thing very amusing, pointed his wand at the last remaining chair around the table, and Draco moved without a sound and sat down, his breath now coming in terrified shivers.

'Silencio,' his father murmured the moment Draco had sat down, flicking his wand absently in Sorsha's direction. 'There are certain basic rules I expect you to follow, Draco. If common sense won't make you obey, then you have nobody but yourself to blame for this.

'Crucio!' he barked, his wand making a stabbing movement towards Sorsha, whose eyes rolled upwards as she began thrashing violently and silently in the chair. Her fingers gripped the arms so tightly they went completely white, her tiny body convulsed wildly, and her head swung from in every direction, more than once bashing with a horrible thud against the back of the chair.

'Stop it!' Draco screamed, but his father ignored him, and before Draco knew what he was doing, he was out of the chair, and had plucked one of the cups of hot tea from the table and thrown it at his father.

His mother, who had been sitting with one hand clutched to her throat, eyes wide in shock, instantly came out of her dumbstruck reverie, and swished her wand, vanishing the cup and the tea in midair. In the same instant, she grabbed Draco and pulled him towards her, holding him tight as he struggled to escape.

Suddenly his father was kneeling in front of him, holding him by the scruff of his neck with one hand, his eyes narrowed in fury. 'You are a member of one of the oldest surviving pure-blood families in the world,' he hissed. 'I can never really expect the Mudbloods to properly learn their place, but one way or another, you will learn yours!' He jabbed his wand once again towards Sorsha who began shaking and thrashing once more. Struggling escape his mother's grip, Draco could just about discern a low, whining sound, and realised the silencing charm must have been wearing off. Sorsha was trying to scream.

He wasn't sure how long it went on. By the time it was over, Sorsha had fallen from the chair, and was lying crumpled upon the floor. She'd stopped trying to scream, but kept twitching and shuddering, and was still clearly Confunded, a hazy, slightly startled expression mingled with the lingering pain. Draco's father was kneeling over her, muttering under his breath with his wand pointed down at her.

No longer attempting to free himself, Draco sat held in his mother's arms, numbly staring at his friend on the floor. His eyes and cheeks stung with tears, and though he tried several times to speak, he couldn't force his voice past the massive lump in his throat.

Eventually his father stopped muttering, and stood up, absently brushing at the front of his robes. 'Dobby!' he called.

With a sharp crack, the house elf appeared immediately beside him, trembling so badly he almost fell flat on his face as he bowed. 'Master?' he squeaked.

'I believe Draco's 'friend' is ready to leave now,' his father said airily. 'Lead her to the gates of the manor. Quickly now,' he ordered. 'The Confundus charm will wear off soon.'

Too afraid to even look directly at Sorsha, Dobby snapped his fingers, and she rose slowly to her feet, as if being pulled by invisible puppet strings. He walked towards the door, and she followed, her swaying unsteadily as she moved.

Draco watched them leave, still unable to speak as his friend was led away. As the door shut heavily behind them, his father was once again kneeling in front of them. He seemed much calmer now, but there was no mistaking the fury in his voice, quiet and flat though it was.

'She will never wish to be in your company again,' he said. 'Though she won't remember what transpired here, should you ever approach her, fear and imagined pain will drive her to be rid of you as soon as possible. And you will choose your friends far more carefully in the future,' he added dangerously, 'or see them suffer the same fate.'

Rising slowly to his feet, he picked his cloak up from the arm of his chair. 'Still,' he announced cheerfully, 'there shouldn't be any trouble with this one in the future. Such a shock to the system; she needn't remember it in order for it to have a profound effect on her. I doubt you'll ever have to worry about running into her at Hogwarts.

'I may be somewhat late in returning,' he told his wife, and left without another word.

The moment he was gone, Draco roared in fury, fighting to break his mother's hold on him and leave, but she held him tighter still, and pulled him closer to her, ignoring his squirming and his flailing fists.

'Let me go!' he cried.

'Stop it, Draco,' she told him breathlessly. 'Just – please – stop. It's done. There's nothing you can do. Your father's just doing what's best...'

'SHUT UP! I hate him. I hate both of you! LET ME GO!'

'That's enough!' she barked. 'Your father and I love you. This was necessary. You'll understand in time.' Draco continued to rage and struggle, but she still held him tightly.

He never knew how long the argument lasted, or how often he repeated his cries of protest, and wasn't aware of stopping. He had no idea how long they sat there afterwards, Draco sobbing silently as he felt her grip on him slacken before exhaustion took him.

The sunlight blinded him the moment he opened his eyes. Turning over, groaning, it took him a moment to realise he was in his room. Slowly readjusting to the light, he moved slowly off the bed, then noticed a shadow by the window. Gasping, he fell back against the wall as his father turned to face him.

'I ran into Ludo Bagman last night,' he informed his son by way of greeting. 'He gave me tickets to tonight's game against the Chudley Cannons.

'Some old friends of mine will be there too; they both have sons around your age. Quite possibly complete imbeciles like their fathers, but still, suitable company. We'll have an early dinner today, and leave for the game right afterwards. Unless, of course, you'd rather not?' he suggested, looking enquiringly at him.

Draco's throat felt as dry as a desert. Knowing full well that refusal was in no way an option, at first he simply nodded slowly. Then, cracking his lips, he responded in a slightly strained voice. 'I'd like to go,' he said. Noticing his father's eyebrows raising expectantly, he dropped his own eyes to the floor, and added in a whisper, 'Thank you, father.'