Between Certifiable and Bliss

Chapter 1

June 5, 1996

Draco loved his birthday. A whole day dedicated to him and the occasion of his birth. This auspicious day meant bountiful gifts from his parents, adulation from his friends, and well-wishes from the rest of his housemates. Pansy had hinted at giving him more than just a handsy snog this year, too.

Sixteen would be a good year for Draco.

It started well enough. True to his predictions, he awoke to a plentiful pile of presents at the foot of his bed. The pile even included his secret favourite gift: a package of Jelly Slugs.

His mother hated that Draco liked Jelly Slugs. "Common," she deemed them. She probably hated the way they'd stained his teeth and lips, the corners of his mouth, as a child. Artificial coloring bleeding onto perfect, unblemished porcelain, requiring her to produce her wand for face-cleansing charms to ensure her young son presented a pristine countenance.

An appearance of purity.

Draco wondered why she still sent the detested candies at all. He tore the wrappings off the rest of his presents, satisfied to have received an excellent haul of new quidditch apparel, eagle-feather quills, several sets of dress robes, goblin-made cufflinks, and a seemingly unending supply of confections and cakes made by the house-elves of Malfoy Manor.

He'd bring some of the edible treats down to breakfast in the Great Hall, just to display for all that his family's parcels and mail didn't require the same sort of scrutiny as perhaps those students from lesser families. No, Umbridge let all his post (and most of the post for students of Slytherin) come through without having been manhandled or even inspected now that she had full control of the school.

Sitting at his House table, Draco ran a finger along the little badge on his robes signifying his exalted place in Hogwarts as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. A tiny piece of metal that ensured, finally, he could hold some sway over Potter and his gang of sycophants.

He cast a haughty glance over at the Gryffindor table. These days, most of the older students of that House sat huddled together, trading hushed whispers and anxious glances. Morons.

They had no idea the power they'd be up against, the might that would crush their hopes and dreams and squeeze the self-righteousness from their souls. A good amount of them would probably die if they didn't come to their senses and fall in line. But that was always the way for the type of proselytising simpletons that valued things like misguided courage over the more sensible path to glory to be found with those of the right blood and the proper outlook for the future of the magical world.

Pansy called his attention back as she slid closer on the bench and dropped a hand to his upper thigh beneath the table. She leaned in and whispered a rather salacious promise in his ear for later tonight in the dormitories after the day's O.W.L. exams.

Draco smirked wickedly at her and nodded.

Yes, 16 would be a very good year for Draco.

--------------------------------------------------

June 4, 1997

Draco would come of age tomorrow.

Seventeen. A man. A full-grown wizard in the eyes of the law. The Wizengamot could charge and try him as a legal adult and he could face real time in Azkaban for his crimes. His unforgivable crimes.

No. He shouldn't think like that. He shouldn't let thoughts of failure or capture seep into his brain. He would succeed. Draco would finally mend the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things. He'd come so close in his recent attempts, teetering on the brink of a breakthrough with the magic required to repair the object.