Darling

1

DRACO

Draco Lucius Malfoy, pure blood, prince of Slytherin, future Death Eater was being fussed over by his mother at King's Cross Station.

Narcissa Malfoy was a meticulously passionate fusser, especially over her favorite son. She enjoyed making sure he looked exceptionally perfect, laying out his clothes, fixing his hair, teaching him proper etiquette. Since he was a little boy, it was how they bonded. 

At the moment, she was straightening his collar. A little tug to the left, a little tug to the right, a little bit of smoothing out, and it was in the exact condition that it was before.

"Perfect." She smiled, moving onto his hair on to his hair. She smoothed the pale strands back and tsked. "I should have given you a haircut before we left. If it gets any longer, you'll look like your father."

Draco winced. "Please, Mother," he said, pushing away her hands. "We're in public."

She sighed. Taking a step back, she looked her son over and smiled in approval. "You've grown up into a nice young man."

He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Mother," he mumbled.

"I am so proud of you." With an adoring smile, Narcissa placed a hand on her son's cheek. "We're going to miss you, your father and I."

Draco said nothing.

His mother sighed. "I'm sorry that he didn't come to say goodbye." Still getting no reply, she said, "He is truly busy, Draco. You know how the Ministry is."

Her son just shrugged her off. "I have to go, Mother. I'll see you during the holidays."

He didn't bother to watch her wave goodbye as he walked away, having already found three of his friends. Upon seeing two of them--Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle--he inwardly groaned. Though tolerable on most days and two of the most loyal companions he had, there were certain times that Draco couldn't stand the two Slytherins. They each had a dreadful personality flaw where one talked too much and the other talked too little, and Draco never knew which was which.

"Zabini." Draco nodded to the final--and most bearable--of the trio, dismissing the other two with a wave of his hand.

"Malfoy," Zabini purred, a relaxed smile adorning his face. The boy hadn't changed much over the summer, from what Draco could tell. Confident brown eyes that roamed over him analytically, wavy black hair still cut short, olive skin a few shades darker that signaled his time spent away from dreary England. He was wearing new robes that seemed to be tailor-made for him, reflecting his style by what assets it did and didn't show off. His posture was straight and proud, and there were no signs of fear or sadness anywhere on or near the boy. Yes, Zabini was still the same old friend Draco knew and put up with, which made Draco wonder how he managed to evade all the changes that had happened since the end of last year.

He was pulled out of his observations when Zabini grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the train. Boarding the train, he could only think about one thing: getting to the end of it.

This had nothing to do with the difficulty of navigating through the overwhelming hoard of people lingering in the hall--though it was very difficult--but because Draco was determined to get a compartment. And not just any compartment--no, back of the train, most comfortable seats, where all of the most devious and important Slytherins sat, it was the place Draco had coveted since his first year. And now that he had worked his way up the Slytherin hierarchy and made alliances with those in the top tier, he knew it was his for the taking. Or at least if he got there early enough no one would be willing to kick him out.