When the Snow Melts

An Unexpected Truce

Potions on the first day of school - it was one of the few subjects that Draco genuinely enjoyed. Not only was he good at it, but he also got to watch Potter being constantly humiliated by Professor Snape. After the night he had, he needed all the cheering up he could get. At least the maroon skin and gold stripes had disappeared overnight. If not for that, he had been fully committed to staying in his room for the rest of eternity. One night of pointing and giggling was enough for a lifetime.

The dungeon was just as he remembered it - cold, damp, and slightly slimy. Popular opinion on the slime was that it had something to do with Professor Snape's hair goo. That shit was not natural.

Professor Snape was posted at the front of the class, arms crossed, with a disdainful look on his face. He spared a quick smile for Draco and then went back to giving the Gryffindors disparaging looks in response to their often childish antics.

A very flustered Potter darted into the classroom just in time, panting to catch his breath. He shuffled towards his seat, eyes averted, attempting to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He failed miserably. It was hard not to notice him. How was it that someone so small could make so much noise?

"By the way Potter," Snape jeered. "Dumbledore has requested that you continue with remedial potions until you get it right." He fixed Harry with a meaningful look.

The green-eyed boy's jaw clenched in a flash of anger before acquiescing, his shoulders drooping in defeat.

Draco and the rest of the Slytherins snickered. The fact that Potter was so terrible at potions that he needed to take remedial lessons was well known. Even still, it was nice hearing Professor Snape announce it to the whole class. Many had speculated that the only reason Professor Snape had allowed Potter to take Advanced Potions was so that he could continue to antagonize the boy. Quite frankly, Draco couldn't fathom why Potter would sign up for the continued abuse. Maybe he was a masochist.

The rest of the class was uneventful. Professor Snape, like many of the other professors, believed summer break routinely purged the students of their memory and reasoning abilities. After ten minutes of asinine responses, Draco was forced to agree with them. It left him feeling rather disappointed in his fellow students.

Unfortunately, lunch didn't go any better. Pansy was out for blood and she had Draco in her sights.

"So, Draco," she inquired innocently. "Isn't your younger brother coming here next year?"

Draco glowered at her, his lips pressed tightly together. Everyone knew that was a very sore subject for him. He couldn't fathom her intentions in bringing the boy up.

Unfazed by his expression, she continued. "What was his name again?"

"Faren," Draco growled.

She brightened. "Yeah, that was his name. He's such a charming little boy. I saw him at a party this summer. He has gotten so big. He looks like a miniature version of your father," she chattered on, oblivious to Draco's darkening demeanor.

With a huff, he stormed out of the Great Hall, lunch abandoned, his stomach growling. Pansy never spoke without motive. He had to wonder what the point of that little exchange was. He certainly didn't enjoy being the target of it, whatever the intended effect.

Faren was much adored in the Malfoy household. People warmed up to him quickly. He easily excelled at everything he put his mind to. He had a knack for manipulating situations. He was everything a Malfoy should be.

Draco had been quickly overshadowed by the boy. He had not been born with the same natural talents. Draco emulated his father as best he could, but even he was forced to admit that he was a pale imitation at best. He just didn't inspire the kind of loyalty that his father did. His one saving grace had been that he had been born a Malfoy. In Pureblood Politics, that gave him power over his peers, power that he often used to his advantage.