Draco Malfoy Gets a Life Coach

Emotions vs Facts

"Very well, Mother," I said, looking up at her pained expression. "I'll get dressed and head to Azkaban right away."

I made to close the door, my mind filling with potential conversations he'd want to have with me when my mother stuck out her hand to stop the door before it closed.

"Draco," she said, her voice low and haunted. "You don't need to listen to what he says."

A small smile crept across my lips. "I know, Mother. Thank you."

She didn't seem to want to let go of the door, still staring at me as though she had more to say, but it had gotten caught in her throat.

"Mother, I need to go straight away if I'm going to make it to my coaching session."

"Yes, of course," she said, stepping back and seeming to resign herself to something.

I didn't have time to think on it much. If I didn't go and see him first thing, I'd wonder about it all day and it would consume my session. The last thing I wanted to spend my time on was a bunch of hypotheticals about my father's intentions.

I dressed in a hurry and headed to the Floo, prepared for whatever threats my father might want to bestow upon me.

A moment of startling clarity swept over me as I reached for a handful of green powder...

He could disinherit me. He could disown me. But nothing he could do would make me change my mind about Granger.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I stepped into the cell with far more confidence than even I expected myself to have.

My father sat at a wooden table with his hands clasped and his eyes already boring through me.

"Hello, Son."

"Hello, Father."

He motioned to the chair across from him, and I strode over to take my seat for this meeting that felt more like an inquisition.

Then again, after sitting across from Michelle and Catherine for months, somehow this seemed less intimidating. Or rather, just different. Because my father wouldn't be coming to the table looking for utter honesty.

He'd be looking to play chess.

Before I'd even sat down completely he said, "You've had a busy year, why don't you tell me about it?"

I quirked an eyebrow. When I spoke, there was very little disdain there. Instead, I had a sense of calm and even compassion for the man before me, who thought he needed to play games with his own flesh and blood. "Father, I'd appreciate it if you would cut to the matter at hand."

To my surprise, he looked surprised.

"If you're talking about your apparent liaison with Miss Granger, it was not, in fact, what had me summon you."

I blinked, trying to spot the lie. If I relaxed my mind enough, the image of him would shift and I could see the hidden one beneath.

"Surely you aren't suggesting that you approve of my choice."

With a raise of his brow, he said, "In fact, I do. She is a gifted witch, blood status aside, and your additional connection with Potter and his friends will do wonders for the Malfoy name."

I sat back, eyes narrowed, breathing shallow. What was his game?

"The reason I summoned you was because of the interview in the article."