Chapter I

Sun, sun, sun - all Draco could see was sunlight shifting through the branches above him. 

The leaves of the tree fluttered in the wind as each bough swayed in unison, creating a beautiful rustling noise that blended into the wind, almost like a harmony to a song Draco was sure he had heard before.

The boy sighed contentedly as the world around him swayed and sang and shimmered, while he twirled his small, thin fingers through the grass.

He was happy - at least, until he heard the sound of bikes rolling to a stop at the edge of the leafy clearing.

Draco sat up rather abruptly, shaking leaves and grass from his white-blonde hair. 

There, grinning like a bunch of jackals, stood Calcifer Broocks, Geneva Winslette and Halper Myathille - the village bullies and Draco’s personal tormentors.

The young blonde stood, shaking his shimmering hair once again and brushing off his long, elegant black pants. 

Calce was the first to speak, being the leader of his bratty little troupe. 

“Well then, folks! Looks like we found a Queer in his natural habitat-” Calcifer sneered at Draco, seemingly using the word Queer as an insult.

Draco crossed his arms. He hadn’t seen these kids all summer, and he was 9 now - almost 10 - so he could handle a few pathetic bullies. 

Calce, however, was not done. 

“Can’t imagine what you’re doing out here - probably talking to all the other little Fairies that live in these woods.”

Halper sniggered loudly, acting as if it was the most hilarious  joke he’d ever heard.

Draco Malfoy stood tall, head tilted slightly and arms crossed elegantly over his neat grey sweater vest. 

He rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I can’t imagine any of you would even have the talent to speak to The Fae.”

Draco enunciated the corrected term with a lean forwards into the other boy’s face. He was much taller than all three other children now, and he could see Calcifer’s confident demeanour shift for a split second before he regained control over his facial features. 

The girl, Geneva, stepped forward with a sneer painted across her otherwise plain features - some might have even said she looked pretty. Draco felt a twinge of jealousy. What was that about?

Geneva interrupted the tall blonde’s thoughts with a harsh clicking of her tongue.

“I suppose the little fairy came up here because the humans don’t understand him,” she fake pouted.

“Why are you so weird, Draco Malfoy?” Geneva moved nearer, getting awfully close to Draco’s sharp little nose. Draco huffed indignantly.

“You-” he stuttered as Halper smirked at him.

Calce scowled at Draco’s glaring features.

“You and your family. You witches or something? You creep us out a whole lot, you know. You and your spooky hilltop manor and all the strange shit that happens there…”

Calcifer stepped closer and closer to Draco with each word, forcing the taller boy to step back. Draco was intimidated, but the accidental truth in Calce’s question gave him the confidence to finally stop backing up, knit his arms tightly across his torso and look Calcifer right in the eyes.

“Something like that, Calcie, dear. Why?” his light voice was snooty and elegant - Draco was quite proud of the unwavering grace in his tone.

Draco stepped nearer to Calcifer, who Draco soon realised really was intimidated by his height.

The tall blonde boy leaned forward, his shiny leather shoes placed firmly on the grass and his head held at Calce’s level.

“You scared?” he whispered. 

The three antagonists stepped back one at a time, looking uncertain in their decision to bother Draco Malfoy.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare cast any of your wicked little spells on us, you… you fag.”

Calcifer spoke the word with such hatred in his eyes that Draco’s temper flared past anything he’d ever felt.

“YOU… You cannot use that word!! Do you- do you have any idea-” he burst out. How could someone be so ignorant as to simply throw around a word like… like…

Draco’s pale skin felt hot and flushed. He wanted so badly to curse these pitiful children, but he knew he could not. Instead, he decided to play a harmless little prank on the brats. He began wiggling his fingers, chanting random words under his breath as the trio of bullies slowly backed away, looking more and more fearful as the well-dressed blonde boy continued to mutter nonsense.

“Courgette, Angiospermae, Animalia…”

Draco was a clever boy, and knew that these plant names would likely frighten the troupe of stupid kids trembling before him just enough that they would run and leave him be without telling their parents. 

Draco spent so much time alone, he might as well use it researching and furthering his already accelerated home education. His Mother, Narcissa Malfoy, was rich and privileged, and not just that - she was a borderline genius. All of his classes were extremely formal and neat, which Draco loved.

The young Malfoy continued his fake chants as the trio began to retreat more swiftly toward the treeline, hopping on their bikes, glancing back one last time before zooming away on their bikes. 

“Idiots.” little Draco grinned to himself as he settled back into the grass. Soon, very soon, he would be 10, and he would only become smarter. He knew he was gifted - he knew, and he intended to use it to his advantage. 

He soon found himself lying back down on the grass, his small, elegant feet tapping against each other and his fingers once again twirling the grass into ringlets. 

This had been a good day, Draco thought as he closed his eyes against the cool breeze. His fingers soon found a flower - a purple one, Draco found, when he opened his eyes to study the small petals and bright yellow pollen housed inside of the flower. He plucked the little stem from the firm ground, holding it up to his pink-cheeked, angular face to study it further.

“Pretty.” the young blonde murmured. He wondered if he was pretty. His Mother told him so - every day, in fact. His Father didn’t seem to like the word for whatever reason, but each morning as he hopped down the stairs to the schoolroom in whatever fabulous outfit he had picked for the day, his Mother would smile at him, complementing a specific part of his little ensemble, making sure he knew that he was beautiful.

Yes, he decided. I am pretty. A contented smile spread across his lips. 

And so, almost-10-year-old Draco Malfoy rolled in the grass and picked wildflowers for the remainder of that sunny afternoon, giving not a care in the world to those stupid bullies or the state of his clothes - his Mother would Scourgify them either way.