"Draco, care to explain?"
"Explain what, Father?"
"Don't play dumb. Is this all you've learned at Hogwarts?!"
In the grand hall of Malfoy Manor, a roaring fire blazed in the massive fireplace. Lucius reclined on a plush purple dragonhide sofa, his expression stern.
Draco, perched on a gilded four-legged chair, fidgeted uncomfortably.
"Darling, it's Christmas—a time for family. Draco's only just come home. Can we not be so serious?" Narcissa gently smoothed Draco's blonde hair.
"But, Draco, I must admit, I'm curious too. Why are you so close with that Bedivere boy? Have you forgotten what we've told you?"
"Or has that boy done something to you at school? Don't be nervous, just tell us. Your father will handle it."
Under Lucius and Narcissa's questioning, Draco's mind swirled with confusion.
The word Mudblood—he hadn't used it in ages. Every time he thought to say it, a chill ran down his spine, and his right shoulder ached faintly.
He'd never really stopped to think about what the word meant. He vaguely recalled learning it from his father at six years old, a term for wizards of Muggle descent.
According to his father, Mudbloods were a disgrace to the wizarding world, tainting pure bloodlines. Compared to pure-bloods like himself, they were an inferior race, fit only to be ruled by pure-blood wizards, alongside Muggles, centaurs, house-elves, and goblins.
Wizards who supported Muggles? Traitors to pure-blood ideals.
Over time, Draco had simply accepted this view.
Sure, Edward had "corrected" him at school with his so-called "physical" methods, but why had Draco instinctively stopped his father just now, knowing full well Edward wasn't there to "persuade" him?
Draco couldn't quite figure it out, but he was sharp enough to understand what his parents were getting at.
As the leading pure-blood family, the Malfoys shouldn't associate with "traitors" like the Bediveres or the Weasleys. Doing so would be a disgrace among other pure-blood families.
Draco had started out with that mindset, but Edward was different. He wasn't like Ron Weasley, that second-rate tagalong trailing after Potter.
Edward was clever, powerful, and—provided you didn't cross him—surprisingly approachable.
He had a natural charm that drew people in.
But his father wouldn't understand or accept that, so Draco had already prepared a carefully crafted explanation.
One of the Malfoy family's finest traditions was knowing when to adapt, a trait ingrained in every Malfoy's bones.
It had been that way since Armand Malfoy, their ancestor.
"Father, Mother, you've always told me to befriend those who can benefit me. I initially chose Potter, but the so-called 'Savior' clearly doesn't live up to his reputation."
Draco recounted some of Harry Potter's less-than-stellar moments, making Lucius frown repeatedly.
It seemed the rumors of Potter being more powerful than the Dark Lord were falling apart.
"But Bedivere, on the other hand, has far more value."
Draco then launched into a detailed account of Edward's exploits at school, as if reciting a list of treasures.
At first, he was a bit nervous, but the more he spoke, the smoother it got.
Pure lies were hard to spin, but half-truths? Those were easy.
Draco conveniently skipped over the parts where he clashed with Edward, focusing instead on the highlights.
In the flickering firelight, Lucius and Narcissa's expressions softened.
If what Draco said was true, this Edward was indeed a rare talent!
Earning thirty points for his house at the start of term? Aside from the Dark Lord, no one had ever pulled that off.
Mastering a slew of spells and magical knowledge as a first-year, even getting private tutoring from Snape?
And then there were the outrageous stories—like being called to Dumbledore's office for a private talk or single-handedly taking down a troll.
That talented? It was beyond talent; it was genius!
But Lucius quickly spotted a flaw. Everything Draco mentioned was about Edward's personal achievements.
Where was the benefit to the Malfoy family?
The moment Lucius brought up "benefits," Draco perked up. He drew his wand but hesitated, as if recalling something. "Er, Mother, aren't we forbidden from using magic outside school?"
"No need to worry, Draco. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has its exemptions, especially for a Malfoy," Narcissa said with an encouraging smile.
Even Lucius, who had been lounging on the sofa, sat up straight, eager to see what progress Draco had made in the months away from home—and what tangible benefits this Bedivere boy could bring.
Draco's right hand trembled slightly as he gripped his wand. His parents' expectations were always sky-high, but he was confident he wouldn't disappoint this time.
"Protego!" he declared, raising his wand.
An invisible shield sprang up before him.
Narcissa nearly rushed to hug her son but was stopped by the barrier of the Shield Charm.
"Lucius! The Shield Charm—we learned that in fifth year, didn't we?"
"Fourth year, dear," Lucius corrected, his tone finally losing its edge, replaced by a lazy drawl. "But well done, Draco. Did Edward teach you that?"
"Of course, Father. He also helped with my Potions and Transfiguration," Draco replied quickly.
"Excellent! I won't ask how you managed it, but clearly, you've realized how crucial connections are at school. I'm proud of you, Draco."
Lucius stood and faced the fire, clearly pleased with his son's performance.
"But remember: pure-blood supremacy and self-interest come first. Don't let anyone sway your judgment," he added sternly. "Learn to use your friends—even your enemies."
Draco nodded, half-understanding, and let out a quiet sigh of relief. He'd passed this little test.
At least his father hadn't found out about the trouble he'd caused at school or forbidden him from seeing Edward.
Otherwise, he'd have been in for a rough time.
Honestly, if he had to choose between sincerely apologizing to Potter and Weasley or cutting ties with Edward, he'd probably pick the former.
"Now, you two, come to the table. We knew you were coming home today, so we prepared all your favorites," Narcissa said, sensing the tension in the room finally easing.
She clapped her hands and called out, "Dobby! Dinner, please!"
A line of house-elves shuffled out from both sides of the grand hall, carrying ornate platters piled high with exquisite dishes.
They all looked similar—short, with bat-like ears, long noses, and dull, bulging eyes. The lead elf wore a faded, starched pillowcase, while others were draped in mere rags.
In stark contrast were the vibrant Caesar salads, ham platters, sizzling scallops, and filet mignon.
The air was thick with the aroma of rosemary-roasted chicken and pan-seared salmon.
Draco eagerly dashed to the table, finally free of the stifling atmosphere.
It was the only time he ever felt uneasy at home.
Meanwhile, the mood at Bedivere Manor couldn't have been more different.
Laughter echoed through the halls.