Chapter Text
Magic. When he was a little boy, he thought that was all that mattered. Why should you discriminate against someone, if they had magic? That was the question he asked his father only once. He was five years old and earlier that day his mother explained to him the differences between purebloods and muggleborns, or mudbloods as she called them. His father was back at home, ranting about muggleborn witch who got a good job at the ministry. How she had stolen that job from a pureblood wizard. How she wasn’t worthy because of her blood. But the boy didn’t understand. They all had magic, why their blood should have mattered?
He would never forget his father’s eyes after he asked that question. Full of rage and hate. What happened next was quick. Slap. Pain. Pain. Pain. His mother’s terrified face. Pain. Screams. The boy cried, while his father and mother were shouting at him. Pain.
‘How dare you?!’ screamed his father.
‘I raised you better than that!’ added his mother.
‘TO DEFEND MUDBLOODS!’
‘None son of mine will ask questions like that!’
‘DON’T YOU EVER DARE AGAIN!’
The boy didn’t understand what he did wrong or why his parents were so angry, but he wasn’t stupid. He realised that the consequences of asking wouldn’t be good for him. So he never asked again.
He listened to his parents, complaining and hating muggles and muggleborns. And while he thought wizards were better than muggles, he wouldn’t understand what was wrong with those who weren’t pureblood. However, he learned from his mistake and never dared ask again. He was a perfect pureblood son. A perfect heir to the noble house, always obeying his parents’ will. Repeating slurs his father used at home. Being polite during social events. He would do everything to make his parents proud. And to never feel that pain again.
Years passed, and the boy was ready to go to Hogwarts and learn real magic. He was expected to be a Slytherin, like everyone in his family. He was expected to honour his house, have always perfect grades, and be polite to teachers. He was expected to only mix with other purebloods, to be a little Slytherin prince. After all, his family’s name was important in the wizarding world.
His father explained everything. The boy would finish Hogwarts with outstanding grades, start a career in the Ministry of Magic, and one day become a Minister of Magic. He would show all those mudbloods and half-bloods their place in society. Under purebloods. His father wanted that, the boy had to obey: That’s how things had to be. He had to accept it. So when his name was called by professor McGonagall, he went proudly. He was not afraid. He knew he would be a Slytherin, as his father said. He had only one thought in his mind: put me in Slytherin. But then the hat asked: Are you sure about that? You’re not like your father.
The boy wanted to argue. He had to obey his father’s wishes. He had to be sorted to Slytherin, but there was still a small part of him who wanted to know. Why should you discriminate against someone, if they had magic? Hat spoke to him again: You can achieve the greatness and freedom you want… you only have to let me sort you where you truly belong…
Greatness? It would make his parents proud. Freedom? He dreamt about it for years…
‘Do your job,’ he whispered to the hat who shouted a few seconds later:
‘GRYFFINDOR!’
That was the moment Draco Malfoy knew his parents would kill him. That was also the beginning of his journey for freedom.