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Meeting Gwendoline Mary Lacey, a twelve-year-old Draco Malfoy instantly decided, was the worst mistake of his life.
She was a pretty little thing, about his age, with beautiful golden hair and elegant, graceful features that caught the attention of the more flighty personalities in the room; it was rare for children to attend these work parties, and rarer still for them to look as though they were enjoying themselves—Draco himself certainly wasn’t—but his father had gripped his shoulder tightly and hissed at him to behave, and so without making much of a fuss, Draco stayed by his parents’ side and acted as the perfect Pureblood son.
It was odd, he realized suddenly, he’d never seen her at Hogwarts, though she looked old enough to attend. Perhaps she was starting this September, at the end of summer. The woman she was with looked nothing like her, and indeed didn’t even seem quite old enough to have a daughter her age. She was rather plain-faced, with dark hair, though her eyes were large and quite handsome, and he decided she couldn’t possibly be the lovely little girl’s sister, either.
Draco had seen the girl across the room the moment he walked in, his eyes drawn to her shimmering golden hair and picturesque smile, but he was far too well-bred to approach the only other child present of his own volition. He would wait until he was introduced, as one was wont to do at high society events. He didn’t have to wait long—Ludo Bagman, that oaf from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, suddenly came up behind the dark haired woman, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and led her and the little girl around the room, introducing her to everyone.
“Ah, Lucius!” Boomed the bumbling buffoon as he caught Draco’s father’s eye. Draco could tell, from the quick tenseness around his father’s mouth and the near-silent huff of exasperation from his mother, that neither of them were particularly eager to make conversation. But the Malfoys were nothing if not well bred, and so they painted expressions of cordial pleasantness onto their faces as Bagman approached with his guests.
“Lucius! Ah, and Narcissa, too—and you’ve brought young Draco! Wonderful, wonderful!” Exclaimed Bagman, with his usual retriever-like exuberance. “Might I present to you my fiancee, Miss Margo Winter?” He gestured to the dark haired woman beside him, who batted her eyes adoringly up at him. “She’s a governess for young girls. Margo, these are the Malfoys—Lucius is one of the Ministry’s most respected associates, and he’s quite the philanthropist as well!”
Miss Margo Winter blinked up at them, all demure innocence and fawning grace. “Charmed to meet you all.” She gestured to the girl beside her, the pretty blonde who was about Draco’s age. “This is darling Gwendoline Mary Lacey, my very best student.” The girl dipped into a rather formal curtsey.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, her high voice quite affected with airs.
The idiot Bagman laughed raucously, startling close by witches and wizards. Draco felt his mother tense in displeasure. “Isn’t she simply delightful?” Bagman asked rhetorically. Then, he glanced at Draco, and his innocent baby blue eyes widened. “I say—Gwen is about your age, Draco. How about the two of you have a little chat, get to know each other? I daresay these parties are boring for young folk like yourself. That is, if your parents are alright with it?”
Draco could feel his father thinking hard, weighing the various outcomes that were to come from his next action. The Malfoys hardly ever interacted with people from families or positions they didn’t know, and they certainly didn’t know little Miss Gwendoline Lacey at all. On the other hand, the last thing they wanted was to make a scene, and Ludo Bagman was sure to do just that if they were to refuse.
“Yes,” Lucius said slowly, finally. “I suppose that would be… permissible.” He nodded to Draco. “Why don’t you take Miss Lacey to get a drink of water? I imagine the air in this room is rather cloying, for one so unused to it.” The barb in his words was well disguised, but Draco caught it instantly; Miss Gwendoline Lacey was not a member of high society.
Draco obediently left his father’s side and approached the girl. Entirely aware of boorish Ludo Bagman’s gaze upon him, he put on his best Pureblood smile and said politely, “Follow me, Miss Lacey.”
She trotted behind him, and he led her into the entrance hall. There were fewer people here, though the murmur of light conversation could of course still be heard. Finally, at the foot of the staircase, Draco stopped, leaning against the banister. Gwendoline stopped too, and turned to face him.
“I’m quite used to society parties,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. “Mummy takes me all the time, and I’ve never found anything about it very cloying.”
Draco scowled and decided at once that he didn’t like her. “How come I’ve never seen you, then?” He, of course, had attended many wizarding formals and events—he was a Malfoy, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and if Gwendoline Lacey was at all important, he would have known of her before now.
“I haven’t the faintest,” Gwendoline replied. Her pretty eyes flashed with quick spite. “I suppose my family is just more sophisticated than yours. ”
This bold statement was enough to make Draco lose some of his composure as he goggled at the silly little girl. The Malfoys were among the oldest, most respected Wizarding families in all of Europe! He spluttered for a moment, entirely taken aback by the very smug look in Gwendoline Lacey’s eyes.
It was an experience quite unfamiliar to him, meeting someone who fancied themselves superior—even golden boy Harry Potter, who had been foolish enough to spurn his friendship all those months ago, knew that Draco was more cultured, more groomed, more wealthy than he could ever aspire to be. Draco had been born with a diamond-encrusted spoon in his mouth; nobody had dared claim more wealth and prestige than him.
Until little Miss Gwendoline Lacey, who had looked entirely unimpressed by the Malfoy scion from the moment of their first meeting, and who had so scornfully put him in his place.
Draco recovered swiftly, though two patches of flushed pink remained on his cheeks. Wishing to humiliate Gwendoline as she had just done to him, he looked down his nose at her in the same practiced condescension his father used when forced to speak with Ludo Bagman. “Well,” he said loftily, “As if I’d ever spend time with your family! What use do I have for a silly little girl who hasn’t even started her first year of school yet?”
Gwendoline’s jaw dropped indignantly. “Why, but I have !” She cried. “I just finished my first term! I’m top of my class, and loads better than any one of the other beastly girls, and I may well be made head-girl of second form!” But a dull flush had risen in her face and spread all the way down to her neck, and Draco knew he’d touched upon a sore point.
“Liar,” he said, smirking cruelly. “You’re not top of your class at all, are you?”
Caught, Gwendoline’s cheeks burned a brighter red. “No,” she muttered angrily, “But if it wasn’t for horrid old Potty—”
“Potty?” Draco interrupted, eyebrows skyrocketing. It couldn’t be his Potty, now could it?
“Yes,” said Gwendoline impatiently. “Strict Potty, with her favourites! She’s always kind with that wretched Darrell Rivers, even after she slapped me, and she still has patience for beastly Alicia Johns, even when she plays the nastiest tricks in class! If it weren’t for her , if it was fair at all, I’d be head-girl of second form next year—but I suppose she will have decided on one of her favourites, after all.”
Draco scoffed, having realized during her tirade that her Potty and his Potty were not at all the same. “Well, the Potty I have to deal with at school is much worse.”
“Can’t be,” said Gwendoline angrily, sure that nobody could possibly have a worse experience than she.
“Oh, he is. ” Draco said significantly. “ Harry Potter, you know.”
But Gwendoline was hardly listening to him, too annoyed with him for trying to compete with her over who had the greater cause for misery.
“So?” She said imperiously. “Whatever you’ve gone through, it can’t be as bad as Malory Towers!”
Draco felt confused, and then annoyed because of his confusion. He was a Pureblood, for Merlin’s sake, he shouldn’t be surprised at anything in the magical world! Yet here Gwendoline Lacey was, talking about a supposedly ‘beastly’ magical school that he’d never even heard of. He couldn’t very well ask her about Malory Towers, either! He’d reveal his ignorance, and then this snotty little girl would have a reason to lord it over him that she knew something he didn’t.
“ I go to Hogwarts. ” He said instead, impressively, hoping to steer the conversation into more familiar territory. Besides, Hogwarts had once held a reputation of being extremely prestigious; it was going to the dogs under Dumbledore’s rule, of course, but it was still awe-inspiring to most.
But Gwendoline didn’t look in the least impressed. Instead, her delicate nose wrinkled, and she said scornfully, “ Hogwarts! That’s a horrid name for a school, isn’t it? I’d rather die than go to a place so uncultured!”
This particular statement placed Draco in a position he didn’t want to be in. He’d complained many a time to Crabbe and Goyle and the other Slytherin second years of much the same thing, that Hogwarts was simply not worth the fuss and that he wished his father had sent him to Durmstrang; but he couldn’t very well admit that now, not when he’d affected a tone of such superiority when he was talking about Hogwarts.
He decided with a sharp fierceness that he hated stupid little snobby Gwendoline Lacey.
He opened his mouth, for once not knowing what he was about to say, his words barely calculated like they usually were—perhaps he would tell her just what he thought of her, give her the nastiest shock of her life, even worse than when some girl had apparently slapped her, not that he could blame that Darrell Rivers girl—but before he could, his parents came out of the main room into the foyer, with Ludo Bagman and his fiancee, Margo Winter.
Draco closed his mouth with an audible click, and forced his expression to go calm. He noted, with grudging respect, that Gwendoline Lacey had dropped the petulant scowl she wore in favor of a more pleasant, yet still haughty, expression. The children, through unspoken agreement, had decided to behave as though they had gotten along just fine.
Miss Winter’s gaze brightened as it fell upon Gwendoline, and she approached hastily, calling out to her fiance quickly. “Oh, Ludo, Gwen and I will be in the car! Hurry up, darling, we oughtn’t be late to the Laceys to drop her off!”
“Shan’t be more than a minute, Margo!” Bagman said heartily, and Gwendoline was ushered out by her governess, moving out of Draco’s life just as quickly as she’d waltzed in. A little disoriented at the quick turn of events, Draco blinked, just once; then, he returned dutifully to his parents’ sides.
His father, he noticed immediately, looked livid, though he attempted to conceal it behind polite, disinterested concern. His mother’s jaw was clenched tight, as though if she were to relax just a fraction, she might lose control entirely and begin shouting.
“You brought Muggles to the Ministry party, Bagman?” Lucius asked quietly.
What?
Blundering Bagman’s eyes flitted nervously for a moment, before they widened with feigned innocence. “Come now, Lucius, you know quite well that the Statute of Secrecy is lifted upon marriage—”
“Marriage, yes, but not engagement,” Narcissa said coldly. Draco was still confused, but slow realization was dawning on him. She hadn’t recognized Hogwarts at all, he thought, She didn’t know what it even was!
“Well—yes, but surely those rules can be bent a bit,” bumbling Bagman said, laughing a bit nervously.
“And the girl?” Lucius asked quietly. Displeasure radiated off of him in waves.
“Who—Gwen? She’s a self-absorbed little thing, about as big of a Muggle as they come, won’t have noticed a single charm!” said Bagman, the ridiculous half-wit.
A Muggle! Thought Draco in shock. He’d never spoken with a Muggle before—Gwendoline Lacey was his first. His ears burned with embarrassment and rage at the way she looked down on him; she, a mere Muggle, scoffing at him! And no wonder he’d never heard of Malory Towers—it must have been a Muggle school!
The grand idiot Bagman’s eyes jumped about nervously—even he wasn’t thick enough to overlook the obvious anger in the Malfoys’ gazes—and he cleared his throat. “Well, I ought to get going. Can’t keep Margo and Gwen waiting, of course. Have a nice night, Lucius, wonderful to see you. Narcissa, Draco.” He nodded at them.
And without so much as another word, he disapparated on the spot with a loud crack, presumably to go play happy families with the Muggle governess and her Muggle charge.
Narcissa immediately began fussing over Draco. “Had I realized,” she murmured, disgust evident in her tone, “That you were off to entertain a Muggle ! Really, of all things—”
But Draco was hardly listening. Dull anger swept through him. He was better than Muggles, wasn’t he? He’d been taught that all his life, that he, Draco, was superior, on account of his magic, and that Muggles were just a bunch of stupid clowns who couldn’t identify a wand tip from its’ tail.
But then, if that were true, then how was it that Gwendoline Lacey, apparently ‘as big a Muggle as they come,’ had managed to knock his wits right out of him?
Yes, meeting Gwendoline Lacey was the worst thing that had happened to Draco Malfoy, indeed.