Chapter Text
For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better than their fathers.- Homer
Draco,
Your latest school report was abysmal. I was absolutely shocked upon seeing your history grade. Despite the "black power", left-wing nonsense taught in class, poor grades just aren't good enough. I haven't sent you to one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the state for you to send back grades like this. No law school will accept less than an A average. You know this.
Even if they bombard you with nonsense in history class, just get the damn work done. You can lie your way through it. But don’t let your pride for your race be diminished by any…false teachings of history.
I have spoken to the Klan leaders about your official induction, and they have sworn to hand you a position as a Wizard if you are able to get into law school. We need lawyers. Make me proud.Keep up the Malfoy legacy at Hogwarts. After all, you are my son, and I was an exceptional student in my time.
Poor grades don’t just reflect badly on you, but on the Klan as a whole. We aren't a bunch of rednecks and hillbillies anymore. We are educated men and women. We are allowed to be proud of our race just as any other group is.
You are to burn this letter once you have read it.
Lucius Malfoy.
Only Lucius Malfoy would include actual ellipses in a handwritten letter. And only Lucius Malfoy would plug KKK propaganda into a letter to his son.
Draco looked up from the letter, his grip white-knuckled on the paper, his mind spinning.
It was midnight and Draco was the last member of his house still sitting in the common room. The fire cast flickering shadows over the arm chairs placed throughout the room. Despite the size of the fire, Draco found himself shivering, hugging himself tight.
His father knew he was beginning to have doubts about the KKK. Lucius always had an eye on Draco, somehow. He always knew.
He screwed the letter into a tight ball and threw it into the fireplace. He watched the piece of paper wrinkle and blacken until it was gone and Draco’s eyes were watering. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands.
You are not fucking crying, he thought bitterly, Malfoy’s do not cry.
The Klan. He had a position waiting for him in the Klan. Of course, his father had mentioned it before, several times, but suddenly it was so much more real. This was to be his life. His father had been an Imperial Wizard for twenty years. His happiest memories as a child were standing in between his mother and father, holding their hands, watching the cross-burning out of the slits of his hood.
This is an honour. A booming voice at the back of his mind reminded him. You should be happy, you should be proud.
Draco pushed himself off the ground and walked down the corridor that leads to the seventh year boys dormitories.
He paused at the door. Holding his hand over the knob, he rested his forehead against the door. He had to make his father proud. He had to do what was expected of him. He was just experiencing that teenage angst, that was all. He would do the right thing in the end.
With a final deep breath, he opened the door into his dorms and collapsed onto his bed, drawing the curtains around him tightly shut.
He still had his final year at school, a year to pretend that he could be what ever he wanted to be, a year away from his father.
————
Draco was so lost in thoughts about his father in history class the next day that he didn't notice McGonagall put on the documentary. Next to his desk, Crabbe and Goyle shared high-fives and grinned wildly.
"Watching movies in class?"
"Hell yeah!"
"Hell yeah, indeed." Draco said drolly, kicking his chair back against the wall and putting his feet on the desk.
The projector rolled black and white footage of a black woman called Rosa Parks. Draco scanned the room to see if anyone else was as clueless as he was about who this woman was. But no, his class was full of those Amnesty kids, who were almost falling off their seats in anticipation and watching the screen with puppy dog eyes.
"Mr Malfoy, shoes off the desk!” McGonagall said sharply.
"Of course, ma'am." Draco leant forward and slipped his shoes off and dropped them next to his desk. He flicked the band of his left sock loudly against his ankle, smiling evenly at McGonagall. Several members of the class turned around at the noise, including Potter and his hippy friends. Potter muttered something to Hermione, the black girl with manic hair. Hermione laughed and said, "pathetic."
"Watch it, Granger." He snarled. "I know where you live, you and your filthy parents.”
Nobody could call him pathetic except himself.
“Watch it Malfoy!” Ron, the ginger ninja, piped in. Unnecessarily.
"You can say whatever you want Draco." Hermione purred. "You're more scared of me than I am of you."
On either side of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle crossed and tensed their arms. Ah, his henchmen. The punches they had thrown for him. The nerds they had shoved into lockers and down the toilet. The jokes he would make that would fly right over their heads. Always there when he needed them.
"Scared of you, Granger? Please. You're just a worthless n-"
“Mr Malfoy!" McGonagall yelled. "My office! Now!"
The class fell silent. The only sound was the crackled audio of Rosa Parks. Draco stood up and left the classroom, ignoring the heavy slap to the back he received from Crabbe.
The lecture he would face from McGonagall wasn’t what made acid boil in the pit of Draco’s stomach. It was the bodiless face of Lucius floating around that made Draco feel queasy. Draco had never said that word. He had heard it plenty of times thrown around like an everyday noun. But, for some reason, Draco knew it was wrong. Even as he had been about to say it he knew it was wrong.
But his father would hear about this. He would be receiving another letter. Well, at least it was some form of contact?
Draco sat in a large armchair behind a mahogany desk at McGonagall's command. He cast his eyes to his fingernails, trying his hardest to avoid his professors piercing gaze.
"Malfoy, do you know what year this is?" McGonagall asked once he had been seated in her office. She glared at him through her spectacles, her eyes were cold. He was tempted to glare back but thought better of it.
"2016." He also thought better than to give a smart arse comment.
"I'm glad to see you realise that this is 2016, and not 1956." She folded her thin fingers together in front of him. Silence hung heavy in the air. Draco took the time to admire the minimalist office: the sleek brown desk and chair, the dustless window, the plethora of degrees lining the back wall.
“Mr Malfoy do not think that I am not aware of your…lack of education, in regards to civil rights in this country,” McGonagall said, her eyes softening marginally. Draco scowled, but didn’t answer. His mother had told him to keep his KKK allegiance a secret at school-white pride remained at home.
“However, had I not cut you off, I assure you the path you were going down was grounds for expulsion. I will not have you looking down your nose at anybody at this school, let alone the young lady who is sitting at the top of the cohort and has been for the past 6 years.”
Draco nodded, his blood turning cold. Despite his classroom antics, he'd had a good sense of authority and hierarchy that had been drilled into him at a young age. Voldemort (apparently Tom Riddle isn't a tough enough name for a Klan leader) had made sure of that. He held his tongue, thinking it best to placate his professor.
"But I know you're not as…ignorannt as you appear." McGonagall's face softened. "I still remember what happened October last year."
"Yeah, yeah, we don't need to go there." Draco clenched his jaw.
He may have done something good. But at what cost? He has learnt his lesson.
“Can I…Can you just give me my punishment. Please.” Draco made a point not to look in his professor’s eyes.
She raised her eyebrows. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll give you a punishment in your favour. Are you still top of the class in Chemistry?"
"You bet."
"Well then, you're the most qualified to be the Chemistry peer tutor.” Draco snapped his head up to stare at his professor. Who was now shuffling through a stack of papers on her desk.
"Peer what?” Draco couldn't help but narrow his eyes.
"It's a new program we have. Instead of students seeking tutoring outside of school, we are encouraging shared learning at school. Struggling students are given an extra hand, and the talented students can consolidate their knowledge."
"I'm not letting some imbecile copy my notes for free.” Draco said, folding his arms over his chest.
"That's not how it works, Mr Malfoy. By being part of the program, you'll be earning college credit. That'll help you get into law school, won't it?"
"Sure. Whatever."
"Good. Not that you had a choice. Now, let's look at the list here." McGonagall sorted through some papers on her desk, frowning. She refused to use her laptop for some strange, masochistic reason. If Draco didn't know better, he would have sworn that McGonagall almost smiled as she sifted through the stack of papers.
"Aha!" She handed Draco a sheet of paper with a list of dot points. "You'll be tutoring Harry Potter. Despite all his excellence in other fields, he's failing chemistry.”
Oh. No. No. God. No.
"He has said he's available only on Tuesday's nights for peer tutoring. Every other weekday he's either at the soup kitchen, running Amnesty meetings, or training for his house team.” Draco didn't even try to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
Please, God, no.
"Oh, no, I'm wrong, he's also said he's available Sunday mornings. But only until twelve, because then he's going to teach English to refugees."
Nononononononono. No.
"He's hoping to get an A on his exams. I'm sure your knowledge will help Mr Potter out. Draco? Are you alright? You’re gripping the chair very hard.”
"Oh." He looked down at his white-knuckled hands that clung to the armrests for dear life. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise to me, Mr Malfoy. You should go and apologise to Granger." McGonagall stood up and opened the door for him. "On Tuesday, you'll be in the library with Mr Potter. 4pm sharp.”
It was all because of one word that he ended up in this situation, that one word and Potter. But now there was another word he was thinking: Fuck.