Draya Malfoy

1 - The Girl Who Was Not A Boy

Draya Lucia Malfoy was not much over one years of age when the Potters place got blown up, taking with it her father's career.

She was too young to understand why her father was running around the Manor tearing his hair out as he barked frantic orders at the servants. Too young to feel any compassion towards her mother who often stared fretfully out of the window, biting her nails, as though she were awaiting trouble to turn up.

No. All Draya cared about was her teether. And she was most displeased when, after she'd tossed it angrily to the ground upon discovering her scrambled egg was on the slight side of cold, that no one was rushing to her aid to return it immediately to her!

Imbeciles, the lot of them.

*****

"Draya, darling! Time to get up!"

I woke with a start. My mother knocked softly on the door again.

"Darling?" She repeated gently. "There's bacon on for your special birthday breakfast. Make sure to come downstairs as soon as you've dressed."

My eyes popped wide open, excitement filling my insides. Today I was eleven. Stretching out on my super king, I wriggled pleasantly beneath the silk sheets, wondering how many birthday presents I would receive this year.

Once I was dressed in my finest green robes, I made my way down to the dining room, where, at the table lay a decadent spread of pancakes topped with bacon and maple syrup. But best of all was the large pile of smartly wrapped presents placed on a side table next to my chair.

A quick glance over at them told me I definitely had more than the year before.

I skipped across the room, not even my father's scowling presence at the head of the table could ruin this special day for me.

"Happy birthday, my darling," my mother gushed, jumping out of her seat to hurry around the table and hold my chair out for me. "Would you like some pumpkin juice?"

I wrinkled my nose. "I think I'll have a coffee now that I'm eleven."

"Coffee is an adult drink," my father said, his drawling tones containing not an ounce of warmth, "and you, Draya, are still a child."

I looked at him and he looked at me. Not being able to bear his icy stare any longer, I glanced away. "Fine," I mumbled hotly, "I'll have a juice."

Silently, I pulled each present before me, unwrapping them in the way I knew my father would approve: with an air of contempt.

I had a good haul. Mostly new clothes, which my mother assured me were the latest fashions. I also unwrapped a new satchel, my very first make-up kit, books mainly about Quidditch, a pot of hair cream, and a rare peacock quill set.

"And the last present," my father announced with a touch of rare pride to his voice, "is the most important."

I glanced up to see him holding up a roll of parchment tied up with black ribbon. "I pulled a few strings with Igor."

My mother gasped and not in a good way. My own heart sank a little, but I refused to let my father see. He did not like weakness, and I already had my work cut out for me proving that girls were just as tough as boys.

Reaching across the table, I took it from him, grateful that my hand did not tremble as I untied the ribbon and rolled it open.

DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE

Dear Miss Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Durmstrang Institute. Please find a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your response by no later than 31 July.