It is our choices that show what we truly are.

Draco learns something important about his past and worries about his future, while everyone else has enough trouble dealing with him in the present.

This isn't finished, and the beginning may end up being tweaked for quality and to fit the story as it continues. I decided not to post this until I was done with it, but do you see how strong my willpower is? I, eh, er, uh, I'm working under the Imperius Curse. That's it. Or I am review-hungry, and want opinions. Please, help a poor fanfic geek out?

Disclaimers – They're not necessary. If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be posting this on FF.N.

Chapter One

Family and Friends

Draco Malfoy paused just outside the oaken door of his father's study, wishing fiercely that he didn't have to go in. He felt a solid curl of apprehension in his stomach. He didn't know what it was from; how odd. Usually he expected to be chastised for mediocre grades or displaying an overly arrogant attitude around important people. This time, he knew it was neither of those.

He could hear burning-cold voices within – his father was very angry about something. He never sunk to raising his voice. Yelling would seem a childish imitation of the chill image Lucius preferred to project.

"Get on with it, Draco, you're a Malfoy, Malfoys don't fear," he muttered to himself, "and you're sixteen! Grow up already." Straightening his posture, he knocked confidently on the door.

"Come in."

Draco's breath quavered again and he nearly slapped himself. He turned the silver handle and entered the room – his father's room, dominated by his father's presence. Lucius sat regally in a meticulously carved and obviously ill-gotten ebony chair, intimidatingly throne-like. All intentional, of course. Lucius Malfoy did everything he could to stay on top, and often things that he couldn't. At the moment, he merely smiled icily and glanced disdainfully at his wife.

Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, sat trembling in a burgundy leather chair, looking for all the world as if there were nothing she would rather do than pull her knees right up in front of her face. She looked up at her son and fought tears off. Draco didn't understand what was happening, but he did understand this – if one showed weakness, one was lost.

"Sit down."

Draco settled on a cold ebony couch and met his father's eyes.

"Son," said Lucius in a voice dripping with venom that would frighten any milder person, any Muggle, any Mudblood even, and Draco tingled with pride at his father's power. "We have both been lied to." Draco frowned and Lucius continued to smile coldly. "Or perhaps I misspeak myself?"

Narcissa muffled a sob and Draco snapped to look at her, his platinum eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Ask your mother, boy, or your father."

Draco bit his lip. WHAT were they talking about?! He started trembling. It couldn't be good. His father was being impersonated, perhaps, or he was mad… or drunk. Please, let him be drunk.

"Tell him, Narcissa."

Draco's mother tremblingly lifted her chin to face her only son, opened her mouth, and fainted dead away.

"Blast that wretched woman!" Lucius stalked to his wife's pale, limp form and slapped her across the face. She didn't move. He straightened, snapped his vision on Draco, and said, "Well, boy, I suppose it's up to me to tell you. Pity, as I've nothing to do with it."

Draco would have sunk back into the corner of the couch, had he been able to move. He was in terrible danger. Where was that godforsaken Potter kid when you needed your life saved?

"Oh, don't bother with the Malfoy pride, boy. Only Malfoys need worry about that." Lucius smirked. "Get it, boy? Your rotten mother didn't think a Malfoy was good enough for her, once. She took a filthy Muggle instead. She'll pay for that. But you, because of your mother's mistake, you've never been a Malfoy, you've never been pure-blood, and you never will be."

Draco gaped, forgetting everything he'd ever been taught in an instant of denial and panic.

"Wretched child. I can't believe I mistook a Mudblood for a son."

"You – you mean – I'm not…oh no."

"You will be allowed to spend summers in one of the homes I am not using at that time, but you will be expected to spend Christmas and any other breaks at school. And once you graduate, you're out. Now get out of my study. I don't want to see you out of your room until you leave for school."

He bolted.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Draco surveyed his militarily-neat, professionally-decorated bedroom. There really wasn't too much that was his, despite all the things he had. He determinedly gathered some clothes, a few old school things, his owl's things; he would have to buy his school supplies in Diagon Alley later. He reached under his mattress and retrieved his small (by his standards; it would be quite large to most teenage boys, he thought with a smirk; at least he still had that) stash of Galleons, Sickles, Knuts and the copy he'd made of his father's – er, Lucius' – Gringotts key. Draco listened sharply for any noise in the hall and when he sensed the coast was clear, he summoned a couple of suitcases with a quick "Accio!"

"Bloody… rotten… clothes!" he grunted as he shoved all his things into the suitcases. He shut them, shrunk them and stuffed them in the zippered pocket of a shiny leather jacket. He put it on, sighed, and turned to the mirror.

A Mudblood face.

His hair was disheveled. He briefly considered combing it, and wondered if leaving it would keep him from being recognised. He'd bet his broomstick that no one had ever seen an ill-groomed Malfoy. Them again, he reminded himself with a lump in his throat, he wasn't a Malfoy. He left it messy.

Hey, it worked for Potter.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Breakfast at the Weasleys' was invariably a hectic affair, and that didn't even take the noise into account.

"Mom! Make them stop!" pleaded Ginny as Fred sent the blackberry jam flying around the table.

"Stop, boys," said Mrs. Weasley, keeping her eyes on the bacon she was frying.

"Them? Boys?" said George. "I haven't done a thing."

Fred slipped under the table, followed by George, and when they popped up again they were in each other's places. The jam went around the table again.

"STOP!" yelled Ginny.

"STOP!" yelled Mrs. Weasley.

"I have!" yelled Fred.

George set down the jam and off went Fred's wand.

"Stop acting like you're still in school," said Ginny primly, and set George's wand into the teapot.

Ron leapt down the steps three at a time. "Are they here yet?" he yelped as a chicken pecked at his toes. He threw it out the window and peered eagerly for any sign of the car that would be bringing Hermione and Harry to visit for the rest of the summer.

"Not yet, dear," said his mother. "Have some bacon."

He grabbed a couple of pieces of bacon and bounced right back to the door.

"Sit down!" Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ginny all yelled at once, and the windows shook.

Ron went sulkily to his seat.

"I'm excited!" claimed Ginny. "I miss Hermione. I bet she'll help me with my Arithmancy."

Ron suspected she missed Harry more. She'd fancied him for five years.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Oh, dear, don't make poor Hermione do homework! It's summer!"

"Honestly, Mum," interrupted Ron with a mouthful of bacon, "she enjoys it."

Mr. Weasley perked up. "Ah, do you suppose it's because she's from a Muggle family?"

"It's because she's a freak," Ron muttered under his breath.

"I mean, Muggles certainly do odd things… just think, they must have their parents drive them around in cars! All the time! How inconvenient! But quite fun, yes…" Mr. Weasley trailed off as his wife glared at him, clearly thinking of the old Ford Anglia he had once fooled around with.

"Well, I do hope Hermione's mother and her car get here soon," said Ron, "I've waited too long to see them already. I would have written to them more, but Pig's so little to carry such long letters and Errol seems to be on his last feathers. Still." The grey fluff hooted sleepily at Ron in protest, and then fell off his perch. Ginny giggled.

"Look, Ron!" Fred shouted, pointing out the window. "It's a tree!"

Ron jumped, scowled and sat back down. "Funny."

His excitement wouldn't let him stop smiling for long, though. He grabbed a biscuit and tried to eat it through a grin. He ended up sprinkling crumbs on the table as he tried to stare out the window and hold a conversation at the same time.

"Hey Ron, look," said George suddenly, "a chicken! Watch your toes!"

Ron attempted to strangle George and keep watch simultaneously, and failed miserably.

"Ron, you're missing them!" said Fred, and Ron looked up to see Fred pointing at the clouds. He let go of George and leapt for Fred.

The rest of the Weasleys looked up, sighed, and went back to their own matters.

George pointed out the window, grinning, and said, "Hey, it's them!" Ron hit him without even glancing at the window.

"Good morning!" shouted Harry cheerily. Ginny blushed madly and helped Hermione pry Ron off George. Ron whirled around, his face just as pink as Ginny's. George grinned gratefully at Hermione. Mrs. Weasley tried to hug everyone at once.

Hermione's mother stood in the doorway looking nervous. For good reason, too; as soon as Mr. Weasley saw her he began plying her with questions about "eclectic" screwdrivers and fast-food restaurants.

He was lured away by coffee and Hermione's promise to tell him all about it later if he would let her mother leave. Fred and George rescued everyone's trunks and owls and random whatnot from the car. Mrs. Granger hugged Hermione, Harry and Ron and left in a hurry. Mrs. Weasley gave another round of hugs as well and the chickens tried to do the same.

"Ah, sweet chaos," thought Harry.

"Here we go again," thought Hermione.

"Finally, some normal, sane people!" thought Ron.

"I like breathing. My brother's friends are my heroes," thought George.

"Messy hair is so cute - and scars," thought Ginny.

"I wonder if I could get away with hiding some fireworks in Harry's trunk," thought Fred.

"I wonder if Hermione will tell me how the internet works," thought Mr. Weasley.

"This family will be the death of me," thought Mrs. Weasley.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

"I'm almost lost," thought Draco.

Draco frowned at the map and turned it around again. What was with these foolish Muggle maps? They made no sense! How were you supposed to tell which way London was? And all these little lines looked nothing like roads!

He stalked down the road looking and feeling very exasperated. "I've got to run into something civilised soon, damnit, there can't be any more trees in England than I've already seen!" He wished bitterly that he had stolen some Floo powder to run away with, but at the time he hadn't wanted to risk Lucius' anger. After a few hours of walking, he was beginning to think that an irate Dark wizard's anger didn't sound that bad.

"Hey, boy, want a ride?" A smiling young dark-eyed, black-haired woman slowed her car to drive alongside Draco, throwing dust onto his trousers. He glared at the wheels on the little silver sports car and warned, "Watch who you call 'boy,' dirty Muggle twit." After all, he did still have his pride.

The girl looked terribly offended and sped off, flinging more dirt onto Draco's clothing. He thought too late that perhaps it would've been a good idea to accept her offer, even if she was horribly inconsiderate. It would have at least spared his attire.

Drat. Next time, next time. If he didn't end up walking to the sea before another car came by.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Ron, Hermione, and Harry bounded up the stairs excitedly, glad to be all together again. They were used to spending most of their time together at school year-round, and summer did odd things to them.

They reached Ron's room and all flung themselves on the bed. A moment of silence ensued as they all revelled in being restored to their usual state of togetherness, and then they all started talking loudly and enthusiastically at the same time.

"Oh, I have to show you my new…"

"You won't believe what Dudley…"

"I just learned the most fantastic…"

They all stopped, laughing, and had just opened their mouths again when a loud BANG! – even louder than the usual explosions - came from the twins' room. All three of them leapt off the bed and stared at the wall, half expecting it to fall over. When it didn't, they felt they had to investigate.

Ron knocked on their door. "George? Fred? What WAS that?!"

A scuffling noise came from inside the room, then there was the click of a lock and Fred stuck his head out the door. "We're… experimenting. New stuff for the shop. Go away." He ducked back in and relocked the door.

Hermione sighed. "I should have guessed. Ever since Harry gave them the money to start it up, every time I've seen them they've been experimenting, or planning, or at the least covered in burn marks."

"I'm half afraid they're taking after Hagrid and they've got a dragon in there," confided Ron. "You wouldn't believe the smoke coming out their window sometimes."

"Well, at least it would be easier to get a dragon out of here than Hogwarts," commented Harry.

"Yeah, and it'd be easier to burn down, too." Ron looked faintly frightened.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Professor Albus Dumbledore sat sorrowfully at his desk, examining the letter that had just been delivered by an extremely bad-tempered black owl which had broken his window, stolen his best gold pen and almost maimed the young phoenix Fawkes on the way out.

The eccentric scholar reached the end, made a slight noise of bemusement, and started again from the beginning.

It was written in a somewhat hasty scrawl, distinctly refined and also distinctly malevolent. It read:

Headmaster Dumbledore:

I write to you not out of ill will but out of regard for the safety of all the students of Hogwarts.

I feel the need to warn you, there will be dire consequences if you ignore this counsel. I know that in the past, you have been advised to remove the boy Harry Potter from Hogwarts. I do not write you because of this; on the contrary, Harry Potter is one of the least of my concerns. I write now to tell you that you would do well to prohibit the return of one sixth-year student by the name of Draco Malfoy. I cannot tell you completely why he does not belong at Hogwarts; but I can tell you that he certainly does not belong in Slytherin.

If Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts, there will be harm to him and to those around him; though it will likely be unintended, it will be just as real. Draco Malfoy's return could upset the harmony of Hogwarts' students in a way that has not yet been seen.

The letter was unsigned.

Dumbledore folded the letter and placed his head in his hands. So, it would seem, someone else knew about Draco. He would stand by his decision, nevertheless, and just like every year all of his students would be welcomed back.