Chapter Text
When Draco Malfoy was four years old, his sister disappeared.
She's tainting our family, Mother and Father - but mainly Father - had said. We can't keep a Squib in the house and maintain our place in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She'll be happier among her kind, anyway.
Draco wasn't sure that was true. Who could be happier in the Muggle world? The Wizarding one was obviously superior. Everyone knew that, especially Mother and Father.
"It'll be okay," Narcissa Malfoy tried to assure him as Draco sniffled into her shoulder. "Your sister will survive."
"Survive," Draco heard his father Lucius scoff from a few feet away. "She's a Squib, her kind don't deserve to survive."
"Not in front of him," Narcissa hissed, her arms still around Draco. "When he's older."
Draco sniffled again. "Is Annie dead?"
"She's a Squib, for gods' sake!" Lucius exclaimed. "He shouldn't care whether she lives or dies!"
"Lucius! Not in front of him. He just lost his sister! Show some compassion! Not to mention that you just lost your daughter!" Draco's mother stood up and gathered her son in her arms. "Let's go to bed, darling. And please, try to forget Annabeth."
Draco did not forget.
He tried. He really did, but it was hard when every room in Malfoy Manor held memories of his lost sister.
"Why are you so sad?" Pansy Parkinson asked the morning of his fifth birthday. She, Draco, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle all sat in Draco's room, waiting for the adults to call them to dinner.
Should he tell the truth? Mother and Father hadn't mentioned Annabeth since the day she'd disappeared eleven months ago. That was probably an indication that they didn't want him to talk about it.
"I miss my sister," Draco admitted after a moment. "Annabeth."
Beside Pansy, Gregory stiffened. "The Squib? How could you miss that creature?"
"Besides, she's probably dead," Vincent added. "In Tartarus, where she belongs."
"Don't curse, Vince," Pansy snapped at him. "And you don't have to be so rude. Besides, we all liked Annabeth before we knew her . . . status."
"Yeah, before," Vincent muttered.
Draco curled in on himself, wrapping his chubby little five-year-old arms around his knees. Before. Why couldn't he just forget her? The way he should. She was a Squib, and Squibs weren't anyone he should associate with, let alone miss.
That was what Mother and Father always said.
That was what was right.
There was a knock on the door. Draco jumped up, grateful for the distraction. He opened his door to find his mother, dressed in one of her finest spring gowns, smiling down at him.
"Happy birthday, darling," she said. "Why don't you and your friends join us in the garden?"
Draco, Pansy, Vincent, and Greg dutifully followed Narcissa through the corridors of Malfoy Manor and into the garden. They sat at their usual table, in their usual seats. Draco couldn't help but notice that Annabeth's former seat was empty.
Pansy sent him a small smile, but it didn't seem particularly sincere. "Happy birthday, Draco."
Oh. It was a birthday smile, not a sympathy smile. "Thanks," Draco managed as he accepted the cake one of his family's house elves handed him.
Draco cut off a small piece of his cake and placed it carefully in the center of the table, on the small plate made for sacrifices. Once all of his friends had placed slices of their cake, the magic in the plate sensed that the timing was correct and went up in flames.
From the adult's table, Lucius led the toast: "To the gods."
"To the gods," everyone echoed.
"I don't get why we have to give them our cake," Greg grumbled. "I want my cake."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "You know why. The gods like the smell."
"Or so they say," Vincent sighed. "I bet demigods don't have to sacrifice."
Draco snorted. Crazy. "Demigods aren't real anymore. They died out years ago, when Muggles lost their faith. All that's left are us. We carry on the legacy of the gods, because the Muggles went astray."
"We know, Draco. We've had all the same lessons as you."
Draco sniffed. "My tutors are the best."
"We have the same - !"
"Oh, Draco," Narcissa called, interrupting Pansy. She stood up from the adult table and crossed the courtyard to their table. "One of our owls has just delivered a letter addressed to you. Would you like to open it?"
A birthday present? Over mail? "Oh, yes, thank you, Mother," Draco said, taking the offered letter from his mother. He paused as he opened the envelope. He could read a little, but not well enough to know what his letter said.
"Mother?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Could you read this to me?"
His mother took the envelope and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at its contents as she read.
Dear Heir Draco Malfoy,
The Society for the Development of Young Pureblood Wizards invites you to participate in our exclusive summer program in New York City, New York. A representative from the Society will be at MACUSA headquarters in New York City to escort you to the Society on June 1st. Please inform us of your intention to attend no later than May 1st.
Signed,
Lord D. Wine
Activities Director of the Society for the Development of Young Pureblood Wizards
"You're being invited to a Pureblood summer program in America!" Narcissa gasped. "Lucius, look!"
Draco's father smiled as he read the letter. "An exclusive summer program," he practically purred. "No doubt because of our family's impeccable Pureblood reputation." He glanced around at all his friends, a smug expression on his face.
"No doubt," Narcissa agreed delightedly.
"I told you my tutors are the best," Draco whispered to Pansy, who gave him a disgruntled look.
"I bet it's not as exclu - exclu - oh, whatever - fancy - as they think," she responded. Her failed attempts to pronounce exclusive ruined whatever intimidating effect her words might have had.
Draco shrugged. "Either way, I was invited, and you weren't."
Pansy exchanged a glance with Vincent and Greg before she turned back to Draco. "It'll probably be good for you," she said. "Teach you how to forget her."
Draco's excitement and euphoria dimmed. What if he'd only been invited because Hecate - the goddess of magic and purebloods - had heard him? What if she was displeased, and he had to go to this academy because he was a failure?
Well, if that was true, then he had to go - had to learn how to be better.
"Yeah," he said to Pansy, his voice now subdued. "It will be good for me."