Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it. - Proverbs 22:6

Influence

A young boy sat alone at the end of a long, dark table. His blond head was bent over two pieces of parchment, eyes flicking back and forth as he copied out a difficult Potions formula. The natural childish instinct to scrawl was restrained by the large feather quill, and instead he printed his words tidily as he copied from the neat, flowing script.

The man sitting at the opposite end of the table watched his son carefully. A sliver of light broke through the heavy velvet curtains and glinted off the man's silver ring as he slowly and absentmindedly drummed his fingers.

"Are you nearly finished, Draco?" Lucius Malfoy's voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

The boy glanced up, and lifted his parchment to show half a page of writing. "Yes, almost, I – "

"Put that down, Draco, the ink might drip," Lucius interrupted. Draco nodded hastily and set down the parchment carefully. "Yes. Sorry."

Silence reigned once more, with only the scratching of Draco's quill to break the monotonous quiet. Lucius flicked a piece of lint from his robes.

"Father," Draco said suddenly, his quill poised above his parchment, "What's a Mudblood?"

Lucius blinked. "What?"

"I heard Mother and Aunt Bellatrix talking yesterday," Draco continued tentatively. "Aunt Bellatrix sounded angry, and she said 'Mudbloods.'"

The question was abrupt and unexpected. Lucius pondered for a moment. There had been some problems in the Ministry lately, due to the inefficiency of a young and bumbling wizard who did happen to be a Mudblood. Bellatrix, ever impatient and easily irritated, had no doubt visited yesterday to rant about the situation with Narcissa.

"Well, Draco," he began slowly, "What can you tell me about our ancestors?"

"We are a descendants of a noble wizarding family," Draco piped immediately. "They were very noble and very dis... dis..."

"Distinguished," his father supplied.

"Distinguished. Our line goes back a very long way and is made up of great witches and wizards." The boy's speech sounded rehearsed, as if he was repeating word for word something he had been told many times throughout his short life.

"Very good." Lucius let himself smile slightly. "We are Purebloods. You know that term, correct?"

His son nodded.

"A 'Mudblood' is the exact opposite," Lucius continued, his lip curling slightly in disdain as he spoke. "Mudbloods are witches or wizards who are born of Muggle parents... though I shouldn't deign to give them the title of wizard. Mudbloods are of no use to anyone."

"Born of Muggle parents?" Draco queried. His little brow was wrinkled, as if the concept as completely foreign to him. Indeed it was, Lucius thought with pride. Draco was being brought up with the utmost care, and therefore the only children he interacted with were of the highest classes of wizard society.

"Yes," he said in answer to Draco's question. "Strange, isn't it? That wizard children can be born in a completely non-magical family. Almost unnatural."

Draco sat in silence for a moment. Lucius could practically see the boy's mind working to absorb this new information.

"Father," he began slowly, "If two salamanders have eggs, then they can't be newt eggs."

The phrasing was childish, but Draco's understanding of the concept was perfectly clear. Lucius smiled. He had taught his son well.

"That's exactly right," he said. "So you see why Mudbloods are... abnormal." Lucius leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Draco, we are descendents of a noble, proud and powerful lineage. Muggle-borns belong in the lowest class of our society. And our family is at the very top. Doesn't it make sense that a family such as ours is superior to a single wizard with Muggle parents? To a filthy Mudblood with no rich heritage such as ours?"

Draco nodded. "I think I understand it."

Lucius smiled again. "Good."

Draco watched his father for another long moment, then picked up his quill and dipped the tip into the inkpot. He had written just a sentence or two before he looked up hesitantly.

"Father... can I finish this later? I want to go play with the broomstick Aunt Bellatrix brought me."

Lucius sighed, then shrugged elegantly and waved his hand. "Yes. You may go."

Draco beamed at him, the kind of grin that only a seven-year old can pull off, and stood up quickly. "Thank you," he said before walking out of the room sedately. No sooner had the door closed, however, then Lucius heard his son take off down the staircase, shoes hammering as he flew down the steps. There was a thud, a muffled yelp of pain, and a moment of silence. Then the pounding resumed until the feet reached the ground floor and were quiet.

Lucius sighed. He would have to speak to Draco about his deportment... but later. He stood up and crossed the room, pushing a stopper into the inkpot and glancing briefly over Draco's work. There were several errors, scribbled out in big black blots of ink, but nothing to seriously reprimand him over.

Lucius was about to gather up the parchment and put it away, but a tear at the bottom of the page caught his eye. It seemed that a small piece had been ripped out - no doubt Draco had been doodling again and had decided to save his artwork for later. Lucius tucked the parchment away neatly in the large desk in the corner, slipping the quill into its box and putting the inkpot back with the others.

He started towards the door, and suddenly spotted the missing piece of parchment, folded up and forgotten on the floor by the doorway. It had probably fallen out of Draco's pocket.

Lucius bent to pick it up and unfolded it. There was a small, hastily scribbled note on it, and he squinted to make out the messy scrawl.

Mudbloods are bad. When Crabbe or Goyle come to visit again, tell them about Mudbloods. Maybe invent game?

Lucius smiled to himself.