Mother held up a hand. She had never hit him before, nor given any indication she would do so, but Draco wasn't about to test her anytime soon. She didn't have to use force or even raise her voice. Narcissa Malfoy could chill you to the bone by speaking calmly and tranquilly. "I do not speak of your academic achievements, Draco, but how you comport yourself socially."
Draco drew himself up proudly. "I have made alliances with important pureblood families!"
Mother sighed. "Perhaps I should not be so harsh on you, for I detect your father's influence. But to put it bluntly, you act like a spoiled brat all the time, Draco." Draco winced. Mother was…not entirely wrong. "Your catchphrase is 'wait until my father hears about this.' Have you no influence or power of your own? You must hide behind another?"
"I use the power I have," Draco argued. "Like you have power of your own!"
"The best power is the kind no one knows you have," Mother said, her voice softening slightly. Draco didn't understand that at all. What was the point of power if no one knew you had it? "You do not comport yourself with the dignity and authority a proper Malfoy should have. You do not demonstrate the manners pursuant to a station such as yours."
Draco sneered, an expression so common on his face he could summon it with absolutely no effort whatsoever. "You would have me consort with mudbloods and low class filth?"
Mother tilted her head. "Oh, you really have fallen for all that nonsense, haven't you? Ah, yes. No, I see now. This is not truly your fault. It is mine. I did not educate you properly. That will be rectified in time." Draco gulped. That didn't sound good at all. She gestured at the bed. "Now tell me why you sit watch over Potter."
Draco stiffened. This was going to be so bad. If Mother found out he felt pity for an enemy, and not just any enemy, but the killer of the Dark Lord himself, he was toast. Yet he'd never been particularly adept at lying to his parents anyway, and especially not his mother. Mother could always see straight through any lies he concocted. "I…owe him a life debt," he muttered. "It seemed prudent to not antagonize him further."
A life debt was not, contrary to prurient romance novels (which Draco would deny reading to his dying breath; not even Veritaserum, he felt, would be enough to get him to admit to it) something that was imposed by magic. Rather, it was simply a very important tradition in magical society. Had it been done in private, Draco could have simply denied it and maybe gotten away with it, but quite a few people, including scions of important houses, had seen it. He owed a favor to Harry now, as much as he hated the prospect.
"I see," Mother said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "Well, at least you have a modicum of sense. Why have you antagonized him in the past?"
Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. "He…killed the Dark Lord? He stopped our best chance of stamping out the Muggles before they destroyed us! The magical world could be doomed thanks to him!"
"As I recall, I instructed you to befriend him," Mother reminded him.
Draco had remembered that conversation. It was bizarre, the notion he was supposed to befriend the hero of the so-called light, but Mother had been most insistent. But Harry had spurned his literal hand of friendship, and that was the end of that. "He prefers to hang around mudbloods and blood traitors."
"Do not sulk, Draco," Mother snapped. "It is unbecoming of a Malfoy." She pulled up a chair and sat down next to Harry, studying the Boy Who Lived carefully. "The Malfoy family always attempts to pick the winning side. Regimes rise and fall, but we endure. When political circumstances shift, the Malfoys shift with them, but we remain constant. When the Dark Lord was ascendant, we served him. But now, Dumbledore's cadre is the dominant political force. Befriending Potter would have served as our in to them, but we are left with nothing now, thanks to you."
"But…but Potter spurns our traditions! He spits on our way of life!"
"Does he?" Mother said. "Or does he despise the people who were accessories in the murder of his parents? I believe the Boy Who Lived could be made to see things our way. My sources inform me there is no love lost between him and his Muggle relatives."
Draco looked at Mother with astonishment. He'd never heard her talk like this before. "Even if I was inclined to befriend Potter, there is too much bad blood between us now…he'd never believe me."
"That seems more like a you problem than a me problem," Mother said somewhat snidely. "For now, proceed slowly. Clearly all is not lost if he would take such a grievous injury for you." She stood up. "Bring honor to this family, Draco. Do not force me to remove you from it. I am still young enough to bear another child." Draco gulped. If he was disowned from the Malfoy family, it would truly be a fate worse than death for him.
He bowed his head in a gesture of humility. "I will try to establish a truce between us."
"That will do for now," Mother decided. "There is yet time to turn things around." She turned and walked out of the room without even saying goodbye.