Prologue
Hermione Granger had received an impossible letter just weeks ago, and now she was standing in an alley of impossible things. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the many shops, filled with goods she would have confidently denied of existence only last month, her pouch of recently exchanged ‘galleons’ clutched to her chest. Her parents are equally as overwhelmed, timidly following Hermione to each shop as she buys the required items for her upcoming first year at Hogwarts.
The stores lining Diagon Alley boast of magical items she can’t wait to understand. A shop to her left has potion supplies- she would be brewing potions ?! Another has brightly colored signs proclaiming their superior tailoring of wizarding robes, something she would need to buy later. Hermione scans the windows of the store, mannequins modeling the finely crafted robes of many colors. Her hands twitch around her pouch of coins, wondering if she’ll have enough for everything she needs.
She steps into a shop filled to bursting with books, students her age and older milling about with their parents. Hermione checks the store name- ‘Flourish and Blotts’, and decides that this is her new favourite shop, pushing Waterstones out from #1. The store is decorated nicely, with a cozy feel to it, exactly how she likes her bookstores. Some shelves are stocked messily, with books of all sizes shoved together, while others are neatly arranged and labeled. Candles levitate in the rafters, casting a warm glow on the interior and furthering the comfortable ambience.
Walking between shelves piled with textbooks, she brushes her fingers along the spines, examining each title. ‘ Dreadful Denizens of the Deep ’? ‘ Flesh-Eating Trees of the World ’? Excitement builds in her stomach at the thought of all the new things she’d be learning at Hogwarts. Although she was always advanced in her classes, often studying further than the required material, she would be much further behind at her new school.
The notion immediately replaces her excitement with familiar anxiety. If she had gotten her letter months ago, she could have studied and gotten up to speed with the other students, who had been living in this magical world their whole lives. Now, she’d be behind . Every time she wasn’t distracted by the excitement of this new territory, her anxiety would resurface. What if she couldn’t make any friends? Would the other students be able to tell that she hadn’t grown up with magic? Obviously , she mentally berates herself, I’m an outsider in their world .
Turning to distract herself with a shelf of neatly arranged hardcovers, Hermione spots a book that perfectly fits her needs. ‘ Hogwarts: A History ’. She grabs the book off the shelf, shoving her pouch of galleons into her startled father’s hands to crack open the pages. Her face lights up as she scans the pages, her anxiety melting away. With this book, Hermione can catch up to the other students! The table of contents promises information about the founders, what she’ll expect during her terms, and basic spells to practice. She turns to beam at her parents, elated.
“I’ve found the solution! I’ll read this book tonight, and by the time I arrive at Hogwarts I’ll have a baseline of magical knowledge on par with those of the other students!” Hermione says ecstatically, her eyes shining. Her mother gives her an indulgent smile, and her father ruffles Hermione’s hair affectionately. “Sure you will, dear. That’s my girl. Just remember to get your rest- you haven’t yet discovered how your sleep affects your magical abilities.”
Hermione rolls her eyes, but is pleased with the interest her parents have shown in her new life. She knows it’s hard on them, suddenly learning their only daughter has ‘magic’ and must be sent to a boarding school miles away to be looked after by people so different to themselves. School was already difficult for her, as her anxiety about social interactions caused Hermione to come off as brash and bossy. Her mother often described her as “standoffish”, which annoyed Hermione to no end, because she absolutely did not mean to present herself that way.
After choosing all the required books for the term, (and a few extra), Hermione stands next to her mother as she pays at the register. Her eyes flit around, studying the children similar in age to her. Most of them seem to be wearing wizarding robes, something she hasn’t yet gotten a chance to purchase, having been more focused on the school supplies. The other children show a variety of emotions: nervousness, eagerness, annoyance. Hermione notes with curiosity that some of the parents of the children wearing robes give children wearing Muggle clothing disdainful looks. She looks down at her own jeans and multicolored jumper, wondering if her parents have also been given those looks.
She feels a pang of embarrassment- obviously, the adult wizards and witches could tell she wasn’t one of them. Hermione feels the familiar bubble of insecurity and inferiority that she’s worked so hard to suppress. She turns back to watch her mother finish paying, guilty that her parents must be subjected to the disgust of the magical adults because of their lack of magic.
When she leaves the store, a bag of her new books swinging from her fingers, her eyes catch on a boy the same age as her, with white blonde hair and brilliant grey eyes. He’s standing with a woman who must be his mother, his hand intertwined with hers, watching Hermione. His expression is unreadable, but he and his mother are wearing robes. Her father tugs her back into the bustling street of Diagon Alley, and the boy is lost in the crowd.
Hours later, Hermione had acquired all the necessary school supplies. Her new robes are tucked under her arm, a dark blue case with her wand held inside gripped in her right hand. The wandmaker, Mr. Ollivander, was a strange man, but she liked him. He answered a few of her questions about Hogwarts while he searched for her wand, seeming entirely non judgemental. Hermione felt marginally better about her entrance into Hogwarts in the coming month.
As she leaves Diagon Alley with her parents, she thinks of the blonde boy on the drive home, even as she attempts to read her new book. The words swim before her eyes and she finds herself reading the same passages over and over, unable to get the boy’s expression out of her head. He had looked so… distant. Almost as if he hadn’t any emotions at all. Hermione was slightly envious of his composure, as she’s always worn her feelings on her face, regardless of whether it was appropriate to the situation or not.
What had he thought of her, behind that impassive gaze? A muggleborn girl in his magical bookshop? His parents had seemed the type to give her that disgusted look, so it was unlikely she could be friends with him. But she let herself imagine, allowing her mind to drift, fabricating fantasies of friendships.
~
Draco Malfoy follows his parents obediently as they quickly lead him through Diagon Alley, wanting to get his school supplies quickly and leave before the influx of new students crush them into stores. He’s been to the strip in Wizarding London a few times, usually when his father is on an errand for the Ministry, meeting with various officials.
Most of the supplies on the list Hogwarts provided, Draco already had, but it's good publicity to be seen out. His father had already stopped to chat with a few acquaintances, keeping up appearances. Have you met my son, Draco? His father would say, usually followed by he’s starting his first year at Hogwarts next month. The acquaintance in question would coo down at Draco, as if he were a toddler and not an eleven-year-old boy.
His patience was already wearing thin, but he kept his face blank and indifferent. It wouldn’t do for Lucius Malfoy’s only heir to be considered volatile. So he remained quiet and obedient, allowing his father’s imbecilic coworkers to fawn over him and spew inane compliments. Not that he minded the compliments, though.
They approach Ollivanders to buy his first wand, and a bubble of anticipation ripples through him. First wands are important. A wand will define how a wizard will turn out, whether they succeed or fail, whether they acquire power and status or fall to nothing. Secretly, he hoped for a wand with a dragon-heartstring core. That would fit him perfectly, since his name does mean ‘dragon’. Anyway, dragons were powerful.
Lucius motions for Draco to enter the shop alone. Draco raises a brow, surprised at the gesture, but complies without complaint, easily stepping through the door. As the door shuts behind him, a bell tinkles, announcing his presence.
“Be with you in a moment, child,” a voice calls from the back. Draco takes the time to glance around the shop, noticing the stacks of boxed wands. The light in the room seems brighter than most shops, almost uncomfortably so. There’s a chart on the wall explaining the properties of wand materials, including wood and cores, in simple terms for children to understand. Probably for the muggleborns. Doubt they’d understand how important a wand is , Draco muses.
He steps around a haphazardly placed chair with a grimace to examine the front desk. Several wand materials are strewn about, as well as what looks like a half made wand, still missing its core. Draco notices with interest that the unfinished piece seems lifeless, more like a random stick than a wand. He’s seen a real wand before, obviously, and they do not look like this one. Before he can stop himself, he’s reaching out to brush his fingers along the length, marvelling at the craftsmanship.
The wandmaker chooses then to appear, and Draco snaps his hand back. Ollivander chooses not to make a comment, wisely recognizing who the blonde boy is. He inclines his head toward Draco. “Young Mr. Malfoy. Not surprised to see you here so early. Looking for a wand, I assume?”
Draco offers a small nod, hiding his embarrassment at being caught touching the unfinished wand. Malfoys don’t get embarrassed. He clears his throat and stares the old wandmaker down. “My father has sent me for it. He is just outside if his presence is necessary.”
Ollivander shakes his head, already bustling out from behind the counter to grab a wand. “No need, child, I’ve already got the perfect wand for you. Made it less than a year ago, I did, and knew it right away to belong to a Malfoy eventually.” He levitates a box on a high shelf down into his hands. The box looks unassuming, just a normal green, but Draco tries not to show his disappointment, instead reaching out for it.
Once the box is in his hands, Draco immediately pops it open, wanting a look at this ‘perfect wand’. The wand is around 10 inches, he suspects, and made of hawthorne. It’s beautiful enough, he supposed, but it didn’t exude power like he expected. He gingerly lifts the wand, setting the empty box on the counter.
Ollivander watches with a curious expression as Draco carefully flicks his wrist. The candles in the room go out with a whoosh , and he sniffs disdainfully before attempting to put the wand back. Ollivander reaches out a hand, silently telling him to give it another go. Draco sighs, but twitches the wand again, and the candles relight. He frowns- this doesn’t seem like the unbridled, raw power he expected, but the old man seems happy.
“I was right. That wand is perfect for you- you’ve already bonded. I felt the magic the moment you touched it,” Ollivander smiles down at Draco, his hands clasped together. Draco scrunches his nose, not quite convinced.
“Really? All I did was turn the candles out for a moment. Don’t you have something more… special?”
The old man clicks his tongue. “The wand chooses the wizard, and that wand has chosen you. That wand is the most special I could possibly give you.”
Draco looks down at the wand in his hand dubiously, before glancing back up at the wandmaker. “What’s it made of?”
Ollivander smiles, his eyes slightly foggy. “Ah, that one… yes, I remember. 10 inches, carved of hawthorn wood, slightly supple, infused with a unicorn hair core. Quite loyal, that one.”
His eyes widen and he splutters. “U-unicorn hair? This has got unicorn hair in it?” He eyes the wand with reproach. What would his father think? This isn’t becoming of a Malfoy at all. Draco can practically feel his future slipping through his fingers, all because of a dumb wand. His eyes sting slightly- no. He’s not going to cry about this. He’s eleven now, and anyway, Malfoys don’t cry.
He blinks rapidly before shoving the offending stick in the pocket of his robes, looking away from Ollivander. “How much?”
Ollivander shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively. “Your father already paid.” He walks back around behind the counter before pausing, turning to look at Draco over his shoulder. “Child… remember, you are an individual. You are not your bloodline.” He disappears into the back of the shop, leaving a flustered Draco behind.
Draco stares at the empty wand box on the counter for a moment. Had the old man read his mind? What did that even mean, anyway? Of course I’m an individual. It’s not like anyone is controlling me. He snorts and stalks out of the store, his hands in his pockets. He gives his parents a reassuring smile as he exits the store, tuning out his father’s conversation as he follows them through the now crowded alley.
His mind replays the interaction with Ollivander, and his thoughts twist further and further. Draco has to make an effort to keep his expression blank, but the weight of his new wand in his pocket pulls his mind further into turmoil over and over. He almost misses it when his mother pulls him into Flourish and Blotts to buy his textbooks, stumbling slightly and earning a glare from his father.
As he waits for his father to pick out his books, he gazes around the store. He likes bookstores, as they’ve always seemed calm to him. The sort of people you find in bookstores aren’t too bad, either, and his father doesn’t often find coworkers to chat with. He watches two girls, probably twins from their looks, argue over who should get which books. Draco wonders what it would be like to have a sibling, to have to share his things, and turns away.
His eyes flick over to a girl standing at the register with her parents, her mother paying for an obscene stack of books. The girl is his age too, with brown bushy hair and uneven teeth visible when she smiles. She’s watching the hubbub in the store too, just like him.
Draco tilts his head when he notices her look down at her clothes with a frown, and he examines them as well. She must be a muggleborn, as she’s wearing faded blue jeans and a striped jumper with rainbow patterns splashed across it. He’s considering what his parents would think of her when she suddenly looks up at him, and their eyes meet. Her expression is curious, her brown eyes full of questions, before her father tugs her out into the street. Draco catches a glimpse of a bag full of books swinging from her fingertips before she disappears into the crowd.
When his father returns with his new books, he murmurs a thanks and mindlessly drifts through the rest of the morning. Between the muggleborn girl and Ollivander, his thoughts are a mess. Certainly not the mind of the sole heir of the Malfoy family.
Later, at his desk in the Manor, he drums his fingers on the antique wood, his new wand resting in front of him. He had messed with it earlier, giving it a death glare for the audacity of being made with unicorn hair. Draco ponders his morning of shopping, and then huffs with amusement at the thought of ‘pondering’. Do eleven-year-olds ponder? Does his father ponder? Does the muggleborn girl ponder? Why do I care if she does?