The Young Master Malfoy
Receiving a letter was the least of his troubles. Dobby had retrieved it from the fireplace the moment it had arrived, bustling with excitement to hand it to the young master, finding him in the Manor Library--by far the largest room in the entire place, filled to the brim and then some with books on all sorts of topics: law, history, novels and novellas, the odd fantasy shelves here or there, romance, though no one read those as often, only a rare few caught the eye of the young master, and Mistress Narcissa hardly had interest in them either. There were books on France and it's history with witches and wizarding, too, books listing crimes and their perpetrators, some revering the old magics, reminiscing of the old days where magic was more or less freely performed with hardly any restraints.
The young master often spent his days reading books in all genres, though his favorite happened to be old history and books on spells and ancient potions, potions that had long since been left behind, their contents either extinct or incredibly too rare to find. Tucked into one of the old nooks, curled on the oldest beanbag one could've ever imagined, sat the young master, the only son of Mister Lucius A. Malfoy and Mistress Narcissa Black-Malfoy, Draco L. Malfoy. He was engrossed entirely in Hogwarts: A History, a book he'd more than likely read over a thousand times, and beside him lay books he'd already finished that day, thick books. In his honesty, the honesty he was not permitted to tell, Dobby often found it strange that the young master was able to read at such a pace, considering his eyes were horrid and he'd complained about the words being much too blurry.
In haste, Dobby halted, standing at the end of the bookshelf, staring into the nook where the young master had hidden himself. He rapped on the bent, old oak, speaking once the boy raised his gaze from the words floating on the pages and to the wrinkled rag tied poorly across the house-elves shoulders. "What is it you want, Dobby? I'm occupied, as you can see," he said, sighing as he looked down to the page once again, and turned it a few seconds later. Anxiously, Dobby wrung his fingers and called the letter into physical form, "Young Master Draco, Dobby is to deliver a letter for you, addressed from the Hogwarts Messengers," he said, lowering his head, ears twitching as the boy's bare fingers stopped on the paper and he raised his eyes again, lifting his head this time with them. "From Hogwarts?" He asked, narrowing his eyes, staring at Dobby with confusion and mostly disbelief, as if he couldn't at all believe he'd received a letter from there at all.
However, house-elves were not permitted to lie, and therefore, Dobby hadn't. He walked over, tripping once on the stretched toes of his shoes and held the pristine letter out to him gingerly, fingers holding the paper as loosely as possible to avoid scuffing it. He sat, bookmarking the page and setting it down as he grabbed the letter from Dobby's grip. He refrained from opening it however, and kept his own excitement hidden as he examined it.
Mister D.L. Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England
The letter had a short address, but he supposed it didn't matter, it could only have read 'Malfoy Manor' and it'd reach him. The Manor wasn't hidden and many of the young witches and wizards had reached the first gates by the hedges just to catch a glimpse of the sloped roof, accented with gold and black. Anyone who was alive knew of it--well, the magic kind, the muggles hadn't known it existed, the whole place it resided in was protected by charms and spells that hid it from them, the irregulars, as some people call them, the muggles.
The young master stood from the nook and straightened his shirt, brushing off his trousers. If it weren't for his innate interest in books, the whole library would've been covered in dust by now, seeing as Master Malfoy lost his interest once he was born and Mistress Black-Malfoy was too busy taking care of her young son to comfort herself in the alternate world of books. Dobby didn't dwell on the matter, he apparated from the young master and up to Master Malfoy's study, where he knew he'd be heading. Knocking thrice and receiving permission to enter, he opened the door just as the young master headed up and hurried through without stopping.
Draco hesitated a second, stood at the entrance archway, where the bookshelves stood unbothered for decades. He breathed in sharply, ears burning as he pressed his lips into a line, stepping forward on quiet steps, "Father," he said, holding the letter against his thigh, hand tightening around the envelope. Lifted his head, the shimmering white wavered against the stick-straight back. Lucius turned to face his son, setting down his quill into the ink pot, "What are you bothering me with? You understand I'm occupied?" He inquired. Draco stared, frozen stiff under the harsh gaze of his father before he plucked up the courage and raised the letter, fingers tightening against the paper and lip curling, "From Hogwarts," he answered, "I've received my letter."
"Then open it, boy, what are you waiting for?" His mood seemed infinitely better hearing the news and he turned his chair to face Draco completely. "Where is Mother?" Draco asked, "She usually accompanies you on your long days here, where is she?" He glanced around once, knowing he wouldn't find her. She rarely hovered in the study long enough. "Occupied with other matters--" Lucius reached for the letter, but in Draco's distracted mind, he recoiled his hand, "Well, I had hoped she'd find her way here, that I could open with you both present."
"Seeing as she isn't here, just open with me," Lucius suggested, despite it being worded as if it were a statement. Draco weighed his options, before he sighed and slumped his shoulders, relenting. He peeled open the envelope, and slid out the folded paper inside. Neither the rules nor the required items had changed since Lucius' time at the school, except for the new rule that prohibited first years from riding their own broomsticks. "We begin on the first of September," Draco turned the paper over, looking at the blank back before he turned it back and looked to his father, "it was addressed from Professor McGonagall, who is that?" He gazed questioningly, brows furrowed slightly. "She's the head of Gryffindor, a strict woman, but you won't have to deal with her much as you'll be in Slytherin."
"How can you be so sure?"
"As I was in Slytherin and so was your mother, your aunts, too, one of your uncles, the other, well, he--" Lucius stopped, and didn't look at his son's curious expression. "--he was a strange one," he concluded, "the anomaly, if you will," he waved a hand, dismissively. Draco took that as that and didn't question it, his family was more than just complicated and he wasn't going to start questioning it now. "You, more than anyone, are suited to be in Slytherin," he said. Draco folded the letter, sliding it into the back pocket of his trousers, "How so? All talk I've heard of Slytherins is that they're awful and arrogant," he raised his head, staring at his father as he crossed his arms. Lucius' lips tugged a smile, "Some very well may be, but considering how well the house performs, I think they deserve to be so arrogant, as you say. Now," Lucius nodded once, "I must return to my work."
Draco tried to glance over Lucius' shoulder, but his father inclined his head, blocking his view. He retreated out of the room, closing the door himself. "Dobby," he called, summoning the elf beside him as he walked back to the library, slightly heeled shoes thudding dully against the carpeted wood, "call Mother, I want to know she's home, I must inform her of the news," he glanced down at Dobby as he nodded and apparated away. Draco carried himself back to the nook in the library, curling his feet under himself as he resumed his reading. Fingers tracing the edges of the pages as his eyes scanned over the words.
It was perhaps a half hour later when a fire brewed in front of him, parting for a second before Narcissa's voice came through, sweet and soft as she called Draco's name. "Maman," he sat his book down, sitting as straight as he could on the beanbag as her face appeared through the green flames. Her pure black fringe contrasted the white underside that ran over her shoulders, it was highlighted red and green by the fire she gazed through. She smiled as he saw her, tilting her head just an inch, "Maman, the Hogwarts letter came, I've a spot there," he said, moving the hair out of his face as he spoke to her. "That's wonderful, I suppose you've already opened it with your father," she jested. He nodded, "Since you weren't here, both he and I were too eager to wait, I wanted to open it with you," he picked at his nails, "but you weren't in Father's study, so I opened it with only him present instead."
"As expected," she almost laughed, "when I arrive back home, we can take your dogs out," she proposed, "and we can talk about the upcoming year." Draco nodded, "When will you be home?" He asked though she came home at the same time every time she went out. "In an hour or so, before dark, don't worry," she answered, raising her hand, "now, though, Draco, I'm occupied again, I'll have to see you later," she lowered her head, waving as she bid goodbye. "See you later, Maman," he nodded. With the confirmation he would be busy in the next hour, he hurried from the nook, through the grand hallways and to the largest bedroom--the one he called his own. Narcissa and Lucius claimed the second largest, but they doted on their only child and had given him the bedroom when he was old enough to stay in his own room.
Inside was a vast array of odd collections. Of dragon scales from collectors that had conversed with his father and gave him their best earnings, of broken unicorn horns and coarse hair, griffin feathers and claws, of old gold coins that were no longer used, but worth a lot. Framed above his four-poster bed was a singular phoenix feather that burnt and regrew occasionally. He had his own assortment of bookshelves in his room that tailored to his interests only, and he needn't share with his mother or the guests that appeared sometimes, at the foot of his bed was a play box that held all of his old toys and strange items he'd been gifted from friends of his father. Most of them acquired from the bars Lucius went to sometimes, when he was younger and would accompany him without question, his father's acquaintances and friends would give him money and weird thing they'd gotten from their lines of work around the world. One time, he'd even been gifted a dragon claw, ripped straight from a Norwegian Ridgeback, and a jar enclosing its fire for eternity.
He pulled open his grand wardrobe, the clothes inside were ordered by color and size, meticulously done by himself, as he never thought Dobby nor the other house-elves could do it correctly. He couldn't go out in the same clothes he wore inside, those were his 'comfy clothes,' as Lucius had dubbed them, clothes were still as fancy as Draco's attitude, but clothes that he thought were much too casual to wear in the presence of outside people.
*
Narcissa had returned right on time, a half hour before dinner, as always. Draco walked in step beside her, trudging over the vast field of green and red, bright roses growing per Narcissa's request when she moved into the Malfoy Manor on the first day. She had improved the house upon her arrival, the garden flourished, the hedges were well taken care of and the flowers she grew were thriving. Lucius never felt the need to take care of wildlife, he claimed they should be able to take care of themselves and neglected them for years before he and Narcissa were married, but he semi-changed his mind when Draco was born and found his son took an interest in the blood red roses his mother grew.
In Draco's arms, he held a ragdoll cat, no older than three, slumped against his chest and purring contentedly, "We must go shopping next week," he announced, stroking his cat's head with careful fingers. Narcissa nodded while she stared over the field, holding her fur coat around her chest, she watched as the Doberman-Shepherds chased each other down the grass, there were three, two boys, one girl: Aldie, Dorne and Canis. Draco defended their names by reminding everyone he was only five when he named them. His cat had a relatively normal name, Scarlett, the sweetest ragdoll in the world, he took her everywhere he could, and when he couldn't take her, he'd take his dogs.
"Are you wanting to go shopping only for school things?"
"Of course not, I want to get some new books, Crabbe saw one he thought I would be interested in," he shrugged, tilting his head up as Scarlett pushed her forehead into his chin. Narcissa stifled a laugh as she pressed her gloved fingers to her lips, "I don't understand why you don't call those young boys by their first names, you've known each other for years," she said. "Well, Father calls his friends by their last names," he looked up at her through his white fringe, she watched over his face as his lip pouted--a habit he hadn't broken since he was a child. She smiled after a second, gently moving his hair out of his face, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "When do you start?" She changed the subject, voice quiet as she ran her leather-clad hand over her son's soft hair.
"September first, but we have to get my uniform fitted, I don't want it to be too tight or loose, I want it to be perfect," Draco said with a huff, he looked down to Scarlett and fixed her collar, the pink bell resting on the center of her chest fur, "It's almost eight," he muttered then, kneeling down as Aldie, Dorne and Canis returned to him, knowing their schedule off by heart by now, "dinner is almost done, let's go back inside," he whistled sharply, and inclined his head toward the back garden. They weren't just hunting dogs, Lucius had gotten the three for Draco when he was five as protectors, and they had done so ever since, being cautious of even Lucius, half the time, they surrounded Draco like a set of bodyguards, but Draco never seemed to noticed them and went about life normally.
The dining room was more than just large, if a regular person had saw it, they'd exclaim it was the size of their own house, though, Draco proposed that a normal house was the size of their conservatory and drawing room. One side was full of gigantic windows, with intricate designs made of the metal framings, it lit the room perfectly at sunset, in the summer anyway. It was why Draco despised the winter, the sunsets were too early and the room was much too dark and dreary, even with the chandelier and the torches lit along the ceiling and walls. The table was long, fit to seat twenty on each side, though they never had that many visitors. Lucius always sat at the head, with Narcissa to his right and Draco to his left.
Draco set Scarlett down at her high seat while one of the house-elves made hers and his dogs' food. She was such a well behaved cat, staying at her seat until her dinner was served and then she would be scooped back into Draco's arms and taken to bed. Even though he was ten, Narcissa would sit with him in his room for a little while, to talk about books he'd read or his new interests. It was the same dinner as every Thursday, Draco didn't care what his parents ate, but he had to have the same thing on specific days, for example, Thursday was chicken curry and rice. He always stopped eating at twenty to nine, even if he wasn't finished, because by nine, he wanted to be changed and in bed to read.
"What did you want to get shopping?" Lucius asked, looking over at his son as he parted the chicken from the rice and shoveled some into his mouth. He glanced to Scarlett as she ate, then to the three dogs as they ate by the window behind him, before he looked to Lucius, "I want to get this book that Crabbe--" he paused, glancing at Narcissa, but she hadn't seemed to notice his slip-up, or if she did, she didn't bring it up, "--found, he thought I might like it, so he shared the title with me and I want to get it. I need a new quill and ink and perhaps some new shoes."
"You need new ones for your uniform anyway," Narcissa reminded, "I'll take him to the tailors," she looked at Lucius, lowering her head slightly as he nodded, "Miss Richards will sort you out a perfect uniform," she smiled at her son, clasping her fingers togethers and leaning her elbows on the wood. Miss Richards had been their tailor for years, and she was well accustomed to Draco's demands and wants when getting his new clothes fitted. When the clock chimed nine, Draco stood, collecting Scarlett and whistling once, beckoning Aldie, Dorne and Canis to follow after him. Lucius summoned Dobby and the other house-elf to clean the table as he and Narcissa retreated after their son to their own bedroom.
In his room, Draco neatly folded his clothes and placed them on a set of drawers beside the door. Aldie jumped onto the end of his bed, settling down as he put Scarlett on her pink silk pillow, embroidered with her name on the top, 'Scarlett D. Malfoy.' As much as his parents spoilt him, he spoilt his pets, Dorne and Canis ragged at one of the toys left on the carpet as he undressed and changed into pajamas, designer and highly expensive, tailored to exactly how he would prefer them. They were black with green piping, when he bought them, Lucius commented it that the coloring was fit for a future Slytherin. Pulling the thick quilt corner back, he slid onto the mattress, shivering against the cold. He dug into his nightstand, complaining until he found his old wand, he probably hadn't touched it in weeks, but he waved it and whatever spell he muttered on autopilot heated his bed. The curtains closed themselves and the chandelier lit dimly, just enough for him to read without straining his already horrid eyes.
Narcissa didn't come into his room that night to talk about their respective days, but Draco wasn't too bothered, he made it through five chapters by eleven, bookmarking the page and setting it down, "Canis, Dorne," he called, snapping his fingers sharply, "come," he called, pointing to the end of the bed beside Aldie, who's ears raised as she heard her brothers jump onto the bed. By twenty past, he fell asleep.
*
Diagon Alley was more than just crowded, parents to large families were busy putting their bustling kids in line to get the best of everything before it was gone, kids left to fend for themselves were looking up and down in a dizzying manner from the instructions their parents gave to the shops surrounding them, complaining and some even crying out that they couldn't possibly do this on their own.
Draco had put on a pair of gloves. Being in public and touching everything with his bare fingers was simply out of the question. He would not do it, no matter how hard his father tried to convince him to, he'd simply never agree to it. Though, he had compromised and said he'd take them off once he arrived at Hogwarts. He figured that the school should be clean enough for him to deal with, and if wasn't, well, he told Lucius he'd put his gloves back on and refuse to touch anything. Of course, he wouldn't refuse, but he certainly wouldn't be happy and would more than likely adorn an annoyed frown and flushed ears as he stifled his disgust for touching sticky stables and unwashed mortar and pestles. He stuck between them, one hand outstretched to hold the leashes of Aldie, Dorne and Canis as they sniffed and growled at the other young witches, wizards and families passing by. He glanced from shop to shop until he spotted the tailors, "Mother, it's there, I can go in by myself," he said, "Miss Richards is in there, I can see her." Miss Richards was Madam Malkin's niece and worked in the shop for years, since before Draco was born and for a mostly sole tailor of the Malfoy family.
Narcissa frowned, it wasn't too crowded, she knew not that many people could afford to have everything tailored, so only a few people were inside, but she knew that if too many people entered at once, Draco would get antsy. Still, she looked at her son's shining eyes and relented, nodding once, "I'll go to Olivander's," she said, turning her head to her husband as he looked to her and Draco, "see what wand he thinks will suit Draco best, then you can come and find one," she nodded once. "Father, do you think you could find the books I need? Mister Mordred's Library should be fine and it's only a few shops down," Draco suggested. Admittedly, Lucius wasn't too fond of Draco's sudden want for independence, previously, he'd made sure at least one of them was in Madam Malkin's with him, though now, he seemed adamant to go on his own. He supposed it was for the better, soon enough, in less than a month's time, Draco would be off on his own in a new school for the next seven years.
Draco had never attended a boarding school or a school that wasn't private. So mix a boarding school and a school with surprisingly low standards for which magic folk they let in and it's a hell site for him. But Lucius knew that Draco wanting to be alone in a place that catered to all kinds of people would ultimately bring him to be tolerant of the new school year approaching. "Very well," he said finally, turning from his son and down the path to very old, tilting building with the sign Mister Mordred's Library & Antiques only three down from Madam Malkin's. With his father out of sight, Draco whistled and turned toward the tailor's shop.
Dogs were allowed in the shop, but they were strictly supposed to stay by the door and away from other customers. However, no one really argued when Draco brought the trio further into the shop. Immediately, Miss Richards hurried up to him, pulling a footstool forward. "Good morning, Young Malfoy," she greeted, rolling her sleeves up. She always wore gloves with Draco. He nodded once, "Good morning, Miss Richards," he returned, shedding his coat and hanging it on the bar beside the full length mirror in front of him, it tilted slightly toward the door, and he could see a few people entering. She and him made small conversation as she pulled a long, thick cloak around his shoulders. "This one is the winter one, isn't it?" He asked.
"Yes, Young Malfoy," she nodded, "this one will be to the floor, to keep you warm all through, but your regular ones will be ankle-length," she explained as she began to pull pins from her hair, pulling up the fabric to the correct length. Draco complained, of course, at the way the fabric fell or felt, he requested different fabrics and different styles but Miss Richards was used to it and more than happy to comply with his demands. He ended up with a wool outer layer and a silk inner layer, finally comfortable and happy with the way it fell and felt. He gazed into the mirror at the door as the bell jingled again.
He kept his eyes fixated on the mirror, but couldn't help the way his almost-white cheeks heated. A young boy, with the messiest black curls he'd ever seen, strewn about in every direction, falling haphazardly over cracked, circular glasses with bent frames and arms, sitting them tilted on his nose, the most dollish green eyes darted from person to person as he walked in with a few sheepish steps, wringing his brown, scarred hands. The clothes he wore were tattered and ripped, stained and much too large for his seemingly malnourished, short and scrawny body. He tripped over his untied laces and he looked to glare down at them before Madam Malkin approached him, spoke a few words that seemed to make him relax, and guided him over to a footstool beside Draco.
He averted his eyes from the door reflected in the mirror as the boy approached. Immediately, Canis stood, sniffing the boy from foot up. The boy moved his leg back, face scrunching as he stared at the dog, as if he didn't know exactly what to do. "Canis," Draco practically hissed, snapping his finger and pointing to his side, "sit," he ordered, and Canis sat beside him, still staring up at the messy-haired boy. Draco watched his dog for a second, eyes trailing down the red carpet, to the grey, battered footstool underneath those mud-caked trainers, to the tattered ends and ripped seams and hems of the greyish brown trousers. to the stained, probably five-sizes-too-big blue shirt, then--to the round brown face, cheeks slightly sunken, ears sticking out, green eyes gazing at him strangely, a sense of confusion and nervousness evident in the blown pupils.
Draco swallowed as he stared through his fringe, "Hello," he said, voice a little quieter than he would like. He watched as Madam Malkin draped a cloak over him, just as thick as his own. "Hogwarts, too?" He asked. The boy nodded, a little less anxious as he parted his lips to show a gap between his front teeth, given the rest of his tattered appearance, Draco half-expected his teeth to be a little crooked, but they were more or less perfectly straight, apart from his sticking out canines and, of course, the gap. "Yes," he responded, eyes glittering behind cracked lenses. "Is that... Your dog?" He glanced down to Canis, then to Aldie and Dorne sat obediently.
"Of course, Doberman-German Shepherds, they're guard and hunting dogs--my father got them for me when I was five, this one is Canis," Draco gestured to him, "that one's Aldie," he nodded to the tallest, "and that one's Dorne," he waited for a sly comment about the strange names, but the boy simply stared in awe, as if he'd never dogs more perfect than Draco's. He breathed in sharply, almost stepping off the footstool, "I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself, "what about you?"
The boy looked above his glasses that refused to stay put even as he shoved them back up his face, "Harry--Harry Potter," he stammered over his own words, as if he forgot his own name. Draco tilted his head, the name rang a bell but he couldn't pinpoint where he'd heard it before, "Do you have any pets?"
"No, I'm not allowed, I live in a cupboard."
"A cupboard?"
"Or, I used to, my aunt and uncle ran us out to this tiny little island that only has this shabby little hut, I sleep on the floor by the fireplace," he said then, but Madam Malkin stood, "Is cotton all good--"
"Oh, I don't like cotton," Harry's voice sounded a little forced, but the fact sounded genuine. "Sorry?" Madam Malkin made a confused face, she hadn't come across that many customers that hated a certain fabric, certainly not ones that were so young. "Did you not hear him?" Draco furrowed his brows slightly, "Cotton is uncomfortable, and these are winter cloaks, cotton wouldn't do too well to keep us warm, would it?" He inclined his head, eyes boring into the old woman's as she nodded meekly, "Right, an oversight on my part, don't you worry, I'll find you wool. Are you alright with that?" Harry nodded, thanking her. He looked to Draco, thanking him too, "Though, you didn't exactly have to do that, I would've gotten cotton without complaining any further..." He shook his head. Draco huffed, ears burning red.
"Well, sometimes, Madam Malkin forgets, she is an old lady."
"That's rude."
"It's the truth," Draco said. Harry's face froze as he considered Draco's words, then he looked away, "She is rather old..." He muttered. Draco smiled small, "Well, I have to ask, do you play any Quidditch? You sort of look like the type to be in the sky playing for a team, I was in my primary club, I was the best," he said, tilting his head up as he watched Harry's face scrunched in discomfort. He couldn't figure out if it was from the question or the cloak as his fingers began to twitch around the hem. "No," he mumbled as Madam Malkin replaced the thick cloak with a thinner one. "You're not? Well, my father thinks it'd be stupid of Hogwarts to not let me play for their Slytherin team, of course, I'm exactly the best on the team, but there's only one better than me, and he's not going to Hogwarts, so it doesn't matter. Speaking of Slytherin, actually, do you have an idea of what house you'll be in? I'm going to be in Slytherin, of course, my whole family is, well, apart from one of my uncles, though, we don't really talk about him--"
"I've no idea," Harry shook his head, spekaing when he found a breka in Draco's rant, "Well, Hufflepuffs aren't exactly the worst house I've ever heard of, but in terms of Hogwarts, they certainly are. Ravenclaws are fine, but they're only known for being smart, which, in my opinion, isn't exactly the best trait to be known for, I'd want to be known for my other qualities, too. Gryffindors aren't much better, only being brave? Must be exhausting, and they're always getting into trouble, it's surprising they only ever lose to Slytherin in the House Cup at the end of the year. I think Slytherin is the best, they're smart, brave and they're not pushovers like Hufflepuffs," he raised a shoulder, making Miss Richards pause for a second before he lowered it.
Harry looked as if he was going to respond, but Madam Malkin patted his shoulder and took the cloak from around his shoulders, "You're all done here, son," she nodded with a smile, "we'll get that sorted for you soon," she said. He shut his mouth and raised his hand instead as he headed toward the door, waving to Draco, who waved back. It wasn't too long after that Miss Richards declared his cloaks done, and he hurried out with the trio of dogs on their leashes, but Harry was far gone. He frowned, glancing around for the mop of curls, but instead, only found his father's white hair.
"What're you looking for?" He asked, looking down at his boy with confusion. "I believe I just made a friend," Draco answered after a second of contemplation. "A new friend? What's their name?" He put a hand on Draco's shoulder, making him glance to the ungloved fingers on his jacket shoulder, but he ignored the gross feeling spreading through his skin. He'd have a shower when he got home. "Harry Potter," he went still as he felt those fingers tighten against his shoulder, almost dropping the leashes, "what is it?" He found the courage to ask. "I'm only trying to remember where I've heard that name before..." Lucius said quietly, raising a hand and moving his hair from over his shoulder, "Ah," he raised a finger, looking down to Draco as he loosened his grip and Draco relaxed again, "that boy, he's the Potter, that boy who survived the killing curse."
Draco's eyes lit, the red-tinted grey shining in the early sun, "It's seriously him? Are you sure it isn't some other Potter?" He asked, but thinking back to the history books, he knew that Potter was listed as one of the pureblood families, one of the oldest beside the Malfoy and the Black name. "It appears you'll be going to the same school," Lucius had a smile, but Draco couldn't figure out if it was one with malicious intent or of genuine interest for a potential friend of Draco's. Draco was quite excited, in all honesty, he wanted to make another friend, Crabbe and Goyle were fine, but they never spoke up against what he said and it annoyed him that they were so complacent in his words. He didn't have any cousins his age in neither the Malfoy nor the Black households, Narcissa was the only child of the Black daughters to have a child, and she only had one. He didn't even have a younger sibling to annoy or an older one to just sit with in silence for hours.
With his father, they found their way to Olivander's, where Narcissa was waiting still. It didn't take long for Olivander to find a wand suited for Draco, "Ten inches," he said, handing it to the young boy, "Hawthorn, core made of unicorn hair," he watched as Draco turned it over and over. He tilted his head, "Can I try it?" He asked, looking to the crazed looking old man behind the counter, "Of course, go on, my boy, you must try it, see if it is the right wand for you," he glanced to Lucius and Draco didn't see it, but he winked. Lucius raised his chin and watched as Draco raised it, pointing it down one of the shelves. Blasting from the end came a flurry of burning green flames. It set the shelf ablaze, but Narcissa subdued them quickly, apologizing if any of the wands had been scorched.
"No, no, a fit wand for you," Olivander leant over the counter, smiling down at Draco, "a powerful wand for a powerful boy," he nodded once, accepting the pay from Lucius' hand and waved as they left. Draco dragged here and there, to every shop that caught his attention before they ended back in Mister Mordred's Library. He wandered around, leaving Narcissa and Lucius to rest at one of the tables, while he scanned the shelves and eventually found the book Crabbe had told him about, Whimsical Growth of Plants, while it sounded strange, it certainly held his interest, almost the entire history of carnivorous and live plants, Draco liked plants, they were dirty sure, but they were pure things living for survival and nothing more, he had his own collection of Venus Flytraps, Mouthy Bonsais, Wailing Willows and Cranky Oaks.
On their way home, Draco was unable to shake that tattered Boy Wonder from his mind, finding himself wondering what he'd look like in Slytherin colors, in a Hogwarts uniform and what it'd be like if they shared a dorm. They more than likely would if Harry did, in fact, end up in Slytherin, given the fact that Hogwarts was letting in less and less students every year, despite their lax expectations. He slid his shoes off, setting them by the door of his bedroom before he turned toward one of the desks and set his new items down, organizing them into size and color order, before continuing the rest of his day.