The Menace

“The first time I met you, I could hardly believe what was happening,” Harry said. 

“Stunned by my beauty,” Draco replied, a haughty smile crawling across his tired face. 

“It was my first time in Diagon Alley,” continued Harry, undaunted. His fingers caressed the leaves of one of the many strange plants Luna had brought him, all of them triple checked by Neville to avoid the same fate as Broderick Bode.The leaves, polka-dotted with white, shivered beneath his fingers, its spots turning bubble-gum pink with every touch. “My first time around other witches and wizards. I kept thinking it was all a dream, and that I would wake up and be stuck in the cupboard with Dudley stomping on the stair above me and dust in my hair. Conversations with Hagrid helped, but the thing that made it really feel real was seeing another child my age shopping for the same things I was. You.” 

Draco’s smile softened, remembering Potter’s owlish little face turned up to the Alley, eyes darting as though they could never soak in all the wonders around him. “I thought you were mute,” he said. “Or stupid.”

Harry laughed and swiped a cracked-knuckled hand through his unruly hair, making it stand even more on end. “Starting the way we would continue, then. With poorly formed opinions and miscommunication.”

Draco hummed in agreement and his voice went rueful. “I thought you were going to be a Dark Lord.”

“What?” Harry leaned back in his chair, green eyes shining with amusement. “You hadn’t even realized who I was!” 

“But you spoke Parseltongue,” Draco reminded him. “I was young, but not so young that meant nothing to me. I knew I had to make a good impression. ‘Power and influence,’” he said, in a jarringly accurate impression of his father. 

“Well, you’ve got both in spades now,” Harry said, reaching to pat his marred forearm. 

“Ill-gotten gains,” he shrugged. “Father is rolling in his cell.”

“If he disapproves of it, you’re on the right track,” Harry said. Draco had to agree. 

~*~

Mother always noticed whenever Draco was off. The two of them had always been so in tune. Their closeness made it more difficult for him to pretend or forget all the worries he tried to keep down, and all his feelings always came rushing back with the gentle stroke of her hand over his cheek. 

“Shall we go to Ollivander’s first?” Mother asked him that first shopping day, brushing the hair out of his face with her fingers and smoothing it to the side. She was kneeling before him, helping him button his robes like she used to when he was small. He humored her now, tolerated her doting with a put-upon air, knowing that this day marked a transition for her almost as much as him departing on the Hogwarts Express. It marked a change for him as well, a looming, frightening one, but he didn’t want to think about it. He would think about Mother instead. Draco always loved how gentle and nimble her hands were, how elegant they always looked with her fine bones and perfectly manicured nails. 

He shook his head tightly. He asked like a confession, the words tumbling out of him, “What if I get a bad wand? Or if my magic isn’t good enough?”

“You can use my wand a bit already, can’t you?” She smiled as she kissed his forehead. “How about we think a bit.  Would it feel better to go to Ollivander’s right away and get it over with, or would it feel better to do it after we’ve had some time to get used to what might happen there?”

“The second one,” Draco replied softly, so grateful both his mother and father were taking him. Mother always knew how to command Father, even when it looked like she wasn’t in charge.  

So it was decided. They were to go to Flourish and Blott’s first thing to gather his books, and Draco was to go to Madam Malkin’s and get himself fitted for his robes. Then, they could go to the Magical Menagerie and peruse their wares to see if there were any suitable pets for a Malfoy or a Black, and then, bane of Draco’s existence, Ollivander’s. 

After all the hard parts were conquered, Father had a meeting at Gringott’s, so Mother and Draco would circle back down the Alley for a well-earned respite at Quality Quidditch Supplies and Florean Fortescue's. With only minimal begging on his part, Draco had convinced Mother to let him get three different flavors of Ice Scream if he stayed on his best behavior throughout the day. Though he was still working on convincing her to buy him a racing broom. 

Flourish and Blotts was an excellent start to the day, with Draco slinking happily through the towering, disorganized bookshelves, sneaking books about dragons into Mother’s shopping bag filled with first-year required texts. Father took him by the shoulder and directed him to the financial section for a powerfully boring lecture on fiscal responsibility and his obligations as the future inheritor of the family vaults. Draco suffered through it impatiently, forcing himself to focus his eyes on his father’s face rather than letting them drift, schooling his expression to be dutifully attentive. He let Father press a large, gleaming tome about investments into his hands, and padded back to his mother to put it with the rest of his purchases. 

Mother bought the investment book, but she also bought three of the six books on dragons Draco had selected, so he left the bookstore considering himself a very savvy negotiator indeed. 

Outside of Flourish and Blotts, Father shook his hand goodbye and told him firmly to listen to his mother. His expression was stern, and Draco remembered in a flash having the Aurors called on him last year for escaping his mother to sneak into Florean’s and interrogate his Potion’s Master about the exact recipe for Chocolate Ice Scream with extra Scream. What made the Scream so extra? He had to know. He had been frogmarched out of the Ice Cream Parlor by a hassled-looking red-clad Auror, and his mother had grounded him for a week. He had missed Greg’s tenth birthday party. 

His father  headed in the direction of Knockturn Alley. Mother deposited Draco outside Madam Malkin’s with a kiss on his cheek. She said that she would be at Ollivander’s to look around a bit before he got there, and to meet her there after the Madam was done. A thrill of fear and anticipation raced down his spine at the thought of getting his wand, and he found himself unable to enter Madam Malkin’s because suddenly the thought of standing still or wearing any more clothing than absolutely necessary made him feel overwhelmingly hot and prickly.  

So instead, Draco found himself standing outside the Magical Menagerie. He was rather trepedatious at the idea of entering somewhere so loud and smelly all on his own, debating which store presented him less manageable myriad stimuli, when sensed a presence behind him. He turned to see another boy, just his height, with round, plaster-joined glasses and an unruly head of dark hair. 

“Hello,” Draco said. “Hogwarts, too?” 

“Yes,” the other boy said. His green eyes were wide and darted across the storefronts, never lingering for long, absorbing all the colors of the Alley in amazement.

Draco nodded. “My Mother’s up the street looking at wands. She said we can go off and look at brooms after I’ve got mine. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own.”

“Wands?” the other boy asked. 

“No, brooms,” Draco clarified, snorting. “Everyone’s got a wand. Have you got a broom? Do you play Quidditch at all?” 

“No,” the other boy said, looking rather puzzled, and Draco wondered if all his companion’s responses would continue to be monosyllabic. Perhaps it was on purpose. Did he not like him already? That would be just his luck. At least he didn’t like Quidditch - if he wasn’t in Slytherin, he could just ignore him for the rest of the year, if only he could get through this one grueling conversation.

 “Do you want a pet too?” Draco asked. “I’m going to go inside and look.” He hoped that perhaps the boy had just gotten lost and wandered haplessly, attracted by Draco’s beacon-bright hair, and upon Draco stating his intentions, he would leave him alone. 

The dark-haired boy’s creased face broke into a smile for the first time. “I would actually, yeah,” he replied, and Draco nodded imperiously, as though he had never expected any different. 

There wasn’t much room in the shop: Draco found himself feeling claustrophobic with only him and the other first-year standing on the pungent floor. Every inch of wallspace was covered in cages which held all sorts of squawking, cawing, hissing, or purring creatures. There was so much to take in that for a moment Draco was ready to simply walk out, before remembering he had to make a good impression on the one student he had met so far. A powerful impression, his father had said, so Draco drew himself up and straightened his back. 

Mother had insisted on no toads, not that Draco would have wanted one anyway. The squat, disgruntled, malevolent little things always made him leery, as though they were just waiting for the right moment to leap out and curse him. 

He would have preferred a Crup, affectionate and adorable as they were, but they were not allowed in the Hogwarts dormitories. Draco felt the preference of rats over Crups sorely reflected truly piteous Hogwarts management, and hoped to Merlin none of his dormmates would purchase one. Strike him down with the Killing Curse before he ever called some hideous vermin like a rat his pet, no matter what his Hogwarts letter said was “acceptable”. Whichever boy stupid enough to do so might find his companion conspicuously absent before the year’s end. 

To his appropriately awed companion, Draco pointed out a goldfish who began changing colors and expanding rapidly whenever one made eye contact. In return, the dark-haired boy pointed out a brown and white rabbit, guarding a nest of brightly colored eggs with a stubborn gleam in its wide red eyes and a snarl which revealed pointed fangs. The two of them wandered down the walls of cages before finding themselves separated, Draco in the feline corner and his companion on the other side, by the section of wall covered in tanks. 

A small black cat with bright blue eyes entranced Draco. She was in a cage towards the bottom corner, so dark that she would have completely blended in with the shadows save for her luminous gaze. Her tail was longer than average, and she made no noise as she peered out from within the din around her. 

Draco would have gone right then and there to the teenage witch at the counter and purchased that cat, but she was locked in what looked to be a very serious conversation with a man about his poisonous snails. Instead, Draco padded over to his companion, who crouched transfixed before a jewel-colored snake with what looked like a closed third eye on its forehead. 

“That one’s really pretty,” gushed Draco. “I like snakes. I like them almost as much as I like dragons.”  

The other boy smiled as the snake before him wiggled and tasted the air as it rose up. “She says thanks.” 

Draco gasped, looking wildly from the snake to the boy. “You can understand her?” 

“You can’t?” he asked, blinking at him and cocking his head. “Is it only some wizards?” 

“You must be having me on,” Draco said, dumbfounded. If this boy was a pureblood, and a Parselmouth, surely he would have met him before. Draco didn’t even know Mudbloods could speak Parseltongue, Father had always said it was an honor reserved for the darkest witches and wizards of the purest bloodlines, and the only reason Draco couldn’t do it yet was that his magic was too young and feeble. 

Panic flashed across the other boy’s small pale face, green eyes wide and earnest. “Is it a bad thing?” 

Draco felt his knees buckle. He sank down onto the feather and fur covered floor beside the other boy, staining the trousers his mother had so carefully picked out for him. Whoever this powerful, ignorant child was, all signs considered, he may have been marked to be the next Dark Lord. “Being a Parselmouth isn’t a bad thing,” Draco said fiercely, a deep thrum of envy cascading through him. Feeble, his father’s voice whispered in his ear. “It shows great power. And an inclination to Slytherin, which is the best house at Hogwarts. Salazar Slytherin was a very famous Parseltongue, too.” 

“A what?” 

“A Parselmouth,” Draco repeated slowly, making sure to enunciate very clearly, as though his companion was underwater or very, very dim-witted. “Someone who can speak to snakes.” 

His companion nodded, a thoughtful look on his round face. “That makes sense. Is it very rare?”

Draco peered at him, so confused and so very curious. “Yes,” he said cautiously. A Mudblood, but a Parselmouth? How was he supposed to act with this child? Should he deride him, as Father always did any mention of Muggles, or should he revere him in the same honorific tones Father’s dark, brooding friends used when they discussed the long-dead Dark Lord?  

He decided it was better not to look at the other boy, or else the flipping in his stomach might reach seismic proportions. “Has the snake said anything else to you?”

“She likes your hair,” the boy noted.

Draco preened, a gratified smile twisting his lips. “I have excellent hair. My whole family does.” 

“I saw it outside in the Alley,” said the boy shyly. “Your hair. It’s so bright, it caught my attention. That's why I walked over.” 

“Can I help you boys?” the witch at the counter asked, leaning over. Draco, relieved to be distracted, raced over to her. 

“I’d like that cat,” he said, gesturing to the bottom cage in the corner. “The black one, with blue eyes.” 

“That’s not a cat,” the witch replied as Harry came to stand by Draco’s side. “She’s a Matagot.” Draco gasped and clasped his fists beneath his chin, so excited he couldn’t help but bounce on his heels. “I want her even more now!” 

The other boy’s owlish eyes searched Draco’s, rather than turning to the witch by the counter, who presumably could have shared more detailed and accurate knowledge with him. Never bother: Draco was happy to show off yet another thing he knew. “A Matagot is a type of feline,” Draco explained, “that can shape shift. Usually, they look like ordinary black cats, but if they’re threatened, they can become the size and shape of a panther. They can also multiply, though they don’t need to be threatened to do that. I read about them in a book my Aunt Andy gave me last year for my birthday.” 

“Wow,” the boy said, the lights of the menagerie reflected in his broken glasses. 

“Her name’s Melinoe,” the witch told them, spelling the cage out of the corner. 

“She’s so perfect,” Draco enthused. “Can I hold her?” 

The witch shrugged. “That’s up to her. Shall I let her out?” 

“She’s not going to turn into a panther here,” the other boy whispered trepidatiously in his ear, “will she?” 

Draco grinned. “Well, she might if she hates us,” he laughed. How could he have ever been nervous to come here? This was the best day of his life. Besides, Mother would never let him get mauled by a Matagot. The witch opened the door to Melinoe’s cage, and inexplicably, the Parselmouth beside Draco grabbed his hand. His palm was warm pressed against his own.

Melinoe jumped to the ground, and Draco immediately dropped beside her. He reached out his free hand and felt her thick, soft fur as she closed her eyes and butted her head against his palm. Her long tail swooshed across the ground, and she began purring almost immediately, a rumble passing through her small body. The boy beside him looked at Draco with unrestricted jealousy. 

Draco smirked. “She loves me,” he announced proudly. “I knew she would.” 

But then he thought of the snake, and he thought of his father’s worshipful whispers, and he thought he ought to try to be nice to this diminutive Dark Lord. He joined his hand with the other boy’s once more and brought it to stroke Melinoe’s spine. She arched into their touch, and Draco turned to see the other boy’s face light up.  “She’s so cool,” he breathed. “I wish I had a pet.” 

I wish I did too, thought Draco, grimacing. Father would never let him have her. But she was so beautiful, and if the other children got to have cats, he could have one, too. He just needed to be sneaky for a few weeks. 

“What’s stopping you?” asked Draco insistently, strength in his voice both to convince the other boy and himself. He was barely resisting, with considerable effort, the urge to enfold Melinoe in his arms and pull her into his lap. 

“The letter says an owl or a cat or a toad,” the boy responded glumly, looking over his shoulder to the tank that had recently left. “But I want that snake.” 

Draco shrugged. “So get her,” he supplied. “She’s small enough to hide. And even if she wasn’t, they never said you couldn’t really. All you really need to do is sneak her into your dorm–once she’s there, you can just blackmail or bribe all your dormmates to keep quiet. That’s what I’m going to do.” Draco paused and thought. “Or, well, you might not know enough about them yet for blackmail. You could always threaten them.” Who can I bribe or threaten to help me with my pet?

The other boy looked shifty. “But that’s wrong.” 

Draco scoffed. “Only if you get caught.” He turned back to the witch, who had busied herself cleaning snail slime off the check-out counter. “Could you hold her for me?” he asked. “The cat, I mean. If I buy her. I could add some more for a boarding fee? I’ll do per night, I don’t care. I just have to talk to my Uncle first.” 

“Ordinary black cats are nine galleons,” the witch said “This one’s nineteen, because of her nature. We have a boarding fee of a Galleon a night.” 

“Whatever,” Draco shrugged, not caring. He realized as he pushed his coin purse up onto the counter that it was more than half the money Mother had left him for new robes plus his emergency money, and still couldn’t bring himself to care. He barely listened while the witch explained what Melinoe ate and drank, what conditions she would thrive under, and what her preferences seemed to be. Firecall would be fastest, he thought. Firecall or floo. But it will have to be when Aunt Andy is away. He bit his lip. Aunt Andy was always around. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall and blanched. “Oh no! Mother’s going to be furious! I have to go, or else she’ll call the Auror patrol on me again.” He winced, remembering his mother’s towering fury last year beside the Auror, ice cold and all the worse for how rarely he experienced it. 

Hurriedly, he gave Melinoe back to the witch behind the counter and began frantically brushing feathers and fur off his sullied trousers and cashmere sweater. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose?” Draco said to his dark-haired companion. 

“Yes, but–” the other boy made to reach out for him, but Draco was too swift. He already had his hand to the doorknob when he grinned at his companion. 

“Get the snake,” Draco advised solemnly. “If you do, you might get to be in Slytherin with me.” He grinned, and the little Dark Lord before him blinked, bedazzled. 

The bell dinged, and Draco ran down the Alley to meet his mother, who seemed to be, as he had predicted, on the verge of panic and whispering intently with an exasperated Madam Malkin. He didn’t get his racing broom, nor did he get even one scoop of Ice Scream that day. 

But he did manage to get his hawthorn wand. And Mother was none the wiser, as Melinoe slept in the Magical Menagerie that night, to the letter Draco had sent to his cousin.