Author's note: It's been a while but this story is officially scrapped. Eventually, I'll do a rewrite. I'm just not very happy with the progression of the story and I think some of the characters ended up too out of character. I'll update with the name of the rewrite if I do it, though.
Mother hadn't come today, she hadn't made it out of bed at all that week. Father of course, did not come. He could barely stand to be near me. Let alone be civil enough to avoid rumors. It was a miracle I was even here today.
My cheeks warmed at the memory of my parents' ongoing argument. Ever since I had gotten my letter, Father had been trying to dissuade her from letting me go.
Hogwarts allows mudbloods. He shouldn't be around that. Imagine him learning to defend against the Dark Arts! Dumbledore is headmaster now. Let's put him in Durmstrang. He can stay over holidays. Have a respectable education.
I couldn't help but imagine my Father's focus was on me staying away on holidays. Especially because he grew furious that Mother argued I needed to come home. Father loves me. It seemed to be a plea rather than a confirmation. I pushed away the thought, but the bruises around my back and sides were hard to ignore. No, they were only there to remind me not to fail. Father loves me.
I meandered around the crowded lane. Shops lined the sides but they held no interest. I sighed inwardly, eventually I would have to enter the tightly packed shops, I needed school supplies.
But just glancing in one, an apothecary with high towering shelves and barely enough space to peruse them, sent me into a panic. Malfoys do not fear.
I wasn't afraid. I just didn't want to get close to the fat dirty witch standing outside. It was a poor excuse and part of me recognized that, but the other part used the excuse to hurry past.
Further down Diagon Alley, I came across a shop that looked empty. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Of course, I already had robes that would work for the uniform, plain black work robes, but Father disapproved of looking untidy and I seemed to remember that mine had begun to wear holes in the edges. I walked in, grateful to the warmth. The shelves in this front section were too close for comfort, I felt the cloth would sweep down on me and leave me buried, but I smoothed my eyebrows before they could even scrunch together. Malfoys maintain composure. This lesson of my Father's had been particularly difficult to remember, I flinched inwardly, and particularly painful. I was grateful, though, I was finally able to keep my emotion from flooding my face. I had gone from an open book to a steely vault.
"Hello," greeted the squat smiling witch. "Hogwarts?"
I nodded and she motioned for me to follow her to the back room. I nearly sighed in relief. The room was large, with mirrors lining one wall, making it even bigger. Fabric of every shade was stashed against one side, and I watched, briefly amused, as several shifted colors. One in particular was a beautiful misty blue, with other blues and greens dancing about, it was like looking out a window blurred with rain onto a forest.
"Stand up here please," requested the witch, Madame Malkin, breaking my fixation on the fabric. She had gestured to a low footstool near the empty middle of the room. After stepping onto it, the witch assaulted me with heavy black fabric! It remained draped over my eyes, surely for only a moment. But that moment drew out my claustrophobia and I had to remind myself to take real breaths, not the shallow, panting ones that threatened to escape me. Madame Malkin finished pulling the fabric over my head and began to pin it up in places here and there. A sound rang out from the front of the shop and she moved toward it with little more than a, "Stay here. I'll be back," thrown over her shoulder. A stammered greeting was given as Madame Malkin crossed to the front and I lost sight of her. A second witch moved toward me from the sewing table in the back and took her place.
My eyes gazed about before settling on the mirrored wall in front of me. The small blond gazing back looked utterly bored, my reflection's silver eyes betrayed none of the panic that seemed to be taking over.
"Hogwarts dear?" the witch asked sympathetically from up front. Should I talk to the wizard? "Got the lot here-" what if he knows my father- "another young man-" what if he's awful- "being fitted up-" what if he thinks I am- "just now, in fact." Oh, Merlin. The wizard who entered looked my age though a few inches taller, I noticed begrudgingly. His raven hair was twisted and curled into a mess around his angular face and set in contrast with brilliant emerald eyes. His eyes were framed by a set of thick lashes but trapped behind a pair of round glasses. As he got closer, I realized the bridge of his glasses were being held together by almost clear paper. Madame Malkin waved him over to the footstool near me and began draping him in fabric.
"Hello," I said to the boy cordially. He didn't answer but I pressed on, "Hogwarts, too?" I asked, though I had heard the witch already ask him.
"Yes," he replied simply.
I covered my irritation, why was he not talking to me? I realized ashamedly that he must be wondering why I was here alone. Something prompted me to lie and I had to remind myself not to sound rushed. That was a sign of lying. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands." I could picture my lie in my head. Suddenly, I wanted them to be here. I began to get ahead of myself as I pictured the wizards I had seen earlier with their families. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own." My voice started to sound whiny and I clamped down on the tone. What would one of those brats say? I finished lamely with an exclamation I had heard from one, "I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
The boy still hadn't said anything. Stupid rambling. Still, despite my embarrassment, I wanted to have a conversation. "Have you got your own broom?"
"No," was the sole reply.
"Do you play Quidditch?" I pressed, please, please say yes.
"No," he said again, his tone unsure.
"I do-" and for some unknown reason my mouth continued- "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House." Why did I mention my Father? Why did I bring up his torturous insistence on the sport? It might seem like I disagree! Horror flashed through my body as I imagined what might happen if Father heard of my public disapproval of his opinion. Even if it was just about stupid Quidditch. I hurriedly added, "and I must say, I agree." I pushed away from the topic. "Know what House you'll be in yet?"
"No," he said yet again. Why didn't this boy even try at having a conversation? Shame again washed through me. Of course he didn't want to talk to me. Stupid. Boring. Disappointment. Failure. More and more insults flashed through my head all using the familiar voice of my Father.
Desperate to stop the voice in my head I blurted out, "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they?" This was a fact of constant worry for me and I added, "but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been," more of a consolation to myself then an attempt at conversation. Picturing the sorting hat calling any other House sent shivers down my back. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff!" I shivered again at the prospect. Ravenclaw would be bad enough, Gryffindor he'd skin me alive, Hufflepuff I didn't even want to think of. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
The boy's murmured reply was lost on me as I struggled to rid my thoughts of my Father. Hufflepuff! Not only would he kill me, he would make sure it was lasting and painful. I am not a Hufflepuff, I thought feebly.
"I say, look at that man!" I said suddenly, gesturing toward the front window, grateful for the distraction. Even if it did come in the form of a grisly over-sized man leering through the glass.
"That's Hagrid," said the boy, sounding faintly pleased. "He works at Hogwarts.
That's Hagrid? My mind squeaked. Of course I had been told about the half giant but this man looked utterly abysmal! I shot a terrified look at the boy before gaining control of my countenance. The boy was grinning back at the thing!
"Oh, I've heard of him." I muttered darkly. Did the boy know? Should I tell him? "He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" I hedged.
The boy corrected me, "He's the gamekeeper." The boy sounded defensive I hurried on with my half- warning.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed-"
"I think he's brilliant." The boy cut in, a venomous edge seeping into his voice.
"Do you?" I couldn't help the slight sneer that crept onto my face. Maybe this boy knew after all. Defending a monster! An edge slipped into my voice, "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead." He said shortly.
I sucked in a breath. "Oh." What am I supposed to say? "Sorry," I said knowing it would never be adequate. If I lost Mother- "But they were our kind, weren't they?" I spit out the question, struggling to maintain composure.
"They were a witch and a wizard if that's what you mean." The boy replied his voice harsh again.
A pureblood. Great, I grumbled mentally. He did know my Father and there I was, mind and countenance all over the place! Oh, if he tells Father!
I can make up for it, a panicked part of my mind pleaded.
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." I had started rambling again. I took a breath and reigned in my babbling. To take the attention off myself I asked, "What's your surname, anyway?" Dead parents. There were plenty of those after the Wizarding War.
The boy opened his mouth to answer but the damn witch cut in, "That's you done, my dear." The boy hopped off his footstool.
"Well," I said trying to control my downward spiral, "See you at Hogwarts I suppose." Please, no sooner than that. The boy nodded and hurried to the front of the store to pay for his new robes. The woman hemming mine was rather slow, but she seemed nearly done. Maybe I could follow the boy out and ask again who he was.
That thought disappeared when the witch brushed against my rib and I nearly toppled from the footstool. The pain a simple touch brought was nearly unbearable. I drew in a sharp breath. The lancing pain was beginning to subside and I felt blood rush to tinge my face.
"You alright?" The witch asked.
"Fine," I snapped pushing venom into my voice. I knew the menacing tone I could force would make the witch want to leave me alone.
"A-alright," she stammered, a blush rising. I watched in grim satisfaction. Even at only eleven years old I could instill fear in adult.
"Just finish up." I commanded in the same tone. I still needed to finish buying my school things and I could only think longingly of my bed. Perhaps one of the house elves could look at my side. I dismissed the thought. Father had probably ordered them not to treat me and his orders overruled mine. Besides, relying on a house elf was low. Reliance is demeaning. The voice flashed through my head for added emphasis.
The rest of the shopping passed without incident, besides a few swells of embarrassing panic at the too close shelves, and, by late afternoon I headed over to the wand shop. I was truly excited to get my wand. What would it be like? Typically, the wand reflects the personality of the wizard and certain materials are prone to act a certain way.
I sincerely hoped I did not end up with a dragon heart-string wand. Not that it was definable proof, but those wands were typically given to dark wizards.
I was nearly to the entrance of the shop when I noticed the person coming out. The strange boy from the robe shop! His face was ashen and his emerald eyes seemed clouded with misery. He either didn't notice or didn't care that I was only a few steps away. Probably the latter. The half-giant was with him chattering on, oblivious to the boy's obvious pain. I staggered a step toward him before regaining control of my limbs. The pair passed by and, after a moment, I entered the shop.
It was tiny, which did not help my panic. The stacks of wands piled high to the ceiling seemed in danger of toppling over. The light was dim and dust clogged my nose. I stepped toward the counter and nearly plowed into the wandmaker in my haste.
He seemed not to notice and continued to mutter to himself, "Curious, how curious."
"Sir?" I asked tentatively. The wandmaker was making me nervous.
Pale eyes gazed into my face, seeming to only just see me. "Ah," he said, his voice light as feathers. "A Malfoy." It was not a question. I didn't bother asking how he knew my surname, I looked exactly like my Father. Trying not to cringe at the thought, I returned my focus to the wandmaker. "Dragon heart-string, elm, powerful wand," I realized with a jolt he was describing Father's wand. "Of course, Dragon heart-string makes for a temperamental wand. Temperamental wizard." He continued.
I realized I should intervene but the wandmaker froze my tongue. His eyes seemed to see too much, my fingers twitched toward my bruises. Don't be ridiculous, I admonished myself, he doesn't know. More than likely, the wizard was thinking of the previous accusations against Father.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, let's start." I eyed the wizard warily. He pulled a tape measure from his pocket and it began to wrap itself around me, measuring from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, around my head, from ear to ear, and so on. The wandmaker had scurried off to pull boxes from the shelves.
The tape measure wound around my middle and I was glad the wizard had his back turned away from my tearing eyes and taut face. The measure moved on but my face took longer to control. "That's enough," The wandmaker told the tape measure and it immediately crumpled to the floor. As the wizard approached, it wound tightly and jumped into his hand. The wizard slid it into his pocket before turning his pale gaze on me.
"Perhaps dragon heart," he said presenting me with a wand. I was unsure what to do with it. "Go on," he encouraged, "Take it." I picked the wand up.
I could feel the magic radiating from it but it felt wrong. The wizard snatched it up. And switched it for a new one. "Perhaps Holly?" I had barely touched the wand before it was snatched as well. "Pine?"
This continued for some time whilst the wizard continued to mutter wand woods. He had finally moved on from dragon heartstrings and my heart swelled. It was far from a guarantee but, still.
"Hawthorne?" He muttered as he approached with yet another wand. As I closed my hand around the wand, I knew, this one was different. Warmth swelled inside me and my fingers tingled with pleasant electricity. I felt the urge to swish it through the air and followed the instinct. Beautiful green sparks shot out the end and danced through the air. The wandmaker's face became thoughtful, as though he hadn't really thought this wand would work. "Good, good. Interesting, but good." He muttered, it seemed the wizard often muttered to himself.
"10 inch hawthorn with a unicorn hair core." He announced.
Uh-oh. I thought miserably. Unicorn. Father will not be happy. Though, of course, I had no control over which wand suited me, Father would hate that the core was most opposed to Dark Magic. Perhaps if I focused on the hawthorn wood. Hawthorn wands are ambiguous and typically reserved for naturally talented wizards.
I noticed, then, that the wizard was scrutinizing my face, watching the minute changes that signaled my inner conflict. I shook my head slightly to clear it and moved toward the counter to pay for my wand.
I left Diagon Alley by floo and, after spinning through the green flames and close walls, stepped out at my fireplace grate with caution.
Author commentary: Okie dokie, here it is! I hope you guys enjoyed this first look into Draco Malfoy's head. Leave a review, like/follow, or what not. Thanks! Byyyeee!
Edit: I am thinking of making this my first chapter and dumping The Fall. Thoughts?