Author's Note: Not JKR. Potential triggering. Please be as unkind as possible with your critiques.
The prison was interesting from a psychological perspective. The cages were made of thin slats of unfinished wood that would have a hard time besting a determined toddler. The beings inside the cages were much stronger than toddlers, even disregarding their magical abilities. The knobby knees of the house elves were dirty and in some places scabbed from rough encounters with the walls and floor of their cages. Their mottled grey skin seemed to almost blend into the tattered sacks and tied together scraps of cloth that maintained their decency.
Even more interesting than imprisoned creatures more than capable of escaping terrible conditions, though, is the jailor who would enable those conditions for a species wholly willing to obey his every command.
The owner of the house elves weaved through stacks of elves to reach the front of the store where a chime had rung.
"Coming, coming!" The man called out cheerfully. His immaculate black robes moved of their own accord to avoid catching on any splinters of wood from the cages he squeezed past. It wasn't a large store and some of the house elves were stacked as much as six high.
"Is this where house elves come from, mother?" A young boy with hair so blonde it was nearly white spoke from below the height of the front counter.
"Yes, Draco." The woman who must have been his mother replied. "There are a few other stores, but Sclavus Elves is run by the oldest pureblood family of elf breeders."
"Not like that other riff raff popping up down the street." The shop owner grimaced before smiling widely again and holding out his hand to the boy. "You must be the young Mister Malfoy." He said as he came around the counter. "My name is Braxton Sclavus"
Draco took Mr. Sclavus's hand and shook it as he had been taught. "Ah, what a firm grip! I just know you'll be a great man like your father one day." Draco blushed lightly at the praise and looked down.
Slim, elegant fingers gripped his chin and raised it firmly, but gently. "Never look away when receiving a compliment, Draco. Tell Mr. Sclavus, 'Thank you.'"
"Thank you, Mr. Sclavus." Draco's voice was perhaps more quiet than usual, and he didn't quite meet Mr. Sclavus's eyes, but if his mother noticed, she didn't comment.
The lady held out her hand, a ring adorned tastefully with gems in the shape of an 'M' gleamed brightly in the firelight of the torches ensconced along the walls.
Mr. Sclavus took her hand delicately and brought his lips as near to her knuckles without touching as was possible. "Mrs. Malfoy, a pleasure as always."
She smiled then, the expression nearly making it to her eyes. "Please, call me Narcissa. Surely we've done enough business to be on a first name basis, Braxton?"
"Of course, Narcissa." Braxton Sclavus replied without missing a beat, the grin that split his face did nothing to hide the gleam in his eye at the mention of business.
"What can I do for you and the young master, today, Narcissa? Perhaps a few new elves? I did just get a shipment in from our branch in Asia. A very dark breed, quite exotic, sure to provoke conversation."
Narcissa interrupted his sales pitch just as his sails had begun to fill. "That will not be necessary."
"I could give you a very nice price, not as low as the common breeds, of course, but an excellent-" He cut off suddenly at the icy look in her eyes and the slight raise to one eyebrow.
She paused, daring him to speak.
"As I was saying." She cleared her throat daintily. "Draco will be turning eight tomorrow, and is in need of an elf both as a means of furthering his education as to what it means to be gentry, as well as to maintain his appearance and that of his suite at the manor."
Sclavus continued smiling and waited just long enough to be sure she had finished before speaking. She gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. "Excellent, excellent, would you like to browse the wares?" He gestured behind him at the stacks. "Or shall I have one delivered tomorrow, perhaps wrapped for the birthday boy to open?"
Narcissa glanced down to see her son grinning up at her. "Very well, Draco." She pulled a pocket watch from within her fitted robes, the silver trim accentuating her figure. "You have ten minutes, Draco. Do not get dirty, we will be lunching with your father after this."
Draco slowed to a more sedate pace after being reminded of his father, but perhaps still a touch more than his mother deemed appropriate.
"After he picks one out have it sent tomorrow just before noon."
"Certainly, certainly. Now, let's talk pricing." He rubbed his thumbs against his fingers behind the counter.
"The usual rate will be acceptable. We can hardly go to Exactus for elves, his father barely qualified as a half-blood." Narcissa sniffed and handed him a bag of galleons.
Braxton Sclavus groaned internally. The only reason he ran the shop himself instead of hiring it out was his joy of haggling, but he kept a smile plastered on. It was a rather good deal and he'd gotten their exclusivity with it. And with Lucius's disposition toward elves that was worth a fair bit in and of itself.
He unrolled a sheet of parchment from one of the shelves beneath the counter. "We'll just need the name of the elf, and then I'll need your signature or the boy's if you prefer."
"Lucius will stop by this evening."
Draco wandered through stacks of cages more than twice his height. The room was perhaps only half the size of his bedroom, but it seemed a grand adventure once out of sight of his mother.
The house elves eyes each tracked Draco as he pattered about, his head spinning about like one of his father's sneakoscopes. Despite the elves' curiosity, they knew better than to show any emotion. Emotion, reaction, each led to pain and worse, disapproval. Compliance and silence were traits to be proud of.
One elf did not watch as the boy wandered up to his cage. "What's wrong with this one?" Draco asked, pointing at the bundle of rags quivering against the corner of its prison.
The elves glanced nervously at each other, their bulbous eyes slightly too wet. Just as one of the older elves opened its mouth to speak, the quivering elf spoke.
"Dobby was taken too early." Dobby still faced the corner of his cage, but sat up slightly, his ears poking out. "Dobby was supposed to stay with Dobby's mommy and Dobby's daddy for two more years." Dobby turned then and sniffled, his thin arm darting out to wipe the drip from his long nose.
Draco stepped back slightly, his lip curling inadvertently in disgust. He quickly brushed off his robes and stepped closer to the cage. "Father says it is important to maintain composure at all times."
Dobby opened his large eyes even wider and scooted toward the edge of the cage, peering at Draco as if actually noticing him for the first time. "Dobby's daddy said a very similar thing!" His voice squeaked in his excitement. "Dobby's daddy said, 'A good elf always comports himself with dignity and respectability.' And Dobby be's wanting to do that, but we're only given these dirty rags to wear, young sir. I hate breaking daddy's rules." Dobby tugged on the rags that were hanging off his body like a sail.
"I hate breaking my father's rules as well." Draco leaned forward, just a few inches from where Dobby's nose protruded from the bars of his cage. "The results are… unpleasant."
The two children of their respective species eyed each other appraisingly. Draco broke the silence first. "How are you at cleaning?"
"Dobby loves cleaning, young sir!" The elf squeaked again and wrapped his spindly fingers around the slats and leaned forward smiling, the tracks of his previous tears barely visible.
"And maybe," Draco whispered, leaning in even closer, "we could be friends?"