Author's Note: Hello and welcome! This is a slightly AU fic in which Harry potter finds himself sorted into Slytherin house instead of Gryffindor, and how this fact affects the plot of Rowling's "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone". There will be a few other revisions in character sortings as well for the sake of getting a wider, more varied view on the story as it plays out.
This is a collaborative effort between myself (Kat A. Klysmic, aka JolieMariella), and my sister (nighttimelights), as a Christmas gift for our mother, the biggest Harry Potter nerd either of us have ever known. We figured that other fans might enjoy this story as well, though, so we will be updating for you to enjoy too! We'll be aiming for at least monthly updates, possibly more, depending on our schedules.
Please remember to drop a review if you do like it, they really help inspire the both of us to continue writing!
July 31st, 2015
Hello, diary.
I received you as a gift from Mother today, over breakfast. She said that she had a diary that she kept one during her years at Hogwarts, so I should too. Supposedly you will help me keep a clear mind, and act as a valuable tool in looking back at past chapters of my life.
I guess it's worth a go. I'll use you to chronicle my rousing successes at school so that when someone wants to write my thrilling biography someday, they'll have no excuse for getting anything wrong.
Father always says that being thorough is key to success.
Apparently you are charmed to open only to me, which is good, though I think I will add a curse as well (whenever I learn some). That will teach people to mess with a Malfoy's things. Speaking of Malfoys, Mother even had our crest inlaid in your cover (Black leather. Very classy.), which was a nice touch, I think. She does have excellent taste, my Mother.
More important than you, though, diary, is the date. Today is the day Mother and Father take me to Diagon Alley to get my things for school. A whole afternoon with just the three of us is rare, what with Father being away so often, so obviously I am excited. Not that I can show it. 'cool' and 'collected' are Father's watch words, so they're mine as well.
What kind of wand will I get, I wonder? I don't suppose Father will let me get a concealed wand like his until I'm older, but perhaps if he's in a good mood I'll ask anyways.
Mother has sent one of the elves to fetch me; apparently Father is ready to go. I'll write again later when I return. Have to record the day I got my wand, after all. For posterity's sake, you see.
Draco flipped his new journal shut with a flourish and watched for a moment as the silver clasp locked itself automatically, engaging the charm that would keep prying eyes out of his private thoughts.
The boy grinned to himself, then bounced off of his broad, four poster bed onto the thickly carpeted floor of his bedroom. He only just avoided tangling himself in the canopy's velvet curtains in his enthusiastic rush for the door.
Just before he made it there, though, Draco paused and checked himself in the tall, silver framed mirror that hung next to his door. Pale, fine boned hands tugged his robes straight to adjust their fall, then smoothed every one of his platinum blond hairs into place. When he was satisfied, the boy smirked at his reflection and swept out the door.
"Draco?" Narcissa called again.
"I'm coming," the boy huffed as he reached the top of the grand staircase and swept down them as regally as he could, the same way he had seen his father do a thousand times.
The effect was ruined somewhat when he jumped the last two stairs in his hurry to meet his parents, though.
Though her son didn't notice it, Narcissa muffled a smile behind a silk-gloved hand. No one could say that Draco was not Lucius' son.
The man in question sighed as he tapped his cane impatiently. "Draco, what have I told you about jumping down the stairs? You're not some half-blood urchin to be dashing about like that. You're a Malfoy, and you'll act like one at all times."
Draco flinched at the demanding tap of his father's cane, and nodded hurriedly, unwilling to jeopardize their outing with an argument. Sometimes he could get away with it, but instinct told him that this was not one of those days.
"Yes, sir." the boy said, doing his best to appear properly contrite as his father's icy gray eyes. Draco quickly smoothed out the few ruffles that had returned to his robe as his father turned sharply on heel and walked briskly through a nearby doorway.
Draco and Narcissa followed suit, and together the three entered a grand room that was elaborately decorated and full of moving portraits, but was largely devoid of any furniture on which to rest oneself. A portrait copy of the very family striding through the room watched their progress, as cold and proud as the day they had been painted.
The far end of the gallery was dominated by a grandly appointed fireplace, and it was towards this that they headed now.
Built of ancient gray stone that had been worn smooth by the ages and generations of Malfoy hands, the fireplace was the center of the original structure that made up their home. Later generations had made the manor the sprawling maze that it was now, but here, no changes had been made, no additions. The ornate carvings in the dark wood of the mantle that Draco had traced countless times were the same today as they had been five-hundred years ago. He knew every magical beast and each graceful curl of ivy by heart.
Next to the fireplace was a stand that carried a silver bowl filled with a familiar green powder. Without pausing, Draco's father dipped his hand into it, strode into the fireplace, and threw the floo powder into the flickering flames harmlessly licking at his spotless shoes. They surged and turned emerald as Lucius said "Globus Mundi," in a commanding tone before vanishing in a roar of magical fire.
Draco took a deep breath, his heart beating loudly in his chest. The flames returned to their subdued size, and his mother placed one hand on his shoulder and nodded at him. Together, they each took a small scoop of the powder and followed Lucius' example. With a hand on Draco's shoulder as he naturally shifted to stand just in front of her, Narcissa gave his shoulder a soft squeeze. As one, they said, "Globus Mundi!" and tossed the powder at their feet, vanishing as the fire roared around them.
Practice and seemingly effortless social grace kept them still and silent as reality twisted and dragged them through countless fireplaces. Draco couldn't help the small, smug smile that tugged at his lips as he and his mother stepped smoothly out of the whirlwind and into a small but tastefully decorated room.
"Welcome, young master Malfoy. Madam," a courteous voice said from their left. A small man bowed to them in welcome. "Master Lucius Malfoy awaits just outside the room."
As he spoke, two house elves appeared and quickly dusted the bottom of their robes and their shoes, adding a quick shine to Draco's. Without waiting for another signal, Draco and his mother exited through the only door. In the next room, Lucius was facing a small, well-dressed man who sported a small moving pin with a spinning globe and the animated words "Globus Mundi, Travel Agency!"
"And now I shall make my leave," Lucius said with a short nod as the door closed behind Draco and Narcissa. The man facing him smiled broadly and swept him a practiced bow as his hand tightened subtly around a small pile of coins that glinted in the light.
They swept down the stairs of the store and onto the street to a chorus of thank-you's from the rest of the agency's attendants. Lucius took a moment to glance up and down the street with his customary sneer for the proverbial 'unwashed masses' that pressed in from all sides, while Draco took in his surroundings with barely-contained eagerness.
"Diagon Alley - truly a disgusting, if necessary, place," he said, slipping on a pair of dragon hide gloves from a deep pocket in his robes. "Come, come, let us get this over with."
Draco swallowed the smile that had been blooming on his face. It was a practiced effort, and a passive expression of vague disdain took its place. Narcissa lead the way into a variety of shops, dictating to nervous store clerks what to fetch for them. As Lucius slipped a variety of golden coins into shopkeepers' hands, a small, cowering house elf dressed only in a pillowcase would appear in a quiet crack, gather up the purchase, and disappear with it.
As they made their way down the over-crowded street once more, Draco trailed behind his father's billowing robes. The crowd bustled around them, but a small margin of space opened up in front of the Malfoy family as they strode along the cobbled alley, closing up only once Draco was safely past. A rowdy and happy family was the first to not notice the Malfoy family, and one of their bunch - a short, round, and rosy woman with a bouncy mop of red hair - turned quickly to grab a young red-headed boy as he attempted to dash alone across the street. She collided with Narcissa in that moment, spilling an armful of potions supplies across the street and down Narcissa's spotless robes.
"Clumsy woman!" Lucius snarled, lifting his cane and snapping out his wand. Narcissa stopped him with a silent wave of one delicate hand, and Lucius glanced down at her, expression still furious. Her own face the picture of lofty pride and quiet derision, Narcissa slipped her wand from her sleeve and made a simple gesture that lifted the questionable array of ingredients from her clothes, and dropped them onto the ground, leaving her robes as pristine as ever..
Snapping his wand back into place, Lucius sneered. "Weasleys. Far too many children, and far too little money." One of the taller children made to move forward, but their mother got to her feet and held out her own hand. She had gathered what dropped supplies she could, and the others she quickly gathered with a swish of her own wand.
"Narcissa, Lucius. Sorry about that," she said simply, the warmth dropping from her expression.
The imposing pair simply looked at her, then strode off without further comment. Draco hurried to catch up, forcing himself not to stare at the gaggle of red heads as they passed.
"Remember, Draco -," Lucius began, disdain dripping from every word, and punctuated by the sharp tap of his cane on the cobbles, "being a traitor to pure-blooded wizardry is possibly the only thing worse than being a Mudblood yourself."
Draco nodded behind him, hanging onto his every word. Narcissa stopped them then in front of Madam Malkins, and turned to Draco.
"She knows our expectations, Draco, so go on and get fitted for your school robes. I am going to look at our options for wands, so I will meet you back here shortly," she said. With a nod to her husband, she disappeared down the street. Draco turned to his father, barely daring to hope.
"I've business to attend to," Lucius said without looking at him. "Finish yours here, then attend the rest of the errands with your mother. I shall see you at home." He nodded briskly with a glance at Draco's neutral expression, then strode off to the darker corners of the wizarding alley.
Taking a deep breath, Draco turned on his heel and walked into Madam Malkin's.
The tiny shop was bustling as several witches in matching robes with 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions' embroidered neatly on the left breast hurried about with neat bundles of fabric and sewing supplies floating behind them. Madam Malkin herself, a large woman dressed completely in mauve, stopped what she was working on when she saw the pale blond boy who had entered her shop.
With a quick murmur to one of her employees, she greeted Draco. "Welcome, young master Malfoy! Here for your robes, I presume?"
"Naturally," he sighed, sounding exasperated. In reality, though, his mind was elsewhere.
"Very good then, very good. The usual top shelf materials, of course. After me, then."
With a sweep of her arm she led him into the neighboring room, which was lined with pinned robes and mirrors, and a window facing Diagon Alley. She politely ushered him onto a raised stand, ignoring his huff at being herded. "My personal assistant here will take care of the pinning while I bring out some trim."
"Yes, yes," Draco replied, mind returning to his father. It was a rare occasion that they all went out together - had he perhaps done something to make his father want to leave? His brow drew downward and he frowned as the assistant handed him a model of the school robe, which he traded for his own. He racked his brain for what might have driven Lucius away. It had been a largely excellent outing, and his father had even cracked the beginnings of a smile when Draco had proven an excellent hand at choosing potions ingredients, and caught a mistake made by the clerk.
Oh, but that incident on the street, with the red headed family - the Weasleys, whom Draco had heard his father list grievances against in the past - they had certainly spoiled his father's mood. Draco scowled at his reflection as he too began a list of complaints he might share with his father when he saw him next. If he was lucky, perhaps he would be home in time for a family dinner.
He heard Madam Malkin bustle in once more, this time talking to another boy. Draco peered around curiously, keeping his body still as the assistant pinned and adjusted his robe, to see that Malkin had already slipped a robe onto the boy. He had a messy mop of black hair, which took Draco aback. Sure, most people were not so well-kempt as he and his family, but Draco had the strong sense that the boy wouldn't have been able to wrangle the unruly tangle into some semblance of control with an entire cauldron full of Sleekeazy's.
"Hello," he ventured. "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," the boy replied as he stepped uneasily onto the other raised platform. Draco studied him closely, trying to get his measure. He didn't recognize him at all, nor could he determine the other boy's class by his wardrobe, so he wasn't precisely sure what social niceties the situation called for. Deciding that it was better to be safe than sorry, Draco aimed for the middle ground. The boy clearly wasn't an equal, but that didn't mean his parents might not be people of relative importance. Satisfied, the boy slipped naturally into his learned social graces, and tried to make conversation.
"My father's next door buying my books," Draco lied, though he was unsure why. He could have easily said that he was off on important business, but some little part of himself twinged at this fact. After all, his father ought to have been there; would have been there, if not for those awful Weasleys.
"And Mother's up the street looking at wands," he continued quickly, "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. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." That part, at least, was true - Nimbus had just released a new model, and he was itching to give it a shot. Surely there was a way to get a broom onto the school grounds - just so he could have a fly around now and then, maybe play a few matches of Quidditch with some team hopefuls and get their measure before try-outs the next year. Bringing himself back to the moment, he added, "Have you got your own broom?"
"No," the boy replied shortly. He seemed to be studying Madam Malkin closely. Draco couldn't blame him entirely, the woman was alarmingly fast with those pins.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," the boy replied again. The boy wasn't giving him much, making it difficult to make conversation, but Draco tried again.
"I do," he said, more than a little proud. He had been playing for years, on his own and on the few occasions that social gatherings with other family's children permitted. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree." He still hadn't decided if he wanted to try for Seeker or Chaser, but he kept that to himself. "Know what House you'll be in yet?"
"No," the other boy said. Draco resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair in frustration. It was a challenge to him now, though - he had to get this kid to say something other than a single word. Etiquette demanded that he make conversation, but this boy certainly wasn't making it easy for him.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been," Draco said proudly. The idea that he might be in any other house was simply one he, nor his parents, had ever entertained. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" he mused, making an attempt at humor in an effort to draw the other boy out of his shell.
"Mmm."
Throwing his hands up mentally, Draco gave up. He had made the attempt, and that was all he could do.
His assistant turned him around then, distracting him from his annoyance, so he now faced the window. He had to catch himself from jumping in shock when the most enormous man he had ever seen pushed his bearded face up against the window and peer in.
"I say, look at that man!" Draco exclaimed with a startled laugh.
"That's Hagrid," the boy replied and grinned at the man who was now pointing towards two ice cream cones he was large enough to hold in one hand.
"Oh, I've heard of him," Draco said, his memory serving him well. He recalled his father mentioning something over dinner the other night when they had been discussing the upcoming term... "He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper," the boy replied, still giving him short answers - but at least more than one word now. Draco frowned at achieving so small a victory.
"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," he replied, remembering still more stories he had caught at one of the parties his parents had brought him to.
"I think he's brilliant," the boy replied with a coolness to his tone that took Draco by surprise.
"Do you," Draco said in disbelief. Because he was a sort of wild man? Or something else? "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" he pressed, brow furrowing as he attempted to make sense of this new piece of information. Surely the boy wasn't the gamekeeper's son? He would have heard about that at the party, certainly. It was simply too absurd.
"They're dead," was the response he got. This time, Draco didn't fault him for being short.
"Oh, sorry," Draco said, suddenly distinctly uncomfortable at the awkward turn the conversation had taken. Dealing gracefully with someone else's personal loss was simply something he had yet to master. "But they were our kind, weren't they?" He asked, suddenly unsure.
"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
Draco nodded then, his hunch confirmed. "I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" he remarked, desperate for a new topic, any topic that didn't involve this boy's dead parents. Normally he wouldn't have been so tactless as to bring up blood politics with an unknown party, but his discomfort had made him desperate.
"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." He really couldn't, either; he rarely ran into any muggleborns - they were not the sort of company his family kept. They were not a very clever or capable bunch, though, from what he had heard. "I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"
Just then, Madam Malkin stood up in a flourish, distracting them both.
"That's you done, my dear," she said, and the boy immediately hopped down and made his way out, seemingly in a hurry.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," Draco drawled, a little annoyed, but mostly relieved that some of the most awkward ten minutes of his life were finally over. Well, the boy probably wasn't from one of the very highly-regarded families anyways. His foot tapped impatiently as the assistant finally finished her pinning, and Madam Malkin showed him the highest quality options for the lining for his winter robes. He chose, then donned the robe he had entered with and made his way back into the main room of the shop. His mother was waiting for him when he entered. She nodded at Madam Malkins, who bowed in return.
"Is everything alright?" his mother asked as they stepped out of the shop, one finely manicured hand brushing over his pale hair. Most people would have said her face was expressionless in that moment, but Draco knew his mother well enough to pick out the concern in her eyes and the tilt of her head. "Malkins treated you well, did she not?"
"I'm fine," the boy replied with a put upon sigh. "Malkins was fine," he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand before continuing "But there was this terrible bore of a boy in the fitting room with me," he complained, deciding not to mention his disappointment in his father's absence. No doubt she already knew, anyways.
"Is that so?" Narcissa mused as they started walking down the street, her initial concerns assuaged.
"Yes," Draco huffed as they turned a corner. Then, as they were approaching Eyelops Owl Emporium, he saw them. "Look, there, that's him now. The scruffy boy with the giant," Draco said, nodding in the appropriate direction, too well versed in manners to be so crass as to actually point.
Not slowing her pace at all, Narcissa turned her head subtly to look just as the dark haired boy turned to smile up at his giant companion.
Malfoy had been expecting some vague amusement from his mother, perhaps a cutting remark on the state of other people's children. What he had not expected was the startled look that crossed her face, or the way she was forced to grab his shoulder for support when she missed her step and nearly tripped.
"Mother?" he asked, concerned. She was normally such a graceful woman; Draco could probably count the number of times he had seen her stumble on one hand.
Narcissa hesitated a moment, then pushed on, pulling her eyes from the strange boy and removing her hand from her son.
"That boy," she finally asked after a moment, during which they passed several shops, including Quality Quidditch Supplies. Draco's curiosity as to the severity of his mother's reaction was enough to distract him from asking to enter, though. "Did he...happen to mention his name? Or his parents?"
Draco shrugged elegantly "Just that they were dead," he replied, then added as an afterthought "And that they were both wizards."
When his mother didn't respond, but remained introspective for a long minute, Draco asked "Do you know who he is?"
Narcissa glanced down at her son, seeming conflicted, which was another uncommon occurrence, before finally answering "I believe...that boy is Harry Potter."
"What?" Draco asked, so surprised by this that he actually glanced back over his shoulder in an attempt to see the boy again, though they were long since out of sight of even the half-giant.
"Don't spin about so, Draco," Narcissa chided him, seeming to find her composure once more. "We'll be getting your wand from Ollivanders," she continued as she began to walk with purpose again, her posture and manner that of a queen once more.
Still thrown by the fact that he had apparently just spoken to the infamous 'boy who lived' - and quite unsure how to feel about it - Draco trailed absently alongside his mother until her words finally registered.
His wand. He was getting his wand today!
Exercising all of his self control to keep from grinning ear to ear, Draco picked up his pace and copied the regal way his mother carried herself, playing the prince to her Queen as the crowd parted just slightly again to allow them to pass.
Ollivander's Wand Emporium was one of the few shops in Diagon Alley that Draco had never entered. As such, he examined the cramped interior of the building with sharp gray eyes that roved over the precarious stacks of wands. Some of them, he noted, looked quite new. Others looked as though they had been there for decades or more, quietly collecting dust as they waited for a master to claim them.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy," said a quiet voice that made Draco nearly jump out of his skin. Once he had recovered from the initial surprise, Draco tilted his head as he realized the man's voice made him think of dusty parchment, for some reason. The old man that watched them from the shadow of one of the many shelves was as quiet as a cat.
"Ollivander," Narcissa replied with a polite nod of her head as the wand maker stepped towards them.
"What can I do for you today?" the man asked with a faint smile as his strange, pale eyes wandered from Draco's mother to Draco himself. "Come for a repair, perhaps?" he continued and glanced back at Narcissa, gaze locked on the sleeve of her robe as though he could feel her wand's presence there. "Rowan and unicorn hair. Nine and three-quarter inches, wasn't it?" Ollivander asked, though he did not give her a chance to reply before continuing. "A very subtle wand, excellent for hexes."
Narcissa did not seem put off by the wand maker's manner, so Draco refrained from speaking for the time being. Still, something about Ollivander raised the pale blond hair along his arms and gave him goosebumps.
"No, my wand is in excellent condition," his mother said, then reached out and placed her hand on Draco's shoulder to gently guide him forward "We are here for Draco, today. He starts school this year."
"Well, is that so? I had rather thought the time was coming up," the old man mused, and for a moment, as Ollivander glanced out the window, Draco got the impression that it was not him he was thinking of. Bringing his attention back the the present, Ollivander smiled his faint smile again and took out a silver tape measure and stepped towards Draco.
The man murmured quietly to himself under his breath as he measured Draco for some time. He was convinced that half the measurements the wand maker took were total nonsense, but when he looked askance at his mother, she motioned for him to stay still.
"Well, young Mr. Malfoy," Ollivander hummed as he pushed himself to his feet after measuring the diameter of Draco's ankle. The boy glanced up to meet his eyes, and was taken aback by the intensity of the other man's gaze. "I think I have just the wand for you."
"Well good, that's rather the point, isn't it," Draco replied, his annoyance getting the better of him. From where she sat on a small, spindly chair in the corner of the cramped room, Narcissa arched an eyebrow at him in warning.
Wincing internally, Draco cleared his throat to speak. Ollivander was already gone, though, having disappeared into the stacks of wands on impossibly quiet feet. Maybe he'd had his shoes charmed.
"Hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches, reasonably springy," Ollivander said as he reappeared. This time he did make Draco jump, though Ollivander made no sign that he noticed as he opened the slender box and held it out to the boy before him.
Draco looked at the wand laid out before him long enough for his mother to say "Go ahead, Draco. Simply take it and give it a wave, there's no need to try any spell in particular."
"Right," the boy said and reached out to grasp the slender piece of wood.
The wand was almost impossibly warm in his fingers as he grasped it, though not uncomfortably so. It was like warming his hands before a fire on a particular cold day; it felt good. Instinctively, Draco brought the wand up with a flourish, and watched as silver light bloomed from the tip, coiling outward like smoke, leaving a glittery trail in the wake of his gesture.
"Oh Draco," Narcissa sighed proudly as she got to her feet and went to his side, smiling almost as broadly as he was as the light faded "Your first try, too," she added, though she seemed more surprised by this than particularly happy.
She glanced at Ollivander in question, but the old man just smiled, and said "On occasion, there are those clients whose wands are more easily found than others. It is neither a good, nor a bad thing. It simply...is."
Draco glanced at the wand in his hand and rolled it gently between his fingertips, relishing the feel of the smooth, polished wood. A wand, his wand. And to have found it so quickly, too! That was something that would definitely go in his journal for posterity's sake. Whatever Ollivander said, surely it had to portend something great...
Narcissa slipped Ollivander a generous pile of golden coins as Draco stared, awestruck, at his new wand. The wand maker took only enough coins to cover the actual cost of the wand, and immediately handed the remainder back to Narcissa. Her thin lips tugged downwards for a brief moment before she shook her head, expression neutral once more.
"Truly, you are a man of tradition," she commented. Despite the words, Draco noticed that her tone was merely one of observation, with no customary hint of thinly veiled disdain to be found. He filed this away for future reference as they departed the store together, leaving the strange, pale eyed old man alone with his wands.
Outside, Draco had to catch himself from running into his mother's back - she had paused on the bottom step, having unexpectedly come face to face with his father.
"Your business has concluded so quickly?" She asked, surprise subtly coloring her tone.
"Nothing of the sort - merely a change in venue," he replied. He looked at Draco, who was still holding his wand. "Draco, it is unacceptable to brandish your wand about in such a manner," he reprimanded. As Draco quickly tucked it into the appropriate place within his robe, Lucius looked more closely at the wand. "But hawthorne - a superior wood for a wand. This is acceptable. Well done, " He said nodded, a short gesture, but Draco's expression lit up as he struggled to maintain a properly respectful expression. Even such meager words of praise as these were like manna from heaven for the boy, and he relished them.
"Yes, sir!" He said, with a short bow, allowing himself a quick smile as he ducked his head.
"Lucius," Narcissa began, brushing one hand along his forearm to catch her husband's attention. When he looked at her, one brow arched elegantly in question, she continued, words heavy with meaning that her son could not decipher. "Draco met the Potter boy in Madam Malkin's by chance today."
His parent's gazes met over the boy's head, and a silent exchange passed between them as Lucius' eyes widened a fraction at this news.
After a moment, Lucius turned to Draco and looked directly at his son with a suddenness that startled him. "Draco, it seems that Harry Potter will indeed be in your class at Hogwarts," he said, tone serious and almost guarded. Draco nodded, hanging on his every word. "It is very important that you befriend him. Do you understand? No matter what," he said, firmly.
"Yes, sir," Draco replied, standing up straight. His father, trusting him with something important-! Why Lucius might want him to befriend the infamous half-blood was a mystery to the boy, but blind faith, and a strong desire to do anything that might earn him his father's place had Draco accepting the task without second thought. "I will make sure to become close with him."
Lucius straightened, and nodded approvingly. "Very good. Then, I shall see you both at home when I am finished here. Good day," he said, and swept away up the busy street, cutting a path through the crowd with the weight of his presence alone.
Narcissa put a hand on Draco's shoulder once again, pulling him from his reverie as he stared after his father. He glanced up at her, eyes bright. She smiled a small smile for her son's sake, though worry, or perhap something else, lurked in her eyes. Draco only caught a brief glance of it, though, before it disappeared behind her carefully maintained mask of control.
"Come," she said "we have a few more errands we must complete. Perhaps if we hurry we will have time to stop by Flortescue's in celebration of your special day," Narcissa continued, a softer smile than her usual transforming her into the renowned beauty she had ever been amongst their social circle.
"Double scoop?" her son asked hopefully, Narcissa's own smile prompting him into a more honest, boyish grin than he often wore.
"Perhaps," the woman replied, arching an amused brow at her son's ambition as she turned and strolled up the street once more with Draco in tow.
Still smiling at the happy turn his day had taken, Draco tucked one hand into the pocket he had placed his wand in, fingers brushing over the smooth length of hawthorn that now rested within.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please do leave a review if you enjoyed. It only takes a moment, and it really means the world to us!