Draco's mother was getting on his last nerve.
"I'm not a child in case you haven't noticed Mother, I'm perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."
Narcissa Malfoy waved her hand dismissively and ignored his griping.
He suddenly hissed as Madam Malkin pricked him yet again.
Threateningly he said, "Watch where you're sticking that pin will you?"
This entire day had proved to be trying for Draco. He didn't have time to be babysat, especially when he needed to pay old Borgin a visit. He stepped up to the mirror to take a look at his new robes. He had to admit they were nice, definitely worth having to endure Madam Malkin's wandering fingers. As he was considering the fit of the robes he glimpsed three figures in the reflection of the mirror. Brilliant. It was just what he needed—the bloody golden trio come to ruin the day. Princess Potter, the hand-me-down and… Theo's little bint.
"If you're wondering what the smell is Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," Draco drawled.
In an instant, Harry and Ron had their wands drawn and trained on him. He bit the inside of his cheek. My, my, quite the fan club she has. He was also somewhat aware that Madam Malkin was fretting but Draco became distracted by Granger's black eye. He didn't think Nott would find her so pretty now, especially not with that thing.
"Don't, honestly, it's not worth it," he heard her whisper to Potter and Weasley.
"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," Draco scoffed. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."
"That's quite enough!" shrieked Madam Malkin. By Merlin, the woman's voice grated on his ears like a banshee. "Madam, please!" Wonderful, bloody well bring my mother into this, not like she coddles me enough.
Draco frowned at the scene before him, growing angrier within the seconds of it unfolding.
"So why not have a go?" Potter quipped. "They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"
Draco was seething. He lunged forward but stumbled over his new robes. Weasley started laughing.
"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" he snarled, one snide comment away from hexing the both of them.
"It's all right, Draco," said his mother, holding him back by his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius." Draco could tell Potter was itching to hex her. It was Granger, of course, that restrained him. Merlin forbid Weasley to ever be the one to keep a cool head. They stared at each other, incensed, when Madam Malkin, the crazy harpy, tried rolling Draco's left sleeve up.
"Ouch!" He bellowed. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother, I don't think I want these anymore."
Luckily, he'd pulled away in time but wasn't about to stick around for her to try again. He tugged the robes over his head as fast as he could, tossing them to the ground to lie in a heap. He started to leave, shouldering Weasley on his way out, his cheeks still burning with embarrassment at being laughed at by the likes of him. He held the door open for his mother and was surprised to hear the contempt behind her parting words to Granger.
"Now I know the kind of scum that shops here," she derided. He couldn't help glancing back at the Gryffindor, stoic as ever, before following his mother out.
After a few minutes of walking in silence toward Twilfitt and Tatting's his mother abruptly stopped.
"What?" he asked, wondering whether she'd forgotten something at Madam Malkins.
"Son," she began seriously. "You needn't stoop to their level. It's inappropriate for a boy of your stature to even speak to these people."
"He insulted you, insulted father and that redheaded moron –"
"It's not Potter or Weasley of whom I speak of, it's the Mudblood."
"If I ever speak to her, it's only to insult her—"
"You're not to give her any more… special attention." Narcissa said severely. "Is that understood?"
Draco stood on the streets of Diagon Alley stunned. He was mortified as to what she was implying. She may as well have cast a Petrificus Totalus on him.
"She's the same one you always speak of, isn't she? The one who scored perfect marks on her O.W.L's, a Gryffindor Prefect … the one who struck you?"
"Mother," Draco choked. "I loathe her with every fiber of my being."
Narcissa's expression grew weary at the intensity of the declaration. She raised her hand and gently stroked her son's cheek.
"Yes, my darling, that's what worries me so," she sighed.
Draco's jaw clenched in anger. He was desperately trying to remain composed but the very idea of what she was insinuating sickened him. He took a deep breath and looked at her resolutely.
"I have an important errand to run, I'll return to the manor as soon as I'm done."
After placing a kiss on his mother's cheek he walked off in the direction of Borgin and Burkes. He had more important things to dwell on than his mother's mad musings on Hermione-Bloody-Granger.
Harry seemed nothing but obsessed with Draco Malfoy.
"Yes, I've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," Hermione huffed with exasperation. She was growing impatient of having the same conversation over and over again. She couldn't seem to find a moment's peace to read.
She'd been sitting on the window sill for no less than a minute with her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation when Harry had brought the subject up yet again. Hermione tried concentrating on the book in vain, constantly distracted by Harry's repetitive scrutiny of what they'd witnessed at Borgin and Burkes. She became apprehensive when Harry took it a step further and accused him of having taken the Dark Mark.
She toyed with the possibility of it being true but couldn't fathom the idea that an arrogant prat like Malfoy would be recruited as a Death Eater. Following that logic, why not Nott, or Crabbe, or Goyle? Hermione began to mull the events over. They'd run into Malfoy at Madam Malkins while she was sporting a black eye, which he had made fun of, no less, thank you, Fred and George, for your Nobel winning prize invention of the boxing telescope. Honestly! Things seemed to have escalated fast, especially when Mrs. Malfoy had emerged from behind a clothes rack. It was so fascinating how physically alike they looked. If she'd still been studying biology she'd be interested in identifying the genetic coding... Perhaps if I could get my hands on a strand of his hair… Hermione shook her head. Anyway. Then Mrs. Malfoy and Harry were having it out and for a moment she thought she'd seen Malfoy cringe as his mother threatened to kill them. Then there was the spying-on-him part, which she wasn't entirely proud of, followed by the terrifically bad idea of going into Borgin and Burkes with that awfully unconvincing cover story.
Still… he had blatantly threatened Mr. Borgin, warning him of his 'close friendship' with a sociopathic and murderous werewolf. Frankly, she couldn't even imagine Malfoy playing tea-party with a monster like Fenrir Greyback. She bit her lip making random guesses as to what it was he so desperately needed to fix. All these questions rattled around left unanswered... and there lied the enigma of Draco Malfoy.
After going back and forth over everything, she came to the conclusion that she could only be certain of one thing.
Narcissa Malfoy truly did love her son.
Draco was seated in between Theo and Pansy at the Slytherin table amidst the ruckus of the start of term feast. He couldn't believe the nerve of Potter, trying to spy on him like that. He smirked in amusement remembering how he'd left the Boy-who-wouldn't-die. His smile turned though when he caught Blaise talking animatedly to Pansy. And Zabini. Too smart for his own good, should learn to keep his mouth shut. Draco wished he could be rid of them both. Potter and Zabini. Might as well add Crabbe and Goyle to the list. They hadn't stopped gaping at him since the train ride. He probably shouldn't have said anything, especially with Potter's new interest in espionage. He'd have to be more careful from now on.
He was picking at his food, when he looked up and saw Potter walk down the Great Hall, his face covered in blood. Why in Merlin's name wasn't he back in London?
He sat down next to Granger who, in a matter of seconds, had cleaned his face with the flick of her wand. Draco clenched his teeth. The Mudblood seemed to know just about every bloody spell. He wondered whether perhaps Potter had only managed to survive so long because of her competence—though he'd never admit to anyone that he thought Granger was a competent witch. More than competent, actually. He glared as he watched her wince with concern for the wellbeing of her precious Potter. Draco began to grin malevolently as an idea came to him.
"Pansy," he smirked, drawing her attention away from Blaise. "Guess who I bumped into on the train."
She turned toward him but it was Crabbe who asked eagerly, "Who?"
He went on to tell the surrounding Slytherins what he'd done and was glad to see that, at least, if not anything, Potter's idiocy could never fail to elicit a laugh.
