Draco at Malkin's
Draco had worked hard to make sure that he knew his parents' wishes; especially his father's wishes regarding his clothes. He knew them well enough that no unfortunate misunderstandings should occur. And he'd taken notes, and rearranged them in a logical progression. And copied them out in his own hand, so there would be no confusion on the part of the seamstresses about which notes were his own wishes and which requirements were his fathers.
At home all three of them had negotiated all of them, and Draco was properly acting as his own agent representing the interests of the family.
Because, after all, how he looked in front of the public reflected on the family just as much if he had a hand in it as if he didn't.
It had started out as a bit of a homework assignment, but Draco had taken it much farther. And his parents had let him.
...
And it wasn't as if he'd never gone with them to buy custom tailored clothes before. He knew what needed to happen. He knew what sort of schedule everything ought to take. He'd even known most of the terms describing the design and construction of clothes that would be needed, even before he'd even begun.
...
And now here he was, being measured by one of Madam Malkin assistants, while Madam Malkin herself examined his notes and asked him questions to verify that she understood what he'd written.
And so far she'd mostly made appreciative noises and approving nods.
It was a heady feeling, realising that the extra homework you did is already paying off, and will continue.
Actually, the thing she'd done the most of while reading his notes, was making notes of her own, and measurement charts. The measurement charts she passed on to the shop girl who was tending the measuring tapes that were wound around him in all of the usual places, and a few he hadn't remembered being needed before.
...
The bell rang as a small party trooped in, Draco had tried to place himself where he'd be able to see the door, without being in immediate evidence. It had only sort of worked. And of course the shop girl had felt free to direct him to stand any way she pleased. And then ordered him not to move, not even his head.
So from the corner of his eye he could see the heads of three adults: a dark-skinned blond in green, a dark-skinned black-haired woman in a muted orange, and a light skinned, black haired man in a black robe.
They talked in lowered voices, casting eyes to the left of the door. To all appearances keeping their eyes on things moving among the mommets and fashion samples.
He tried to twist his eyes to that side without turning his head or ruining his posture.
...
Gradually they made their way deeper into the shop and he caught glimpses of what they were wearing, and of the children wandering among the racks and samples. Fairly unusual clothing, perhaps muggles. Or perhaps they were disguised as muggles, or thought they were. Their disguises weren't very good, at least not as far as he was aware of muggle fashion. Conversely their costumes seemed too well put together for something thrown together last moment because the floo was down, or whatever had forced them to try to pass for muggles. Perhaps they weren't tourists from the continent.
...
The child in auror's-red, and fancy white boots intermittently squealed in excitement over all the fashion samples or the fabric samples or even the colours.
The one in grey shadowed her. Draco's first impressions was 'Bodyguard!' He'd seen the way his father's bodyguards flanked him. And he'd seen others practising to do the same.
But this girl, for now he could see that all three of them had their hair up in a most becoming manner, had pockets that bulged with books and notepads. A personal assistant then? Were they child actresses?
A personal assistant would be so much more useful than a bodyguard. But if he asked for one, or more likely hinted at the possibility as subtly as he could manage, his father would only sneer and ask him how his perfect recall exercises were progressing.
Because after all, the fewer people who knew your secrets, the less it would spread. The fewer people who needed to know a plan, the less chance of your rivals of hearing about it too soon. The fewer people who knew your schedule, the less chance of an ambush.
The focus of the three adults suddenly turned inward, and they seemed to be negotiating something in low tones. And the mannerism of the man with black hair reminded Draco of his godfather, Uncle Severus. He almost turned his head so he could check properly instead of this straining his eyes toward the edge of their range.
The last girl noticed the change also, and stood on her toes to see above the racks and glance around the whole shop. Noticing him, and Madam Malkin.
She seemed independent of the other two, or he was making an assumption based on her skin colour. Nor did she seem much inclined to wait upon the direction of the adults. Perhaps even taking over the guard roll when their attention was pulled inward? Was she trusted to be her own agent then, just like Draco? Or at least confident that she should be. Perhaps she was taking their temporary distraction as a chance to act while unsupervised.
...
She turned and came his way, stopping about a yard away, watching the measuring process with interest.
Was she judging how much longer before she could get assistance, or … was it her first time here?
"Watch out, dear," said the shop girl and scuttled sideways, intent on her work.
"No problem," said the girl in blue, backing up a step, then returning to her place as soon as the shop girl had moved around to Draco's side.
It was an angle that gave her a better view of the size chart that the assistant was filling in.
She took a long time to examine it.
So she knew something about clothes also? Perhaps even a more detailed knowledge than the girl in white boots was giving evidence of.
Finally she lost interest and glanced over Draco and seemed about to look away when something arrested her gaze and she stepped closer. And far enough to the side that she was sliding out of his field of vision. Under what circumstances would his profile be more interesting than his expression or his attention?
"I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage," said Draco.
"How so?" she said.
"You can look me over all you like, but I can't properly turn my head to the side to return the favour."
"Ah," she stepped to the side with a single graceful motion that was half pirouette and half curtsy. Placing herself directly in front of him.
"You smirk like my Godfather," he told her.
"You have my uncle's chin, well not chin exactly, the way your cheek muscles attach to your jaw. Are you descended from the House of Black? And perhaps with some Veela ancestry somewhere?"
"The French is from my father's side. And my mother's maiden name was Black," he said, "so are we cousins?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not," she said, "He was not my mother's brother, but her sister's husband. If we are true cousins it's from farther back."
"Ah," he said, and let his eyes wander down, under her arm she held a wand box, and in her hand she clutched what was probably the wand in question. She clutched it like it was the handle of her favourite broom.
"First wand?" he said.
"Yes," she said proudly, and grinned.
Definitely new today. He remembered the feeling when he first held a wand that was actually right for him. Ollivander had scolded halfheartedly that he'd been allowed to try to learn on a legacy wand. Draco could imagine any number of reasons why the wand maker might have been scolding, and twice as many why Draco ought to be thankful that he'd not pressed his impudence much farther.
His eyes strayed to the box again and the end facing him, "Chimera tail sinew," proclaimed the label. "128 galleons" said the price tag. He'd only heard of a Chimera sinew wand in an old catalogue he'd found in a pile of rubbish while exploring one of the outbuildings of the summer chalet, apparently there was a mildly infamous foreign villain who'd settled in that part of France several hundred years before. The advertisement seemed to hint that such a wand would be more of interest as a piece of history or a collector's item than as a normal person's wand. Which could be a veiled hint at dark possibilities and with a ready made alibi provided, in case you felt the need to have one crafted before you purchased such a thing.
128 galleons was enough to pay for half the dress robes he'd be ordering today.
And she (or her family) had paid that much for just a wand.
His eyes flicked over her whole outfit. Or as much as he could see without moving his head.
He couldn't place her cloak over dress combination. The exuberant use of bright colour felt normal enough, but something was off.
Or she just brought her fashion advice from a different part of the continent than his family generally frequented.
"Alright, done with that one," said the shop girl while climbing to her feet and pulling the measuring robe away.
Draco relaxed in relief, and wiggled the flexibility back into his limbs.
When he was free he took a half step forward and presented his hand, "I'm Draco Malfoy," he said.
She shook solemnly, "Pleased to meet you Mr. Malfoy. My name is Harriet Matirni."
"Miss Matirni, is that Italian?"
She shook her head, "Slovenian I think, I believe it's an archaic brewing term. Dad's family has been brewers and healers for generations."
Draco was distracted from answering while the shop girl threw a smock over him that was meant for measuring kimonos and similar sorts of jackets.
When his face was free and he realised that he had nothing to say about Slovenia, he went with, "Your English is Impeccable." He sounded like a dolt.
"It should be, my mother is from Weston-super-Mare."
"Where?"
"Near Bristol."
"Oh," he said, "but …" now he sounded like a super dolt. She didn't seem to mind.
"Grand-Da saw Mum's potions work and thought someone so accomplished so young ought be folded into the family before anything resembling competition sprang up. So he told his sons as much and they drew straws for first right to court, and," she shrugged, "she turned down one for caring more about runes than about potions. And another for caring more about … charms, so she was left with the one who … well Da pretends he's only an apothecary, but he's taught me almost as much about brewing as Mum did, and he reads a lot about alchemy when he's not busy with other things."
Draco was impressed, some adults wouldn't have told their children that much about their courtships, or arranged marriages, and that sounded like it were an odd mix of the two extremes. Though most children who knew didn't just blurt it out…
Which implied someone thought she had a head for breeding calculations or political planning, though perhaps she needed a bit more training to know what to share and with whom. He didn't know exactly how and who had selected his parents to meet each other with possible courtship in mind, but they hadn't been idiots, the history of their accomplishments together was proof enough of that.
"What did you say your Mother's family was called?"
"You wouldn't have heard of it," said Harriet, "It only passes by the female line, when the mother dies without female issue odd things happen."
"How odd," said Draco.
"I'm not sure I understand well enough to explain."
"Try?"
"Last time it happened," said Harriet, "was Harry Potter."
"So this family magic we're talking about … you're related to Lily Potter in your maternal line?"
"My Aunt."
Therefore the late Lord Potter was her uncle and his mother had been Dorea Black. So she was right about that, but what about… "I thought she was a muggle born."
"No way," said Harriet, "the line is magic users for generations, though we're not always wand users. But the potions and other family magic passes on just fine. My godfather …"
Severus Snape cleared his throat.
She looked up, "Hello Professor Snape," she said, "My friend Draco Malfoy." She turned back, "Mr. Malfoy, My godfather, The potions professor at Hogwarts."
"We've met," said Draco, drinking in his godfather's sneer.
"Quite," said Severus, "Draco, Is your father nearby?"
It had been long enough he would be done at Bourgin & Burk's. "He should be at the apothecary's across the street."
"Thank you," he said, "Harriet, will you mind the senior Patils as needed, and more importantly Madam Malkin, and refrain from leading her astray into selling you robes made of acromantula silk or basilisk armour or anything else that will cost eleven times what a set of Hogwarts robes should cost?"
Harriet stared at him.
"If you think this sentiment is unreasonable, let me remind you that you are eleven and likely to be up to a foot taller by the time you finish your second year and even stretching charms have their limit."
"Yes, I can remember," said Harriet.
"Good," he said, "I'll return within the hour. I hope that neither I nor any of the rest of the party will be forced to wait too long." He strode away.
"Does he always get like that when he's in a hurry?" she sighed.
Draco was confused, "He's your godfather."
She sighed again, "Sometimes I'm not certain if he likes me, or if he just likes to admire how much better a godchild I am than either of my brothers, who he just as easily might have been offered."
And Draco was absolutely convinced that his godfather did not approve of Vincent or Gregory.
"Never mind that," said Draco, "What were you saying earlier?"
"I don't remember."
"Are you going to introduce me to your … the rest of your party?"
"Those are the Patil twins, Padma in grey, and Parvati in red. Their mother Rajeeta is in the sari and their father Paul is in the green riding clothes."
"Do you know their blood status?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means … do they need pure bloods to sponsor them into the community."
"I'm not entirely sure what that would mean, nor whether they would see the need, nor whether they'd be allowed to accept the alliance if it weren't from … their caste, they have to be very picky about the oddest things."
"Hindu?" said Draco.
Miss Matirni nodded.
"Ah, I see," said Draco, "I have no idea how things are done in India. Here in Britain, pure blood is the caste with the responsibility of welcoming the muggleborn into the community. Half blood is the middle caste. To become pure blood they must fulfil certain requirements both regarding knowing their ancestry, and regarding keeping enough gold in reserve in case they are called upon to sponsor a muggleborn, that part is all rather complicated, but the everyday aspects boil down to some fairly simple rules of etiquette. Certain forms of respectful address to the castes higher than your own. Certain forms of concern for castes lower than your own. Speaking of which, do you know how your schooling is being paid for?"
"Yes."
"Do you know which house is covering your tuition?"
"Yes," she didn't seem ready to talk about it. It was in fact none of his business. As long as she her parents hadn't been rude enough to refuse any help, and especially any tuition offered. It would be incredibly unfair to be reckoned a mudblood for your parent's lack of manners instead of your own.
"Good," he said, "your line is a client line of that house until their help is no longer necessary."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning that house could be responsible to pay for the tuition of all your children for four generations, or until all your descendants are married into pure-blood lines, or until they are obviously wealthy enough that no assistance is necessary. They are also responsible to provide other forms of mentoring that perhaps are more important than tuition. Speaking of, are you going to Hogwarts, or somewhere on the continent."
"Hogwarts," she said.
"Excellent," Draco said, "Me too."
"Hypothetically speaking," she said, "suppose the pure-blood line who sponsored me to Hogwarts, wasn't able to provide the mentoring you spoke of?"
A sick feeling clenched around Draco's stomach. "That's not supposed to happen," he said, "There should always be enough relatives to provide the training you need. Being assigned mentors from other client lines is even allowed."
"How close do the relatives have to be?"
Draco shrugged, "I'm not sure it's specified, even if no connection exists, families trade favours all the time, or even hire tutors, though that is less common, in order to keep their own obligations covered, and their standing honourable."
She nodded, "When … when we asked, and when he donated my tuition I'm not sure he knew all that."
"Not sure who knew all that," said Draco, "You mean your sponsor sponsored you without knowing what was involved?"
"I'm afraid he might have," said the girl, half thoughtful, half forlorn, "his parents died, there's probably a lot that he hasn't been taught."
Draco had the split vision of talking to a heathen savage who might start spewing blasphemies at any moment, or perhaps just had. And of watching an orphan mourning the loss of another orphan's parents rather than her own. Except it wasn't parents she was missing but certain other opportunities.
He wanted to save her quick before anything happened to her, quick before anyone else realised she was an uneducated savage and got the wrong impression about why she might be uneducated.
If she had the breeding of a pure blood, but not the history inside the magical world, or at least not the background of Wizarding Britain to act civilised…
He ached to give her a chance.
And he was painfully aware that he couldn't officially do much without his father's approval. And he wasn't sure how much his father could do for her if she already had an incomplete sponsorship blocking him from offering her a real sponsorship. And his father almost certainly wouldn't approve without establishing what was going on with the other uneducated person who had the wherewithal to pay her tuition but not to tutor her about the culture she was about to enter. But even without his father, surely he could give her hints, point her to books she should read, such as the ones his father had given him to revise from, the other older books that his mother made him read. She might need help paying for some of them… He glanced at her wand box, somewhere there was money, and a will to use it on necessities. And those books were more necessary than a fancy wand. And a fancy wand … especially if it suited her as well as her caressing indicated, was much more necessary than fancy silk pyjamas that no one would see because he was getting his own room, because he was a child of a member of the board of governors and that meant special privileges. Though Draco had the feeling it might be so that normal pupils never figured out that the children of members of the board of governors were humans too, as if that would work for very long.
But more to the point, which house had the wherewithal to be offering scholarships? And without knowing that they needed to negotiate and honour proper contracts for sponsorship of client lines.
It might be a terribly one-sided trade of information, and she might not be trained to negotiate trades of information. So would it be most honourable if he negotiated with himself on her behalf? Or had he gotten mixed up with different levels of meta-thinking.
No, but it did sound like sort of the right thing to do.
Basically he promised himself that he'd give her the information she needed if she gave him a specific amount of information in return…
Yes, that would work. And if she gave more, that would just go toward paying for the next piece of information she might need from him.
"Who did you say your sponsor is?" he said, trying to keep a casual tone.
"Well after you explained all that," she said, "I'm not sure if he counts as a sponsor."
"Point," said Draco, "perhaps you should write him and try to get a clarification, or perhaps your parents know even if his guardians don't." There were after all, many houses that had lost many members in the last war. There might even be semi-wealthy client lines offering each other scholarships as well as raising the lordlings of their sponsor houses because the sponsors had taken so many casualties.
She wasn't budging, or maybe she was negotiating without telling him that she knew they were negotiating?
So an equally subtle response? "I want to give you the titles of some books. I highly recommend you read them before you start school, perhaps you should also make sure your sponsor gets the information as well."
"Oh," she said, "yeah." A wistful look. That wasn't the look of disgust at the idea of additional homework, so…
"I'd even offer to give you the gold to buy them."
She frowned.
"He gave me access to a kid's trust vault account thingy, for buying school supplies," she said, "are these the sorts of books that I could properly spend school supply money on?"
"Yes, definitely," he said, "If you actually read them, well not just read, but actually take and revise notes from them, and learn how to use them to negotiate properly for your line and as a honourable client for your sponsor. That could count for about two thirds of the mentoring he's supposed to provide you with."
"Oh," she smirked, "so if I buy them he should be like, thanking me, for buying them with his money instead of my own?"
Draco grinned, "Exactly, Who did you say your sponsor was?" It's not like he couldn't compile a long list of 50 families once he got home. Perhaps he could shorten it to perhaps ten, if he could get accurate information about her family, and so far he only had her last name, Matirni, and the knowledge that her mother was the sister of Harry Potter's mother.
Wait.
She was still reluctant to say, though she remained silent as if she'd run out of ways to dodge the question. And if that was the answer he'd be either be capitalising on it like crazy or he'd be entirely reluctant to claim it in front of strangers.
He was a little sad that he might still count as a stranger to her. Still he had a guess that he'd almost be willing to put money on. And if he were wrong, … telling a lie that would be very easy to contradict was also sometimes useful interrogation trick…
"Oh, I see," he said, "I bet it was your cousin who started sponsoring you by accident."
She looked confused for a split second, then surprised.
"And he probably doesn't actually want you to be telling anyone that you've met him, let alone hint that if you get into certain kinds of trouble, the great Harry Potter might come and bail you out."
Her surprise solidified, "How did you know?"
He shrugged, "You told me enough to figure it out, I thought I was pathetically slow." She hadn't really, she'd told enough that his father might have been able to figure it out, or Blaise, he had to introduce her to Blaise and get him on her side.
She looked properly alarmed. Perhaps it would stand for a lesson in discretion.
"If you prefer," he said, "when you must confess of a passing understanding of House Black or House Potter, don't bother to claim a connection to them. It keeps people guessing if you at most tell how you know but never why you cared. And if someone tries to pin you down, you can mention an acquaintance in any of the pure blood houses, and hint that you saw pictures or genealogies while visiting. Then they can worry themselves sick about why Draco Malfoy was boring a poor witch to death with old genealogies, rather than let them do several quick calculations and say, 'Ah, that Matirni girl is the cousin of Heir Potter, do you suppose he'd pay ransom for her?' or 'send her a howler on our behalf' or whatever their game is."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"Alright, I'm back," said the shop girl, "Arm's up let's get this off you."
Draco complied,
"I'll be right back," she said and turned toward the back room.
Two other shop girls bustled in, one still smacking her lips and running her tongue over her teeth. So that's where they'd been. It was a bit early for lunch, but perhaps they expected a certain percentage of clientele who could only get away to shop over lunch. He'd thought this were a better sort of shop than that, but perhaps Father had generaly brought him earlier in the day.
They went over to Madam Malkin to report in and receive instruction which of the customers to help first.
Madam Malkin glanced at Draco and his conversation partner, before leading them over to the woman who seemed to be the sole adult still present from the original party. A moment later they were converging on the two olive skinned girls trying on the dress robes that Draco was sure only Regent Longbottom could properly pull off.
Or to be exact, the one in the red outfit was standing on a stool and trying on robes, and the one in grey was alternately helping, or standing back to admire or critique.
"Do you have something to write on?" said Draco.
"I've got a pen," she said.
Draco frowned and contemplated the contents of his pocket for a moment before snatching up the shop girl's notepad from the floor and flipping open to remove a blank sheet from near the end.
When he looked up she had put her wand back in its box and had brought a muggle style pen out from somewhere.
"Do you use that for everything?" he said cautiously. He'd heard his father complain about muggleborn and muggle style writing implements more than once.
"Everything except for rune work," she said as if he were stupid.
That was interesting. And implied all sorts of things about what her half-muggle family might have been teaching her while his family had tutored him in etiquette and the duties of a pureblood heir.
The fact that a quarter of what Mum believed was at odds with what Da believed, made things odd, but it was always possible to err on the side of politeness.
"Should be fine for taking notes then," he said, "You want 'The House of Honour,' and 'In Magic's Debt,' and 'The Pureblood Way.' if you finish those and want to try a different perspective that comes out to the same philosophy but requires you to give people the benefit of the doubt in a different set of ways, try: 'Family First and Magic Follows,'"
She'd given up trying to use her hand for a desk and sat on the floor to use her wand box for a desk.
She repeated the list and he repeated himself until she had all four titles right.
"Only Pureblood Way and Family First should cost very much. Family First has been out of print for a while, it's closer to the way the House of Black believed, but…" he stopped.
Madam Malkin seemed to have gotten the other two shop girls safely ensconced with the other two customers and come over to claim the attention of a customer who could so thoroughly monopolise the attention of the scion of Malfoy. Of course, one must somehow reckon the fact that the scion of Malfoy had been metaphorically anchored in one spot, and welcomed the distraction.
"Pardon me, miss…" said Madam Malkin.
"Hi," Miss Matirni obviously took that as a greeting, not as a greeting and a hint to introduce herself.
Draco performed the needful.
"Madam Malkin, this is Harriet Matirni. Miss Matirni, this is Madam Malkin."
Matirni beamed and held out her hand.
Oh, but she needed an etiquette tutor so much!
Malkin beamed back and had the grace to take the offered hand before curtsying over it. She seemed to think Matirni cute, so that was alright.
"So, are you headed to Hogwarts also?" said Madam Malkin.
Belatedly, Matirni curtsied back. "Yes, Ma'am." She did it very well, but with a twinkle in her eye that didn't match performing a courtesy. She thought she was play acting and was amused by the part.
"Will you be wanting anything besides standard uniform robes?"
Matirni frowned and turned to Draco, "what sorts of play clothes will be permitted during free hours, or… anything like that?"
Draco could halfway guess the answer to that question from his shopping list. But that would be the answer for the male half of the pupils. He didn't have a clue otherwise.
If only he'd been a second year when she'd asked that he could have been much more helpful.
Luckily Malkin knew.
Of course, Malkin knew. And she led her around and showed her various things.
Hopefully Matirni would be able to follow her godfather's advice about not buying that which wasn't intended to be on the shopping list…
What was the deal with the wand?
The wand that had been left behind on the floor with a piece of paper and a pen.
Draco was sorely tempted to pick up the whole pile and shove it in his pocket, and find some subtle way to pass it to his godfather.
But it wasn't really his place to decide which lessons Uncle Snape ought to be teaching the girl.
What was their connection called anyway. He'd heard of 'god-brothers' or 'god-sisters' and he thought that meant from a godchild to its godparent's birth children. But if they shared a godparent, did that make them god-siblings also, or were they more like god-cousins?
...
The shop girl came out again and held out a set of measuring trousers, "Put these on in the changing room over there," she said, "and we'll be able to finish up."
Draco glanced again at the pile of things left on the floor.
The shop girl seemed to get the idea, "I'll be standing right here and watch her things for you, just go change."
"Thanks," he said, and hurried off.
As soon as he had the door closed behind him, he knew that had been the easy out and not the correct choice, but he was stuck with the decision now, and might as well finish as quickly so as to resume his post as soon as possible.
When he returned she had moved the paper and pen to a nearby shelf and was holding the box in her hands looking very thoughtful.
"What are you thinking to make your face look like that?" he said.
"I knew a girl once," she said, "Her wand was also chimera tail sinew, had some odd properties. I was just wondering what Ollivander knows about your friend, and how much he would say aloud."
"No doubt he would say much less than he knows," said Draco and held out his hands, "Do you mind?"
She handed the box over and he put it on the shelf with the paper and pen. He was careful to handle it just a bit roughly, so he could feel the slide and rattle from inside the box, to assure himself that there was still a wand inside. He didn't open it to check if it was the right wand, he hadn't actually paid enough attention to be sure he could identify it. His father would reprimand him for that. He though Draco ought to be able to observe everything at the same time and recall it perfectly at a moment's notice. Perhaps someday he would be able to.
She started to kneel down again, then frowned, "I say!" she said, "Accio stool, accio cushion."
When she was satisfied with their placement she motioned him on top of the first and she sat on the second.
...
She was just straightening up when Draco saw his father and godfather and the other man in green crossing the street toward the door. It took them not a moment after they were inside to notice Draco.
The other man had eyes only for his wife and daughters. At least he seemed to take no more notice of Matirni than he did of Draco, and Draco made the easiest assumption.
"Hello father," said Draco, with a nod so small that instead of seeming like it were an insult for not being bigger it would be an admission of helplessness for being in the grip of a seamstress. "Hello…" he faltered, he'd been instructed not a week ago, but … he recovered quickly, "Professor Snape."
Professor Snape gave a minimal nod, and a minimal sneer: grudging approval.
...
"Father, we may have a problem, it's a little hard for me to calculate properly."
"What sort of problem?" said Lucius.
"My god-cousin over there," Draco nodded his head sideways, "in the blue robes, seems to have been accidentally, halfway sponsored by a second or third cousin of mine on Mum's side. I don't quite trust my memory of that part of her family tree. But according to what she's said, he may not realise that he's bumbling his way into sponsoring her, and to her knowledge he has not negotiated in good faith about mentioning his house's ongoing obligations, nor has he been upfront about the obligations that will devolve on her as a client line, because he doesn't realise that such things exist, because he lost both parents in the last war and has not been raised to know his house's obligations as a pure blood line."
"Who," said Lucius, "if he becomes a blood traitor out of ignorance, the mountains of dishonour that ought to be assigned to the parties responsible…" Lucius shuddered, theatrically.
"I have no idea who oversaw that portion of the fiasco," said Draco, well the dark lord oversaw the beginning, but there were any number interested parties who might have been responsible for gaining access to the newly orphaned Harry Potter and spiriting him away to wherever he was being so incompletely educated, "I thought that giving her a list of books she could read that would inform her of the things he ought to have provided mentors to explain, might provide a major alleviation to my honour, and if she buys them on his credit, it might go that much further for atoning his own. I also think there should be at least one book of standard etiquette, but I wasn't sure which title to suggest, I wasn't even sure if the best book for a girl would be one that I'd even seen." Draco risked the ire of the seamstress's apprentice and pointed to the pile of things on the shelf, Professor Snape snatched them up and after glancing over the list passed it to Father.
"Reasonable, reasonable," said Father nodding, "What are your thoughts Severus."
"As to etiquette books for young women, I'd have to ask around. As far as the sponsorship questions. I'm … something of an old friend of the family," said Professor Snape, "I'm beginning to think that when the family named me godfather, they were begging for me to sponsor the child, without explaining that to me, or realising that I don't have the required status. They might have also known the child was a witch and never bothered to mention it to me. I only became aware when I was semi-randomly assigned her name as a muggleborn that needed to be shown where and how to buy her school supplies."
Lucius nodded, "Do either of these unfortunate souls have names?"
"She's Harriet Matirni," said Draco, "I'd rather not state in public the name of her cousin who paid her scholarship without sponsoring her properly."
"This list is good," said Lucius glancing at it again, your mother would be pleased that you've included Family First. Especially if we're taking up this responsibility through the Black side of the family."
"When I tell you his name," said Draco, "either of you might know an additional book or two that might better set fourth the traditional perspective of his house."
They both shrugged and nodded.
Then Professor Snape tensed, his mask dropped over his face, "I commend you for choosing to not speak his name in public."
Lucius's head snapped up and both Malfoys stared at Professor Snape.
"I wouldn't worry about his house's perspective," said Professor Snape, "There were times I thought the previous lord more a blood traitor than a pure blood." Then he shrugged, "And though she was considered a muggleborn, As far back as I've seen the genealogy, it's squibs and sensitives all the way. When they manage to breed a full witch or wizard, they still need introductions and mentoring to join the wizarding community, but as a family they don't really need anyone to go specially out of their way to introduce them to magic."
"Enough of this," said Lucius, "Let's go find lunch." Then he looked around, "I don't suppose your party would join us."
"My party," said Snape with distaste, "will be eating vegetarian or vegan unless I very much miss my guess, I'm just not sure which, or where."
Lucius glanced around, then muttered, "The quaint little Tibetan dive just beyond Knockturn?"
Professor Snape looked suddenly relieved, "That might work, let me discuss it with the others."
They both nodded at each other and Professor Snape stalked away in the direction of the other adults.
"Alright child," said the shop girl, "Hop down and change into your own clothes."
"Alright," Draco said.
...
When he returned the stool and cushion were gone, the girl was flipping through her notes, making sure she had filled in all the measurements that Madam Malkin had asked for.
After several moments she said she was done. Lucius turned toward the door, and held out his hand toward Draco.
{End Chapter 4}
