Chapter 3: Hawthorn and Unicorn
Draco saw the boy again when he left Flourish and Blotts with his father. He sat with Hagrid on a bench in the middle of the street, eating an ice cream cone. Nose wrinkled anew with annoyance, Draco made sure to walk so that his father was directly between them.
Mum still waited for them at Ollivander's. The two of them chatted, stilting when Father pushed the shop door open. Mum's eyes crinkled with her smile when her gaze darted down to the mauve bags Draco carried.
"How did that go?" she asked.
"Fine."
Mum smoothed a hand over Draco's hair. "Why are you so grumpy?"
Draco just shrugged. He was spared Mum pushing the subject by Mr Ollivander coming around the counter. The way his eyes shone in the dim shop made Draco think they were capable of casting Lighting Charms.
"Hello, young Mr Malfoy," Mr Ollivander greeted Draco with a hand extended. Somewhat tentatively, Draco took it. Rather than shake, Mr Ollivander just squeezed before they released. "Shall we find your wand?"
It was strange to think of Draco's wand as something that sat in this shop, waiting quite possibly years before letting itself be picked. Draco forgot about being grumpy as Mum took his shopping bags. He stood as still as possible while being measured. Mr Ollivander talked to himself a lot while pulling wands down off the shelves for Draco to try.
"Ah!" Mr Ollivander's eyes went wider yet with excitement when a hawthorn and unicorn hair wand warmed Draco's right arm and produced a flourish of sparks. "Fitting, I might say. I certainly see it."
"See what?" Draco asked.
"Hawthorn is a wood of contradictions, much like a young man such as yourself," Mr Ollivander said. "One must mind the thorns if interested in the berries, flowers, or wood itself. A hawthorn tree's foliage is thick, greedy toward sunshine. Have you ever cut a hawthorn branch, young Mr Malfoy? No? The wounds smell quite like death. Even the slightest nick evokes a strong reaction upon the aggressor."
Draco studied his wand, turning it about in his hand.
"And paired with unicorn hair, no less." The shininess of Mr Ollivander's eyes seemed to grow. "Wands with that core are the hardest to turn toward the Dark Arts. That ought to come as relief, taking all into consideration—"
"Thank you, Garrick."
Mr Ollivander jumped slightly, making Draco do the same. That moony stare shifted away from Draco and over his shoulder to where Mum and Father were. Both had stood, and neither looked happy.
"Right. Yes." Mr Ollivander (finally) blinked. "I suppose you are very busy, Lucius? Yes—I ought let you get on your way."
Neither of Draco's parents said anything through paying for his wand. Only when the three of them headed for the shop door did they exchange stiff farewells.
"What was that about?" Draco asked when they all walked back up the street.
"Mr Ollivander just tends to speak his mind a little too freely sometimes," his father replied. "Apothecary next?"
They were walking past Gambol and Japes when Father reached behind Draco to touch Mum's arm. Draco looked up in time to see them make eye contact. Father silently pointed with his chin across the street, where Hagrid headed down the way they had just come from. Frowning anew as he remembered his shopping experience at Madam Malkin's, Draco grew more focused on his shoes.
Now that Draco had all his things for school, the more boring days going into August weren't as terrible. He didn't mind reading his books since nobody forced him to. Draco dug out his practice wand so that he could try imitating some of the pictured movements from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and A Beginner's Guide to Transformation. He whispered the incantations under his breath. After learning decent chunks of Latin from his mum in the last couple years, he felt confident he wouldn't have any pronunciation troubles.
It kept him preoccupied while Mum and Father prepared for Grandfather's funeral, which would take place the following Thursday. The service would happen in the chapel before the reception moved back to the house. Draco wasn't looking forward to it, especially since he still felt upset and his friends would be attending.
Draco could avoid them for the first part of everything. He was expected to stay in the study with his parents and Grandfather Black until the four of them took seats at the front of the service.
Vincent found him first halfway back to the manor house afterward. Draco had heard his heavy footsteps on the gravel before he appeared.
"Hey," Vincent grunted.
"Hullo," Draco replied.
Food and drinks were set up in the formal dining room. As the guests culminated there, the room filled with a din. It all turned into a buzz inside Draco's head. He followed Vincent somewhat mindlessly as he filled up a plate. Gregory found them next to the finger sandwiches.
"All right?" he asked Draco.
Draco shrugged.
"Could go upstairs, or something?"
Theodore found them before they made their exit. His plate teetered like the other two boys'. Theodore frowned at Draco.
"Not getting anything?" he asked.
"Not hungry," Draco said.
None of them said anything. When they reached Draco's chamber, he was content to sit quietly while they all tucked in. Draco got up and went to change out of his robes when the other boys were sated enough to talk.
Theodore pointed with his toe at Draco's coffee table, where Magical Theory sat. "Been studying already?"
"Yeah." Draco sat back down across from him.
"I haven't," Vincent said after swallowing a baby carrot with dip on it. "We'll be doing enough of that in September. I wanna have fun for the rest of the summer."
"Some of us have parents that'll be disappointed if we don't do well," Draco replied.
Gregory laughed.
Draco folded his arms for comfort. "Have you been to get your wands yet?"
They all nodded before going in on comparing. Gregory and Vincent both had dragon heartstring for cores, although hazel and cedar respectively for the woods. Their pride for something related to a dragon to choose them was only superseded by the smug way Theodore smiled when he told them his core was phoenix feather.
"And vine wood," he said before lifting his chin to Draco. "What about you, then?"
"Hawthorn and unicorn tail hair."
"Unicorn, huh?" Theodore's eyes shone in a playful way, not at all like Mr Ollivander's had. "Yeah, I see it."
Draco frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, unicorns are quite delicate, aren't they?"
While Gregory and Vincent chortled, Draco narrowed his eyes at Theodore. "I wonder if you'd be so smug if you were gored by the horn of one."
"They don't do that," Theodore said.
"Read Fantastic Beasts, have you?"
"Yes." Theodore raised his eyebrows while stacking meat and cheese on a cracker. "I think Scamander would've said if unicorns do, even in self-defence. They just run away."
Vincent made a thoughtful noise, but fell quiet when Draco did his best to imitate the look Grandfather Malfoy used to give people he wanted to shut up.
"I tried a unicorn hair wand," Gregory said. "Mr Ollivander said they make nice wands if paired with a good wood. I got cut trying to climb a hawthorn tree once. Took forever to stop bleeding, and it stung a lot."
"You idiot," Theodore said. "I hope you didn't get far."
"Nah, one hand before I realized it had thorns." Gregory shook his head. "Still hurt."
"It's in the name. Haw-thorn."
"Thanks for pointing that out." Gregory threw a piece of cauliflower at Theodore.
Theodore batted it before it could hit him in the face. Draco watched it arc away from them all, over toward the toilet. "Don't get food on my floor."
Gregory got up to go find it. "Sorry."
Draco thought with the funeral past that the rest of the month would be spent however he wanted. Another week later, this idea was thwarted when his mum mentioned at dinner that they would be going to a performance on Saturday night.
His shoulders slumped. "I have to go?"
"Georgia gave me three tickets, and I won't have your seat go to waste," Mum replied. "You liked the last Selwyn production. I've heard rave reviews for this one. It has sword-fighting, apparently."
Father hummed with interest at that, but Draco remained uncertain. Moping until Saturday afternoon and then dragging his feet getting dressed did nothing to change his situation. His father came to find him about half an hour before they were due to leave, to tie Draco's bowtie and make sure he was otherwise acceptable.
Mum waited for them in the Atrium. The portkey for tonight's show was a shield about the size of a dinner plate. Draco was studying the crest on it—a show prop replica—when something hooked him behind his navel. He closed his eyes. When Draco opened them again, he and his parents stood on the drive of a stately building. A line formed at the entrance.
"Ah," Father said quietly under his breath when they found themselves standing behind someone with long, white hair and fuchsia robes. "Evening, Dumbledore."
Dumbledore's equally long and white beard appeared when he turned around. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as his gaze swept over Draco and his parents. "Hello Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco. Lovely night for the theatre, no?"
"Indeed." Father placed a gloved hand on Draco's shoulder. "Nothing like a little culture to get a young man out of his rooms for a few hours."
Draco schooled his expression straight as his parents and Dumbledore chuckled. His cheeks warmed from the puff of steam inside of him. He cooled off when Dumbledore's gaze landed on him again.
"I've been reading my school books," Draco said.
"Ah!" Dumbledore's eyes lit up. "Excellent. A head-start never hurt anyone, although I sincerely doubt your mother and father are letting you come to Hogwarts blind. Hm?"
Draco shook his head. "Mother has taught me a lot of things already."
"Excellent," Dumbledore said again.
"Taking in the show alone?" Father asked.
"So it goes." Dumbledore held his hands loosely together in front of his lower stomach. "I asked Severus and Minerva if either of them were interested, but both are suddenly severely behind schedule in their lesson planning."
The corner of Father's mouth twitched. "How unlike them."
"That's exactly what I said." Dumbledore chuckled. "I asked another friend, but it was too short of notice. He was always more partial to the opera, anyway."
The line moved on until Mum handed their tickets over at the door. They separated from Dumbledore there. Mum walked into Draco when he stopped. He'd heard his name be called. When he looked in that direction, his eyes widened.
Draco tugged on his father's arm. "Can I go sit with Theodore?"
"No," his father said, raising his other hand at Mr and Mrs Nott in acknowledgement.
Draco slumped. "Why not?"
"Because then you'll talk through the entire thing. Besides, it would be rude to give up a front-row seat."
Cheeks heavy, Draco returned Theodore's wave before scuffing his feet along. He stopped doing that when his father told him to, walking normally again instead.
There were more familiar faces beside the three empty seats Draco's parents led him toward. Ms Rosier, Mrs Selwyn's special friend, sat with the three teenaged Selwyn girls.
"Hello, Ronnie," Mum greeted Ms Rosier as she sat down beside her.
Their conversation opened up to the Selwyn girls, since the oldest, Martina, was now of-age. She seemed too old to Draco to still have one more year left at Hogwarts. The twins, Ellie and Hazel, would be writing their OWLs next June. Draco's attention drifted from all their conversation, and he grew bored. He asked his father to see the show programme. It had some names and faces that Draco recognized. Like usual, Mr Selwyn had written, and Mrs Selwyn produced. Seeing Cassidy Shafiq in the leading role was promising. Draco liked him. He'd even grown a beard as long as his collar bone for the show, if his bio portrait was accurate for the night.
They sat in front of the orchestra. As it ramped up from quiet background music, Mum stopped talking to Ms Rosier. The music was pretty good. It had a lot of drums, and the choir tended toward baritone and bass. They chanted, which sounded cool. High strings and alto vocals followed.
The curtain opened, and the show started with dancing. Like the choir, there were more men than women. They were supposed to be soldiers, judging by the costumes.
A story started to come out. The main dancer—that was Mr Shafiq's role—was a young soldier that had just joined the kingdom's military. He met and fell in love with a beautiful woman, who turned out to be the princess.
The music and dancing became more aggressive as more dancers dressed in dark clothing came on-stage. They were trying to get to the royal family, and it was the soldiers' job to stop them. The sword-fighting Mum had mentioned came into play here, which was a lot more interesting than Draco had imagined. They fought while dancing, their swords clacking between spins and jumps. The odd spark appeared whenever steel met.
The soldiers won that battle, and it was revealed that the people dressed in black were vampires. To stop them, the soldiers would have to find the first vampire and kill it. Otherwise, its thralls would keep coming. And come, they did. The fights grew more exciting as Mr Shafiq's character became more skilled, and the thralls more powerful and numerous.
Through all this, Mr Shafiq's character and the princess fell more in love. Draco grew a little bored during those parts, although Mum had a flush look about her as Mr Shafiq and the princess did a flowing sort of waltz across the stage at one point.
Another battle started as more thralls tried to get into the palace. Soldiers were dying, and Mr Shafiq's character came close enough a couple times that Father tensed beside Draco. Even though the music had ramped right up, Draco still heard the occasional gasp from the audience behind him.
The battle got so bad for the soldiers that Mr Shafiq's character was forced to retreat. He went to the princess and told her they needed to leave. She hemmed and hawed, saying something about it not being necessary, and then Mr Shafiq's character grabbed her arm to try and force her.
The princess pushed Mr Shafiq so hard that he slid across the stage. Mum gasped, and she wasn't the only one. Draco was confused until he remembered that the vampire thralls had incredible physical strength. They'd thrown some soldiers around the same way. So the princess was already a vampire?
It was more than that, as she told Mr Shafiq's character. She was the first vampire! She had been since before Mr Shafiq's character met her at the beginning. She'd been leaving the palace at night and creating all the thralls. They were meant to storm the palace and turn the king and queen so that she could take control of them and, in turn, the throne. She couldn't turn her own blood.
Through all this talking, the princess' costume changed from her elaborate gown into a black costume with trousers that looked like the same one all the thralls wore. Mr Shafiq's character pleaded with her to fight her nature because he was in love with her and he didn't want to be forced to kill her to save the kingdom.
"Ha!" the princess said to Mr Shafiq's character, who was on his knees. She picked up one of his swords that had fallen out of its sheath when he slid across the stage. "You can certainly try! Have at you!"
The princess held the sword aloft. When the music fell quiet, Draco heard a high-pitched whistle as the sword started to glow. It got so hot that, with a flourish of dramatic music, it burst into flame.
They started to fight. The princess was very fast, like the other vampires had been. Mr Shafiq's character wasn't doing as well as he had before. Whenever the two of them came close enough to the front of the stage for Draco to see their faces, his was contorted into something like horror and grief. He still didn't want to kill her, even though she was certainly trying to do him in.
Maybe to make the audience feel the same way Mr Shafiq's character did, the choir tipped toward soprano and alto as one long sustained note. It made Draco shiver. His heart beat nearly as fast as the drums did. Quick strings excited Draco.
It all stopped with a new flourish when Mr Shafiq's character knocked the princess off her feet. He stood over her, panting.
"You could have turned me," he told her, "when you put your head on my shoulder while we danced. Why didn't you?"
The princess didn't say anything, just looked up at him while she too panted.
"There's still some humanity in you," Mr Shafiq declared. "Find it, my love! Let's stop this madness!"
A moment of silence passed with them looking at each other. Beside Draco, Mum had the tips of her fingers over her mouth. Father leaned forward in his seat.
The princess let out a snarl. Mr Shafiq was pushed back by a wave of air that even Draco felt. In that space, the princess leapt to her feet and summoned her sword from where it had clattered away.
She pointed it at Mr Shafiq, eyes gleaming and grin sinister. "I don't want to."
Mr Shafiq's eyes gleamed too, although not for the same reason. "Then I suppose you leave me no choice."
His character's heartbreak was audible. He had to get over it pretty bloody fast though, because the princess showed him no mercy. The fight that followed had Draco's heart pounding again. His hands sweat from being clenched into fists. The princess used fire more than just with her sword, and Mr Shafiq conjured water to try and counteract that. The choir's bellowed chants became more insistent, with the drums beating so hard as punctuation that Draco's organs rattled from the force.
Draco gasped along with everyone else when the princess' sword impaled Mr Shafiq's character right through the heart. He stumbled forward toward her, his chest coming to rest against the hilt of her sword.
"You cannot stop me," the princess said as blood dribbled from Mr Shafiq's mouth. "You will not stop me."
She pushed him away, and he fell flat on his back on the stage. While Mr Shafiq's character laid there, she looked down at him.
"Shame," she said, and tossed her sword beside him so that it clattered. "I did love you."
She walked past him, heading for where the thralls would be waiting for her. Mr Shafiq's character stirred, then silently leapt up behind her. The princess didn't even have a chance to turn around and see what that noise of steel brushing stage floor was before her decapitated head sailed through the air.
Other things happened in the show, just to wrap it up. Mr Shafiq's character couldn't actually survive being stabbed through the heart, so he died. His surviving soldiers found the bodies and confirmed by lifting the princess' lip that she was a vampire. All the thralls had turned to dust, and the menace was over. The king also said something, glad he was no longer in danger but devastated that his bloodline had ended.
After a whole lot of applause and the actors bowing on-stage (Mr Shafiq up and about, and the princess having regained her head), Draco was following his parents for the exit. Everyone around them was loud in their excitement. Father ended up bumping hips with Dumbledore. When Father asked Dumbledore what he had thought of the show, Draco didn't hear the response. Whatever it was left Father with a pinched expression as if it was Grandfather instead he had been talking to.
The manor house was so quiet in comparison to the theatre that Draco's ears rang.
"Well," Father said. "I might pour myself a drink to come down from that. It was a lot of excitement."
"Was it ever!" Mum replied, flush again. "They truly outdid themselves this time. I'll completely forgive the two-year hiatus. Did you like it, Draco?"
"Yes," he said.
"What was your favourite part?"
Draco couldn't help but grin. "When her sword burst into flames."
Father chuckled, then sniffed as annoyance eclipsed his expression. "I'm not sure Dumbledore enjoyed it."
"No?" Mum looked confused. "What did he say?"
"That he didn't think vampires would like it." Father scoffed as the three of them started up the grand staircase. "It's theatre, not a political statement. I certainly don't feel like decapitating the next vampire I walk past in Knockturn Alley."
"Of course not," Mum said.
"It was very Eastern-European inspired," Father kept on. "The dance style, costumes, and story all point to that. You can't exactly say vampires have it bad out there."
"No, you can't."
"If Dumbledore wants to get on about vampire rights, maybe he ought to tell Fudge during their correspondence to do so at the Ministry." Father sounded so annoyed that Draco smiled, amused. "Nothing's stopping him."
Father might have kept going, but he stopped long enough to say good night to Draco. He and Mum headed into the master suite while Draco carried on up to the second floor. It felt good to get out of his robes and all that, but his heart still pounded. He rolled around in bed for what felt like hours, trying to calm down before he finally drifted off.
He wasn't the only one left excited from the show. Draco was flipping through his school texts one day, finding everything he could about fire, when Theodore found him. His mum had come over for tea, and Theodore was right to think that Draco would want to play some sort of game inspired by the show.
They headed to the playroom along the gallery. Draco's practice wand made for a decent enough sword, and Theodore used a cane he found somewhere in the toy chests.
"This isn't fair," Draco said after getting whacked with it for the third time. "I need a longer stick."
The two of them went through everything in the room. Draco used to have other canes like it, but he figured Dobby must have gotten rid of them after they broke.
Draco got an idea. "Hold on."
He ran back to his room and came back with his real wand. Theodore raised his eyebrows when Draco held his practice wand out to him.
"That's not fair," Theodore said. "You could hurt me."
"I'm not going to do any magic." Draco rolled his eyes. "I know the rules. Besides, you got me with the cane. It's even now."
Theodore laughed under his breath. "Yeah, I did get you."
They started playing again. It went better this time, the wood clacking together whenever they met. They stopped when they got tired. Draco's legs needed a rest after he and Theodore had taken to using the furniture as props. He'd jumped up on a sofa too many times in attempt to get the higher ground.
"So how do you think they did the decapitation?" Theodore asked.
"Dunno. Father's told me about splinching, but I don't think that was it."
Theodore hummed. "No, I think that would hurt a lot. Besides, her whole body stayed on stage."
"I wonder how they did the sword." Draco had thought most often about that. "You know, when it burst into flames."
"Transfigured it into wood while she held it up?" Theodore replied. "Then maybe someone cast a Fire-Making Spell on it?"
"Oh, maybe." Draco had looked at that in Standard Spells, but he hadn't thought about a transfiguration first. "There was a whistle before it burst into flame. And it glowed."
"Maybe it was still metal, then," Theodore said. "Brilliant. I bet that was hard to do."
"It can't be that hard." Draco held his wand up, one eye closed. "Incendio, right? Oh, but she did it without the wand movement, if that's the case. Incendio!"
Draco felt a flourish of something inside him, but nothing else happened.
"Somebody else must have cast it on the sword." Theodore looked across the room, then his eyes widened. "Er. . ."
Something actually had happened. One of the drapes was smoking.
"Uh oh," Theodore said.
"What's the Water-Making Spell?" Draco asked.
"I don't know."
Before they had a chance to panic, a small crack sounded. Dobby appeared in front of the drape. A second later, the smoke stopped. Dobby left.
Draco and Theodore looked at each other, then shrugged.
Theodore stood up. "Ready to keep going?"
"Yep."
Draco had jumped up on the sofa again, bent forward so that Theodore couldn't hit his knees, when Theodore looked over toward the door. He stopped and took a step back. "Hi, Mr Malfoy."
"Hello, Theodore."
Cold flushed like ice through Draco's insides. He stood straight, facing his father, and tried to make it look like no big deal that he hid his right hand behind his bum.
His father already looked at him, unimpressed. He came over, gaze holding Draco's, and held his hand out palm up. Draco looked at it.
"Wand," his father said.
Draco slumped. Cheeks pulling down, he put it in his father's hand. His feet were suddenly very interesting.
"When do I get it back?" Draco quietly asked.
"You don't need it until term starts."
Draco lifted his chin. "But—"
"No," his father cut him off. "I don't want to hear about any other fires around the house. You know better."
A/N: For those curious, the dance styles described in the performance were inspired by Georgian folk dancing. :)
Next chapter on the 25th.