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.
"Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child—"
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 striking, 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. His eyes narrowed. 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."
In an instant, Potter and Weasley 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 shouting and fretting, but Draco was distracted by Granger's black eye. He didn't think Nott would find her so pretty now, not with that thing.
"Don't, honestly, it's not worth it," he heard her whisper to them.
"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," Draco scoffed. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers." And really, he wanted to know. But before he could find out Madam Malkin was shrieking.
"That's quite enough!" 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.
"Put those away," she said in a deadly whisper. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."
"Really?" challenged Potter, taking a step forward. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"
Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. "Really, you shouldn't accuse… dangerous thing to say… wands away, please!"
Potter still wouldn't lower his arm. Draco frowned at the scene before him, growing angrier within the seconds of it unfolding but his mother was smiling. "I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."
Something uncomfortable coiled inside Draco. His mother's words were far too close for comfort. If he succeeded in his mission given to him by the Dark Lord, no one, except perhaps Potter, would stand in the way of his reign.
Potter put on a show of looking around the shop. "Wow… look at that… he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"
Draco was seething. He lunged forward, stumbling over his new robes. Weasley started laughing at him.
"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 up Draco's left sleeve.
"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 he wasn't about to stick around to give her the chance 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 were still burning with embarrassment at being laughed at by the likes of him in front of the likes of her.
He held the door open for his mother and was surprised to hear the contempt behind her parting words to Granger. "You're right, Draco. Now I know the kind of scum that shops here, we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."
Draco couldn't help glancing back at the Gryffindor, stoic as ever, before following his mother out.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, his mother abruptly stopped. "What?" he asked, wondering whether she'd forgotten something at Madam Malkins.
"Son," she began with a grave tone. "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 prat—!"
"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," she sighed, "that's what worries me so…"
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.
...
The bell over the door tinkled loudly as he entered the shop. It was as he'd remembered it the last time he'd come with his father; poorly lit and coated in dust. His eyes roamed the case full of skulls and old bottles. The cursed opal necklace, which had drawn Draco's interest before had not sold; it lay resting on its velvet cushion behind glass. Perhaps in time, it would be useful, but for now, he wanted only to know how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet.
Despite his confidence that he was a competent and talented wizard, he knew confronting Dumbledore on his own would be suicidal. But if he had help...
Borgin appeared from the back, his beady eyes darting from Draco to the window outside.
"Young Master Malfoy," he acknowledged with a nod. "What brings you to—?"
"I have a Cabinet," said Draco, without bothering to put on airs. "A Vanishing Cabinet, just like yours—but, it's broken you see... I'd like to remedy that."
The man's grimy eyebrows furrowed, his lips set into a thin grimace. "You want to buy this one, then?"
"No," he sneered, losing patience. What I want is to fix the broken one. Do you know how to fix it?"
Borgin paused. "Possibly," he acquiesced after a moment. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"
"I can't," said Draco. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."
The old man licked his lips nervously. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."
"No?" sneered Draco. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." He moved toward Borgin and lifted the sleeve of his left arm up to reveal the Dark Mark. Its serpentine tongue slithered against his alabaster skin, almost hissing at him.
There was something satisfying in seeing the older wizard cower in fear. "Tell anyone," he warned, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."
"There will be no need for—"
"I'll decide that," he clipped. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."
Almost stammering, Borgin said, "Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, of course, I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."
"Of course not… sir," said Borgin begrudgingly as he gave Draco a lowly bow.
Draco basked in the newfound power he held. It was, he realised, not the type of power one was born with, nor was it the type galleons could ever buy. It was the terrible awe of fear which the Mark inspired, that he now inspired...
"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"
"Naturally, naturally," he murmured, bowing again. Draco grimaced. One bow had been quite enough, the second had been overkill. Seeing as his work there was done, he turned to leave the shop. As the door closed behind him, he looked to his right, and then his left. The paved cobblestones of Knockturn Alley were deserted. There was not a soul to be seen.
Quite pleased with himself, Draco made his way back to Twilfitt and Tattings, where his mother would be waiting with thinning patience. Strange though, Draco mused, because he could swear that upon stepping out of Borgin's and Burkes, he had caught the familiar scent of someone he knew...
Harry was nothing but obsessed with Draco Malfoy, so much so, that Hermione 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. "Yes, I've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," she sighed with exasperation. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?" She was growing impatient of having the same conversation over and over again. Her efforts to read were proving futile as she was continually distracted by Harry's repetitive scrutiny of what they'd witnessed at Borgin and Burkes. She became uneasy when Harry took it a step further and accused him of having taken the Dark Mark.
"It seems very unlikely, Harry," said Hermione sternly. "What makes you think —?"
"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."
Hermione looked at Ron apprehensively. "I think he just wanted to get out of there," she said.
"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," Harry pressed on stubbornly. "Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it… he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!"
"I'm not sure, Harry..." She looked to Ron for help.
"Yeah," he added slowly. "I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join."
Harry snatched up a pile of Quidditch robes and stormed out of the room with a sour expression on his face.
Ron gave her a small shrug and went back to cleaning his broomstick, admiring it with a kind eye. Hermione's head fell back onto the open book in her lap. Though, try as she may, she couldn't seem to concentrate on the words on the page. Despite her reassurances to Harry, she had to admit, it all seemed very strange. Mr Borgin had been frightened—frightened of him, or what he might do.
Still, she couldn't fathom the idea that an arrogant prat like Malfoy would be recruited by Voldemort as a Death Eater. Following that logic, why not Theodore Nott, or Crabbe, or Goyle? Hermione began to mull the events over. They'd run into him at Madam Malkins while she was sporting a black eye—which he'd 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 their entire family looked. If she'd still been studying biology, she'd be interested in identifying their genetic coding. Perhaps if she could get her hands on a strand of his hair…
She shook her head vehemently, trying to find her train of thought. Where was she—oh, yes! Then Mrs Malfoy and Harry were having it out, and for a moment she thought she'd seen Malfoy cringe with embarrassment 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 of wanting to buy Malfoy a birthday gift.
All in a day's work sighed Hermione. Exactly how she wanted to start the sixth school year off. Stalking Malfoy and pretending to like him enough to want to buy him a birthday gift.
She bit her lip making random guesses as to what it was he so desperately needed to fix. Borgin and Burkes was a messy shop, filled with all sorts of odd-looking objects. There hadn't been one thing in particular that had drawn her eye while she'd been in there, so it was anyone's guess what it was he wanted to fix. All these questions rattled around her head, left unanswered... and there lied the enigma of Draco Malfoy.
After going back and forth over the events, she came to the conclusion that she could only be sure of one thing. Narcissa Malfoy was quite protective of her son. No matter how cold and cruel she was to others, she truly loved him.