A/N: Wow, first chapter is fairly popular! grin Well, it might be original, but its a bunny from Fictionalley, so if you want original bunnies, go there. Also, the house-elf name in this chapter came from Miss Kat, of OFU of Troy, so Moppy is hers. All those of you wondering how all this came about keep reading!
/
"I shall return and collect you from the book shop." Harry's father gestured to Flourish and Blotts, a smallish shop cramped by two larger shops either side. It had a squashed look, as if the books inside were spilling out as the other two shops jostled for position. He patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly, a tight smile catching at his lips slightly. People were starting to gather around them interestedly; after all, it was the first time the Minister for Magic's adopted son had started buying supplies for Hogwarts. A muscle leapt in his father's jaw, and his shoulders tensed beneath his robes. The hand on Harry's shoulder was hastily withdrawn.
"I shall be in Knockturn Alley," he said shortly, and snapped his fingers at the house-elf standing a few paces behind. "You. Moppy. Accompany Master Riddle and make sure that he is not harmed." Tom Riddle had a strained, tired look about his greying temples, but his grey eyes were as steely as ever. He turned, and left, leaving Harry in the middle of the sunny street, with a pocket full of golden Galleons.
Harry James Potter Riddle was one of the most observed boys in the wizarding world. In the readers of the Daily Prophet's eyes, he stood for all the orphans and lost ones of the War, and was treated as such. He was also possibly one of the most spoilt boys of the wizarding world.
For a moment he stood, looking about him. Any observer would not have noted him unnecessarily; it was only as the recognised son and heir of Tom Riddle that he was noteworthy. He had a lot of scruffy black hair, that refused to be tamed, bright green eyes behind round spectacles, and was on the thin side, regardless of the amount that he ate. It was late June, so early for a boy expected at Hogwarts that autumn to be shopping for school things, but in Riddle's campaign that August and September, there was really little time for such mediocrities. Such tasks could, of course, be carried out by the house-elf, but in a rare moment of openness, his father had decreed that no first year could miss the excitement of shopping for his first year of wizard schooling.
Gathering his robes about him, purposefully the ten-year-old set off for the robes shop, just to the left of the book shop.
A small bell tinkled in the almost empty shop. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, catching at the dust motes spiralling in the beams. Harry looked around for anyone. Madam Malkin, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen. Another boy, however, at the other end of the shop, stood on a small stool, his arms outstretched in robes that were slightly too big for him. He had a pointed, almost pinched face, and sleek blond hair, and was watching Harry interestedly with cool blue eyes.
"Hello," he said, his voice almost drawling.
"Hello," Harry answered, walking towards him. "I'm Harry. Are you going to Hogwarts?"
The boy smiled lazily, and pointed to the crest. "I'm Draco Malfoy. You're Riddle's son, aren't you?" He peered at Harry from above, bending over. Harry nodded.
"Yes." He wandered around the shop, and poked a roll of shimmering blue velvet experimentally. It was almost the colour of his father's favourite dress robes. Draco Malfoy cleared his throat.
"Going to Hogwarts?" he asked, stepping down off the stool. Harry turned back, and outstretched a hand. Draco took it, and shook, a small smile curling on his mouth.
"Yes. At least, when I receive the letter. It should be any day now. My birthday is coming soon."
'July thirty first," Draco said idly, inspecting his fingernails. At Harry's surprised look, he smiled coolly. "Surely you're used to being a celebrity, Riddle?"
"Yes," Harry answered equally coolly, "Just didn't think someone like you'd be part of my fan club."
There was a moment where the blond boy seemed to be making up his mind whether to sneer, or be taken aback. Finally, he smiled, and a look of respect glinted in the blue eyes.
"Play Quidditch at all, Riddle?" he inquired, but at that moment a short, plump witch, wrapped in fussy layers of robes hurried back into the shop.
"You'll have to wait a moment, dear," she informed Harry, "I'm almost finished with this one." She slid a pair of spectacles from her head down to her nose, and squinted at Harry. "You're Riddle's boy, aren't you?" she sounded faintly surprised, and a little breathless. Harry nodded.
"Well, I'll be with you in one second, Mr Riddle, one second," she promised fervently, scuttling to Malfoy's side, and began pinning the sleeves back, snatching a look at Harry every now and then until her eyes darted away and back to her work.
"Not really," Harry said, after a moment's pause. Draco nodded knowledgably. "First years aren't allowed brooms," he said, as if considering it, "But I'll just bully Father into buying one for me."
"The Nimbus 2000 is out soon," Harry commented, propping his elbows on a pile of rolls of material, and sitting himself on a high chair. "Supposed to be a good broom. What position do you play?"
"I don't know," Draco drawled, sounding disinterested. "It's a way of passing the time."
"Father won't let me," Harry said, rather sheepishly. "I expect he thinks I'd get hurt, and the publicity would be terrible. Far safer to learn at Hogwarts."
"I suppose," Draco shrugged, as Madam Malkin fixed the last stitch in place, and tapped him on the shoulder.
"I'll send the robes with Dobby, Mr Malfoy," she said briskly, whipping them over his head, and folding them quickly. "He'll be collecting on Thursday, is it?"
"Yes," Draco replied. He looked at Harry. "I'd better go. See you at Hogwarts, Riddle." He pushed open the door, and left, the little bell jangling violently as the door slammed shut.
"Right, dear, hop up," Madam Malkin instructed him kindly.
"The Malfoys are a good family," his father told him, his voice tinged with pleasure. "Draco is a well placed friend to make." He led the way through the cramped book shop, drawing his robes about him as he passed other shoppers, his upper lip wrinkling in distaste. Harry hardly noticed; he was familiar with his father's displeasure for being physically close to strangers.
"Magic is going to the dogs," Riddle muttered, glancing over the books on display. The attendant nearby coughed politely. "This is the Hogwarts prescribed syllabus this year, sir," he said timidly. Riddle waved a hand elegantly at him, and the anxious young man faded into the background without a word, busying himself with tidying a book display that didn't need it.
"Hmm," his father mused, flicking over the books. 'You'll need this. And this." He piled the books neatly to one side; Moppy, once they had finished, would pay for the books and follow. Harry picked up one of the books interestedly. It was on transfiguration, the art of turning one thing into something else. His father took the book from him quickly, and set it down on the pile, with an almost angry look in his grey eyes.
"Potions is an excellent skill," he said, handing Harry another textbook. "You would be wise to read up on the subject. The teacher at Hogwarts is terrible."
Harry nodded quickly, opening the book at random. The leaves opened at a complicated list of ingredients and instructions for brewing a potion to keep off hexes from a blood enemy. He cleared his throat.
'It looks interesting, Father." He looked up, trying to see the expression on his father's face. Tom reached out, and tried, half-heartedly, to ruffle Harry's hair.
"Potions was my favourite subject at school," he said, almost cheerfully. "It's a subtle magic, and might not appear as showy as the flash and bang of Charms, or Tranfiguration." His voice dripped scorn. "If you're clever, boy, you'll follow more academic branches of magic." He laughed faintly, catching sight of another stack of books further off. "At least I know no son of mine would do 'muggle studies'!'
As they strolled towards Knockturn Alley, so that his father could stop to do one final check on someone the Ministry was keeping an eye on, Harry felt life to be rather pleasant. The sun shone, watery but still determined on his shoulders, warming the thick cloth of his robes. His father glanced at him, and a smile flitted across his face, and his new schoolbooks were behind him, carried by Moppy. They were, his father had decided, to purchase Harry's wand further on, after he'd received his letter. It was traditional, and the small purchase would not cost Riddle too much time away from the Ministry at the important time.
A huge man, broad in the shoulders and towering above the wizards flocking through the streets was walking the other way. Harry took a second look, his eyes widening. He seemed half giant, with a thick beard, and hair about his face, dressed in a large and what looked to be rather dirty overcoat. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stranger's apparel, but watched him interestedly. To his shock, the stranger looked up, and met his gaze dead on, frowning slightly, as though something about Harry puzzled him. He shook his head, and strode past them, but not before glancing at Harry once more.
Harry was about to ask who the stranger had been; his father's knowledge of wizards was wide, but he noticed the weary look at the corners of his father's eyes, and the tense set of his jaw, and decided not to. It had been an exceptionally good day so far.
/
A/N: Next chapter, Harry receives his letter and buys his wand in his last preparations for Hogwarts. Please review!
/
"I shall return and collect you from the book shop." Harry's father gestured to Flourish and Blotts, a smallish shop cramped by two larger shops either side. It had a squashed look, as if the books inside were spilling out as the other two shops jostled for position. He patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly, a tight smile catching at his lips slightly. People were starting to gather around them interestedly; after all, it was the first time the Minister for Magic's adopted son had started buying supplies for Hogwarts. A muscle leapt in his father's jaw, and his shoulders tensed beneath his robes. The hand on Harry's shoulder was hastily withdrawn.
"I shall be in Knockturn Alley," he said shortly, and snapped his fingers at the house-elf standing a few paces behind. "You. Moppy. Accompany Master Riddle and make sure that he is not harmed." Tom Riddle had a strained, tired look about his greying temples, but his grey eyes were as steely as ever. He turned, and left, leaving Harry in the middle of the sunny street, with a pocket full of golden Galleons.
Harry James Potter Riddle was one of the most observed boys in the wizarding world. In the readers of the Daily Prophet's eyes, he stood for all the orphans and lost ones of the War, and was treated as such. He was also possibly one of the most spoilt boys of the wizarding world.
For a moment he stood, looking about him. Any observer would not have noted him unnecessarily; it was only as the recognised son and heir of Tom Riddle that he was noteworthy. He had a lot of scruffy black hair, that refused to be tamed, bright green eyes behind round spectacles, and was on the thin side, regardless of the amount that he ate. It was late June, so early for a boy expected at Hogwarts that autumn to be shopping for school things, but in Riddle's campaign that August and September, there was really little time for such mediocrities. Such tasks could, of course, be carried out by the house-elf, but in a rare moment of openness, his father had decreed that no first year could miss the excitement of shopping for his first year of wizard schooling.
Gathering his robes about him, purposefully the ten-year-old set off for the robes shop, just to the left of the book shop.
A small bell tinkled in the almost empty shop. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, catching at the dust motes spiralling in the beams. Harry looked around for anyone. Madam Malkin, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen. Another boy, however, at the other end of the shop, stood on a small stool, his arms outstretched in robes that were slightly too big for him. He had a pointed, almost pinched face, and sleek blond hair, and was watching Harry interestedly with cool blue eyes.
"Hello," he said, his voice almost drawling.
"Hello," Harry answered, walking towards him. "I'm Harry. Are you going to Hogwarts?"
The boy smiled lazily, and pointed to the crest. "I'm Draco Malfoy. You're Riddle's son, aren't you?" He peered at Harry from above, bending over. Harry nodded.
"Yes." He wandered around the shop, and poked a roll of shimmering blue velvet experimentally. It was almost the colour of his father's favourite dress robes. Draco Malfoy cleared his throat.
"Going to Hogwarts?" he asked, stepping down off the stool. Harry turned back, and outstretched a hand. Draco took it, and shook, a small smile curling on his mouth.
"Yes. At least, when I receive the letter. It should be any day now. My birthday is coming soon."
'July thirty first," Draco said idly, inspecting his fingernails. At Harry's surprised look, he smiled coolly. "Surely you're used to being a celebrity, Riddle?"
"Yes," Harry answered equally coolly, "Just didn't think someone like you'd be part of my fan club."
There was a moment where the blond boy seemed to be making up his mind whether to sneer, or be taken aback. Finally, he smiled, and a look of respect glinted in the blue eyes.
"Play Quidditch at all, Riddle?" he inquired, but at that moment a short, plump witch, wrapped in fussy layers of robes hurried back into the shop.
"You'll have to wait a moment, dear," she informed Harry, "I'm almost finished with this one." She slid a pair of spectacles from her head down to her nose, and squinted at Harry. "You're Riddle's boy, aren't you?" she sounded faintly surprised, and a little breathless. Harry nodded.
"Well, I'll be with you in one second, Mr Riddle, one second," she promised fervently, scuttling to Malfoy's side, and began pinning the sleeves back, snatching a look at Harry every now and then until her eyes darted away and back to her work.
"Not really," Harry said, after a moment's pause. Draco nodded knowledgably. "First years aren't allowed brooms," he said, as if considering it, "But I'll just bully Father into buying one for me."
"The Nimbus 2000 is out soon," Harry commented, propping his elbows on a pile of rolls of material, and sitting himself on a high chair. "Supposed to be a good broom. What position do you play?"
"I don't know," Draco drawled, sounding disinterested. "It's a way of passing the time."
"Father won't let me," Harry said, rather sheepishly. "I expect he thinks I'd get hurt, and the publicity would be terrible. Far safer to learn at Hogwarts."
"I suppose," Draco shrugged, as Madam Malkin fixed the last stitch in place, and tapped him on the shoulder.
"I'll send the robes with Dobby, Mr Malfoy," she said briskly, whipping them over his head, and folding them quickly. "He'll be collecting on Thursday, is it?"
"Yes," Draco replied. He looked at Harry. "I'd better go. See you at Hogwarts, Riddle." He pushed open the door, and left, the little bell jangling violently as the door slammed shut.
"Right, dear, hop up," Madam Malkin instructed him kindly.
"The Malfoys are a good family," his father told him, his voice tinged with pleasure. "Draco is a well placed friend to make." He led the way through the cramped book shop, drawing his robes about him as he passed other shoppers, his upper lip wrinkling in distaste. Harry hardly noticed; he was familiar with his father's displeasure for being physically close to strangers.
"Magic is going to the dogs," Riddle muttered, glancing over the books on display. The attendant nearby coughed politely. "This is the Hogwarts prescribed syllabus this year, sir," he said timidly. Riddle waved a hand elegantly at him, and the anxious young man faded into the background without a word, busying himself with tidying a book display that didn't need it.
"Hmm," his father mused, flicking over the books. 'You'll need this. And this." He piled the books neatly to one side; Moppy, once they had finished, would pay for the books and follow. Harry picked up one of the books interestedly. It was on transfiguration, the art of turning one thing into something else. His father took the book from him quickly, and set it down on the pile, with an almost angry look in his grey eyes.
"Potions is an excellent skill," he said, handing Harry another textbook. "You would be wise to read up on the subject. The teacher at Hogwarts is terrible."
Harry nodded quickly, opening the book at random. The leaves opened at a complicated list of ingredients and instructions for brewing a potion to keep off hexes from a blood enemy. He cleared his throat.
'It looks interesting, Father." He looked up, trying to see the expression on his father's face. Tom reached out, and tried, half-heartedly, to ruffle Harry's hair.
"Potions was my favourite subject at school," he said, almost cheerfully. "It's a subtle magic, and might not appear as showy as the flash and bang of Charms, or Tranfiguration." His voice dripped scorn. "If you're clever, boy, you'll follow more academic branches of magic." He laughed faintly, catching sight of another stack of books further off. "At least I know no son of mine would do 'muggle studies'!'
As they strolled towards Knockturn Alley, so that his father could stop to do one final check on someone the Ministry was keeping an eye on, Harry felt life to be rather pleasant. The sun shone, watery but still determined on his shoulders, warming the thick cloth of his robes. His father glanced at him, and a smile flitted across his face, and his new schoolbooks were behind him, carried by Moppy. They were, his father had decided, to purchase Harry's wand further on, after he'd received his letter. It was traditional, and the small purchase would not cost Riddle too much time away from the Ministry at the important time.
A huge man, broad in the shoulders and towering above the wizards flocking through the streets was walking the other way. Harry took a second look, his eyes widening. He seemed half giant, with a thick beard, and hair about his face, dressed in a large and what looked to be rather dirty overcoat. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stranger's apparel, but watched him interestedly. To his shock, the stranger looked up, and met his gaze dead on, frowning slightly, as though something about Harry puzzled him. He shook his head, and strode past them, but not before glancing at Harry once more.
Harry was about to ask who the stranger had been; his father's knowledge of wizards was wide, but he noticed the weary look at the corners of his father's eyes, and the tense set of his jaw, and decided not to. It had been an exceptionally good day so far.
/
A/N: Next chapter, Harry receives his letter and buys his wand in his last preparations for Hogwarts. Please review!