Disclaimer: I'm not British, as much as I like to think I am. So, I am not getting any profit from this, nor do I expect to, blah blah BLAH.
WARNING! HBP SPOILERS! A lot of the lines in scenes with Harry in them are taken directly from the book. I don't own them, either. So, without further ado...
-Lament In D-
When his mother finally arrived home at the godforsaken hour of two in the morning, Draco was rather irritated. What business at his Aunt Bellatrix's could possibly take five hours? Therefore, when the door to the sitting room eased open, he turned to ask his mother just that. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mother and aunt stood there, Narcissa looking very guilty and Bellatrix shifty. They were both rather pale.
"Where have you been, Mother? Mrs. Parkinson wanted to discuss the garden..."
"We were just catching up on the news and forgot the time," Narcissa lied smoothly. "And if Mrs. Parkinson is so anxious to speak with me, why did she not send an owl?" Draco shrugged. The woman's mind was rather hard to understand at the best of times.
"Where were you really, Mother?" he asked. His mother's features froze in an uneasy smile; and Bellatrix snorted. "Snorting is most unlady-like, Aunt Bellatrix." He smirked.
"We were at Snape's, the cheap bastard. Lives in a shit house out on-"
"Bella, please be quiet."
His aunt shrugged and was silent; Draco's curiosity was piqued. "Professor Snape's house? Why?"
Bellatrix sent a condescending look in Narcissa's direction. "Cissy here wanted to make sure that if you couldn't do it, Snape-y would."
Draco stiffened, as did his mother. "You think me not capable of killing that old fool, Mother?" he snarled.
Narcissa, sensing trouble, rushed to sooth his injured pride. "No, Draco, simply if a situation were to arise and you could not do it because…certain other things prevented it, than the good Professor could take care of it for you."
He and his aunt snorted. Most likely she laughed at the other woman's use of 'the good Professor'; he, however, was amused for an entirely different reason. "Mother, I am perfectly capable of assassination. And besides, I don't think I'll need Professor Snape to stand in for me when the time comes, as I have a plan."
Narcissa grimaced. "And what would that be, Draco?"
Smugly, he smirked at his mother. "You have your secrets, and I have mine. Goodnight, Mother, Aunt Bellatrix." He pivoted and walked briskly to his room.
---
About a week after this encounter, Draco was on a stool in Madam Malkin's robe store, arguing with his mother.
"But, Draco, really. You can't wander around without someone. At least take that young Parkinson girl with you."
"Pansy? Mother, please! She tags after me enough as it is." He replied scathingly. "I am not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother! I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."
Madame Malkin clucked at him. "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 you being a child-"
A stray pin chose that moment to prick him painfully on his left arm. "Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"
Rudely ripping his arm out of the shop owner's grasp, he stalked over to the mirror, giving himself the once-over. They made him look rather peaky, he thought; he'd just have the old woman alter the color a bit. Raising his eyes, he saw Gryffindor's Golden Trio: Potter, Weasley, and Granger. He narrowed his eyes. "If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in." he spat.
Madam Malkin went around the clothes-rack they were behind, saying, "I don't think there's any need for language like that!" Seeing Potter and Weasley's drawn wands, she added hastily, "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!"
The Mudblood (who had a black eye, he noticed) whispered something to the other two; he had a fairly decent idea she was telling them he wasn't worth it. "Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school. Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers!" he sneered.
"That's quite enough!" Malkin broke in; looking over her shoulder at Narcissa, she said: "Madam-please-"
His mother glided out from behind the clothes-rack, and she glared at the trio. "Put those away," she said frostily. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."
"Really?" said Potter, stepping forward. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in?"
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Madam Malkin gasped and clutched her chest. "Really, you shouldn't accuse-dangerous thing to say-wands away, please!"
Potter's wand remained where it was, and his mother smiled rather unkindly. "I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."
His heart sped up as it always did at the mention of his impending mission. "…why not have a go?" the black-haired boy was saying. "They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"
Outraged, Draco tried to lunge at Potter, but tripped over his overly long robes; Weasley laughed irritatingly loud. "Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" he hissed.
"It's all right, Draco." She stilled him with a pale hand. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."
Potter's wand rose even higher. The Mudblood was trying vainly to calm Potter down. Dithering momentarily, Malkin finally decided that it would be best to just go on fitting him as though nothing had happened. "I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just-"
The pin lightly grazed the tattoo on his forearm. "Ouch!" He bellowed, most un-Malfoy-like. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother-I don't think I want these anymore-" He yanked the robes over his head and tossed them unceremoniously on the floor.
"You're right, Draco," his mother said, shooting a disgusted look at Granger, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here…we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's." As he and his mother took leave of the stupid shop, he took extra care to tread on the Weasel's foot, smirking triumphantly at his hiss of pain.
---
Draco finally managed to throw off his mother, muttering about going the Apothecary for potion supplies. Pansy had leapt to go with him, but upon receiving his trademark death glare, she hastily asked Narcissa how the Malfoy garden was coming along.
Walking as fast as dignity allowed, he walked straight past Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joke shop, where theirU-No-Poo sign was emblazoned across the window. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, just to make sure Pansy hadn't tired of the Malfoy gardens and had decided to come after him after all. No one was there.
He strode into Knockturn Alley confidently, almost immediately reaching his destination: Borgin and Burkes. It had been four years since he had last set foot inside the dusty shop, but he remembered it well; it also, handily, contained something he would be needing later on in the school year.
The bell on the door jingled, and Borgin was at the front within seconds. "Borgin," he said, nodding.
"Ah, young Master Malfoy! I have recently just gotten a shipment of-"
"Not now, Borgin. I'm not interested. You have a Vanishing Cabinet, right?"
The other man became guarded. "Yes, I do, Mister Malfoy. What of it?"
"Don't take that tone with me," Draco snarled, "I need you to keep it for me, as I have…need of it." Forgetting that he was standing in front of a window where anyone could see, he began gesticulating rather wildly. "There's one at Hogwarts, and Professor Snape-the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher-"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Borgin interrupted. "But I thought he was Potions Master!"
"Yeah, well, you thought wrong," Draco said impatiently. "Anyway, he wants me to make a channel between the two of them. But it's broken. Do you know how to fix it?"
"Possibly," the shop-keeper said evasively. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"
"I can't. It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."
The older 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?" he sneered. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." He stepped toward Borgin and showed him the Dark Mark. He smirked at the terror on the other's face. "Tell anyone, 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." This was, of course, complete and total bull, but what Borgin didn't know wouldn't hurt him and would simply speed up the process.
"There will be no need for-"
"I'll decide that. Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it." He pointed at the other cabinet.
"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"
What little patience he had snapped. "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." Borgin bowed low, and so he missed the look of utter disdain upon the other's face.
"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"
"Naturally, naturally…" he said, bowing even lower. Simpering old fool, he thought smugly. He had done what he had come to do. With that thought, he left, emerging from Knockturn Alley a sight happier than what he had been.
---
That night, his mother had been rather put-out with him for giving her the slip. "Where did you go?"
The urge to sigh impatiently was almost overwhelming, but he refrained. "I told you, Mother, I went to the Apothecary to get potion supplies." He wasn't lying; he had gone to the Apothecary. He was only omitting part of the truth. His mother believed him, merely saying, "Just don't do it again, Draco."
Inclining his head respectfully, he said "Yes, Mother. It won't happen again."
He retired to his room, pulling out a heavy tome to read. He needed some ideas for murder if his Plan A happened to not work. He was reading a promising entry about Intestine Expelling Curses when it happened: a quiet voice whispered in his mind. ...and I shall name you Arnold!
Immediately, he tensed. "Who's there?" he hissed. He could almost feel the voice's shock.
You can hear me? Who are you?
He snorted loudly, bogies coming dangerously close to shooting out of his nostrils. "Yes, I can hear you. And I'm Draco Malfoy; you should bloody well know that if you're going to talk in my head!"
This time, when the voice spoke, it was puzzled. I…didn't mean to. It became suddenly fearful. What did you hear?
"Something about Arnold, you git. Who the hell are you, anyway?"
I'm a girl, and that's all you need to know, came the impish reply. "What House, then? Tell me that at least."
Don't you want to guess? He cursed. "Dammit, can't you just tell me!" No, it's much more fun this way; if you can't tell by the end of the year then I'll show you.
"Fine, whatever. Just go away now." He growled. As you wish, she said impudently.
"Draco? Who were you talking to?" Damn. His mother had heard him.
"A house-elf, Mother." He lied.
"Oh. Alright. You should get to sleep soon; the Parkinsons are coming over early tomorrow to see the garden."
"Yes, Mother." Rolling his eyes, he slammed the book shut. What kind of Slytherin thought gardening was interesting?