Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

July 31st, 1991

It had taken a week for Draco's parents to make room to go to Diagon Alley. For seven days, Draco had stewed, ranted, and sulked. This, of course, had resulted in no reaction from his parents, who were not going to reward such behavior, but it made Draco feel better. He had also kicked Dobby down the stairs 23 times, who was more purple than anything else now. This morning, his robes had been ironed and his shoes polished in anticipation for the trip.

Standing before the great dining room fireplace, Draco fumed. He couldn't believe his parents! It was fifteen minutes past when his parents had promised they would leave. Didn't they have any respect for the need to prepare? He would have to practice walking confidently in his new robes. At least the sharp authoritative clicks of his shoes wouldn't change. They had taken him 3 weeks to get right. His white-blond hair was slicked effortlessly back.

Father swept into the room, looking vaguely irked, until his eyes settled on Draco. Then his expression softened. "Your mother won't be coming, unfortunately. The Minister is coming over and she must supervise the preparations." Draco nodded, but frowned. Minister Fudge was a fat little man who was polite, but condescending, to Draco. He disliked the man and loathed any visits to the manor by him.

Father took a pinch of Floo Powder from a highly polished marble urn that he had received as a gift from a warlock in Africa that he had helped into the International Confederation of Wizards. The urn was enchanted to hold much more than it looked, though Malfoy knew that this was only an Extension Charm, it was an expensive gift. Something about the spell being slippery on stone, or something unimportant like that. He threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald green flames. Turning around, Lucius Malfoy stood, wreathed in green fire, could have been Salazar Slytherin himself. Draco felt a small thrill of terror and wonder at the same time. "Diagon Alley," Father said coolly.

Full of ambition, steeped in a great shadow of his father's legacy, Draco Malfoy followed into the flames.

Draco had never visited the Malfoy vault before, so the carts of Gringotts were completely new to him. Ever conscious of his public image, Draco attempted to keep his face aloof of the thrilling ride. His idea of speed before now had been riding his broomstick over the manor grounds, but these carts were going easily twice the speed. However, he could not quite keep the giddy smile off his face. He carefully looked away from the goblin in the cart, not wanting his lapse of composure to be seen.

For all the good it did him. He had let out an undignified squeal of terror when the dragon guarding his vaults had roared on their entry to its chamber. There was some solace to this embarrassment in the sight of the stacks and stacks of gold, gems, and silver that would one day be his. At the front of the vault, 3 neat stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts reached up to his shoulder: ready spending money.

Obviously, the first place to go was Ollivanders. He would begin practicing his wand grip as soon as possible. Image was everything, his father had often said in his spare moments, which he spent with his wife and son.

Ollivander was an old house, though Draco was pretty sure that the current wand shop owner was a half-blood. As they walked toward Ollivanders, Draco started practicing the sneer for someone of slightly lower class, but not open contempt, as a lord would to an honest, loyal peasant. Lucius noticed almost immediately, and understood in a glance what was meant. "Draco," he said quietly without looking at him, "Your quality of wand is a decisive factor in your career as a wizard. It would not do to fall in ill graces with the man who will provide you with this tool."

Draco immediately switched to a gracious smile. He didn't much like this smile, it gave people the idea that he was just another kid. But he wasn't about to doubt the word of Father.

"Ah, Lucius," said Mr. Ollivander, "your son looks just like you." He glanced at the serpent-headed cane in Father's hand. "Elm, dragon heartstring, isn't it? An old heirloom." Lucius gave a courteous nod.

Ollivander gestured towards it. "May I?"

"I'm in a hurry today, Garrick." The old man nodded, but continued to look at the cane out of the corner of his eye. "Now," said Mr. Ollivander, "Draco, wasn't it?" He tottered off down the aisle of narrow boxes. A long moment later, he returned with an armful of the boxes. A wild, disturbing grin was set in his face, like a Euphoria Elixir addict.

"Let's see here," he said eagerly, "try this one." He proffered a box. "Cedar, dragon heartstring, 11 inches. Quite rigid." Before Draco could wave it, however, he snatched it away. "Not that one," he muttered. The grin had grown only wider.

Draco was unnerved by that look on the old man's face, but he said nothing. His father had dealt with Bellatrix Lestrange as a Death Eater, and she was mad as a bat. Grin and bear it, he thought to himself, over and over.

On the third wand, hawthorn and unicorn tail, 10 inches, "reasonably springy," he had found the right one. The entire event had been fairly anticlimactic. Ollivander had seemed almost disappointed to have found the right wand so easily. Draco was glad to leave the shop and the odd man behind.

Next would be Madam Malkin's. This part would likely take the longest, since Draco wanted to be completely comfortable and elegant in his new robes for the year. It was all wasted on those other first years, really, but the older Slytherins would be watching for glimmers of potential, and all of them would be looking particularly closely at him, since he was the son of Lucius Malfoy. There was one first year, though, that Draco would be wanting to make an impression with.