AN: I hope you've all had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

July 1991 - School Shopping 3 of 4

His family honour was at stake!

Draco spotted a stall swamped with students. He could barely make out the vendor in the sea of children, but the signage above the woman's head displayed the wares she touted.

He slipped his hand free when Lucius loosened his grip and pointed out the stall with the same hand to cover his need to release.

"Father, look," he said. "Ice cream!"

Lucius glanced over though he didn't break his stride or aim in the right direction. "I would have bought you one had you behaved in Knockturn Alley."

"I did!" Draco burst, incredulously. He'd been dragged in and out of every single solitary shop in Knockturn Alley and with that in mind, he'd behaved brilliantly.

"I'm inclined to think otherwise."

Draco moved into the slip stream behind his father who swept lesser wizards aside with his snake headed cane. Lucius made sure to have his son keep up despite Draco's best effort to fall behind and peer into fascinating windows. It seemed like each time Draco found something of interest, his father would sing out his name in a tone others might find light and breezy. Draco knew differently, however - it was the tone his father used to issue a warning when in that ghastly 'polite society'.

At least he wasn't being manoeuvred through the crowds by his father like some of his age and older. He wasn't holding the man's hand, either, which he was eminently grateful for. Some were, though. Draco hoped they weren't Slytherin letting the side down.

"You didn't behave," the boy muttered. "You shouldn't have let Borgin feed that elf to that, that…that thing." Draco shuddered thinking of the great bulbous being snatch the tiny creature from midair and the click, click clicking it made. "We don't treat our house elves like that."

If Lucius heard him, he ignored him.

Draco's point about the house elves was correct, though, and his father couldn't deny it. The Malfoy's weren't overly kind to their servants, but they didn't treat them like slaves, as other old wizarding families and organisations did.

If his father refused to engage on the matter, Draco saw no point in continuing. When they passed another swamped ice cream vendor, he remembered how much he wanted one.

"So, the ice creams?" Draco said, raising his voice to break through the roaring hum of harassed shoppers. "May I have one?"

"No," Lucius replied just as loudly.

Draco scowled at the man's back as he continued to stride in the direction of Madame Malkins.

"Please? Father…" he tried again, grabbing hold of Lucius's cape and pulling him back.

Draco would have explained this action as a gentle tug to get his dear father's attention - the jolt to Lucius's step as he was yanked backwards by the cape fastened around his neck said otherwise.

"No," Lucius said again much more forcibly. He took the hand Draco had used to snatch his cloak and clamped it into his own.

"But Father…" Draco whined, attempting to free himself to no avail.

He soon found himself being dragged down the street again just as he had in Knockturn Alley. In fact, his Diagon Alley adventure had turned into the exact same experience of the first street with Lucius stopping to speak with every recognisable face in the crowd.

And he knew so many! Every second face, at least.

Draco grew bored quickly and attempted to pull his father away from his 'networking chats' in any direction that looked vaguely more appealing to him. Lucius continued his conversation each time, barely moving an inch whilst Draco tugged with all his eleven-year-old might in one way or another.

One of the many good things about Diagon Alley was the lack of 'no touching' signs. It was a bright and vibrant street headed by the Three Broomsticks pub at one end and enticing shops galore that went for as far as the eye could see in the other direction.

They were so close to the travelling apparel shop, Broomstix, when Lucius bumped into one of his best friends, Ted Nott. Theo, Draco's best friend, wasn't with his father. They were somewhere in the hustle and bustle, but Ted couldn't take any more shopping, or, more pertinently, Theo's whinging over a toad which he was not allowed to have after his awful behaviour at the Summer Ball.

Draco thought it most unfair they weren't allowed pets. It was effectively a nine-month punishment. Quite unreasonable for a few jokes that hadn't landed well with some humourless half-bloods and blood-traitors.

He chewed on the injustice and couldn't keep quite any longer. "Grandfather said you were both as bad at your first ball."

The fingers on Draco's right hand were crushed within the weight of his father's. He wiggled the tips to make sure they were still attached! Lucius didn't speak to him, but Draco saw the tightening of his jaw and heard his heavy sigh. Ted Nott sighed, too, but he sounded less annoyed. The sympathetic smile he gave to his best mate said it all - Ted felt pity for Lucius.

Something told Draco he had no chance of a pet now. Lucius Malfoy did not want to be pitied by anyone, least of all his own friends who, Draco assumed, his father felt were beneath him.

The two men parted with Ted wishing Lucius good luck on the rest of his shopping. Lucius said he would rather be going to The Three Broomsticks with him, and they arranged to meet at the oft-frequented gentlemen's club that evening instead.

Draco nearly reminded his father that he couldn't go to the club because he'd promised his wife they'd all go to Uncle Sirius's for dinner. He also wanted to remind the miserable man that his mother said he spent more time at the 'old boys club' than he did with his family, but he didn't have the chance. His arm jerked, his whole body lurched forward after it, and they were off again walking in the wrong direction.

"I want to go in Broomstix!" Draco wailed, digging his heels into the cobble stone street. "I need a new broom for school!"

Lucius stopped and for a moment Draco thought he'd won. His hopes were dashed when he found himself eye to twitching eye with his father who'd bent down to his level again, just as he had in Knockturn Alley.

"You have a new broom," he explained, his teeth grinding together as rage bubbled beneath the surface. He'd put aside his polite society tone and begun growling at his son.

Draco felt more subdued than he had - speaking to the back of his father's head was preferable to speaking face to face. "It's not new," he explained quietly. "I've had it since Christmas and there are newer brooms now. I want a nim…"

"You are beyond ungrateful!" Lucius said, spitting his words. "I'm going to use that bloody broom for firewood!"

Draco's mouth dropped open. What an awful thing to do! What could be crueller than that?

Lucius looked above his son's head, something catching his attention then worse a small sparkle in his eye. Draco was abruptly spun on the spot to face Broomstix where an even crueller sight played out.

"Would you like to be next?"

Draco's breath hitched and he gasped with wide eyes. A boy around his own age though a little taller tried to hide his face. His mother, a slim, severe looking witch with bobbed brown hair loomed over him whilst she ranted about his behaviour.

Draco couldn't understand why parents did that, but they all seemed to react in the same way when their children behaved poorly - they behaved even worse! It must have been an adult game of sorts. Like top trumps? The boy's behaviour, whatever it was that had been so damning, hadn't drawn any attention, but now half the shoppers of Diagon Alley had their eyes glued on the raving mad woman.

The boy kept one hand over his face but moved the other down to his thigh and began to rub. Draco shook his head once he realised what was going on. He leaned back into his father's shoulder as he had done in Borgin and Burkes, the scene before him equally shocking.

"Well?" Lucius said. "Would you like to be next?"

Draco gulped and shook his head. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the poor wretch. Now Draco could see his face, he saw tears streaking his cheeks and red rims around his eyes. He looked a little older than Draco, actually. He'd be a second year, maybe? What was his mother thinking humiliating her son in the street? It was uncouth, surely?

It wasn't often that Draco observed witches and wizards outside of his circle. He was a well socialised young wizard, but his socialisation had occurred in particular circumstances where the general rabble could not be found. Aside from Sacred-28 events, Draco had attended many ministry parties and charity galas. Weddings, funerals, and regular birthday bashes punctured his years, too. He knew everyone at these gatherings. He was related to half of them, however distantly, and the rest he might as well be. In his circles it seemed that everyone knew everything about each other. There were plenty of family secrets, but most imagined the skeletons in their own closets were greater in number than those that could be found elsewhere.

Whenever Draco complained about his parent's mishandling of him, Narcissa took the time to explain that there was nothing unusual about the treatment he received. It was normal, she would say. Draco knew his friends' parents claimed the same as the boys had discussed it at length. His mates had the same socialisation as Draco did, so they weren't to know whether their parents were lying or not.

Draco had been shopping with his parents before but he couldn't remember ever seeing such an awful sight as a mother smacking her Hogwarts aged child. Although, he'd never visited Diagon Alley in the dreaded back to school rush. Parents seemed to have lost their minds over school supplies. It was insane - he'd never seen such miserably harassed parents in all his days. Each one of those parents seemed intent on ruining their eager children's days.

The poor bugger Draco was observing had begun to offer apologies to his mother only for her to brush it aside, paying his words no heed. Instead, she promised her son something dreadful:

"Wait until you get home!"

There came a veritable groan from all young witches and wizards in hearing distance. They knew the promise bellied by such words.

Lucius shook his son gently and spoke into his ear. "I'm waiting for a response."

Draco shook his head then swooped his hand across his forehead to move the hair out of his eyes. "No, sir," he said quietly. He couldn't imagine anything worse than being next.

Huffing a little as he stood up straight, Lucius quickly and surreptitiously stretched out his knee before taking Draco's hand again. They picked their way through the bustling alley and then straight into Madame Malkin's without Draco making a sound.

Outside Malkin's shop was carnage with gaggles of middle-aged witches elbowing their way through the piles of readymade Hogwarts uniform. Malkin's apprentice seamstress, a frumpy girl no older than 18, brought out an armful of pre-owned uniform for the jumble sale table, and nearly caused a riot! Draco watched the witches in attendance lose their minds just to save a few groats on their children's school attire. Despite the frumpy apprentice calling out shrilly for order and good sense, the mothers became more and more irate, snatching robes from one another as they sought for their children's size.

It looked quite exciting to be poor.

All too soon, Lucius dragged his son away from the fun. They ignored the queue, strolling inside. Draco told himself they skipped the line because they were important, rather than because they had an appointment. A bell sounded as they opened the door to the shop and Madame Malkin appeared immediately to greet them - it was a better service than they found in Knockturn Alley. She was Diagon Alley's seasoned seamstress with a reputation for her meticulous work and provided most of Hogwarts with their school uniform. She was a short, plump lady with large, thick glasses that magnified her eyes. Teamed with her yellow and black Hufflepuff robes, Draco thought she looked like a giant bumble bee.

Another apprentice, short, squat and smiley, manned the counter. The till rang time after time as one after another, a witch presented herself, gave her name and payment, and left with bulky packages wrapped in brown paper.

"Mr Malfoy," Madame Malkin greeted the father and son, hanging a long tape measure around her neck. "Is your father well?"

Lucius looked bashful for a moment before replying "Very well, thank you," he said, and pushed his son forward. "I believe my wife has already made payment."

"Indeed, Mr Malfoy." She began ushering Draco to the fitting room. "I just need to take his measurements."

Lucius nodded curtly and made to follow, but he spotted yet another associate passing the window. "Madame Malkin, I'll return soon," he said, told his son to behave, and left.

Draco allowed the seamstress to lead him to the fitting rooms where she had him stand on a small stool. The room had mustard-coloured walls and large black-framed windows on Draco's right, which provided ample lighting. Sunlight bounced off the golden-framed mirrors in front of him. There were so many mirrors. Surely one mirror would have been more standard, more usual, more suitable. For some reason Draco couldn't fathom, Madame Malkin had chosen tens of irregularly sized mirrors which decorated the wall running the length of the room.

As she took his measurements with meticulous care, Draco found himself oddly fixated on her oversized glasses. The more he stared, the more his gaze unintentionally turned into rudeness, as he struggled to focus on anything else during the fitting. After she had asked him three times if he was alright, Draco knew he had to make an effort to look away from her milk bottle rims. He fixed his eyes on the window, watching the world go by, seeing kids his age walking by with ice creams, bags of Bertie Bots Beans, donuts, and more ice cream. Then something large and hairy blocked his view of the alley.

By reputation alone, Draco presumed the great lummox was Hogwarts' groundskeeper, Hagrid. Why on earth he was in Diagon Alley, though, he couldn't guess.

The bell rang as someone opened the shop door and Madame Malkin hurried away to greet her next customer. Which Draco thought quite offensive – he was the only customer she needed to worry about!

"Come along, dear," Madame Malkin said somewhere behind Draco. He looked around, still standing on his stool, but she wasn't talking to him.

Harry bloody Potter.

Draco didn't even try to hide the roll of his eyes or the scowl on his face as Madame Malkin lead the half-breed to stand on a stool next to him. The indignity burned in the pit of his stomach, the flame there increased when Draco realised the whole of Diagon Alley might see them together as they stood in the window of Malkin's fitting rooms.

Harry tried to smile at Draco, his cousin for all intents and purposes. "Um, hi?" he said, eyeing the blond boy warily.

Draco was about to tell Harry to shut up, to stop talking to him, to move away – preferably back to the abusive muggles he came from. But through the shop window, he spotted a blur of white-blond hair against pitch black robes, and a snake headed cane…it wouldn't be wise to tell Harry what he really thought of him with his father so close by. The memory of the Summer Ball caused him to blush all over again as he stood on that stool, waiting to Madame Malkin to make the final fit for his robes.

"Hi."

The grunted word was all Draco could manage, and still more than the half-breed deserved.

"So," Harry began with a forced smile. "Have you got everything you need for school?"

Draco huffed. Madame Malkin returned and threw a cloak around Draco's shoulders. Using her wand, she flew pins towards the boy, which unnerved Draco a little.

"Draco, dear," said Madame Malkin. She nodded in Harry's direction and gave him a warm smile.

She must have assumed Draco had merely forgotten to answer Harry's innocuous question. Draco had no choice but to respond now. Huffing again, he turned his head to see Harry out the corner of his eye.

"Almost," he said, again grunting him words. He heard Madame Malkin tut, and knowing she was a good friend of his grandfather's, Draco swallowed the injustice and tried again. "I need my robes," said Draco, gesturing to the pins flying around his body. "Obviously. Ow!"

One of Madame Malkin's pins missed its target (or maybe found its target) and pricked Draco in his thigh. Nasty old witch, he thought to the woman, telling her off in his mind.

"Fine!" he blurted when a second pin jabbed his shoulder. "I need to get my wand still. And I need to collect my books." Begrudgingly, Draco asked Harry if he was ready for school.

"I think so," the boy wonder replied. Hagrid has come with us as Sirius wasn't sure what I needed to get. Hagrid knows everything about Hogwarts he's been—"

"I can only imagine what that oaf has to say about Hogwarts!" Draco burst into laughter. "I dread to think what you'll be taking to school if Hagrid is involved!"

Harry folded his arms across his chest and turned away, though Madame Malkin moved him back into position whilst her enchanted pins continued marking up the boy's cape. With Draco still laughing at his side, Harry came to Hagrid's defence.

"He's really nice, actually," he said. "And he's helpful, and kind, and—"

"And he's a smelly old gardener."

Madame Malkin withdrew her enchanted pins, sending them into a little yellow ceramic pot on the windowsill. "Now, now, boys," she said, all matronly. "I'll have no childish squabbles in my shop."

Childish squabbles? Draco cocked his head and repeated the words in his mind. There was no squabble – Draco was putting Harry straight. He didn't blame Madame Malkin for her mistake, though – she was only an old Hufflepuff, after all.

Madame Malkin directed her wand at the capes around the boys' necks and whipped them away. Bundling them into one arm, she asked them to remain where they were and disappeared into a back room where she would, they assumed, make the necessary adjustments to their robes.

A few minutes of painful silence followed, becoming heavier and more oppressive as the time went on. Harry was the first to break it.

"So, have you got everything for school?"

"You've already asked me that," Draco replied surlily. "I might buy a new broom, if I can be bothered. Can you ride?"

He was unable to hide his smirk asking the question. Of course, Harry couldn't ride. He'd only been in the wizarding world a few months. There was too much muggle about him to be a rider. Draco had been using brooms since he could walk. Always under supervision, of course, as young wizard could only perform magic under direct supervision of elder witches and wizards, but he was good at it. He'd been the best at young wizard camps since he could remember (mainly because he chose to only remember his last wizard camp in May).

"I've not tried yet," Harry admitted sheepishly, much to Draco's enjoyment. "Sirius has brought me a broom, though," he added. "Hagrid said we really don't need them until second year, but Sirius insisted."

Draco saw his reflection in the mirrors hung in front of him. His mouth had dropped a little, his cheeks flushed. Uncle Mutt had brought the half-breed a broom? He wouldn't have brought Harry a good broom. He couldn't have brought Harry a better broom than he had. Draco had to know, he had to be prepared.

"What broom?"

The terseness of his tone made Harry flinch.

"Oh, um, I think it's a Nimrod 200," said Harry, shrugging. "Something like that."

"A Nimbus 2000?"

"Yeah, that's it," said Harry. "Is that the type you've got?"

Draco balled his fists at his side, fighting the temptation to punch the boy wonder. "Shut up, Potter," he said, muttering dark curses under his breath. "A broom's a broom."

The doorbell rang again behind, and thank Merlin it was his father, come to save him. Though Draco felt aggrieved again – he was the reason the Draco would suffer the indignity of having a worse broom than Harry bloody Potter!

"Ah, Mr Malfoy," Madame Malkin sang out, waddling to the counter where he placed a parcel wrapped in brown paper, tied with string.

Draco stomped down from his stool and ignored Harry's bewildered goodbye. He also ignored the smile his father greeted him with, and Madame Malkin's good wishes for his new venture at Hogwarts. Heading straight for the door, Draco pushed his way through the gaggle of women still crowding the harassed young seamstresses. He was halfway to Flourish and Blott's when his father caught up with him, pulling him to a standstill by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"What on earth," said Lucius. He took a fistful of Draco's cloak when his son tried to pull away. "Draco!"

"We need to get my books," said Draco, avoiding his father's eye. Not out of fear, not out of shame, but out of sheer anger. "Books, wand, home."

He tried to pull away again, and this time got free for a moment before his father renewed his efforts. With a bit of a struggle, Lucius managed to clamp an arm around his son's waist and hauled him to the side of the street so hurried shoppers weren't forced to dodge the two of them.

They were near Slug & Jiggers Apothecary and there was a tight alley way running down the side, separating the apothecary from the next store, Amanuensis Quills. Lucius put his wriggling boy down and

"What was all of that about?" said Lucius. "Why did you run off? What are you playing at?"

Every breath Draco breathed was pulled in noisily through his nose and forced out even heavier. He truly was the little dragon in that moment.

Lucius picked up on his son's distress and bent down to his level again – it was doing his knee no good at all, and he promised himself a large glass of fire whiskey when they returned home. Which needed to be sooner rather than later. He couldn't fathom how Narcissa had kept herself sane all these years. She usually took Draco shopping, took him for haircuts, took him on playdates…and everywhere else. Their son was a hellion, and she was a saint!

"What happened in Madame Malkin's?" Lucius placed a gentle finger beneath Draco's chin and pushed up.

Draco's eyes had never been so dark. His eyebrows were so low that Lucius could only just see his eyes. His son wasn't distressed. He was fuming.

"He…he…" Draco huffed, frustrated with his words sticking in his throat.

Kindly, Lucius encouraged his son to take a few deep breaths, steady himself. And Draco did. As the red mist descended, the boy began to consider his options. Maybe telling his father how the boy wonder had bragged about his new broom and how good a flyer he was, then Lucius might buy him the Nimbus 2000, too!

"It was Potter," said Draco. "Everything he's got is better than what I've got and he was rubbing my face in it. He's got the best broom and mine is old and he laughed at me and…"

Draco's rant drifted away as he watched his father's face sour. He couldn't' understand why he was so annoyed. Perhaps his annoyance was for Potter?

"And then Potter—"

"Enough!" said Lucius, cutting Draco off before he could say any thing else. "His name is Harry and I expect you to address him as such, understood?"

Draco renewed his earlier scowl but agreed after his father ground out his name a few times.

"You are not having a new broom as you have a perfectly fine broom at home and first years cannot take their own brooms to school…"

Draco's attention drifted whilst his father Lucius went on and on. The general gist seemed to be that he wasn't getting the Nimbus 2000 as his father was a spiteful man.

The back-to-school shoppers continued stalking Diagon Alley with only the occasional passerby glancing in their direction. Fortunately, Lucius kept his voice low and Draco hoped that anyone looking their way would assume they were witnessing a nice father/son moment. Draco refused to consider that they may imagine he was being told off.

"Do we understand each other?"

Draco snapped his attention back to his father. The glare the man gave matched his son's and Draco's shoulders dropped an inch. It was so unfair! Potter would be going to Hogwarts with a brand new broom…well he'd have to leave it at home, but he would know he had one at home. Draco would only have a Twigger 90 waiting for him. Feeling utterly miserable, he sullenly nodded and said he understood.

Lucius heaved himself up using his cane for support. If there was need to kneel down again, they would have to go home instead. Dusting himself off, Lucius took Draco's hand, and ignored his son's whispered pleas to release him.

"As you said, son – books, wand, home."

Flourish and Blott's was as packed as Madame Malkin's. More, actually. It was impossible to look at the books, as the shelves were blocked with witches and wizards, young and old, moving shoulder to shoulder around the shop.

Lucius went ahead, forging a path toward the counter at the back of the store, pulling his son along behind him. Despite his protestations, Draco held on tight to his father's hand. He had no desire to be lost in Flourish and Blott's.

He had heard stories about child snatchers – some from their world, some from the muggle world. Draco and his friends told each other wild tales of kids their age being hoisted off to far away realms where awful things might happen…like being forced to live a muggle life!

Looking around the book shop as Lucius pulled him along, Draco thought how easy it would be for a child to be snatched in the heaving shops of Diagon Alley. No one would notice, he thought, squeezing his father's hand a little tighter. He felt at ease when Lucius squeezed back, reassuringly.

Reaching the back of the store where two workers manned the tills, ringing incessantly as they had in Madame Malkin's.

"I need the manager," said Lucius, and the younger of the two assistants jumped on the spot, bobbed his head, and headed through the door behind him to find the man.

If Lucius noticed the evil eye he had earned by ignoring another queue, he didn't react at all. He waited quietly until the manager arrived, the till assistant with him who began ringing up purchases at double speed to make up for his absence.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy," said the store manager. He was a slender old wizard with greying brown hair.

Neither Lucius nor Draco knew the man's name, but Draco was struck by the greeting his father received. Everyone said 'ah, Mr Malfoy'…everyone knew who he was, and by extension, they must know who he was, too. Draco stood a little taller, mimicking his father's stance with his shoulders pulled back and his chin slightly tilting upwards. In his peripheral vision, he saw the shoppers slidingly along one way or another in the tightly packed shop, and the losers in the queue. A ghost of a grin chanced his face, and he giggled a little to himself.

Lucius pulled his son a little closer to the side of the counter whilst he went through the list of supplies his wife had pre-paid for. It was yet another boring adult conversation that had nothing to do with Draco. He had better get an ice cream after all this. Trying to join in,

Draco interrupted the conversation between his father and the store manager and said to his father, "Why don't you try selling that book here?"

The manager, always keen to make a little extra income, sprang on Draco's words. "We do a roaring trade in second-hand books, Mr Malfoy."

"The child is confused," said Lucius, throwing his boy a brief expression of frustration. "I'm sure I have no idea what he's talking about." He pushed his son away and pointed to the door (which Draco couldn't see with all the adults in the way). "Go and wait outside. Here," he said, stuffing coins into his son's hand. "Go to Sugar Plums and buy some sweets for the train."

Lucuis knew the boy didn't deserve more sweets, but he needed him out of the way before he announced to the world that Lucius Malfoy was selling dark materials. He already had Arthur Weasley's raids to contend with!

By the time Lucius joined his son outside the shop, Draco was grinning like the cat that got the cream. Ice cream, in fact! When Draco had pushed his way through the shop, he bumped into Sirus and Harry, and that great oaf Hagrid. Sirius brought both boys an ice cream, which Draco was thoroughly enjoying. He'd chosen butterscotch cream with sherbet froth and chocolate sauce. It was wonderful" It tasted even better because his father had refused to get him one, and he had one anyway. It felt like a win.

Lucius raised his eyebrows to the boy but didn't pass comment on it. He did ask why he had such a huge bag of Bertie Bot's Every Flavour Beans at his feet, though.

"I just spent what you gave me," said Draco, offering his father no change at all.

"Timothy!"

Draco and his gathering all turned as the name was called out behind them. A frantic father had grabbed poor Timothy just as he'd tried to enter Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

"What were you told?" the man asked they boy. "Can you see how busy this street is?" A girl who looked to be the boy's older sister tried to interject. She tried to say she was watching him, he was safe, but the man brushed her aside. "Weren't you told to stay with us?"

Each question was accompanied by a clap of thunder, and though neither Draco or Harry could see, they knew what it was and winced each time.

"See, Draco," Lucius crooned smugly to his son. "It's not as unusual as you like to make out."

Draco tutted and rolled his eyes. "It seems horrible parents are quite common after all," said Draco. He tutted, rolled his eyes, and went back to his ice cream.

"I suggest you apologise quickly."

"Sorry."

Lucius wasn't fooled by his insincerity, and neither was anyone else. Hagrid and Sirius caught each other's eye and Lucius noticed. Yet another minor humiliation for him to bear caused by his only son.

"So," said Draco, stuffing the last of his ice cream cone into his mouth. With a hand across his mouth to hide the food inside, he added a muffled, "Wand?"

His hand across his mouth also protected him from his father seeing his grin. He knew then man would have called him a peasant, or a muggle, or some other insult for behaving so uncouthly. He wouldn't do that in present company, however. Another win! Draco was on a roll.

"You'll be in for a wait, Lucius," said Hagrid, gesturing with his big hairy head to Olivander's wand shop. "The queue has been out the door all morning."

"It's worse than Azkaban around here," Sirius added quietly. "Do you still want a pet?" he asked his god son, quickly changing the subject.

"No," said Harry. "You don't have to get me a pet as well. You've already given me far too much."

Sirius beamed at the boy. "Nonsense!" he said, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders.

Draco had his eyes on his father, who seemed to be watching the interplay between Uncle Mutt and the half-breed. Lucius did have one eye on them, and the other on Draco. He couldn't remember a single occasion when Draco had been so grateful, so polite (unless you counted the insincere times, of course, which Lucius did not). But Draco had grown up with the world at his feet, as apposed to Harry who had been dragged up in the awful muggle society with particularly awful muggles minders. He briefly considered sending Draco to Harry's aunt and uncle for a spell so he could develop some appreciation for all he has. Narcissa would never allow it. Which he thought was a shame.

"Tell yeh what," said Hagrid, ruffling Harry's shaggy brown hair – the boy wonder seemed to have naturally messy hair to Draco's eyes, proved when it looked no worse for Hagrid's great big hand disrupting it. "I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Lucius ruffled his son's hair, too, and said, "I told you toads were out of fashion."

Draco immediately straightened his hair and stepped away, giving his father a look that questioned his sanity.

"Yeah," he said, raising his eyes to look briefly at Hagrid. "He looks a true fashion icon."

Another wave of embarrassment washed over Lucius because of his son's impertinence.

Hagrid waved away Lucuis's apology on his son's behalf. "I'll meet yeh back at The Leaky Cauldron, Sirius," he said, nodded at Lucius, and left for the Magical Menagerie.

Lucius parked his son at the back of the line waiting to enter Olivander's Wand Shop. He didn't speak, he simply stared straight ahead, looking above a short witch in front with her lime green floppy hat to see the queue of people ahead of them. From his rough count, they were twenty-second in line.

"Why are we waiting?" Draco asked his father. "We don't queue. We never queue."

"That is precisely why we are waiting." Lucius snatched his son back by his side when the boy dared to take a step aside. He wanted to count the line, too! "Stand still," he hissed. "I think some time to calm down will help."

Draco's young face screwed up, his nose wrinkling, his eyebrow cocked. "I am calm."

Through gritted teeth, Lucius replied: "I am not."

Taking the tiniest of steps away, Draco put a little space between himself and his miserable father. He would have had a much better time shopping with his mother. He was never going with his father again, that was for sure.

It felt like an absolute age until they took a step forward. One family left the Wand Shop with an excited girl Draco's age, clutching her new wand to her chest in its wooden box. Draco wanted that excitement for himself.

"Are you calm now?" he asked his father. "Can we go ahead of these…people?"

The woman in the lime green hat turned her head just enough to see the cheeky boy from the corner of her eye and the face the front again, shaking her head.

Lucius didn't reply, though his jaw twitched a little as his muscles tightened.

Draco cross his arms over his little chest and huffed as loud as possible. He couldn't stand still let alone stand still in silence. He didn't have much to say to his father, at least nothing he wanted to say in that moment. If he was being forced to wait like a mud-blood, he might as well at least use the time productively.

"Harry has a Nimbus 2000," renewing his request for an upgrade. "My broom is so old. I've had it since Yule. You didn't even buy it for me - Grandfather did. I think you should buy me a new broom. I need one at least as good as Potter's."

It was the same argument he had already put forward multiple times that day and Lucius had heard enough of it. The lime green hat woman had only heard it once, but from the comment she made to her daughters, she had heard enough of Draco, too.

"You do not deserve the broom you have, let alone another one," Lucius said in an exaggerated, angry whisper. "You won't ride that broom ever again, in fact!"

Draco was flabbergasted! How could he say such a spiteful thing?

"You are rude, impertinent, and beyond disrespectful." It seemed Lucius was on a roll. "In future," he said, thinking about Draco's 'helpful' suggestion to sell The Dark Lord's book in Flourish and Blott's, "Private interactions remain private."

With his mouth dropping open for a moment, Draco squared his shoulders. The unfairness burned in his guts. His father had failed to sell the book in Knockturn Alley, and Draco was trying to help by offering it to the shop manager in Flourish and Blott's. There wasn't much to be gained in pointing this out, but the 'private' thing needed addressing.

"Why is it only the things you want private that we need to keep private?" he asked in faux innocence. "What about the things I want to keep private?

"Children don't have anything that needs to be kept private." Though he was speaking in whispers, the witches and wizards in front and behind could clearly hear every word. "If you keep this up maybe I will show you just how public some things can be."

Draco scoffed but took another step away. "And maybe I'll tell people why we were in Knockturn Alley."

Draco's self-satisfaction lasted mere moments. 11-year-olds aren't known for their forethought, but only Draco Malfoy with his unearned and undeserved self-assurance could think blackmailing his father would work out in his favour.

The giant, sealed bag of Bertie Botts Beans was ripped from his hands and then Draco, likewise, was ripped from the spot. Lucius became a man on a mission as he man-handled his child through the busy street of harassed back-to-school shoppers. He deftly directed Draco through the crowds offering only a tight smile to those who jumped aside to allow them passage.

In one hand, Lucius held his cane and Draco's sweets, in the other, he held Draco by the scruff of his neck. This meant he couldn't use his cane to support his aching leg and he walked, or rather stalked, with a limp. Many people who saw Lucius Malfoy with his snake-headed cane assumed the implement was a style choice. Most were unaware of just how much he relied on it. It was an assumption he preferred and limping as he walked only made him angrier.

On their way, whilst Draco spluttered his complaints, they passed Sirius and Harry. The boy gleamed with gratitude as he clutched his new bird cage and the snowy white owl within. Draco felt himself being steered in their direction.

"These are for Harry," Lucius said, handing over the bag of beans. "Draco doesn't deserve them."

Draco looked at his sweets in the arms of the oh-so-wonderful, if bewildered, Harry Potter. Sure, Harry hadn't asked for them, he didn't seem to know what to do with them, but he had them.

"They're mine!" Draco snapped, reaching for the bag.

His father pulled him back and repeated that he didn't deserve them.

Lucius began to wish Sirius a good day when he felt a sharp kick in his shin. And then another and another. All purposely aimed at the leg Abraxas Malfoy had broken for him when he wasn't much older than Draco. The bones healed awkwardly in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor and even after several surgeries and spells, Lucius still limped on occasion. After all the walking and stooping and kneeling he'd done, his leg ached, his knee burned. And now his darling, spoilt child was doing his best to re-brake his old injury.

"You've lost your bloody mind," he hissed, shaking his son like a rag doll.

While Draco struggled in his father's grip, he alternated between trying to grab the Bertie Bots Beans back from Harry and continuing to kick his father. He didn't stop until two heavy smacks landed on his bottom - they didn't hurt, not through robes and a cloak, but he felt embarrassed all the same. He was like that poor pitiful child they'd seen outside the bookshop. The indignity!

Draco may have cursed then. And not just q don't-say-in-polite-society curse, or even just a wizarding-world curse, but a proper all-over-the-world curse. A word no 11-year-old should know. But he'd heard it somewhere, and he knew it was scandalous. Although Draco didn't really know what one was, he was sure that, if ever there were one, Lucius Malfoy was it in that moment.

After he said it, it struck Draco that perhaps the curse it was even worse than he'd thought. Sirius's mouth dropped open and his eyes stood on stalks. Harry choked on a half-laugh and started coughing. The gaggle of witches and wizards in the near vicinity seemed to pause their very movements as if they'd been put under a spell. And then the tutting began in earnest, and the whispers. Draco found that people were tutting whispering around him quite a lot of late. A lesser wizard might have become paranoid at such a thing (but then a better one might have worked on giving less for people to tut and whisper about).

Lucius remained oddly silent and eerily calm. It reminded Draco of the time Theo had told his mother to 'eff off' on a bet. The famous five enjoyed their petty bets as much as their fathers enjoyed their (significantly less petty) gambling. One of them had the bright idea to test out some choice phrases they'd overheard their parents saying. Poor Theo had drawn the short straw and gone first. Needless to say, the game ended with Theo, too.

Mrs Nott had reacted much like Draco's father. Quiet, calm, until all too soon, she was neither of those things. Then the eruption began with Theo taking a wicked slap to the face - an act that appeared to be performed instinctively and yet totally unexpected. Theo said he was still picking soap out from between his teeth two months later. He wouldn't say how his father reacted when he heard about it which Draco realised didn't bode well for him stood in Diagon Alley with hundreds of witnesses close by.

Lucius must have been similarly concerned with the nearby onlookers as without word to anyone, he apparated himself and his son back to Knockturn Alley, found an available fireplace, and dragged the boy through with him.