"Who is the ponce in the purple tights, and why isn't he arrested for wearing tights without underwear in a store full of children buying schoolbooks." Sneered Hermione
"Gilderoy Lockheart." Muttered Fred darkly.
"Mom loves him." George sneered darkly, pointing with his chin to where Molly Weasley had a stack of seven books in flamboyant colours with gold lettering standing in line to be signed by said purple ponce. There were dozens of middle aged witches practically drooling, but more disturbingly, so were a number of school aged witches. The twins baby sister Ginevra Weasley seemingly among them.
Milicent blinked, then blurted out. "Hang on, I've got some of his books on my purchase list. Seven of them for Defense Against the Dark Arts!" Milicent said, something between shock and horror peaking through her Slytherin and noble reserve.
Gilderoy Lockheart, much like the dreaded Weasley Twins was easily summoned by his mention. Looking over from his book signing with his publicist and photographer, he noted Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived with his very photogenic scar.
Striding over to Harry with a smile whose brightness argued it could not be entirely non-magical, Gilderoy proved his startling good looks were matched by a tenor that belonged on the stage, as it was very clearly professionally trained.
"How fortunate it is that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, came today to get his school books. When he came to get his seven books on Defense Against the Dark Arts by myself, Gilderoy Lockheart, Order of Merlin third class, five times winner of Witches Weekly best smile, he had no idea he wouldn't just be receiving my award winning wisdom, but indeed my matchless personal instruction!"
Gilderoy grabbed Harry and tried to drag him to his staff photographer.
"Stick with me boy, together we are worth page one!" He whispered softly.
Harry turned the grabbing hand and bent the wrist back in a chicken wing. This forced Lockheart to bend backwards or break his wrist. Milicent wordlessly grabbed the opposite wrist to do the same while kicking the back of Lockheart's knees to leave him bent backwards painfully over his knees, spread wide in faint hope of balance so he didn't fall and dislocate knees and writsts both.
Hermione knelt in front of the pinned Lockheart and quietly tucked her Walther PPK into the rather grossly portrayed junk in the man's too tight tights and whispered.
"This is a Walther PPK .380 ACP, a muggle firearm. If I pull the trigger and you are wearing Madame Malkin's brand name robes of enchanted bulletproof Acromantual silk, it will feel like you have been kicked in the balls by an angry centaur. If you are wearing cheap knockoffs, the bullet will explode your wizard bits into a spray of goo that will coat everyone standing behind you. If you put your creepy pervert fingers on any underage wizard or witch, we will find out which type you are wearing. Understand? Please nod if you do." Said Hermione softly.
Gilderoy Lockheart nodded fearfully, his makeup beginning to soften as he began to sweat noticeably.
Harry and Milicent dragged him roughly upright and dusted him off. Harry said theatrically,
"Sorry about that sir. I live at Gringotts, not used to people taller than me grabbing me at random. Made me a bit jumpy." Harry said loudly for the gathered crowd.
Gilderoy was nearly invincible in his self assurance, so turned to the crowd and said smoothly.
"That is just a sample of the skills your children will be learning from me at Hogwarts this year as I accept the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instruction at Dumbledore's repeated and urgent pleas!" Lockheart said, as if this was a planned demonstration, not his utter collapse to a group of surprised second years.
Neville caused Lockheart to jump a little in surprise as he whispered just loud enough for Lockheart to hear. "Blimey Hermione, are you sure you are the only one of us who hasn't killed anyone? I swear you are still scariest."
The whimper from their future DADA instructor went unheard by most in the crowd.
Draco Malfoy was in the crowd with his mother Narcissa, getting their books, and sneering at the crowd of desperate middle aged witches trying to suck in their stomachs or push out their chests to look more attractive for the pretty boy wizard posing at the book signing. It was important to look good, but it was gauche and new money to get caught trying to look good. If you have to try, you must not be really pureblood. Breeding was everything after all.
He noted Mrs Weasley was in the crowd. What a shame to purebloods that whole family was. Their blood was of the sacred twenty eight yet they dressed and acted like the lowest muggleborn. He would die of shame if he had any of their blood.
Just then Lucious Malfoy burst in, looking angry, and most alarmingly, with his hair and clothes in disarray. He had seen father poisoned, bleeding, and even cursed, but he had never seen wild hair or a dislodged and off center cravat. Draco froze.
Lucious Malfoy for once ignored Draco, his eyes fixing on a balding pot bellied harried looking red headed man with a heavy cauldron filled with books for a rather improbable number of children. Lucious snarled at him.
"Arthur Weasley, face me now!" Lucious snarled, his voice low and threatening, his wand in hand.
Arthur, in some confusion as he had been buying a wand for Ginny and then to the bookstore while the twins were conducting their street theater as Arthur and Narcissa said exactly the wrong thing.
"Top of the morning Lucious, I trust Draco is well?" Arthur offered cheerfully.
In a moment of incandescent rage, Lucious Malfoy could only see the vision of this, this, untidy, out of shape, poor, sadly dressed, social failure and shame to the very concept of pure-blood with his hands on Lucious own wife in full view of half of Diagon Alley. He forgot he was a political powerhouse, a financial monster, a spymaster and virtual crime lord. At that moment all he could see were Arthur Weasley's hands on his wife, and the implication of Draco's paternity.
He lost it. Forgetting his wand, he lunged across the room to hammer Arthur Weasley in the face as hard as he could. Unfortunately for Lucious, all his jibes about Weasley peasant blood had some founding. While Lucious was only likely to sweat in bed or when being audited, the Weasley patriarch was as much a farmer as wizard, and his body was in a very real sense, terribly earthy. Earthy in the sense of being hard as stone, with limbs that seemed capable of breaking the same. While he was well padded, there was a disturbing amount of muscle in there, and as any man with seven children in the generally poor breeding wizarding culture, a frightening amout of passion when roused.
After taking a flurry of unanswered blows from Lucious, Arthur quickly began to overpower the Malfoy Lord and batter him like a gnome in a tornado. Concerned that their father would accidentally kill Lord Malfoy who had stopped hitting back to defend his precious and delicate face, the Weasley Twins dragged their father off Malfoy, while other patrons pulled Lucious from the ground.
Lucious snarled at Arthur Weasley. "You keep your dirty blood traitor hands off my wife, you penniless ministry flunky, or you will find out what it means to cross a Malfoy!" Shouted Lucious, the flash of a camera going off only added to the drama.
Narcissa who had been rushing to her husband's side was shocked quite horribly by the accusation, seemingly out of nowhere and shouted without thinking.
"Lucious, what are you talking about!" Narcissa said, only to flinch in horror as Lucious turned and pointed a trembling finger at her.
"Enough, we return to Malfoy Manor to administer an inheritence test for Draco. My solicitor will be in attendance." Lucious Malfoy said with enough malice to corrode anything less than goblin silver, or a reporter's instincts. A second flash lit the room as the happy reporter grabbed a second epic photo.
As Lucious stooped to grab his wand and cane from the floor, almost no one noticed that he slipped a black diary from his coat, and stuffed it into the cauldron full of books for Ginny Weasley that Arthur had been carrying at the beginning of the fight.
As Draco and Narcissa gathered tearfully around an angered and embarassed Lucious, desperate to get outside the stores wards to apparate home, Fred and George nodded to the book and then to each other.
Fred stalked behind Draco as if headed to another section of the store, as George grabbed the book and shot it like a fanged frisbee towards his twin who casually redirected it with a quiet mutter and wand gesture to settle neatly into Draco Malfoy's book bag.
The Malfoy's exited without paying, but the owner of Flourish and Blots was not worried. Malfoys paid their debts, but they were as likely to slaughter lowborns as bribe them if they were angry or embarrassed. Lucious Malfoy looked both.
Harry looked at the chaotic scene and grinned. While it looked like this years Defense Against the Dark Arts was going to be a waste of time, at least the ride to Hogwarts should be fun if everyone was gossiping about this.
Milicent alone looked horrified. "I think we made a mistake." She said quietly.
Neville was letting a soft smile of enjoyment have its moment upon his face unhindered by regret or thoughts of consequence.
"Relax Millie, Draco spreads malicious rumours about all of us all the time. No one is going to get dead or pregnant if he gets to experience it himself for a change." Neville said.
It must be noted by history, that the future Lord Neville Longbottom never took divination, as the very cursory entrance test revealed he had no ability at precognition whatsoever. This is corroborated by exactly how wrong this statement was.
-School supplies, with a side order of vendetta—Act 2
No one had spoken at Malfoy manor since Draco's magical genealogy was properly confirmed by the Malfoy solicitor, and Draco's position as Heir Malfoy was indeed confirmed.
Narcissa had nearly severed Lucious Malfoy's left arm with a cutting curse, and withered one of his legs to a mummified husk in the brutal fight which followed that confirmation. The most brutal part of the fight that saw his mother's face burned, and his father's body broken was the long list of infidelities of Lucious Malfoy that Narcissa listed, all of whom most startlingly were also wizards.
It turns out the reason that Malfoy had no siblings had less to do with Narcissa's fertility and more to do with Lucious preference for riding broom over stirring cauldron. Another fact young Draco could have lived a long and happy life without ever knowing.
He sneered at his friend Blaise Zabini for his mother's proclivity for marrying and then murdering rich and foolish wizards, Theo Nott for his father's murder of his mother, or Marcus Flint's secret squib mother kept as little better than slave by his abusive father. Their family shames were delicious gossip from his ivory tower of the perfect pureblood family.
Now he had secrets. Shames. A family that was the subject of gossip by his social inferiors, and worse, by his peers. Draco was for the first time, quietly terrified to return to school, but more terrified to remain home.
He poured his thoughts into the diary, because for once, he dared not talk to Pansy, dear devoted and honestly annoying Pansy. There was no sense talking to Crabbe or Goyle, they were more or less bludgers with feet and wands, you pointed them at things, you didn't discuss your thoughts, dreams and fears with them.
"Why can't it be like it was? Why can't it be like it used to be, where everyone simply accepted that I was the pureblooded natural leader of Slytherin House, and that everyone else should simply accept their place, if I thought they were worthy of being offered one?"
Draco wrote, only to see his words fade and ink rise to the surface in a written reply.
"Because they do not fear you. Mudbloods are corrupt by nature, muggles in all but name, with no understanding of the traditions and order of Pure-blood society. Muggleborn are worse, they think muggles are real people, not herd animals we were raised by magic to rule."
Draco looked at the diary in shock. It heard, it answered. Even more, it understood. It understood the things he believed but never dared put into words.
"I am Draco Malfoy, heir to the Ancient and Noble House Malfoy. Who are you."
The ink dissappeared, then rose again in answer.
"I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. In my youth I was Slytherin prefect, then Head Boy. I saw what changes needed to happen, but feared I would not have time to complete them, so I poured my heart and soul into this diary because when I came to Hogwarts I was chosen for a special destiny, a destiny I can pass to you."
The book said, and as Draco read special destiny, a shiver ran through his body, a cold dark feeling of dread like when his father taught him the forbidden and dark curses that could not easily be healed by even a skilled medmage. Power. This book offered power others did not DARE to take up, because they feared its darkness.
"What special destiny?" Draco asked.
"I was the Heir of Slytherin, I passed the tests to enter and master his chamber within Hogwarts. I learned the secrets of the greatest of the Founding Four, and mastered his secret tongue." The diary offered.
Draco had watched as first one Hufflepuff flaunted his Parseltongue ability in the house of the scraps and discards, then somehow gave it to the Longbottom blood traitor, the Bulstrode half blood, and worst of all, the Granger muggleborn while he, Draco Malfoy of untainted blood and Slytherin for centuries, could only grind his teeth in jealousy.
"Can you make me Heir of Slytherin as well?" Draco begged.
The book took time before it answered.
"You will have to swear oaths to me, and bind your power to mine. Then I can share the Chamber of Secrets with you, and teach you to command its dread guardian. I warn you, it will require sacrifices. Our enemies must be taught to fear you, or you will never be able to lead the people back to greatness." The book asked.
Draco balked. He couldn't. To bind his soul to a dark object? To enter into a pact that compromised his will, his mind and his magic? That called for a level of trust and submission he had only ever offered to his father, a father that had proven willing to throw him away at the simple word of a WEASLEY! No. Draco could not trust anyone like that again.
He closed the book. He just couldn't.
The day to board the Hogwarts Express came, and it was only half raining, which was London fine. Platform 9-¾ was going to be busy as everyone had descended fashionably late. Draco had been dropped by his father, who had left when the whispers and laughter began to make him strain the fingers of his black gloves on his cane in quiet rage.
Draco was moving towards his first year Slytherin cohorts who had been waiting for Draco to cross to the wizard side. Just then Marcus Flint, a half healed black eye, swollen lip and limp showing that his father had given him the usual rousing Flint family send off, was looking for someone to vent his spleen upon.
Normally Flint focused his rage upon unsorted First Years, as they were the safest targets with no built in defensive network yet, and not enough personal power to worry about. This year he saw a more tempting target.
Draco.
Ah yes. If you want Nimbus 2000 for your team, you must take Draco as your seeker, had been the offer from Draco's famous "I'll tell my father about this!" Lucious Malfoy. Except, he had heard three different rumours and seen a series of Daily Prophet stories, with pictures, alleging that Draco "I'll tell my father about this!" Malfoy may have to owl the Missuse of Muggle Artifacts office Arthur Weasley to tell his true father about this. Marcus didn't believe it, they were all bloody gingers weren't they, but Merlin's left droopy nut, the slander was bloody awesome.
He had been forced to swallow Draco as seeker for the brooms, then watched Draco get outclassed by Griffindor and Hufflepuff both. Honestly, they did better on slow brooms with an actual seeker than with that ponce on a slow moving pole. Maybe it was time he took out his angst on someone who truly deserved it?
Cutting between Draco and his little crowd of newly second year minions and followers, Marcus slammed a "friendly" hand on Draco's shoulder hard enough to make the bird boned boy wince.
"If it isn't little Draco Weasley. Always thought your hair looked a bit ginger. So, your mum must be a real goer to keep Arthur Weasley and your old man both on the go. I mean Arthur's got like seven kids, I guess counting you eight. He must really be a goer. If your mom can handle that on the side, maybe I should look her up eh?"
Draco drew his wand and Flint yanked it out of his hands.
"Wands in public Draco Weasley, that is ten points from Slytherin. I'm a prefect this year don't you know. Just because you are a bastard doesn't mean the rules don't apply to you." Flint said as he stalked towards Draco's friends.
"Get a move on your lot. No more scenes in front of Muggles or I will have you in Snapes office right off the train." Marcus barked, and all Draco's friends avoided eye contact and bolted through the illusionary wall to platform 9-¾.
Draco ran off to the boys loo to hide his tears and rage. He had better control than that. He was a Malfoy. A Malfoy!
"Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts!" Said Dobby as the quartet appeared not at the Kings Cross train station, but at Whitehall.
Mumblethumb who had been transporting them looked upset and snapped his fingers again, only to have Dobby snap his at the same time.
This time they were at the London Eye. The next Buckingham Palace, Madame Tussauds wax museum, Stamford Bridge stadium where Harry recognized the Chelsea football club logo.
"Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts!" Shrieked Dobby as Mumblethumb attempted to pull the younger House Elf's ears off.
Hermione frowned and said, "Thanks Mumblethumb, but I know how to get to Kings Cross from here. Come along magicals. We are jogging to Earl's Court and taking the tube to Kings Cross."
She set off with a will, her magical freinds following as Mumblethumb and Dobby wrestled in a most undignified and unskilled manner.
Arriving late to Platform 9, they tried the gate to platform 9-¾ and found it blocked by House Elf magic. Looking at the clock, the decided to grab a cup of coffee and think about how to proceed, watching in alarm as Draco Malfoy came out of the boys bathroom with a wet and well scrubbed face, red eyes and a dark look. He tried the gate and bounced. He reached for his wand and did not find it. Almost in tears, he pounded on the gate and screamed to be let in.
"Oh that is not on. You don't leave Slytherins to be embarassed in public. One face to the world. No snake stands alone." Milicent said, grabbing Noodle to wrap around her as she stalked towards Draco. Noodle's notice me not magic should be enough to keep muggles from paying too much attention to their conversation without Milicent actually having to risk punishment for casting anything.
"Draco Malfoy, well met. You have no doubt noticed the little issue with the platform being walled off. My Hufflepuff friends know an herb seller nearby with a Floo address that can connect us with Hogsmede to meet the train there." Milicent said in her best formal-friendly Slytherin.
"Hufflepuffs? Hufflepuffs!" Draco snarled. "Next you will have me begging for scraps from Griffindors." Draco raged, moving towards Milicent in a beligerant manner that ignored the fact that she outmassed him by a decent factor, was in amazing shape, was trained in magical and physical violence, still had her wand, and was a whole lot better at some very lethal forms of magical combat.
Noodle was rather less invested in saving Draco's pride. Or life honestly. There were his people, and prey. Why everyone else overcomplicated the world was beyond him, but he was their token wise elder, guiding them through the murk of monkey overcomplications to the simplistic perfection of serpentine thought.
He struck.
It is a little known fact that venomous magical snakes do not have to inject venom when they bite. They rarely bother to bite anything that isn't attacking them or about to become food, but they can simply bite them if for some reason something less immediate than agonizing death is called for.
One could argue, in fact, in Dumbledore's office later it was argued, that Noodle was practicing serpentine diplomacy and de-escalation. Possibly proving why snake peacekeepers never became a thing.
Draco fell back whimpering, shocked out of his emotional storm by the fact of his impending and painful death.
"$ Translate for Yellow Haired Prey, exactly, I am listening for editing.$" Noodle hissed, and everyone who was used to toning down Noodles exact wording winced as Milicent nodded.
"$ Yellow Haired Prey, you have been offered aid without any assumption of obligation or debt. You have been offered a path that avoids humiliation and punishment. You have returned that with attack. Do so again and I will inject the venom you already deserve, and you will stop being Yellow Haired Prey and become simply food. Rats are food. Mice are food. Fools are food. Try harder to be be better than that, or be assured, I will eat the bits of you I choose not to share with Night Pigeon.$" Noodle hissed.
Milicent translated honestly, word for word.
Draco rose up, wiping the blood on his shoulder from the deep bite.
"I don't need your help." Draco hissed.
Harry offered soflty. "You kind of do. We can't get passed the barrier and the train is pulling out now. Either join us for a walk and a floo or call home to daddy and tell him you missed the train. Merlin's beard, what else can you do, steal Weasleys' flying car and fly to Scotland?" Harry laughed.
Draco snarled. "WEASLEY!" and bolted from the train station.
Neville spoke in a tone of quiet horror. "You don't think he's going to?"
Hermione kicked Harry in the bum fairly hard. "Of course he's going to. Harry, you know better than to suggest a regrettable life choice to a testosterone poisoned teenage boy. As a species, surviving male teenage stupidity is the critical natural selection filter."
Harry smiled. "Well, not our problem. Off to Neville's favorite herb shop to borrow their floo network. We can be at Hogsmede before the train, and then Owl our Heads of House an advisory before the train delivers notice we didn't make it. Keeps us away from drama queens and House Elves altogether!"
They were indeed sitting in the Great Hall laughing with their friend and awaiting their sorting when Professor Snape dragged a badly bleeding Draco Malfoy through the hall and off to the mediwitch's tender care. They could only overhear a few choice words from the Slytherin House Leader as he dragged young Draco past.
"...stole a flying car. Seen by seven muggles. Badly damaged a valuable whomping willow, and lost the stolen car in the Forbidden Forest. Detention young Malfoy is only the beginning..." was all they heard as the bleeding and weeping boy was dragged through the Great Hall towards the infirmary.
The hall erupted in a whole new level of rumour, and the name Draco and Weasley was suddenly whispered on the winds from every table.
"Bugger." Said Harry softly to his friends. He turned to the Slytherin table and mouthed a quiet "Sorry!" To Milicent who rolled her eyes at him.
"Look, maybe I was wrong about this not being a big deal." Said Harry.
Hermione kicked him again under the table, and this time he didn't protest.
"You think?" She asked rhetorically. They all eyed the Slytherin table where a lot of faces bore smiles of pure malice that argued a great many people who had submitted to Draco's abuse when he held the social power were just waiting to show him how it felt to be weak enough to have to grin and bear it.
That night, Draco opened his diary and with tears blending with the ink, swore his life, soul, and magic to the diary in return for the knowledge to open the Chamber of Secrets, and make everyone in Hogwarts fear the new Heir of Slytherin; Draco Malfoy!