A Little Prince

Draco held fast to Lucius´ hand as they wound through the street, avoiding a tall man carrying a very large cauldron, an old lady with several branches of some particularly pungent vegetation, and a group of children riding toy broomsticks (Draco watched them with some amusement as they hovered a foot or so off the ground, remembering with fondness the last time he´d been on a broomstick). They paused in front of a large building with a rich red brick façade and a rather imposing, heavy, and very plain door. The sign next to the door said "Mister Fudge, Select Seminary for Young Wizards".

Lucius reached over and rang the bell with his free hand, his other still being held captive by Draco, and it was still hand in hand that the two were ushered into the building by a tall gentleman in severe black robes, who bowed as he held the door open for them. Draco stared. He was used to being waited on, as he had been waited on all his life; he did not know the definition of the word `rich´, but he had heard it spoken before, in regard to his father, and assumed that being rich meant always having beautiful things and living in a fine house and having people to take care of everything for you. But he had never seen people behave quite so stiffly and so properly. His Ayah had been a motherly, very caring woman with a sweet smile and a soft and squishy hug, and his father´s assistant had been a friendly gentleman who was never too busy to sit with Draco and tell stories from his younger days. But this man, who carried himself as if he had a poker rammed down his spine, seemed very cold and very detached, and looked at Draco with quite an expression of distaste, which struck Draco as very strange considering this was a school for boys.

Lucius and Draco looked around the drawing-room, which is where the gentleman had led them. Two hard, square chairs sat on one end of the room, flanking a hard, brown marble table. The floor was carpeted with a boringly patterned brown and black rug. A very large fireplace covered half of one wall, and a large portrait of a very imposing old gentleman hung above the brown mantle. As they moved closer, he fixed them with an intense blue stare.

"Malfoys, are you?" he asked, his voice resonant. Draco jumped. Lucius nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, inclining his head slightly. "Lucius. And this is my son Draco."

Draco stepped forward timidly and swept a polite but elegant bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," he said as steadily as he could manage.

The man stared at Draco for another moment, and then laughed. "Well, young Master Malfoy, you certainly do your family credit. You are quite as well-mannered as your ancestors."

"Thank you, Sir," Draco returned, feeling more and more perplexed.

The man in the portrait inclined his head slightly. "Godric Gryffindor," he introduced himself. "One of the founders of Hogwarts. I was fortunately rescued from that hapless building before it collapsed to the ground; unfortunately, many of the other portraits did not make it. Those that did were redistributed throughout the country, I have been informed. Such a shame, for they had been my companions these many centuries."

"I´m sorry to hear that, sir," Draco replied. He was beginning to get used to the idea of talking portraits now. He´d heard of them, of course, as they were fairly common in Wizarding society, but he´d never actually seen one, and it was a bit of a shock.

Gryffindor peered at him, his mouth curved into a slight frown. "Well," he harrumphed after a pause, "you certainly do not have the gall of your ancestors. You seem quite a pleasant young man." He smiled. "You are most welcome here, young master Draco."

"Thank you, Sir," Draco said again, feeling a warm glow steal up the back of his neck and spill over into his cheeks. Lucius laid a hand on Draco´s shoulder proudly.

"Thank you, Sir," Lucius repeated, bowing his head respectfully. Gryffindor returned the bow, and then looked over Lucius´ shoulder.

"Ah, Cornelius," he boomed. "It is about time you arrived. I have been making friends with your new charge."

Lucius and Draco turned to greet the man approaching, and instinctively drew nearer to each other as he bore down on them.

"Mister Malfoy," the man said, dropping a low, clumsy bow. "What a pleasure to meet you at last."

Lucius reached out one gloved hand to shake Fudge´s, doing a very good job, all things considered, of concealing his discomfort. Fudge, after all, wore an expression that could make just about anyone uncomfortable. He was a portly, balding man with dark gray hair that clung to his head rather like an unruly animal. His face might have been kind, but the expression he wore was that of someone who was inherently greedy and very fake while trying to pretend to be friendly and genuine, which was, incidentally, exactly what he was. He stepped - no, oozed forward, an eager smile on his thin lips. His eyes glinted with excitement; no doubt he´d heard much about the rich and elegant Malfoys, and was eager to associate himself with that family at any cost.

"Mister Fudge," Lucius said politely, repressing a shudder. "What a...welcome reception we´ve had thus far." That, at least, was partially the truth; the painting had been kind, at least.

Fudge rubbed his hands together delightedly. "We do try to make our students as comfortable and welcome as possible," he said, his voice positively dripping with unctuousness. Then, he looked past Lucius, his eye falling on Draco, who was standing politely silent, waiting to be recognized.

"Speaking of students," he continued, "this must be young Draco." He crossed the room slowly, his feet shuffling a bit on the carpeted floor, and it was all Draco could do to stand still when his brain was screaming at him to retreat. But then again, his helpful mind supplied, we must stand our ground, as much as we dislike it, for I daresay even the bravest of men do not like to face their fears, but they do it anyhow, because they must.

So instead of taking even the smallest step backward, Draco forced himself to stand still, to smile, and to drop a polite half-bow. "Mister Fudge," he said in his best charming voice.

Fudge grinned at him in a rather predatory manner before dropping his large slab of a hand onto Draco´s shoulders, his fingers curving across the bone like enormous German sausages. "It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a handsome and promising child, Mister Malfoy," he said, keeping a protective hold of Draco´s shoulder. Draco stood quietly, enduring the possessive touch, although he rarely let anyone but his most trusted of companions touch him, but his mind was whirling.

Why does he say I am a handsome child? he thought to himself a bit disgustedly. I am not a handsome child. My eyes are much too large and oddly colored, I am too thin and very angular, and my skin and my hair make me look rather sickly. He is beginning by telling falsehoods.

While it was not unusual in the least for Draco to have such analytical thoughts about himself, he was often too hard on himself. Having grown up very ambitious and determined to accomplish anything he set out to do, he tended to challenge himself, and only accept the absolute best he could produce. In the same way, however, he tended to judge himself very harshly, thinking his skills were mediocre at best, even when told otherwise, or that he did not learn quickly enough even when he far exceeded his father´s expectations. His self-deprecation as far as his looks went was yet another example of his propensity to be overly hard on himself. It was true that he was all angles and straight lines, with no roundness to his cheeks nor plumpness to his limbs, but his father was a very lean, angular, man as well, although his chest was broader and his shoulders stronger. It was simply a characteristic of the Malfoy heritage, and something that denoted their aristocratic descent. There was nothing to be said for his unusual coloring; the blond hair was also typical of his parentage, but his fair skin was due to a particular sensitivity to sunlight that had perplexed his father and had caused him great anguish and a number of painful burns. He had learned quickly to stay out of the sunlight; as a result, his skin remained smooth and white as milk, which, when coupled with the corn silk blond of his hair, made him look rather ghostly. His eyes, too, were an unusual color, sometimes the gray of storm clouds and fog, other times a metallic silver, reminiscent of mercury and platinum. Their color plus their size lent him a very faraway look, as though he always had his head in the clouds; ironically enough, that wasn´t far from the truth. In any case, he certainly wasn´t an unattractive boy; he had a certain charm to him that made one want to look at him again, and again, until he had quite bewitched the onlooker. Some of the Indian villagers had once joked that he was a Veela child who had been traded out with the real Draco Malfoy, a subject that was still a private joke between father and son.

Draco stood quietly by as his father and Mister Fudge talked. Draco was what was to be known as a `parlour-boarder´, and was to be granted anything he desired. He would have a large, well-furnished bedroom of his own, and the best broomstick that money could buy, and an attendant to see to his every need.

"I am not at all concerned about his education," Lucius was saying, fixing Draco with a proud eye. "He loves to learn and is quite quick at it. He especially loves to read, fiction, nonfiction, anything he can get his hands on. The problem will be trying to get him to stop learning. Do make sure he does not spend all his time holed up in his room. Encourage him to ride his broomstick, or find him a new animal. He does enjoy the company of animals very much, Mister Fudge."

"Oh, but Father," Draco finally spoke up. "If I have too many animal companions, it shall be quite difficult to devote my time and attention to each one of them as much as they deserve. My companions shall always be well looked-after, you see, and I do long to give Cliodne the attention she needs."

Fudge looked at Lucius, and Lucius looked right back at Fudge, a small smile on his face. "Draco," he said, "Mister Fudge does not know who Cliodne is. Why don´t you tell him?"

Draco took a step forward, his silvery eyes very solemn. "Cliodne is to be my owl," he said quietly. "She is an owl that Father is going to buy for me. Many people see an owl as a messenger, a creature to carry messages to and fro, but owls are intelligent and friendly creatures as well, and Cliodne is to be my companion while Father is gone. I wish to talk to her about Father."

At that, Fudge´s face took on an especially sycophantic expression, and he beamed at Lucius with all the forced pride he could muster. "What an original and special young man!" he exclaimed.

"Yes he is," Lucius affirmed, resting a hand on Draco´s shoulder. "He is very special to me. Do take good care of him, Mister Fudge."

They left the school together and traveled to a small inn just the other side of Diagon Alley, in Muggle London. They had had the option of staying in the Leaky Cauldron, but Lucius was not overly fond of the atmosphere, and he wanted a place where they would not be disturbed.

"I don´t like that place, Father," Draco stated matter-of-factly as soon as they had settled into their room. He sprawled out across the bed, his fine hair spilling over his face and making him look like a little haloed angel.

"Nor do I, Draco," Lucius replied, removing his cloak and draping it over the back of the chair, "but your education is important, and this is to be your home for a short while now." He sighed, crossing the room and perching on the bed next to Draco, brushing his hair carefully from his face. "It is only for a short time, I promise. When I have concluded my business, I shall return, and, if you still cannot bear the school, I will engage a private tutor for you, and you can study from home."

Lucius´ face changed so it was both very stern and very affectionate all at once. "Draco, do at least try to make the most of this. These boys are some of the brightest and best in the country, and will likely be your colleagues when you have all grown. It would do you well to befriend them."

"Of course, Father," Draco returned, sitting up. "I shall endeavor to make myself quite agreeable to those around me, and will procure each and every one of those young gentlemen as my bosom companions."

Lucius laughed delightedly, ruffling Draco´s hair just a bit. "What odd speeches you make, Draco," he chuckled, shaking his head, and then suddenly swept the boy into his arms and hugged him quite tightly. "Whatever shall I do without you?"

Draco breathed in his father´s scent, of mint and eucalyptus and the faintest hint of sandalwood and almond, and smiled. "You shan´t be without me for long," he declared, "and I daresay absence will make the heart grow fonder." He paused, then grinned mischievously. "Or some similar rot."

Lucius laughed again, in surprise, swatting Draco lightly on the arm. "Very sensible of you to say," he teased, pushing Draco away from him gently. "Go on and get ready for bed. There is much shopping to be done in the morning."

+

`Shopping´, in Malfoy terminology, involved quite a bit more than one´s regular, every day shopping. Lucius enjoyed browsing every store, window-shopping, if you will, but he also enjoyed spending, and, as a result, they would often exit every store laden with more packages than they´d entered with. Draco was to have a whole new wardrobe, tailored carefully to his slender frame and filled with soft cotton shirts and linen trousers and cashmere sweaters and silken underthings. His robes and outerwear were next, and were of the finest velvets and furs and satins and silks and brocades, and soft buttery leather for his gloves, and fine dragon hide for his boots.

The next stop was the apothecary, so Draco could obtain a basic set of Potions ingredients; the rest of his stock would come by owl order, but the most basic of ingredients would have to be bought immediately. Then they were off to find equipment: a set of cauldrons, a balance, a large set of phials, and whatever other cunning devices caught their fancy. Lucius suggested they look for Cliodne next, but Draco was determined that the search take as long as need be, so they went for a wand next. The wand search took a surprisingly short amount of time, and ended up being twelve and three eighths inches, oak and unicorn hair. Draco cradled the wand ecstatically to his chest as they entered Eeylops´ Owl Emporium.

Once inside, Draco forgot nearly everything else as he gazed around in wonder at the darkness, the glinting jewel eyes peering at him from every direction, the soft rustlings and hoots, the occasional brush of wind brought about by the beating of eager wings.

"I want her to look as if she can almost answer when I speak to her," Draco explained as he peered at a stately eagle owl with golden eyes. "If she does look like she can respond, that will make the conversation much more interesting than if she just tilts her head to the side and hoots in confusion."

Lucius chuckled softly, and pointed out a small snowy owl with an intelligent face.

After they had made almost the complete round of the shop, Lucius was beginning to look more and more concerned, as there was no sign of Cliodne anywhere. Draco, on the other hand, was looking more and more excited.

"She is hiding from us," he breathed in a low, knowing voice, standing very still and looking around. "She is trying to study us, to see if we shall be as compatible as I know we are. She is intelligent, Father, and very clever."

Lucius, although he was tired, found himself unable to do anything but laugh. "Of course, Draco," he smiled, setting a hand on Draco´s shoulder. "She would not be Cliodne if she was not--"

"Father!" Draco cut him off, very suddenly, his voice holding a tremulous note of excitement. "There she is!"

Lucius stopped immediately, and followed Draco´s eyes up to the rafters where a tiny, black scops owl perched, her enormous golden eyes the only think keeping her from blending entirely into the background. As Lucius watched, she cocked her head, skipped forward on her post a bit, and dipped her head into a low bow. Draco swept a very elegant bow in return, and Lucius stifled a laugh at the solemnity of the entire exchange.

After the formalities were over, Draco held up his hand, and, without hesitation, the owl flew down from her perch and landed sweetly on his wrist.

"Father," Draco said very seriously, "meet Cliodne."

Lucius inclined his head politely, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth, and the owl responded in kind before trilling gently and turning her attention back to Draco, who proceeded to carry her carefully around the shop, picking out a variety of comforts for her. Lucius watched with a sad eye, running a gloved hand through his hair. "My Draco," he murmured softly, "I don´t believe you really know how much I am going to miss you."

It was late in the day that the two of them finally finished their excursion, and headed back to the school. Lucius was to leave again in the morning, and Draco´s lessons were to start the next day, so it was best for Draco to settle in that night. With Draco clinging to his hand, he informed Mister Fudge that all Draco´s expenses were to be paid out of his Gringott´s vault; he was to take a list of expenses to the Head Goblin at the bank, who would then provide Fudge with sufficient funds to cover those expenses. Lucius reminded Fudge that he was to spare no expense; Draco was to have everything he desired, and only the very best would do. Then, without another word, and trying his best to ignore the look of pure greed in Fudge´s eyes, he and Draco mounted the stairs to Draco´s room.

The room was, as promised, very large and very elegant. Silk sheets were laid out on the enormous bed, covering a soft, fluffy mattress, swan-down pillows and comforter, and several warm, fleecy blankets. Two large and beautiful velvet-upholstered armchairs flanked an intricately-carved table of ebony, and the rug on the floor was thick and beautifully made. An enormous bookshelf was set into the wall and bore all of Draco´s favorites, plus the new books they had bought that day. His broomstick was polished and set up in its own stand next to Cliodne´s beautiful perch. All in all, it was a more than comfortable arrangement, and Draco felt quite at home, save for the fact that the one person who would have made his living space feel most like a home was leaving him. He flung himself into the elder Malfoy´s arms, feeling as if his heart was flying to pieces in his chest.

"Dear Draco," Lucius uttered, although he too felt his heart was breaking, "it will seem scarcely a month before we are back together, and then I promise that I shall never leave you again."

"I know, Father," Draco said bravely, but still he held on as if he would never let go.

When Lucius finally exited the Seminary, it was with a heavy heart, and he looked back often, waving and kissing his hand at the window where Draco sat, his arms around his knees, Cliodne cradled in the crook of his arm.

When Mr. Fudge sent his wife up to check on Draco, she found that she could not open the door. When she pulled out her wand to charm it open, she heard a queer, polite little voice from within.

"I have locked it because I wish to be alone, please," it stated quite firmly.

Mrs. Fudge was very much the opposite of her husband. She was a charmingly plump, good-natured woman with a slight overbite and hair the color of strained peaches. She was, however, a rather weak woman, and stood very much in awe of her `much more clever´ husband, and never disobeyed him. She went downstairs again, a bit perplexed.

"Your new charge is the oddest child," she remarked upon encountering her husband in his office, a glass of currant rum in hand. She was fond of children, but had none of her own, as her husband was unable, and therefore often did not know what to make of them. "He has locked himself in his room and is making no noise at all."

Fudge took a large sip of his rum and then mopped his brow with a large, graying handkerchief. "It is better than if he were to throw a tantrum, as some of them have done in the past," he reminded his wife.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Fudge answered with a slight twitch, remembering the last time one of the children had thrown a fit. She was of rather delicate sensibilities, and loud noises quite offended her hearing. "We could not have that at all. We are fortunate that he is quite well-mannered."

"He is exceedingly spoilt," Fudge snapped, taking another sip of rum. "I would not be surprised if he expects us all to wait on him hand and foot. However, his father has been quite generous in his donations to the school, and we must bear it as best we can. Besides, he will look quite impressive at the head of the class. He has been provided for as if he were a little prince."

And upstairs, the little prince sat quite still and quite quiet, his new companion cuddled up against his neck, watching as his father disappeared into the dark distance of Diagon Alley.