Omnia Mors Perimit

Nothing of this was believable. Nothing! At first, his aunt had given away the secret - and to his mother of all persons - how could she have done this? And then his mum, her fierce opposition, her urging him to abandon his plans and rebel against the Dark Lord - preposterous! But most of all - worst of all - her slapping him the previous night. She had never done as much as raised her voice in anger against him. And now this! And only because of the silly gardening elf! He'd be all right again in a few days!

Of course, his adolescent male pride had been hurt severely. One did not get slapped by one's mother being aged sixteen without feeling utterly humiliated, all the more when she had never slapped him before in all his life! He had been so furious, he didn't remember to have ever been that furious with her before. Fuming, he had gone to bed and got worked up, muttering wild curses under his breath and swearing to pay her back for this outrageous mortification.

Lying in bed though, other thoughts conquered his brains. Even in all his rage, he shouldn't have talked to his mother in such a fashion, his conscience would tell him. He was aware that she only wanted his best, although she had absolutely no idea how this was to be achieved, and how it could never be achieved at all. She was ignorant, but not indifferent, and no, a son must not speak to his mother like that. Calling her 'weak', calling her a 'coward' - if she told his father about the incident, Draco could already brace himself for the second slap he'd get, if that was enough.

Well, tomorrow morning, he would simply go and apologise, under the condition that she excused herself, too. He was certain that she would realise her blunder - not merely the slap, but all the awful things she had said before that. His mother was a rational person after all. All right, so the thing with the elf hadn't been that good. But her reaction had been way overdone, too. She must realise this.

The next morning came, but Draco had to see that his calculations wouldn't work out. She had returned to her cold, resentful silence when he met her at the breakfast table, curtly informing him that they were to go to London together to buy his books. He told her that he could very well go by himself, but she wouldn't hear of it, insisting to go with him.

"You need new robes as well, Draco."

"So what?"

"You are a boy of sixteen years, you have no idea about patterns and fabrics and reasonable prices."

Unfortunately, there was nothing to disagree in the statement, although he badly wanted to. He had no clue of these things, undoubtedly. He didn't want her to accompany him, for a start because he was still angry, and then, he intended to pop into Borgin and Burkes and have a look at the Hiding Cabinet. She must not get wind of that, her attitude in the previous night had only underlined this necessity.

"I can buy the robes next week. Pansy wants to go to London anyway - trust her to know about fabrics."

"One glimpse at Miss Parkinson's clothes suffices to prove the opposite."

"What have you got to criticise about her clothes now?"

"Only that her taste and my own appear to be very different. De gustibus non est disputandum, and therefore, you will allow me to prefer my own style. I will come with you."

"We'll see about that," he muttered under his breath, buttering his toast.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

He tried to escape her violent care, but without success. When he had sneaked down the servant's staircase to slip out of one of the back entrances, he got a bad shock when feeling her tipping on his shoulder. "Very clever, my son, but not clever enough. So you are ready? Let's go then."

"And may I ask how you want to get to London in the first place?"

"By car, of course."

"I will not go by car, Mother!"

"Oh yes, you will. It's already waiting outside."

"You cannot force me!"

"Want to give it a try?" She smiled like a shark, waving with her wand. Normally, he would have believed her to be kidding, but lately, he didn't put anything past her. She dragged him to the sweep way where a shining, black carriage was waiting for them, equipped with another of these liveried muggles.

The man was still gaping at the house when they arrived, inclined his head, and exclaimed with audible awe, "Good morning, Ma'am, good morning, Sir. - This is an incredible place -"

"Good morning to you, Mr Grant, and thank you very much," she cried warmly, giving the muggle her kindest smile, as if she wanted to annoy Draco on purpose. "We like it very much, too."

"You want to go to London, right? Which part of London?"

"Close to King's Cross. You can drop us just there, we can walk the rest by ourselves."

"We will be seen," Draco muttered hopelessly. "We will be seen."

"I can take you anywhere you like, Sir. It's no problem at all."

"What about Iceland?"

"Don't listen to him, Mr Grant, he is in a filthy mood," Narcissa Malfoy said brightly and manoeuvred herself and her son into the back of the car. The chauffeur closed the doors and off they went, and once again, Draco needed half of the journey to get accustomed to the weird, sickening feeling. They spoke no word; his mum had taken out a book, and he observed the landscape that flew past. All this looked much better from the air.

"This is so ridiculous," he growled when getting out of the car after a ride of more than two hours, two streets away from the Leaky Cauldron, just to make sure. "I can't believe you're doing that to me!"

"Have a good day, Madam. I will wait here for you," the driver said, stealing a glance on his pretty client, who nodded absent-mindedly.

"Yes, yes. And you, Draco - stop making such a fuss, will you!"

"In case you haven't noticed - it's not I making a fuss here!"

"And equally stop being cheeky with me. Spare your pert comments for your friend Miss Parkinson."

They went over to the Leaky Cauldron, and Draco was gratified to see that the pub was nearly empty. Only a handful of witches and wizards were gathered around a table in the corner, and upon him and his mother coming in, these people hurriedly got away, throwing some coins on the table and mumbling their excuses to the hunch-backed barman.

"Idiots," Draco hissed and looked after them, before glaring at the hunch-back as if this was all his fault. "And you - quit staring at us!"

Narcissa lifted her eyes to the ceiling and went on, dragging her ill-humoured son with her. "Don't behave so childishly, for goodness' sake."

"Well, why shouldn't I, seeing that my own mother treats me like a baby!"

"Maybe I'd treat you differently, if you were acting your age and position."

She tapped the bricks in the wall of the backyard, working on the mechanism to open the hidden door to Diagon Alley, he took one last, deep breath and straightened up. This was going to be a disaster, he could tell.

"You're only so mean-spirited because you don't want to be here. Don't take it out on me," Draco remarked scornfully. His mother hated to go to London, so why would she impose herself on him, when he could use his time much more usefully without her!

She didn't deign to answer, and they began their shopping trip in Madam Malkin's robes shop. The old lady, polite and efficient as ever, hurried around them, presenting 'dear Mrs Malfoy' this and that, and pushing Draco in front of the large mirror to fit on his new set of robes. He wished himself miles away.

"Will you please stop nagging?" she hissed quietly, after he had snapped at the shop keeper for the umpteenth time. He knew, Madam Malkin was the last person on earth he could be reasonable angry with, but he was too dispirited to bother whom he was quarrelling with. If only he could get rid of his mum somehow - Nocturne Alley was so close, he needed no more than ten minutes -

She strolled into the back of the shop, inspecting some buttons and ribbons; he could still see her from his position, and he was sure that she had gone there because she could keep an eye on him as well there.

"Hurry up, please. We've got to go to Florish and Blotts, too, and you're going to be late for meeting Miss Parkinson," she reminded him as he was struggling so much that the tailor couldn't do her job properly.

"You go then! You've got the list!"

"I want you to accompany me, as you well know."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I am not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother! I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

"Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own any more, it's nothing to do with being a child -"

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"

He saw his mother massaging her temples, wondering whether she had a headache and if he could talk her into going back home. He went over to the mirror to take a look, but what he saw in the mirror, right behind him, was more than enough to spoil the last tiny bits of good humour he had ever had. Them. How bad could a day get.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a mudblood just walked in," he drawled, and she shut her eyes for a second.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that! And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either," Madam Malkin cried, while his mum pretended to take excessive interest in some gloves in the rack before her. She was a coward after all. Curious, he took a closer look at the infernal trio before him. Granger looked as if she had been beaten up last night, too - that couldn't have been Weasley, could he?

"Yeah, like you'd dare to do magic out of school. Who blackened your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."

"That's quite enough! Madam - please -"

Most reluctantly, she came out of her cover, wearing her coldest sneer, and in this moment, Draco truly pitied her. She strongly minded talking to strangers, and now she'd have to face the worst set of these people -

"Put those away. If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

He loved his mum, really. She was holding herself fabulously, not betraying the tiniest bit of her uneasiness, her face cold and superior. In the meanwhile, Granger tried to bridle her chums, but without any success at all, they didn't seem to hear her even.

"Really?" Potter sneered. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

"Really, you shouldn't accuse - dangerous thing to say - wands away, please!" Madam Malkin whimpered, while Narcissa scowled back at the impertinent boy before her, forcing herself to smile.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you," she replied with forced calmness.

"Wow... Look at that... He's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Apart from his own feelings, frankly, fairly unconnected to them, Draco wanted to plunge at Potter and strangle him, simply for seeing how his words had hit her. No one else had noticed it, probably, one had to know her quite well to distinguish the miniature movements in her face when she was holding onto her composure. In this case, her dark blue eyes had gone nearly black and she had caught her breath for a second, and Draco knew how mortified she must be with that insult of his dad.

He had stepped forth and stumbled over the overlong hem of his robes, making that moronic Weasley titter. "Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!"

"It's all right, Draco. I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius," she said smoothly and put a hand on her shoulder, with an unexpectedly firm grip. Granger did the same with Weasel Bee and Potter, who struggled to break free, ignoring her urgent whispering. Madam Malkin gave her best, too, returning to work on Draco's robes as if nothing had happened, when in some panic he realised that the tailor was going to push up his left sleeve. Good Merlin and all warlocks -

"Ouch! Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother - I don't think I want these any more," he cried, just in time to prevent the worst from happening. Had Granger noticed? The other two were as thick as wooden logs, but she was one clever bitch. She could count two and two -

He stripped off the robes and threw them away, registering his mum exhale. "You're right, Draco. Now I know the kind of scum that shops here... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's!"

They marched out of the shop, as regally as they could, Draco's pulse still fast, but once they had passed that idiot Hagrid, she turned to him and snarled, "Was that really necessary? Good heaven's, I thought I would sink into the ground, Draco!"

"Now what did I do wrong?!"

"Why on earth did you have to insult that girl? Nothing would have happened, we could simply have left without a word, but no, you have got to make a scene! You know how I despise these things!"

"You should be glad that I was so ready-minded to keep Madam Malkin from revealing my Mark," he hissed back, reaping a scornful smirk in return.

"I should be glad? You should be glad, or you'd sit straight in the next delivery for Azkaban!"

"Who wanted to go and buy robes, anyway?"

"Oh, if you want to look like a Weasley, I will no longer care. Go out and about, with half your ankles showing, who knows, perhaps it becomes fashionable!"

"You know what? I've got enough. You can stay here if you want and take a lovely ride with your muggle chauffeur, I will go and see Pansy!" Brilliant idea - why hadn't he thought of it sooner!

"Not so hasty, young man! I haven't finished yet!"

He had his hands in his pockets, tightly gripping his wand and flicking it out now. "Confundus! But I have finished, Mother. Have a nice day. Perhaps I'll come home tomorrow!"

He knew he had crossed the line, yes, but what else should he have done? He turned on his heels and marched away, making it appear as if he was heading for the Leaky Cauldron, but as soon as he was out of sight, he slipped into a side street, took some more corners, and made his way over to Nocturne Alley, right into Borgin and Burkes. The shop owner gave his best, but he was clearly not too pleased to see 'young Master Malfoy', so much was safe. No need for niceties, Draco thought, pointing at the Cabinet straightaway.

"Have you sold this already?"

"There have been several prospective buyers - it is a magnificent piece of work, and -"

"Have you or have you not sold it," he snarled, trying to make his voice sound as crisp and self-confident as his father's. Borgin shook his head. "Very well. I want it."

"Of course, Master Malfoy," Borgin said with a stoop. "A very tasteful choice, I must say, you are showing the same fine taste as your -"

"Yes, yes, my father, spare your breath. Listen, I don't have too much time. I've got another one of these, but it's broken. Would you have some tips for me how to repair it?"

"Broken? You mean - like - fallen apart...?"

"No, obviously not, or I could mend it with a simple Repairing Charm. What do you take me for? It's - well - the hiding function does not work. It's - jammed, somehow - you can easily get in, but it's close to impossible to get out again. You understand me?"

Borgin moistened his lips, attempting to look intelligent, but missing 'smart' for 'bewildered'. "I'm not sure I -"

"Okay, I will repeat this very slowly. My own Cabinet. Is not working. You can go in. But you can't go out again. With me so far?" The old man glared at him, but Draco knew that he had got him hooked. Borgin knew enough of his dad not to dare messing around with him. "What I want to know now is how to fix it."

"That will be very complicated, Master Malfoy -"

"Ah, we're getting on here! So you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly, I'll need to see it though," Borgin said slowly. "Why don't you bring it to the shop?"

"I can't. It's got to stay put, I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Borgin licked his lips again. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

Somehow, he had known that he'd say that. But Draco was well prepared for this minor obstacle, sneering and pushing up his left sleeve. "No? Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He relished the frightened look upon the guy's face. So this was being a Death Eater like - people paid instant respect, once they spotted the Dark Mark - oh, how he wished to show it to the rest of the world and scream at them, tell them that their time had come! "Tell anyone, and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback?"

Sheer horror was flickering in Borgin's eyes with the mentioning of the name - well, Draco couldn't blame him. But parading around powerful people never failed to do its job. "He's a family friend, he'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

The old wizard swallowed hard. "There will be no need for -"

"I'll decide that. Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying it down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not... Sir," he added hurriedly. Draco shot him a grin, of the 'I got your life in the palm of my hands' sort, and Borgin automatically bowed. He had always liked being his father's son, but for the first time, even this one's imprisonment was paying off.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally -"

He left the shop in much higher spirits than he had been feeling all day, a certain spring in his step, he turned around some corners before calling for the Knight Bus. He wouldn't dare to go back to the Leaky Cauldron and travel by Floo Net - he could accidentally bump into his mum - and not half an hour later, he was standing in front of Pansy's house, actually whistling to himself.

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De gustibus... You can't argue about taste.