Draco Malfoy And The Wily Wizard

Chapter 2 - Diagon Alley

On the morning the Malfoy's set off for Diagon Alley to purchase Hogwarts supplies for Draco, there was an air of severe unfamiliarity between father, mother and son. Never in Draco's life had there been much family time in his house, and he didn't like it. And if the terse scowl on his father's face was any indication, Lucius didn't like it either.

Their first stop of the day had been to Eeylops Owl Emporium. Draco, who was very fond of flying, felt a certain kinship with the great birds. The walls were full of them: barn owls, screech owls, great horned owls, spotted owls, tiny elf owls, and even a single snowy owl. Draco's favorite was a great horned owl near the back of the store. He was large, powerful, with a beautifully white throat, which was in stark contrast to his much darker body. But when Draco pointed him out to his father, Lucius would not even look at him.

"We came here to get you a suitable owl for Hogwarts. And I have already found her." He pointed toward an eagle owl at the very top of the store where only the most expensive and rare owls were located. Draco frowned. There was, of course, nothing wrong with her - light-colored head with a black body flecked with tawny spots. Her talons were sharp, and her eyes were unforgiving. She was the only eagle owl in the store, as Ukrainian eagle owls had been nearing extinction for years, but she was not the rarest or most expensive owl in the store, nor was she the most beautiful. And suddenly Draco knew exactly why his father had chosen her.

Hundreds of years ago, the possession of an eagle owl was connected with satanic practices and evil intentions. Lucius meant for this owl to be a symbol of Draco's future as a servant of evil. Draco felt almost embarrassed at the gesture, sure that someone watching would guess what Draco had suspected for years -- that his father was more deeply enmeshed in the Dark Arts than anyone had believed, and that he expected his son to follow suit. However, he could not deny that she was a beautiful owl, one that he would not mind taking to school with him.

They purchased her, at a steep price, and left the store. Lucius had named her Keres, but Draco figured that she was his owl and he could call her whatever he wanted to. He had decided that if his owl were a girl he would call her Alita, after Wade Wadsworth's Pegasus. Wade Wadsworth was Draco's favorite action hero; he had already read Wade Wadsworth the Wily Wizard, Wade Wadsworth and the Great River, and he had just finished Wade Wadsworth and the Escape from Paradise.

On their way to the robe shop, Draco hung back from his parents and spoke softly to the owl.

"I know that father has been calling you Keres, but I'm not too fond of that name. And since you're going to be seeing a lot more of me than of him, I was wondering would you mind so much if I called you Alita instead?"

She stared up at him looking quite unconcerned and agreeable.

"I'm going to take that as a 'no, I rather like Alita' if you don't mind," he declared in a lofty tone. "Very well, Alita. I am Draco Malfoy, your new owner."

"Draco, dear," Narcissa called back in an uninterested tone, "don't talk to your owl. It isn't proper, and people are beginning to stare."

Draco wrinkled his nose in agitation, but did as she said and ended his conversation with Alita. The short walk to Madame Malkin's robe shop was very uneventful, although Draco did enjoy passing by Quality Quidditch Supplies. The new Nimbus Two Thousand had been on display, and he was just itching to have one. His broom at home was a Comet Two Sixty, and while it was nicer than any of the brooms his classmates would have, it was nowhere near the new Nimbus model.

Inside the robe shop, Draco was quickly led into the back and put into the hands of Mme. Malkin's best seamstress, Mlle. Durich. Draco's father handed her several galleons and gave her detailed instructions on how the robes were to be made.

"I do not want an expense spared, understood?" The young witch nodded, hurrying into the stock room for supplies. "Draco, give me your book list. I'll be at Flourish and Blotts, and then I have a few other errands to run. Narcissa, you can go look at wands."

"But Lucius," Narcissa raised her eyebrows, "shouldn't he go pick out his own wand?"

Lucius rewarded her with a cold stare and an annoyed glance in Draco's direction. "I do not have time for an all-day excursion. He will spend enough time getting his robes fitted. I am sure you are adept enough to pick out a suitable wand."

Draco frowned at this. Picking out a wand was the best part of preparing for school. And hadn't he read somewhere that it was the wand that picked the wizard? He scowled as he watched his parents leave the store.

Mlle. Durich came back in just then with a length of fabric that Draco could tell was quite expensive. It was thick, silky, and had a faint sheen.

"I just need a few measurements, dear," she mumbled through the pins in her teeth. Soon she was draping the fabric over him, magically cutting, wrapping, tucking, and rearranging the deep black material. "Hands up for a minute."

As Draco held up his hands to allow the witch to pin up his robes, the door opened and a skinny boy with messy black hair and broken glasses dressed in Muggle clothes walked in. Madame Malkin brought him back to the stool next to Draco and slipped a robe over his head. Despite much thought to the contrary, Draco was not always a mean person. Sometimes, when he felt so inclined, he would actually manage to be somewhat civil. Such was his intent when he started a conversation with this boy.

"Hello," he nodded at him. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," the boy replied, his surprisingly green eyes open wide. Obviously he was a little shy.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." When the boy still didn't say anything, Draco tried asking him a question. "Have you got your own broom?

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No."

Now Draco was beginning to get frustrated with him. Could the boy not give an answer longer than a syllable? Naturally, his next plan to get the boy to talk was to get a rise out of him. Making people mad almost always guaranteed an answer - and even if it didn't, it sure was fun!

"I do," he sniffed arrogantly. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree." Still nothing! What a bore - no doubt he would end up in Hufflepuff. "Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No."

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been-" he glanced at him surreptitiously to gauge his response, but the boy's expression didn't change. "-imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

But all the boy could say was, "Mmm," and Draco had just about decided that conversation with him was completely pointless. Just then, Draco spotted a huge man, standing outside the window of the robe shop and grinning madly inside.

"I say, look at that man!" he cried, pointing at him.

"That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts."

So Junior can talk, he thought sarcastically. But his reply was - to his mind - much more diplomatic.

"Oh. I've heard of him. He's sort of a servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," the other boy replied with a hint of anger in his voice. Draco picked up on this instantly. He had a soft spot for the giant! With a slightly amused grin, he pounced.

"Yes, exactly. I've heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

The boy's bright green eyes narrowed. "I think he's brilliant."

"Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

That was unexpected... but it wasn't in Draco's nature to regret what he said. In any event, this did call for an apology of sorts.

"Oh, sorry. But they were our kind, weren't they?" Lovely apology, Draco, he thought wryly. Then again, he didn't really care.

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

Draco smiled. Finally some neutral ground! "I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before the boy could answer, Madame Malkin patted him on the shoulder and said, "That's you done, my dear." The boy hopped down from the stool and headed for the door.

* * * * *

When Draco finally left the robe shop, it was much later on in the day and both of his parents had finished their shopping. His mother handed him his wand and said in a rather tight, stiff voice,

"It's unicorn hair. Mahogany. Ten inches. Give it a try."

Draco gingerly took it from her. He shrugged. It didn't feel wrong, exactly... but Draco had never held a wand other than his mother and father's. He cleared his throat and tried the only spell he knew.

"Lumos," he spoke clearly... and the tip of the wand began to glow noticeably. "Guess it'll do," he nodded. "Nox."

"Good," his father looked pleased. "Here are your books. Are we done yet?"

"Well, I was thinking we should go looking for brooms."

"Draco," his father sighed, "you aren't allowed to bring one. Stop wasting my time with silly window shopping."

Draco scowled at his father, but made no move to cross him. Lucius Malfoy was a formidable man when he became angry, and Draco rarely got up the nerve to fight with him.

The three Malfoys quickly made the rest of the purchases that Draco required for school, and then they left for home. Lucius immediately headed for his study, where he frequently would hole himself up in for days at a time. Narcissa began to snap orders at a trembling house-elf. Something about a burnt-smelling pumpkin tart.

Draco, meanwhile, went out into the back lawn to fly a bit. He was more than a bit putout that his father wouldn't get him a new racing broom, and he wanted to fly his anger out. It was a great way of winding down, and frankly, Draco was a natural flyer. His favorite Quidditch position to play was Beater - he got a kick out of hitting the Bludgers - but he had been told by more than one expert that the only position he would ever be accepted at was Seeker. His build was lean and small, the perfect size for a Seeker, and he was nowhere near strong enough to be a good Beater.

So recently, Draco had been practicing Seeking. It wasn't nearly as fun as the other positions - you had to just sit there until the Snitch appeared, and he very frequently became bored sitting around and waiting on it - but if he were destined to be a Seeker, it would be better to be prepared.

He opened up his box of Quidditch balls, released the Snitch, grabbed his Comet Two-Sixty and kicked off the ground. The wind rushed past his ears as he sped in the direction the Snitch had headed. It was exhilarating, it was heady, it was... completely pointless if he couldn't figure out where the Snitch was!

Draco paused in mid-air, wondering how it was the he had lost the Snitch. It had been right there just a moment before! He leaned back slightly and sighed. Draco had the feeling that little golden ball was going to be the bane of his existence more than once in the future.

~~~