A Tangled Web (Post-DH)

Author's Note: This chapter includes scenes from the chapter "Draco's Detour" of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. The dialogue in those scenes is therefore all Rowling's.

Chapter 15: Draco's Detour

"You have to mean it, Draco," his aunt said for the umpteenth time. Her exasperation with his difficulties was evident.

He'd done well enough, once he'd gotten he hang of it, killing the cockroaches Aunt Bella had found for him in the dungeons, in earlier lessons. Repulsive creatures that they were: he certainly meant for them to die before they could crawl up to him.

The stray kitten, though, inspired no such revulsion in Draco. It was pitiful - scrawny, underfed, mewling thinly in the cage Bella had conjured for it. Draco knew he'd regret his failure; his aunt's lessons had a way of turning...unpleasant, when he disappointed her, and he doubted today's lesson would prove an exception.

He closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself of why he was doing this. Potter's mocking face swam before his eyes, and his voice rang in Draco's ears. "...at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now."

Extending his wand in the direction of the cage, and opening his eyes at the very last moment to check his aim, he shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green light, and the kitten slumped instantly to the floor of the cage, one limp, furry little paw sliding out towards him to hang between the bars.

"Much better," Bellatrix said. "To kill a grown wizard will require even more power, but this you do not lack. Focus, Draco, that is what you need to work on. Know what you want to have happen, concentrate on the desire you feel, and the spell will work for you. When, in the end, you stand before Dumbledore, you must remember you want him dead."

"Yes, Aunt Bella," Draco agreed. That should prove no problem, if his plan to ambush the old man worked. If not for Dumbledore, his father would not be in jail. Surely, killing him would be glorious, nothing like this pointless and somehow tawdry destruction of a harmless animal.

"That's enough practicing for today," Bellatrix said, and following a single flourish of her wand, the dead cat and its cage vanished.

These lessons had given Draco a new appreciation of how much there remained for him to learn. In addition to her facility with the Dark Arts, both the Unforgivable Curses and an impressive variety of curses, hexes, and jinxes, his aunt performed magic with an amazing speed and facility. Vanishing two objects as she had just done, with one spell - Draco's mastery of Charms sufficed, barely, for the same feat of Vanishing them together, at least in a good day. His aunt could do it without speaking, or any apparent effort.

"Before we finish up, I want to go over what you will do tomorrow one final time," Bellatrix said.

Draco shrugged. "We've been over this many times already. Mother is taking me shopping. I'll get away from her and drop in on Borgin. He is to hold the Cabinet in his shop for me indefinitely, and to assist me with instructions for repairing the other one, the one at Hogwarts."

"You can't tell him that!" Aunt Bella snapped.

"Of course not, Aunt Bella," Draco agreed, keeping himself from rolling his eyes with some difficulty.

"He may not take you seriously," she warned.

"I can show him the Mark," Draco pointed out, deciding not to remind her she had suggested this herself during a previous discussion.

"Yes, and I think that will help," she said. "Still, it cannot hurt to make doubly sure. Our plan depends on his cooperation. I will make sure Greyback checks in on him regularly while you are away at school."

Draco suppressed a shudder at her mention of the notorious werewolf. He was one servant of the Dark Lord Draco did not fancy meeting, ever. "Thank you, Aunt Bella," he said. "That ought to motivate him."

"We'll need to talk Cissy into letting you go," Bellatrix said, sighing. "I'll take care of it at dinner."

"Aunt Bella," Draco began, hesitating, "I think it might be best if you let me handle my mother."

"Nonsense," Bellatrix replied. "I'm sure I can make her see reason."

"Yes, Aunt Bella," Draco said with some trepidation. He rather doubted that, himself. He could only hope that he would be able to undo any damage his aunt did with her heavy-handed approach to his mother.

A bell rang, indicating Narcissa was inviting them both up for the evening meal.

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Narcissa returned from tea at Alexia Yaxley's to a seemingly deserted Malfoy Manor. Doubtless, this meant that Bella and Draco were off in the dungeon again, as they were most days. She missed the familiar sight of Draco engaging in the normal summer activities of a boy his age - playing Quidditch on the front lawn with friends, boating on the pond beyond the extensive gardens that were visible through the kitchen window, or lounging in a hammock in those same gardens, enjoying a book or magazine. It distressed her that her son spent so little time at these pursuits he loved...but she had been defeated by the united front her sister and her son had presented in the face of her objections.

Heaving a sigh, she opened the oven door and flicked her wand at the interior, watching the flames she summoned spring to life. They burned rather too hot and high, naturally. Taking a calming breath, she moderated the flames and shut the door.

Indeed, there was truth to their arguments. The Unbreakable Vow she had extracted from Severus Snape reassured her regarding the success of Draco's mission, but it did not alter the fact that Draco was now a Death Eater. Nothing would, short of death, his or the Dark Lord's...Narcissa shied away from that thought. It was not necessary or fruitful to dwell on such thoughts, she reminded herself firmly, now that she had dealt with the immediate danger. A wave of her wand caused the cabinet doors to fly open. A roasting pan and pair of pots floated out and landed on the stove with a reverberating clang.

Still, as a Death Eater, it could only help Draco if he showed a creditable attempt at accomplishing his assigned task. Further, the training Bella was providing should serve Draco well as he took on whatever challenges his chosen course presented him following the death of Dumbledore. It would prepare him for the future he had chosen, and however much Narcissa would have preferred it to wait a couple more years, she recognized that Draco's own choice had made that impractical.

From a drawer next to the oven, she extracted a parchment with the neatly lettered menus her housekeeping service dropped off every week. She had three options remaining, she noted, and decided on the pheasant, to start the weekend off on a festive note. She had drawn the line at weekends. And tomorrow was not only a Saturday, but a day Narcissa had long anticipated and planned for Draco's amusement. The annual shopping trip to Diagon Alley had been a special day Lucius and Draco had always shared together, but she would not allow that to spoil her son's enjoyment. There would be shopping, lunch in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, and to cap it off, the traditional visit to Quality Quidditch Supplies - she'd give Draco at least that, this summer.

With a wave of her wand, she caused the pheasant, already stuffed and fully cooked for her, to appear in the roasting pan, and placed it in the oven to reheat. The side dishes followed it into their pots, and then into the oven, in short order. Narcissa sat down to wait at the kitchen table, and sipped a restorative glass of firewhiskey as she gazed out at the lovely prospect of the gardens outside the kitchen window.

When the smells coming out of the oven assured her dinner could shortly be served, she rang the bell. Draco and Bella showed up promptly at her summons. Draco had a nervous, tense look to him, and Narcissa abruptly felt doubly glad of the plans she had made. Bella helped her transfer the meal to the table, while Draco set the table.

After they had eaten, and Draco had cleared the dishes away, Narcissa summoned the pudding onto a platter she had placed on the table. Bellatrix poured hot coffee for herself and Cissy, and spoke up.

"Cissy, Draco has some business he ought to take care of tomorrow," she began. "It would be best for him to go alone-"

"No!" Narcissa cut her off, rather more loudly than was strictly necessary. "These are dangerous times."

"He's not a child-" Bella essayed.

"I said, no!" Narcissa repeated.

"Surely, Aunt Bella, we can take care of it some other time," Draco said, casting what he hoped was a meaningful glance in the direction of his aunt.

"If anything needs to be done at Diagon Alley, I can come along," Narcissa said.

"Ridiculous!" Bella said heatedly.

"Aunt Bella," Draco began.

"Bella," Narcissa said, "you must remember, from our own childhood, the annual trips to Diagon Alley to shop for Hogwarts. Fittings for the most fashionable new robes, new supplies and books and trinkets, and capping it all off, ice cream at Fortescue's with Mama and Papa for the three of us...." Narcissa trailed off doubtfully, realizing she had broached an unfortunate subject, caught up in her own reminiscences.

Bellatrix scowled at her, but kept her peace.

"Well, I remember," Narcissa said firmly. "And I am going to give Draco that same day tomorrow. His father cannot be there, but I will not permit you to ruin tomorrow any further. Shopping, lunch, and a trip to Quality Quidditch-"

Draco saw his opportunity, as his mother's voice quavered ever so slightly. "Thank you, Mother. That sounds wonderful. Though, I would rather not go to ... to the broom shop. It was always my special treat with Father."

Narcissa swallowed a lump in her throat.

"I've been thinking myself - you always went to Mademoiselle Violette's for a beauty treatment while Father and I shopped, and I don't want to deprive you of that. Why don't you go directly before lunch, and I can drop in to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes-"

"The Weasleys are filthy blood-traitors!" Aunt Bella interrupted, glaring at Draco in disbelief. Draco stamped on her foot underneath the table.

"I am not proposing to marry their brat of a sister," Draco sneered. He added, in a pleading tone, "Mother, it is the cool new joke shop everyone at school will be talking about. I can't be the only one who has never been there. I thought, while you visit Mademoiselle-"

"No. You're not wandering off alone-" Narcissa began.

"Please?" Draco asked, looking crestfallen. "Mother, it is only a few doors down from Violette's. You'll know right where I am, and I promise to be right back, before you are even finished. Please, as a special treat?"

Narcissa looked at her son for a moment, and then at Bella's stormy expression. She could understand his wish not to share with her the portion of the trip that he had always enjoyed the most with Lucius. And while it held no appeal at all to her, a joke shop was a rather touchingly boyish desire. With a sigh, she conceded. "Very well, Draco."

Bella shot them astonished look, and Narcissa glared back at her fiercely.

"Thank you, Mother," Draco said with a smile that warmed her heart.

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Draco stood before the tall mirror in Madam Malkin's, and tried to ignore the irritatingly fussy robe maker as he evaluated his prospective purchase. The dark green robes were handsome, and suited his pale coloring well enough, he thought to himself. Abruptly he noticed a new image in the mirror. Standing behind him were Potter, Weasley, and their little Mudblood friend.

Draco did not deign to acknowledge their arrival directly.

"If you are wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," he said instead.

As the newcomers drew their wands, Madam Malkin scurried around from behind the clothes rack and attempted to smooth things over, while Granger whispered something Draco could not make out.

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," sneered Draco as he turned around casually to face them. He saw Granger sported an enormous bruise around her right eye. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers," he added.

"That's quite enough!" said Madam Malkin, and turned to Draco's mother. "Madam, please..."

Narcissa strode out from behind the clothes rack as well, casting a look of disgust on Potter and Weasley as she spoke. "Put those away," she said. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" said Potter, stepping towards Narcissa and gazing insolently at her. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

The proprietress squealed and clutched at her heart in distress.

"Really, you shouldn't accuse - dangerous thing to say- wands away, please!" she stammered.

Potter ignored her, and Narcissa smiled back at him dangerously. Draco had never felt more proud than when she responded.

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

Potter looked around, a mocking smile on his lips. "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!"

Draco started angrily towards Potter, but tripped over the too-long robe he was wearing. Weasley laughed.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Draco snarled.

"It's all right, Draco," said Narcissa, resting her hand on his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Potter raised his wand higher.

"Harry, no!" moaned Granger, grabbing his wand arm and trying to pull it back down. "Think---You mustn't...You'll be in such trouble...."

The seamstress was saying something about his sleeve, but Draco was too angry to care. Until he realized, abruptly, that she was reaching to raise his left sleeve.

"Ouch!" he said angrily, and slapped her hand away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother - I don't think I want these anymore-"

He pulled them off over his head and tossed them on the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," his mother said, with a final, withering glance at Granger, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here.... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

Draco followed his mother out the door. The bang as he slammed it behind him helped to alleviate his irritation at unexpected encounter.

He and his mother arrived at Twilfitt and Tatting's without further incident, and ordered several new school robes, as well as a dark green set of dress robes. Privately Draco thought they looked somewhat less fine than the ones he had tried earlier, but his mother insisted they were better, and he did not care to contradict her.

Narcissa arranged for delivery of the robes to the manor once they were finished, and together they headed to Flourish and Blotts for his books. The visit was uneventful, as were stops to the apothecary and Eeylops. Then Draco accompanied his mother to Violette's and waited for her to be taken to one of the back rooms before leaving.

Pleased with the success of his plan, Draco strode rapidly towards his goal. With hardly a glance for the lurid purple advertisements that covered the windows of Weasleys', Draco continued on to the entrance of Knockturn Alley and turned in to it. The usual motley crowd he remembered from visits with his father was not in evidence; the place seemed completely deserted, even deader than Diagon Alley had been. It was a bad time to be seen taking an interest in the Dark Arts, he supposed. But that would change soon, he told himself firmly. The Dark Lord would see to it that it would change, and he, Draco, would play an important part!

He stopped for a moment before the familiar exterior of Borgin and Burkes'. The familiar jumbled array of cases full of curios from around the world, bottles, and skulls, was visible through the window. And, among the clutter, stood the large back cabinet that was one of Draco's goals. Taking a deep breath, he threw open the door.

A bell clanged as he swept inside, and he sauntered lazily over to the counter as he remembered his father doing during their visits together. He rang the bell on the counter and looked about as he waited for Borgin to appear. An intricate necklace of opals caught his eye, and he read the sign underneath it. He had neither the money nor inclination to buy it right at that moment, but it interested him. If a use for such a powerfully cursed item should suggest itself to him, he could acquire it later....

As the oily-haired proprietor of the shop came in from the back room, Draco fixed him with his best reproduction of his father's look, and said, simply, "Ah, Mr. Borgin."

The man stopped before the counter and smoothed his hair back, his expression betraying some uncertainty. Draco glared at him, but said nothing further.

"Mr. Malfoy," Borgin said finally, "how may I be of assistance?"

Draco did not miss the contrast between this and the rather more effusive greetings that had been his father's due. He supposed, though, that not being addressed as 'young Master Malfoy' counted as a victory of sorts.

"Following my father's example," Draco said, "I have decided to patronize your shop."

Borgin's eyes narrowed at the opening phrase, and Draco saw with satisfaction that the shopkeeper had not missed the potential double meaning it carried.

"I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Malfoy," Borgin said unctuously. "Perhaps I might interest you in some very reasonably priced items that came in just last week?"

"Not today," Draco replied. "I am interested in buying that cabinet," he added, indicating it with a nod of his head.

"Ah, the Vanishing Cabinet, a unique curiosity. Your taste is excellent," Borgin commented. "Of course, such an item commands a correspondingly high price on the market," he added. "I wonder -"

"You doubt my ability to pay?" Draco said with a sneer. "The Malfoy family fortune would easily buy your entire inventory, many times over."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy, of course," Borgin replied. "I only thought... never mind what I thought."

He had only thought Draco did not have access to that fortune, Draco knew, but his manner had convinced the man otherwise. Not that he did, his mother held the purse strings in his father's absence. However, the Lestrange fortune was impressive in its own right.

Draco nodded with a look of condescension modeled after the one he had seen on his father's face, in similar dealings.

"The price is three thousand Galleons," Borgin stated. "A one-of-a-kind artifact such as that commands a high price on the market, you know."

"Mr. Borgin, I am no more a fool than I am indigent," Draco replied coldly. "I happen already to own an identical item."

"In that case-"

"However, the one I have happens to be broken," Draco interrupted. "I will meet your price, if you engage also to help me repair it. I presume you know how to fix it?"

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

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

Borgin licked his lips, looking nervous.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it would be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" Draco said with a sneer. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He took a step closer to the shopkeeper and threw the left sleeve of his forearm back, exposing the Dark Mark on his forearm. The effect on Borgin was most gratifying. He looked terrified.

"Tell anyone, and there will be retribution," Draco said. "You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping by from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for-" Borgin began.

"I'll decide that," Draco interrupted him. "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?" Borgin suggested.

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

"Of course not...sir," Borgin said, bowing deeply.

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

"Naturally, naturally," Borgin muttered, and bowed again.

Draco stalked out of the shop and hurried back towards Violette's. It has worked; his plan was underway. And Borgin had, in the end, paid him the same respect he had accorded his father. Draco had to resist an urge to skip as he turned the corner back into Diagon Alley.

Chapter 15: Draco's Detour

"You have to mean it, Draco," his aunt said for the umpteenth time. Her exasperation with his difficulties was evident.

He'd done well enough, once he'd gotten he hang of it, killing the cockroaches Aunt Bella had found for him in the dungeons, in earlier lessons. Repulsive creatures that they were: he certainly meant for them to die before they could crawl up to him.

The stray kitten, though, inspired no such revulsion in Draco. It was pitiful - scrawny, underfed, mewling thinly in the cage Bella had conjured for it. Draco knew he'd regret his failure; his aunt's lessons had a way of turning...unpleasant, when he disappointed her, and he doubted today's lesson would prove an exception.

He closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself of why he was doing this. Potter's mocking face swam before his eyes, and his voice rang in Draco's ears. "...at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now."

Extending his wand in the direction of the cage, and opening his eyes at the very last moment to check his aim, he shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green light, and the kitten slumped instantly to the floor of the cage, one limp, furry little paw sliding out towards him to hang between the bars.

"Much better," Bellatrix said. "To kill a grown wizard will require even more power, but this you do not lack. Focus, Draco, that is what you need to work on. Know what you want to have happen, concentrate on the desire you feel, and the spell will work for you. When, in the end, you stand before Dumbledore, you must remember you want him dead."

"Yes, Aunt Bella," Draco agreed. That should prove no problem, if his plan to ambush the old man worked. If not for Dumbledore, his father would not be in jail. Surely, killing him would be glorious, nothing like this pointless and somehow tawdry destruction of a harmless animal.

"That's enough practicing for today," Bellatrix said, and following a single flourish of her wand, the dead cat and its cage vanished.

These lessons had given Draco a new appreciation of how much there remained for him to learn. In addition to her facility with the Dark Arts, both the Unforgivable Curses and an impressive variety of curses, hexes, and jinxes, his aunt performed magic with an amazing speed and facility. Vanishing two objects as she had just done, with one spell - Draco's mastery of Charms sufficed, barely, for the same feat of Vanishing them together, at least in a good day. His aunt could do it without speaking, or any apparent effort.

"Before we finish up, I want to go over what you will do tomorrow one final time," Bellatrix said.

Draco shrugged. "We've been over this many times already. Mother is taking me shopping. I'll get away from her and drop in on Borgin. He is to hold the Cabinet in his shop for me indefinitely, and to assist me with instructions for repairing the other one, the one at Hogwarts."

"You can't tell him that!" Aunt Bella snapped.

"Of course not, Aunt Bella," Draco agreed, keeping himself from rolling his eyes with some difficulty.

"He may not take you seriously," she warned.

"I can show him the Mark," Draco pointed out, deciding not to remind her she had suggested this herself during a previous discussion.

"Yes, and I think that will help," she said. "Still, it cannot hurt to make doubly sure. Our plan depends on his cooperation. I will make sure Greyback checks in on him regularly while you are away at school."

Draco suppressed a shudder at her mention of the notorious werewolf. He was one servant of the Dark Lord Draco did not fancy meeting, ever. "Thank you, Aunt Bella," he said. "That ought to motivate him."

"We'll need to talk Cissy into letting you go," Bellatrix said, sighing. "I'll take care of it at dinner."

"Aunt Bella," Draco began, hesitating, "I think it might be best if you let me handle my mother."

"Nonsense," Bellatrix replied. "I'm sure I can make her see reason."

"Yes, Aunt Bella," Draco said with some trepidation. He rather doubted that, himself. He could only hope that he would be able to undo any damage his aunt did with her heavy-handed approach to his mother.

A bell rang, indicating Narcissa was inviting them both up for the evening meal.

Narcissa returned from tea at Alexia Yaxley's to a seemingly deserted Malfoy Manor. Doubtless, this meant that Bella and Draco were off in the dungeon again, as they were most days. She missed the familiar sight of Draco engaging in the normal summer activities of a boy his age - playing Quidditch on the front lawn with friends, boating on the pond beyond the extensive gardens that were visible through the kitchen window, or lounging in a hammock in those same gardens, enjoying a book or magazine. It distressed her that her son spent so little time at these pursuits he loved...but she had been defeated by the united front her sister and her son had presented in the face of her objections.

Heaving a sigh, she opened the oven door and flicked her wand at the interior, watching the flames she summoned spring to life. They burned rather too hot and high, naturally. Taking a calming breath, she moderated the flames and shut the door.

Indeed, there was truth to their arguments. The Unbreakable Vow she had extracted from Severus Snape reassured her regarding the success of Draco's mission, but it did not alter the fact that Draco was now a Death Eater. Nothing would, short of death, his or the Dark Lord's...Narcissa shied away from that thought. It was not necessary or fruitful to dwell on such thoughts, she reminded herself firmly, now that she had dealt with the immediate danger. A wave of her wand caused the cabinet doors to fly open. A roasting pan and pair of pots floated out and landed on the stove with a reverberating clang.

Still, as a Death Eater, it could only help Draco if he showed a creditable attempt at accomplishing his assigned task. Further, the training Bella was providing should serve Draco well as he took on whatever challenges his chosen course presented him following the death of Dumbledore. It would prepare him for the future he had chosen, and however much Narcissa would have preferred it to wait a couple more years, she recognized that Draco's own choice had made that impractical.

From a drawer next to the oven, she extracted a parchment with the neatly lettered menus her housekeeping service dropped off every week. She had three options remaining, she noted, and decided on the pheasant, to start the weekend off on a festive note. She had drawn the line at weekends. And tomorrow was not only a Saturday, but a day Narcissa had long anticipated and planned for Draco's amusement. The annual shopping trip to Diagon Alley had been a special day Lucius and Draco had always shared together, but she would not allow that to spoil her son's enjoyment. There would be shopping, lunch in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, and to cap it off, the traditional visit to Quality Quidditch Supplies - she'd give Draco at least that, this summer.

With a wave of her wand, she caused the pheasant, already stuffed and fully cooked for her, to appear in the roasting pan, and placed it in the oven to reheat. The side dishes followed it into their pots, and then into the oven, in short order. Narcissa sat down to wait at the kitchen table, and sipped a restorative glass of firewhiskey as she gazed out at the lovely prospect of the gardens outside the kitchen window.

When the smells coming out of the oven assured her dinner could shortly be served, she rang the bell. Draco and Bella showed up promptly at her summons. Draco had a nervous, tense look to him, and Narcissa abruptly felt doubly glad of the plans she had made. Bella helped her transfer the meal to the table, while Draco set the table.

After they had eaten, and Draco had cleared the dishes away, Narcissa summoned the pudding onto a platter she had placed on the table. Bellatrix poured hot coffee for herself and Cissy, and spoke up.

"Cissy, Draco has some business he ought to take care of tomorrow," she began. "It would be best for him to go alone-"

"No!" Narcissa cut her off, rather more loudly than was strictly necessary. "These are dangerous times."

"He's not a child-" Bella essayed.

"I said, no!" Narcissa repeated.

"Surely, Aunt Bella, we can take care of it some other time," Draco said, casting what he hoped was a meaningful glance in the direction of his aunt.

"If anything needs to be done at Diagon Alley, I can come along," Narcissa said.

"Ridiculous!" Bella said heatedly.

"Aunt Bella," Draco began.

"Bella," Narcissa said, "you must remember, from our own childhood, the annual trips to Diagon Alley to shop for Hogwarts. Fittings for the most fashionable new robes, new supplies and books and trinkets, and capping it all off, ice cream at Fortescue's with Mama and Papa for the three of us...." Narcissa trailed off doubtfully, realizing she had broached an unfortunate subject, caught up in her own reminiscences.

Bellatrix scowled at her, but kept her peace.

"Well, I remember," Narcissa said firmly. "And I am going to give Draco that same day tomorrow. His father cannot be there, but I will not permit you to ruin tomorrow any further. Shopping, lunch, and a trip to Quality Quidditch-"

Draco saw his opportunity, as his mother's voice quavered ever so slightly. "Thank you, Mother. That sounds wonderful. Though, I would rather not go to ... to the broom shop. It was always my special treat with Father."

Narcissa swallowed a lump in her throat.

"I've been thinking myself - you always went to Mademoiselle Violette's for a beauty treatment while Father and I shopped, and I don't want to deprive you of that. Why don't you go directly before lunch, and I can drop in to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes-"

"The Weasleys are filthy blood-traitors!" Aunt Bella interrupted, glaring at Draco in disbelief. Draco stamped on her foot underneath the table.

"I am not proposing to marry their brat of a sister," Draco sneered. He added, in a pleading tone, "Mother, it is the cool new joke shop everyone at school will be talking about. I can't be the only one who has never been there. I thought, while you visit Mademoiselle-"

"No. You're not wandering off alone-" Narcissa began.

"Please?" Draco asked, looking crestfallen. "Mother, it is only a few doors down from Violette's. You'll know right where I am, and I promise to be right back, before you are even finished. Please, as a special treat?"

Narcissa looked at her son for a moment, and then at Bella's stormy expression. She could understand his wish not to share with her the portion of the trip that he had always enjoyed the most with Lucius. And while it held no appeal at all to her, a joke shop was a rather touchingly boyish desire. With a sigh, she conceded. "Very well, Draco."

Bella shot them astonished look, and Narcissa glared back at her fiercely.

"Thank you, Mother," Draco said with a smile that warmed her heart.

Draco stood before the tall mirror in Madam Malkin's, and tried to ignore the irritatingly fussy robe maker as he evaluated his prospective purchase. The dark green robes were handsome, and suited his pale coloring well enough, he thought to himself. Abruptly he noticed a new image in the mirror. Standing behind him were Potter, Weasley, and their little Mudblood friend.

Draco did not deign to acknowledge their arrival directly.

"If you are wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," he said instead.

As the newcomers drew their wands, Madam Malkin scurried around from behind the clothes rack and attempted to smooth things over, while Granger whispered something Draco could not make out.

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," sneered Draco as he turned around casually to face them. He saw Granger sported an enormous bruise around her right eye. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers," he added.

"That's quite enough!" said Madam Malkin, and turned to Draco's mother. "Madam, please..."

Narcissa strode out from behind the clothes rack as well, casting a look of disgust on Potter and Weasley as she spoke. "Put those away," she said. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" said Potter, stepping towards Narcissa and gazing insolently at her. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

The proprietress squealed and clutched at her heart in distress.

"Really, you shouldn't accuse - dangerous thing to say- wands away, please!" she stammered.

Potter ignored her, and Narcissa smiled back at him dangerously. Draco had never felt more proud than when she responded.

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

Potter looked around, a mocking smile on his lips. "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!"

Draco started angrily towards Potter, but tripped over the too-long robe he was wearing. Weasley laughed.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Draco snarled.

"It's all right, Draco," said Narcissa, resting her hand on his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Potter raised his wand higher.

"Harry, no!" moaned Granger, grabbing his wand arm and trying to pull it back down. "Think---You mustn't...You'll be in such trouble...."

The seamstress was saying something about his sleeve, but Draco was too angry to care. Until he realized, abruptly, that she was reaching to raise his left sleeve.

"Ouch!" he said angrily, and slapped her hand away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother - I don't think I want these anymore-"

He pulled them off over his head and tossed them on the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," his mother said, with a final, withering glance at Granger, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here.... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

Draco followed his mother out the door. The bang as he slammed it behind him helped to alleviate his irritation at unexpected encounter.

He and his mother arrived at Twilfitt and Tatting's without further incident, and ordered several new school robes, as well as a dark green set of dress robes. Privately Draco thought they looked somewhat less fine than the ones he had tried earlier, but his mother insisted they were better, and he did not care to contradict her.

Narcissa arranged for delivery of the robes to the manor once they were finished, and together they headed to Flourish and Blotts for his books. The visit was uneventful, as were stops to the apothecary and Eeylops. Then Draco accompanied his mother to Violette's and waited for her to be taken to one of the back rooms before leaving.

Pleased with the success of his plan, Draco strode rapidly towards his goal. With hardly a glance for the lurid purple advertisements that covered the windows of Weasleys', Draco continued on to the entrance of Knockturn Alley and turned in to it. The usual motley crowd he remembered from visits with his father was not in evidence; the place seemed completely deserted, even deader than Diagon Alley had been. It was a bad time to be seen taking an interest in the Dark Arts, he supposed. But that would change soon, he told himself firmly. The Dark Lord would see to it that it would change, and he, Draco, would play an important part!

He stopped for a moment before the familiar exterior of Borgin and Burkes'. The familiar jumbled array of cases full of curios from around the world, bottles, and skulls, was visible through the window. And, among the clutter, stood the large back cabinet that was one of Draco's goals. Taking a deep breath, he threw open the door.

A bell clanged as he swept inside, and he sauntered lazily over to the counter as he remembered his father doing during their visits together. He rang the bell on the counter and looked about as he waited for Borgin to appear. An intricate necklace of opals caught his eye, and he read the sign underneath it. He had neither the money nor inclination to buy it right at that moment, but it interested him. Perhaps a use for such a powerfully cursed item would suggest itself to him later....

As the oily-haired proprietor of the shop came in from the back room, Draco fixed him with his best reproduction of his father's look, and said, simply, "Ah, Mr. Borgin."

The man stopped before the counter and smoothed his hair back, his expression betraying some uncertainty. Draco glared at him, but said nothing further.

"Mr. Malfoy," Borgin said finally, "how may I be of assistance?"

Draco did not miss the contrast between this and the rather more effusive greetings that had been his father's due. He supposed, though, that not being addressed as 'young Master Malfoy' counted as a victory of sorts.

"Following my father's example," Draco said, "I have decided to patronize your shop."

Borgin's eyes narrowed at the opening phrase, and Draco saw with satisfaction that the shopkeeper had not missed the potential double meaning it carried.

"I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Malfoy," Borgin said unctuously. "Perhaps I might interest you in some very reasonably priced items that came in just last week?"

"Not today," Draco replied. "I am interested in buying that cabinet," he added, indicating it with a nod of his head.

"Ah, the Vanishing Cabinet, a unique curiosity. Your taste is excellent," Borgin commented. "Of course, such an item commands a correspondingly high price on the market," he added. "I wonder -"

"You doubt my ability to pay?" Draco said with a sneer. "The Malfoy family fortune would easily buy your entire inventory, many times over."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy, of course," Borgin replied. "I only thought... never mind what I thought."

He had only thought Draco did not have access to that fortune, Draco knew, but his manner had convinced the man otherwise. Not that he did, his mother held the purse strings in his father's absence. However, the Lestrange fortune was impressive in its own right.

Draco nodded with a look of condescension modeled after the one he had seem on his father's face, in similar dealings.

"The price is three thousand Galleons," Borgin stated. "A one-of-a-kind artifact such as that commands a high price on the market, you know."

"Mr. Borgin, I am no more a fool than I am indigent," Draco replied coldly. "I happen already to own an identical item."

"In that case-"

"However, the one I have happens to be broken," Draco interrupted. "I will meet your price, if you engage also to help me repair it. I presume you know how to fix it?"

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

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

Borgin licked his lips, looking nervous.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it would be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" Draco said with a sneer. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He took a step closer to the shopkeeper and threw the left sleeve of his forearm back, exposing the Dark Mark on his forearm. The effect on Borgin was most gratifying. He looked terrified.

"Tell anyone, and there will be retribution," Draco said. "You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping by from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for-" Borgin began.

"I'll decide that," Draco interrupted him. "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?" Borgin suggested.

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

"Of course not...sir," Borgin said, bowing deeply.

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

"Naturally, naturally," Borgin muttered, and bowed again.

Draco stalked out of the shop and hurried back towards Violette's. It has worked; his plan was underway. And Borgin had, in the end, paid him the same respect he had accorded his father. Draco had to resist an urge to skip as he turned the corner back into Diagon Alley.