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Draco Malfoy’s first recorded incident of accidental magic occurs at seven. This is also when he realises that he’s a squib. Needless to say, the two are related.
His realisation doesn’t exactly come out of nowhere. See, Draco’s been surrounded by magic for all of his life. He hardly knows how to live a life without magic, even if he can’t do it himself. After all, one doesn’t actually need magic to fly or to work with the plants that make up the Malfoy gardens or to even look after the animals. However, he’s also seen in his agemates how accidental magic sparks and the things they can do. He remembers Pansy lighting her Uncle’s beard on fire when she disagreed with his robe choice, remembers Greg charming a silver snake toy to move by itself, remembers Vincent making a violin play by itself.
And where has Draco been in all of this? Amongst his friends, but with no accidental magic of his own to speak of. Of course, no one would dare doubt that a Malfoy could be anything less than a wizard—or, at the very least, no one would say such things aloud.
The latest recording of accidental magic occurred when the individual in question was ten. There are two reasons to explain a lack of accidental magic—an individual has little magic or excellent control. It’s the latter that Draco’s parents proudly declare whenever anyone asks.
And someone is always asking.
It’s only at seven, however, that Draco manages to get hold of an adult’s wand. Even if a wand doesn’t suit the wizard, magic can still be channelled. Something, Draco knows, is bound to happen.
The fear that the something will be nothing is one he tries not to think about.
He waves the first wand. His father’s wand is heavy in his hand, weighted heavily on one end thanks to the silver serpent’s head with its gleaming green eyes. The wood is smooth beneath his fingers, and it feels like the furniture—polished wood and nothing more; there’s nothing else to go with it.
Draco swallows, fear rising.
The second wand feels different in his hand, lighter. The grip is dragon leather and the wand itself is black like ebony, though it’s also some kind of wood.
He waves it.
There’s nothing, not even a spark.
Heart in his throat, Draco puts the wand back where he found it. He retreats from his parents’ room and quickly enters his own bedroom. There’s no denying it now. Draco Malfoy, Pureblood son of the Malfoys, has no magic in his blood, not a single drop. But Draco is a Pureblood and can’t be a squib.
Swallowing, he goes to the fireplace. There’s no fire flickering, not now. And no matter how hard Draco stares at the fireplace, no matter how cold he feels, he has no way of lighting a fire, not with magic.
But… Only he knows that. No one else knows. Sure, his parents likely have a suspicion, but they haven’t yet said anything. And Draco knows his parents love him. They would do anything for him. He knows that. But society isn’t so kind, people—as a whole—aren’t so kind. There’s no way Draco can live a life as a squib, not if people know.
So he just… can’t let them know. There has to be a way of doing that. He’ll just need to be smart. No squib has ever attended Hogwarts, but he’s not about to let that stop him. He’s a Malfoy and has resources to his name, his parents in his corner, and, well, if nothing else Draco knows how to make a big enough fuss that he can get what he wants. The Sorting Hat is a different matter entirely, but Draco is a Slytherin through and through and he knows it. If he gets to Hogwarts—when he gets to Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat will know it too and put him in the right house, regardless of whether he magic running through his blood. All he’ll need to do is fool everyone else.
Or, perhaps, all he needs to do is get a little bit of help. Another being on board to help him come up with a plan on how to trick everyone into thinking he has magic. Surely, surely it won’t be too challenging.
After all, people tend to be stronger in certain areas of magic, and some areas of magic don’t really need magic as much as people think they do. If Draco focusses on those areas, then he can pretend that’s where his magic is strongest. Herbology, magizoology, Quidditch. Draco can cultivate skills he’s already started. Other things will be more challenging—transfiguration, charms, potions. Not impossible though. There are so many enchanted objects that could help him here. Perhaps he can even ask one of the House-Elves to help him out? They have their own magic.
Breathing out, Draco smiles. He can do this. It’ll be hard and tricky, but that’s never stopped him before and he’s not about to let it stop him now.
However, before he can convince Hogwarts to enrol him and everything else, he’ll need to convince the world that Draco Malfoy, Pureblood wizard, has had his first incident of accidental magic. It won’t be enough to do it while alone, he’ll have to actually do it in full view of everyone.
There’s a society event tomorrow being held at the main house of the Parkinson family. If Draco uses magic then, no one will be able to say anything against him or his parents. Everyone will likely be saying how strong he is too. So then, what to do? It’ll need… need to be controlled. If he can convince everyone that he’s just been controlling his magic that nothing accidental really occurred, then people will be more likely to believe he is magical even if it took a long time before he showed it in action.
How to go about feigning such a thing though?
Fire. It would be the easiest thing to do, the easiest thing to create. How to prove that it’s magic though, as opposed to a random flame sparking? He has to have some kind of control over it, some way to start it and stop it when asked to. Or… Or not stop it necessarily, but start it at the very least—possibly multiple times. Pureblood society would never settle for a one-off show after all.
Air. It’s his best way of controlling it and… and his lessons had recently gone through how fire can turn different colours in relation to what the fuel was for it. So he could also make coloured magic.
“Dobby,” he calls.
The House-Elf cracks into existence, looking half-asleep and Draco winces at having woken the elf up. But there’s no other choice. Dobby’s the only one he can rely on right now.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Draco says, “but I need your help.” As he talks, Dobby begins to smile and Draco properly believes, for the first time that night, that things might be okay.