Chapter Text
Draco adjusted his robe as he walked down the stairs towards the dining room.
Each step made a clicking sound as his expensive shoes stomped, ringing through the hallway of the Malfoy Manor. He could hear his parents whispering and the grand clock ticking slowly. He was tapping on his pants in sync, trying to alleviate some of the stress. He pushed against the oversized door, doing his best to open it eloquently. Father would be treating tonight's dinner as a sort of test.
"Ah, Draco." Father clapped his gloved hands. "Right on time, as always."
Lucius hit Dobby on the back of the head with his cane, as to command him to guide Draco to his seat. The elf obliged with a whimper, which earned a sympathetic look from Draco as he sat down, thankfully not noticed by Father.
He was still for a while, staring down at his plate. He very much did not have the mental fortitude to look at father at the moment. Instead, he felt the texture of the wood under the table, waiting for father's inspecting gaze, which he swore he could feel, pass.
Draco looked up as Lucius slowly slid a letter over to him. Both Parents eyed him with anticipation, and so he carefully broke the Hogwarts seal and pulled out the small paper inside.
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Deputy Headmistress
Minerva McGonagall
Lucius let out a smug grin as he wiped his mouth on a handkerchief.
"We’ve already bought your school books. First thing after breakfast, we buy your robes. Eat." he ordered, collecting the envelope from the table and handing it to Dobby to be put away. Draco smiled warmly as he ate his food, happy things were going smoothly for a change.
Narcissa stared at him from across the table, thinking about many of the same things as her son. He had gone through unfair treatment from Lucius throughout his life, but it had ramped up in the last months. His father was hell-bent on turning Draco into the exemplar Slytherin, which had come at the expense of the kid's mental health and happiness, but Hogwarts would give him a break.
-
Draco leaned on the closed door of his room, grinning like an absolute idiot. He had a busy day, no, a busy week ahead of him, but it would be worth it. A familiar whip-crack sounded as Dobby apparated onto the carpet.
"Hello." Draco whispered, walking towards his bed. He took off the formal wear that was getting increasingly uncomfortable by the second, along with assorted silver jewellery that signified his status as a pureblood. Just one more week.
"Hello, sir." Dobby responded absentmindedly, waving a hand at Draco. He was sort of floating in the air, and it looked like he was dancing, even though Draco couldn't hear any music.
After taking off the last of the uncomfortable rings, and waiting for dramatic effect — of course — he turned on his heel to face Dobby, holding the letter up in his hands. "I did it!" he whispered. He couldn't stop smiling.
The house elf’s ears perked up as he wiped barely formed tears away. He took a tentative step towards the piece of parchment and held up a torn up envelope at his former master.
Draco slid the letter back in, grinning as it started to glow, undoing the, — rather advanced — transfiguration spell on the envelope.
The envelope that had been handed to Dobby by Lucius,
Which was now morphing into a sock.
The elf was shaking, understandably, but composed himself so as to be able to actually read. The old letter was glowing purple, and words once addressed to a 'Mr. Malfoy' shifted wildly against the parchment, replaced by gorgeous green ones. Dobby took a deep breath.
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Chf. Warlock, Head of the 2nd order of the Phoenix, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Dobby,
We are pleased to inform you are, hereby, and until the end of time, invited to use Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a second home, and a ways to escape to a foreign country, if necessary. Please find enclosed an article of clothing that should, with help of our young informant, set you free of the elf-bind.
Term begins on 1 September. We advise that you seek out the Weasley residence as the next stop on your journey.
Yours sincerely,
Member of the British Underground Railroad,
Minerva McGonagall.
"You can escape while we’re at Diagon, it’s perfect." Draco hummed, pulling his cloak on. "I found a better map by the way, it’s in your bag, oh, and—"
He was interrupted by a hug.
"Dobby will miss you, ma—mast— Draco." Dobby gulped. He could speak freely.
"M—me too, Dobs. Hope we’ll meet again at Hogwarts." Draco broke the hug to look at Dobby, and smiled warmly.
The young elf let out a whimper.
"Yes. Wow. Dobby wishes to, well, D—Draco?" he looked down at his sock. "Could Dobby give something to Draco?"
Draco raised his eyebrows. "The— what, the sock?"
Dobby shook his head and produced a small sunflower from his hand. It hadn't been in his hand before — It looked like he had done a muggle magic trick.
He stiffened up as small tears produced at the bottom of his eyes.
"Dobby would like to name Draco elf-friend, if he would accept. And a present. Dobby would like to give a Fey-flower. To Draco."
He extended his hands to give Draco the sunflower-looking plant. Not knowing what a Fey-flower was, Draco delicately picked it up, and was going to say something, but froze as he heard the tapping footsteps of Narcissa Malfoy coming down towards the room.
Within seconds, Dobby had hidden beneath Draco's bed, Draco had tossed the magical parchment of the Hogwarts letter into the fireplace, and the young Malfoy was out the door.
-
Draco was in Diagon, at Madam Malkin’s, while his father chose appropriate robes and his mother picked his wand for him.
To be perfectly honest, Draco was rather uncomfortable. He could chalk it up to Dobby's escape, but there was still a week or so until Hogwarts and many opportunities to disappoint father; along with the fact that it was taking a rather long time to get his measurements, and also that Father had taken to constantly reminding him Madam Malkin was a half-blood.
Madam Malkin’s store was made mostly of wood, with the floor being a greyish marble which was cold to Draco's feet, with many racks of clothes that housed anything from battle robes to fashion accessories. As the floating tape measure yapped at Draco to turn around or stand up, he stared at one of the displays.
It was a set of battle-robes, taken straight out of Lockhart’s books; blue and black tinted purple, with a brimmed witch hat that sat on the fiery blue hair of the mannequin. Draco recognized the character immediately as:
The Good Witch Anastasia, Warrior of Peace, Badass Extraordinaire and Master of Illusion, Gilderoy’s elusive sister.
He giggled on how he had memorized her titles, but stiffened as the tape measure yelled at him to stay still, only glancing at the outfit with a suppressed grin.
She wore an Ancient Greek musculata made of fool’s coal, a magnificent cloak/coat that had a large collar nearly touching her ears, and a long flowy skirt that reached a bit lower than her knees. The skirt had neat folds that Draco knew housed an assortment of spare wands and knives, and that was definitely the only reason he was longingly staring at it.
He stiffened as Madam Malkin greeted a new customer, and a thin blush crept up his cheeks.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she said. "Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
Oh — that was directed at him. Why, she was reminding him that — as another young man — it was beyond improper for him to be looking at the skirt. He felt a sudden surge of shame wash over him as he steeled himself for conversation with the newly arrived boy. It would not do you dwell on it.
"Hello." he said, trying to sound more bored than anxious. "Hogwarts, too?"
He felt very stupid after that question. Why would another kid be in the school robe section if not looking for school robes? Stupid, stupid Malfoy.
The boy simply replied with a yes.
"My father’s helping pick out robes and my mother’s up the street looking at wands," he said, sighing. He was holding a conversation, but what would a normal wizard boy talk about?!
Brooms, I guess?
Well, first of all, he had to put on his ‘Perfect Slytherin’ act. It was how the Malfoy heir was supposed act be in public, at least; he could hopefully practice it here.
"Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms." Was that snobby enough? It needed more disdain . "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."
Draco inwardly cringed. Anybody that had ever seen him or his father before would know that he was acting. Bully Father? Seriously? He could feel his face get hotter.
But it seemed to work. The boy raised his eyebrows. Just a few more minutes.
"Have you got your own broom?" He went on, trying to emphasize a sophisticated accent.
"No." the boy answered.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No." he answered again, a slight question to his voice.
"I do — Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?" 'Must say'? That sounded stupid!
"No" the kid answered, yet again.
Draco was kind of running out of topics, and while he could talk about things he liked for hours, and often did, with Dobby, he knew from etiquette classes that he had to talk about surface level stuff, and the boy in front of him was making that rather difficult, as it looked like all he could say was ‘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 — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?"
He chuckled. In reality, he'd be forced to leave; father would probably ship him off to Durmstrang or something, so that sounded in character.
Draco didn't register the boy’s reply, however, as he got distracted by a large bearded man with two ice-cream cones at the window.
"I say, look at that man!" he exclaimed.
"That's Hagrid."
Oh, so he could speak. Also, Hagrid?
"Oh" he said, remembering his entry in Hogwarts: A History, "He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?"
"He’s the Groundskeeper."
"Yes, exactly." he continued. "He's the one in charge of bringing muggle-borns to Hogwarts. Father despises him, though, he says he’s worse than a mudblood."
"I think he's brilliant." the boy replied coldly.
Registering the kid's tone, gears started turn in Draco's head as he faced the boy. If this kid knew so little about magic and knew Hagrid…
"Do you?" he asked, wide-eyed. This was bad. If he was caught talking to a muggle-born, Father would be furious. Father always knew when he did something wrong. He knew. He always did, and as it happened—
Father was an aisle down.
-
He was left red-faced from the whole encounter. He was angry at everyone. As he walked out of the store, guided by Father, he wished he could have apologized to that boy. He wished that he could be allowed to be nice. He wished for another life.
As he left, his eyes lingered — a little too long — on the blue skirt.