Chapter Text
Draco was twisting anxiously on a pedestal as the assistant at Madame Malkin’s pinned his new, black twill work robes into place, when he was distracted by the proprietress herself speaking to someone at the front of the shop. A few moments later, a wizard his age came stumbling in after the squat witch, looking every bit as worried as Draco felt.
‘Hullo,’ Draco greeted quietly as the boy stepped up beside him, ‘Hogwarts too?’
‘Yes,’ the raven-haired boy said, his whole face brightening.
He wasn’t much to look at. In fact, Draco would be horribly embarrassed to be seen in public with the boy if anyone he knew were around. He was wearing some sort of horrendous, tattered clothing that had to be Muggle and seemed big enough to fit at least three boys his size into—although he was even more slender than Draco himself, so that wasn’t saying too much—and his hair looked like something resembling the nesting material in an owlery.
But there was something about him that drew Draco’s attention all the same. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he was the first wizard his own age that he’d met whom he hadn’t known from nearly birth. The first wizard he had a chance to speak to without his family’s influence to precede him.
However, the brilliant green eyes peering out from beneath a messy fringe and terrible, broken spectacles certainly caught Draco’s gaze as well.
‘Are you just starting, too?’ the boy asked.
‘Yes. My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ Draco drawled. ‘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. Have you got your own broom?’
‘No,’ said the other boy, dully.
‘Play Quidditch at all?’ Draco asked, wondering what family he could be from where he didn’t even own a broom.
He obviously wasn’t a Weasley, even if he dressed like one.
‘No,’ the boy answered, his shoulders drooping a bit.
‘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?’ Draco forged on, hoping to distract him from the clearly upsetting subject of Quidditch.
‘No…’ the raven-haired boy muttered, looking away.
‘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?’ Draco forged on.
‘Mmm.’
‘I say, look at that man!’ Draco gasped, following the other boy’s gaze out to a giant of a man at the windows.
The giant was grinning absurdly and holding up two giant ice cream cones as if to explain his presence somehow. Hm, perhaps Mother could be convinced to allow him ice cream after this as long as he promised to eat a full portion at supper.
‘That’s Hagrid,’ the other boy informed him. An actual smile came to his face for the first time and Draco pouted at the fact that he wasn’t the cause of it. ‘He works at Hogwarts.’
‘Oh,’ Draco sighed. After a moment, he remembered, ‘I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?’
‘He’s the gamekeeper,’ said the other boy in a somewhat frosty tone.
‘Yes, exactly,’ Draco agreed with a dip of his chin. Excitedly, he added, ‘I heard he’s a sort of savage—lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.’
He couldn’t imagine how someone could bungle up a basic Incendio so badly that they set their bed on fire, but that’s what Uncle Severus had told him and he had no reason to lie. To be fair, that had only happened once as far as Draco knew, but that was beside the point.
‘I think he’s brilliant,’ the other boy stated, his voice now entirely icy.
‘Do you?’ Draco asked with genuine confusion. His mouth twitched as he tried to prevent himself from frowning. Mother always said he would end up with lines if he frowned too much. ‘Why is he with you? Where are your parents?’
‘They’re dead,’ the boy told him flatly.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Draco said in a hollow voice as he masked his horror. Merlin, he certainly hadn’t meant to dredge up painful memories. How was he supposed to fix this? The other boy didn’t seem to be warming up to him in the slightest. He cast about for a change of topic. ‘But they were our kind, weren’t they?’
‘They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.’
That was a relief. Imagine if he’d spent all of this time trying to impress a Mudblood who didn’t even understand their world.
‘I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you?’ Draco mused. ‘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.’
He knew it was rude to ask, but he couldn’t help continuing with, ‘What’s your surname, anyway? How have we never met?’
‘Potter,’ the other boy answered tightly.
Draco’s heart stopped.
But before he could scramble to say something in response, Madam Malkin said, ‘That’s you done, my dear,’ and the other boy—Harry Merlin-dammed Potter—hopped down from the footstool. Without another glance at Draco, he followed the mauve-clad witch back to the front of the shop.
Draco wanted to melt into the floor. And quite possibly to cry. His lower lip quivered slightly as he began to process how terribly that conversation had gone. Not only had he inadvertently insulted Potter’s apparent friend, he’d also clearly upset the other boy in mentioning his famously dead parents.
‘Chin up, love,’ the shop assistant told him a moment later. Draco thought the witch was trying to cheer him up before he realised she meant that literally, as she was currently trying to check the seams at his collar. With a sigh, he complied.
It wasn’t until he was finishing up with his school robes and picking out a few Slytherin green accessories for himself—there was no chance of him Sorting anywhere else, after all—that Draco began questioning things. Why was the Boy Who Lived dressed like a street urchin? Why was he visiting Diagon Alley in the company of the Hogwarts Groundskeeper rather than an actual professor?
And most importantly, why, in the name of Merlin, did Harry Potter not have his own broom?
‘... and he said he was with that oaf Hagrid for some reason and—and—’
‘Take a breath, darling,’ Narcissa told her son with a touch of amusement.
By some miracle, the boy had managed to control himself until they arrived back at the Manor, but as soon as the three of them were seated at the dining table, he’d started speaking so quickly that she could barely keep up. Draco had always been an excitable child, but this was something else altogether.
Draco took a deep, exaggerated breath before continuing with, ‘But you should have seen his clothes, Mother. Of course, Muggle clothing is always strange, but this was truly awful. I mean, honestly, Father could have worn his shirt without difficulty.’
Narcissa took a sip of her wine to hide the smile that threatened to form at the mental image of her husband in a tatty Muggle shirt.
‘He’s quite small, too, and he seemed ridiculously uninformed. But the worst part, I say, the absolute worst is that he doesn’t even have his own broom. Can you believe that, Mother? Harry Potter. The Harry Potter.’
Draco was frowning slightly and Narcissa was opening her mouth to comment on it when he went on.
‘I simply can’t understand what that old man up at the school was thinking, letting him wander about in public like that. Essentially unaccompanied and dressed like some sort of odd… servant who hasn’t had a good meal in his life. He had spectacles, Mother—ugly spectacles— and they were broken besides.’
Something in Narcissa’s chest tightened. Her son was prone to exaggerating, of course, and there was every chance that the boy was just a bit unkempt and slim. But all of the details together were just a bit… off. Regardless of what side of the war she’d been on, she was first and foremost a mother. And her instincts were telling her that something wasn’t quite right. When she caught her husband’s eyes, she could tell Lucius was having similar misgivings.
‘Perhaps you ought to owl Mr Potter,’ Narcissa told Draco. ‘It is never too early to cultivate allies, my Dragon, and one should always follow up after new meetings.’
Draco’s eyes lit up at the idea and he nodded quickly, turning to Lucius with a hopeful expression on his face. ‘May I be excused, Father?’
Lucius’s gaze slipped over the boy’s half-eaten meal and the tiniest sigh escaped him. ‘Finish your supper,’ he ordered firmly.
For a moment, Narcissa thought Draco was going to argue but thankfully he kept himself to a frustrated pout as he stabbed half-heartedly at a roast potato. She relaxed somewhat. It was never enjoyable to watch her husband and her son be at odds with each other.
‘You may go to the Owlery as soon as you’ve finished eating,’ Lucius allowed after a moment of watching Draco pick at his food.
He’d been terribly finicky with what and how much he would eat lately. Narcissa hoped it was just nerves about starting Hogwarts and being away from home for the first time. It certainly had her stomach tied in knots. She made a mental note to request some additional nutrition potions from Severus just in case.
She was grateful that Draco would be at Hogwarts at least and not Durmstrang as Lucius had originally wanted. The fact that Draco would be boarding was irrelevant. If needed, she could Floo or Apparate directly to the Hogwarts gates from the Manor, whereas an international Portkey and a mountain of paperwork would be required to reach Durmstrang even in an emergency. Only after she’d made it quite clear that the only way he would be attending a school so far away was if Hogwarts were razed to the ground had her husband relented.
Draco perked up at Lucius’s words and quickly began eating with much more enthusiasm, only barely managing to maintain decorum. Within a handful of minutes, he was finished and—after a nod from his father—all but bounding away from the table. Narcissa shook her head in fond amusement.
‘That child…’ Lucius sighed as soon as their son was out of earshot. He shook his head and called one of the elves for more wine.
‘As much as I don’t wish to care about the ‘Boy-Who-Lived…’ Lucius mused aloud. ‘I admit that if Draco’s impression of him is accurate, it is somewhat concerning. The boy seems rather uninformed about our world. Even if he is simply dim, it reflects poorly on the school to have him being escorted around Diagon Alley by the groundskeeper of all people. The only worse choice that ridiculous old fool could have made would have been Filch. A half-breed without a wand—what is Dumbledore thinking?’
Narcissa hummed thoughtfully. ‘The Board has procedures in place in regards to contacting Muggle-raised students, does it not?”
‘Of course, although I would hardly consider the Potter brat to be Muggle-raised,’ Lucius scoffed. ‘Between the Squibs raising him and his magical guardian, he should be knowledgeable enough. However, anyone raised in a nonmagical household should be visited by a professor when they receive their letter to ensure they are adequately briefed on the magical world. I would have expected one of the Heads of House to be sent for Potter even if he didn’t require their assistance, simply for the optics alone.’
‘I’ll write Severus in the morning,’ Narcissa decided. ‘It’s certainly odd, but perhaps there is a reasonable explanation.’
Severus read through Narcissa’s letter with a deepening scowl before tossing it aside and rising to his feet. It was still weeks before classes began, so the corridors were blessedly empty as he swept through them, robes billowing behind him. In a matter of minutes, he was rising up the spiralling stair to the Headmaster’s Office and rapping his knuckles sharply on the door, in no mood for whatever inane sweet this week’s password happened to be.
‘Ah, Severus,’ Albus Dumbledore’s voice called out to him as the door popped open seemingly of its own accord. ‘To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your company?’
Years of masking his emotions when necessary were the only reason Severus didn’t scoff aloud at him.
‘Please enlighten me why I have a concerned parent writing to me to enquire about the well-being of the Boy-Who-Lived.’
It wasn’t a question.
The old wizard’s blue eyes twinkled at him. ‘I’m delighted to hear that you already care for the boy, Severus, but may I ask who is writing to you about him?’
Severus stared blankly back at him. ‘I hardly think that is the part that you should be focussed on.’
Albus waved a hand, still twinkling maddeningly. ‘There’s no cause for concern, so I simply hoped to sate my curiosity. Hagrid spent the day with young Harry yesterday and he reported he is perfectly hale and healthy. Now, is there some reason you’re keeping this… concerned parent’s identity a secret, my boy?’
‘I didn’t consider it relevant,’ Severus told him after a moment’s consideration. ‘Given the history it would be surprising… But Narcissa Malfoy is the one who wrote. Evidently, Heir Malfoy met the boy yesterday in Diagon and was concerned for his new friend.’
That wasn’t quite what Narcissa had written to him, but it was curious to watch the way the Headmaster’s brow furrowed for a moment at the word ‘friend.’
After another moment, Albus let out a chuckle. ‘Friends, are they?’ he asked curiously.
‘You know how children are at that age,’ Severus allowed with an air of waving it off, even if he was only watching the Headmaster more closely now. ‘I’m certain the boys could have spoken for all of a moment and decided to be friends, then a moment more could call the whole thing off.’
‘Quite,’ Albus agreed with a hum of consideration. ‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t want Mr Malfoy to be worried for his new friend in any way. What were his concerns?’
‘It seems the Potter boy was quite small, dressed poorly, had broken spectacles, and was hardly informed about our world,’ Severus said indifferently. ‘I believe he was most concerned about the boy’s lack of a broom,’ he added, rolling his eyes.
Albus chuckled again and it grated on Severus’s nerves, but he pushed his irritation aside. He would admit that it wasn’t much to go off of. Obviously the broom wasn’t a concern, but the rest were apparently valid enough for Narcissa to be reaching out over. Draco was and always had been a spoiled child, but she wouldn’t bend to his whims on something such as this unless she felt they were legitimate.
‘I’m certain it was quite a shock to Mr Malfoy to meet someone who hasn’t been flying since birth, but that can only be a good thing to prepare him for meeting the rest of his classmates, hm?’ Albus asked. ‘Harry has been growing up away from the magical world for his own safety, as you know. Unfortunately that doesn’t allow for flights about the garden or the same depth of knowledge that someone raised in a pureblood household is used to. And I expect that any sort of Muggle garb would seem quite strange to someone who has never seen it.’
Severus agreed with those points, more or less, and he was familiar with his godson’s penchant for drama. Still, the boy’s parents were as well and had still seen fit to enquire that Potter was being treated all right. ‘All valid points, to be sure,’ he agreed at last. ‘And of course, you said he was with Rubeus yesterday, so if anything were wrong, it would have been noted in the same manner as it would by a qualified professor, yes?’
‘Of course,’ Albus agreed with a nod and utterly disregarded Severus’s mild censure over his choice in representatives. ‘I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, my boy, but I am certain there is no need to be worried about Mr Potter’s welfare.’
Severus nodded tightly. ‘I feel I have fulfilled my duty to report the concerns then and can go back to my Potter-free existence for another few weeks.’
With a smile, Albus told him, ‘It is always good to see you, Severus. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’
Severus swept out of the room without another word, making his way back towards his rooms. All of Albus’s answers had made perfect sense—even if it was odd that the man had sent Rubeus Hagrid to accompany the boy rather than Minerva or one of the other Heads. He supposed the others might simply have been busy. And he certainly hadn’t been willing to escort the brat.
Still, it was odd. Even for Albus Dumbledore.
Harry was just beginning to drift off to sleep with memories of the wonders of Diagon Alley dancing behind his eyelids. So, the sudden tapping at the window of his tiny bedroom was rather startling and he sat bolt upright with a gasp, scrambling to grab his glasses and shove them on his face. An unfamiliar owl was glaring through the window at him as if he had personally offended it and it was with mild concern for his fingers that Harry carefully eased open the windowpane.
His own beautiful snowy owl woke up from her doze and glared back at the other bird in consternation, making Harry giggle softly. ‘It’s all right, girl, you aren’t being replaced,’ he assured her. To the other owl, he asked curiously, ‘Did you… have something for me?’
With what could only be described as a disdainful hoot, the owl held out one leg where a letter and a tiny package were attached. Harry hesitantly reached out to unfasten the owl’s burdens and it continued to stare at him rather than making any movement to leave. Shrugging, he picked up the letter first. He cracked the emerald wax seal, noting it was embossed with a dragon, and began to read the elegantly flowing writing with difficulty by the light of the moon:
Heir Potter,
As it was only the two of us, I did not get the chance for a formal introduction of any sort when we met at Madame Malkin’s earlier today, but my name is Heir Draco Malfoy. I hope you will forgive the breach in etiquette; however, it feels like I am doing you a disservice by not offering my own name after you offered yours. I also feel that apologies are in order. As loath as I am to admit it, I fear that we may have gotten off on the wrong end of the wand and wish to correct it. I meant no offence by any of my questions. I truly had no idea who you were and I can understand that I might have come across as insensitive. That certainly was not my intention.
Now, I hope you are satisfied with that apology, because you will not receive another one. Malfoys do not apologise.
Harry snorted softly to himself. Pompous little prick, wasn’t he? He recalled how haughty and disdainful—similar to this owl, actually—the blond boy in the robe shop had seemed. He was shocked to hear from him and even more so to read an apology. Harry didn’t think anyone had ever apologised to him before. Certainly not so formally. And it was actually oddly endearing that the other boy had thought to do so, even if he still sounded like a bit of a prat and wrote like a grandfather. He kept reading.
My Father sits on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts and he assured me that anyone who doesn’t grow up in a purely magical home would have received a visit from a professor to help them transition fully into the magical world. However, from a few things that you mentioned and the fact that you were accompanied today by someone other than a professor, I gather you might not have received all of the assistance you require.
According to Father, you would have received a guidebook – An Introduction to the Wonderful Wizarding World – as well as a walkthrough of basics such as how to exchange Muggle for Magical money at Gringotts and how to access Platform 9 ¾, among other things. Perhaps your Squib guardians already covered this information and more with you, and they or your magical guardian have an arrangement with the school. If so, disregard the overstepping. If this is not the case, please let me know with haste so that we may send you what you need.
I look forward to your owl.
Sincerely,
Heir Draco Malfoy
PS, Mother mentioned that today is your birthday, so we’ve put together a small gift for you. It’s nothing much, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.
PSS, your gift has been Shrunk. When you open the wrapping, it will resize itself rather quickly and Mother has pointed out that it might be slightly alarming if you are not expecting it. Enjoy.
Harry had to press a hand over his mouth to silence his laughter as he read the post scripts, unable to stop it entirely. Maybe he’d misjudged the boy after all. At least if he was reading things correctly. It was a bit difficult to tell whether he had an extremely dry sense of humour or was actually a giant twat.
He picked up the tiny package that had accompanied the letter and tore off the plain parchment wrapping on it. And was immediately grateful for Malfoy’s warning as the ‘small’ gift rapidly expanded into a package nearly a foot wide and just as long. Even expecting it, he let out a quiet, involuntary yelp.
The box he was now holding was wrapped in a lovely silvery-green cloth instead of paper and it took Harry a bit of turning it around in his hands before he discovered that the seams had been neatly folded and tucked in on themselves so perfectly that they were almost invisible. He gently tugged one side free, marvelling at the silky fabric. Was the fabric part of the gift? It certainly could be. It could be the gift, even. Once he had it all free, he realised it was actually a longer length of cloth that once unravelled was revealed to be a beautiful scarf with subtle Celtic knot-like patterning.
The night air was cool enough despite the time of year that Harry didn’t think twice before winding the scarf around his neck, humming happily at how soft it felt against his skin. Was it actual silk? He’d never held anything made of actual silk, but this was incredible. It also smelled kind of fantastic. Harry couldn’t resist burying his face in the scarf for a few moments, inhaling the blend of woodsy-citrusy-herbal notes that could be some sort of expensive cologne or perhaps just posh laundry soap. If this was just the wrapping, Harry had no idea what to expect from the rest.
The box he was holding now was made of some sort of dark wood and it had tiny hinges on one side of it. Inside, Harry was delighted to find part of the space taken up by a smaller box full of assorted chocolates. Just the smell of them was enough to make his mouth water when he opened it up and he immediately decided he would have to keep them very well hidden so that Dudley didn’t steal them all. He popped one bonbon into his mouth and groaned happily as the taste of rich chocolate and orange melted across his tongue.
The rest of the box was taken up by a handsome leather journal, a lavish quill that appeared to be from an albino peacock, and a variety of different coloured inks. It was too dark to clearly see what some of them were, but he could take a better look in the morning. Everything was of the finest quality and something Harry never would have considered buying for himself. He was sure that the gift wasn’t a big deal to the other boy—the Malfoys seemed like they were absolutely loaded—but even if it had been thrown together last minute, it was one of the most thoughtful things he’d ever received.
It wasn’t as if Harry had a lot of gifts to compare it to, of course, but he was still confident of that fact. Smiling softly to himself, he tucked the box away safely under the bed for the night and went over to the rickety desk. He grabbed a biro and a sheet of notebook paper to scrawl a quick note,
I’m sure you’re going to be horrified by the quality of this note, but it’s too dark to really write you something proper right now. I promise I’ll send an actual letter tomorrow. I just wanted to say I got your letter and the gift and to say thank you so much. I honestly don’t know what else to say. This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me and you don’t even know me. Anyway, thank you.
Harry
PS, your owl is a little bit terrifying. Did you tell him to stay until I wrote back to you? He hasn’t stopped staring at me since he arrived. I actually have an owl of my own (Hagrid got her for me today, can you believe it? Okay, you might be tied for best gift, because she’s really amazing. But still.) Anyway I’m rambling. I just wanted you to know I can write back to you again without you needing to send your demon bird. Just… FYI.
Harry rolled the notebook paper up into a little scroll and tied it to Malfoy’s scary owl’s leg with a bit of faded red yarn. The owl managed to look judgemental all the while he was struggling to get it secured and it nipped at Harry’s fingers as he pulled away. Thankfully he had good enough reflexes to yank his hand out of the way just in time. The owl clacked its beak at him and then hopped out of the window and launched itself off into the night.
‘I’m glad you’re not that rude, girl,’ Harry muttered to the snowy owl who was watching him carefully. She seemed to understand somewhat, making a pleased sort of coo at him and shuffling her feathers a bit. ‘Rest up, okay? I’ve got a trip for you to make tomorrow.’
Harry made sure any evidence of receiving mail was put away carefully before climbing back into bed. He couldn’t resist bringing the scarf with him, clutching the soft fabric in his hands beneath the covers and curling up tightly on his side. With his nose tucked into the addictive scent of the scarf, Harry quickly drifted off to sleep.