His life hitherto had contained little pointless human contact. What there had been was an almost endless parade of tutors nearly every single day since his fifth birthday. Any time not used for learning or spent sleeping was taken up by the constant formal gatherings, where the give and take of all parties was governed by a set of unfaltering codes and norms. It had been a very sheltered life in many ways, despite the dark undertones which occasionally bled through to the everyday. One of the things this fortification of tradition had sheltered him from was the unstructured interactive situation into which he had just been abandoned.
He had visited Diagon Alley before, of course, any child who had grown up in the wizarding world had. He had also been, as a direct consequence of the dark undertones of his privileged upbringing, to many of the less savoury districts to which it was connected. However, his visits to the retail centre of wizarding London had always been strictly governed by the hand of a tutor or the social hurly burly of the general public had been quietly observed from the relative safety of his Father’s wake.
Some would debate the usage of the word safety in reference to Lucius Malfoy or proximity thereto. However, Draco had discovered that, as long as he played by his Father’s rules, he would remain protected. It had taken some minor experimentation to discover these rules, which had had a few unpleasant consequences, some of which had left scars, but on the whole his Father was not an overtly cruel man. At least, not solely for the fun of it. He had been known to indulge an inventively vicious streak when his work demanded it. Of even suggested it gently.
It intrigued Draco, as did a great many things, that his Father even created a wake as he walked along, like a jarvey among gnomes, though of course, he was not meant to know about such things, let alone compare them to his Father. Still, the herbologists who worked to maintain the Manor’s gardens all year round were not averse to answering questions so long as the Master of the house did not find out and so he had his accurate comparison.
This made his Father a predator, as his tutors would call it, and the other shoppers prey. Draco was sure this wasn’t quite the way the social dynamics worked, after all, his Father seemed unlikely to fall upon the Alley’s occupants and devour their intestines. To the best of his knowledge this had never happened, though he supposed the House Elves could have disguised the meat as something else as part of a family meal. It seemed unlikely however
So that brought him back to the original question. If his Father was not going to eat these people then why leave a space? It was clear they did not want to touch the man.
Considering it carefully Draco realised he could not recall a single memory in which he had seen someone touch Lucius. There were plenty of times Lucius had touched others. He shook hands at important meetings and fundraisers, he proprietarily held his wife close in photo’s on the cover of the Daily Prophet, he had even carried Draco once, though the boy had been too young and too close to sleep to remember it clearly. Yet no one had ever dared to reach out to the man. Even at the packed parties, no one ever brushed against Lucius. No one dared approach him from the dark circles. Those who took part in the midnight meetings held when everyone had though Draco was safely tucked up in bed. If there was contact it was Lucius who initiated it. Always.
Someone bumped into him, proving that whatever strange gift his Father might possess, he did not share in it. Knocked from his deep consideration of his Father and his life up to this point Draco realised that he had been standing outside the window of Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions, staring off into the distance, for what was likely several minutes now, and people were starting to stare. He shook his head once more, clearing it of his frivolous considerations, and carefully adjusted his robes before sweeping into the shop as best he could manage through the crowds.
The bell tinkled in the quiet shop as the door closed behind him. Feeling very alone in the large space Draco ran his fingers across the smooth parchment that had brought him here. Well, to be accurate, his Father had brought him here, however the visit was necessitated by the letter. He ran his finger across the green ink once more, recalling the magical words which he had committed to memory.
Mr D. Malfoy
Heir’s Suite
Malfoy Manor
Malfoy Estate, England
He had held tightly to the letter throughout the entire journey. It had been a poor substitute for a parents hand but the neat calligraphy still made his heart skip a beat each time he touched it. He wondered if, perhaps, it was imbued with a little of the magic of Hogwarts and that was why he felt a spark each time his delicate finger connected with the dry ink…
“All alone dear?” He looked up from the letter clutched in his pale hand and found that a young girl had appeared behind the counter and was watching him with a friendly, if somewhat bemused expression. He nodded and tentatively smiled at her.
“One set of Hogwarts robes, please.” She smiled back and Draco felt his own smile grow.
“All right young man. If you’d just come back this way I’m sure we can find a pair and make them your size.”
It was something he’d learned from the gardener’s at the Manor: people were perfectly happy to talk to Drake if he smiled and didn’t get in the way, but they were terrified of offending Draco Malfoy or his powerful Father. That was why it was so much easier that his Father has gone to attend to ‘some business’, in his own words.
It could also be that being in the same room as his Father always meant having to pay careful attention to everything said or done. The slightest hand gesture could be an order to leave and his Father’s language was always loaded with meaning and one had to be on the ball to keep up with the undercurrent. One phrase could mean a dozen different things. ‘I have business to attend to’ for instance, was one of his fathers favourite phrases but it could mean almost anything from ‘I tire of your company and I am going to find someone more sophisticated and attractive to spend my time with’ to ‘I have to go and buy some dark artefacts and slip a few bribes to the minister’. The man was a walking riddle and Draco sometimes found it very difficult to keep up.
They reached the fitting rooms at the back of the shop, devoid of customers for the moment, and the girl helped him up to stand on a stool before slipping black robes over his head.
This he was used to. Standing on the stool with his arms out while the girl pinned the robe to his size. Of course, usually professional seamstresses visited the Manor rather than the family doing anything so vulgar as buying store made robes. Ordinarily, their robes were made in France, or Italy, and custom fitted to the family members in the comfort of their own drawing room. However, Hogwarts, it seemed, was highly insistent upon the source of their uniform. Draco wondered if they had some kind of advertising scheme going on. Draco had been reading about advertising schemes. They were his Fathers current pet hate, and it paid to be knowledgeable about anything his father decided to hate.
He was shaken from his thoughts once more, as the bell tolled at the front of the shop. Quiet conversation drifted back to the fitting room and soon after another boy came in, eyes wide. He was helped onto another stool beside Draco’s, while the proprietress herself pinned his robe to the right length. He tried his trick of smiling, once more, on the dark haired boy who smiled back, if somewhat nervously.
“Hello. Hogwarts too?” Draco asked, revelling in his freedom to be friendly with his father gone. According to Lucius, Malfoys were never friendly. They made allies with other worthy individuals and looked down from their lofty perches at those below them.
“Yes.” The boy replied. Draco nodded vaguely. There was something about this boy. He wanted him as friend. Not as an ally or as a servant but someone he could trust and confide in. He wanted to impress the boy and so he always did what he did when he was trying to impress someone who wasn’t Blaise, who was never impressed anyway. He lied.
“My father’s next door buying my books,” as if he hadn’t glided off to some dingy shop somewhere he could conduct delicate and most likely illegal transactions. “and mother’s up the street looking at wands.” As if she knew, let alone cared, what Draco was doing at the moment, or anytime in the future. He could see the boy was uncomfortable with the topic and wondered vaguely why. But, still keen to be on his good side, changed the subject obligingly.
“And then I’m going to drag them off to look at brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own.” He was becoming quite pleased with this made up life of his. He always was. Daydreaming himself happy was one of his favourite pastimes and he had acquired much practice.
“I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in some how.” The idea that he could bully his father was laughable and Draco smirked at the image it conjured in his mind. Himself, comically huge, casting a threatening shadow over his cowering, diminutive father.
He glanced at the boy on the stool who was looking at him with something akin to disgust. Draco realised that the topic of his made up life, no matter how content it made him, was probably boring the stranger.
“Have you got your own broom?” He asked.
“No.”
“Play Quidditch at all?”
“No.”
“Oh…” Finding the boy unforthcoming Draco sighed and resorted back to his imaginary life.
“I do.” At least that part was true. He loved to fly. “Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play my house team. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”He hoped it would be Slytherin. The eyes certainly would add to the effect.
“No.” At this point Draco caught sight of his father glowering from outside the window. He blinked and resorted to his ‘public face’ though he could see the boy staring at him strangely from the corner of his eye. Lucius strode into the shop.
“Draco!” His voice was cool and calm yet managed to contain the essential elements of a whip cracking. Everyone but Draco flinched and he felt his hear rate increase
“Father?”
“Who is this boy?”
“I don’t know father, we only just met.” Lucius turned to the boy who seemed to shrink under his gaze.
“Who are you boy?” The boy stammered slightly as he replied.
“H-Harry Potter sir.” Lucius grabbed Draco, who was staring in shock, and yanked him off the stool. The shop assistant protested until Lucius spun to face her.
“You will send the remainder of my sons robes to Malfoy Manor.” The girl blustered under the full force of Malfoy Seniors glare.
“But…the fitting…we’re not done…”
“Madam, if you cannot fit the remainder of my sons robes from the information you have already accumulated then you are not worth the needle and thread you use.” Lucius snapped.
Draco carefully pulled off the robe he had been wearing and Lucius fingers once again locked around his arm as he was dragged from the shop. He had just a moment, as they passed the entryway, to turn and stare back at the Boy-Who-Lived, standing on his stool and looking after him with an expression surprisingly close to sympathy.
The boy-who-lived stood on his stool, watching as the arrogant pale boy left. For a moment, when he looked at Harry after learning his name, there had been fear in those eyes. It was hidden well, beneath guards and curiosity, but Harry was a student of fear in all its forms. He knew the fear of a nightmare and he had felt the fear of hunger to come. He understood the fear of pain in a way that could only come from experience and beatings. The fear in the boys eyes had not been that of a child caught in misbehaviour by watchful parent. It mirrored the deep terror Harry only ever experienced when he woke gasping, in the cupboard that served as his bedroom, from nightmares filled with high laughter and green light. Dreams of the night his parents died.
“All done dear.” He jumped slightly as the plump woman tapped his arm and smiled at him. Shaken from thoughts darker than those that should haunt an eleven year old, Harry Potter jumped down from the stool and paid for his robes with the gold he and Hagrid had retrieved from his vault. Thoughtfully he ran his fingers across the heavy metal coins, considering the fear he had seen.
Perhaps Hagrid would know who the blonde boy had been and why he had been afraid of the man who could only be his father. He seemed to know everything and everyone who was a part of the wizarding world. And perhaps he could answer all the other questions the boy had raised in Harry’s mind, like what was Quidditch? And Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin? Gripped by the sudden realisation that he knew very little about the world into which he was about to be plunged, Harry began to wonder if maybe this new life wasn’t quite so wonderful as it would appear. If the pale boy was so terrified of his father, what other fearful things might appear? Shaking his head Harry decided that he would take his chances as a wizard and with this Hogwarts, at least there wouldn’t be any Dudley.
Draco stepped out of the floo and blinked rapidly. It was a highly disconcerting way to travel and though he no longer fell over upon arrival he was always a little dizzy. Still, it was preferable to apparition, at least while his Father was angry with him. It would be very much Lucius’ style to punish his son with a carefully planned splinching. While it would make him look inept there would always be rumours and suspicions, just like there always were.
Thankfully for Draco Lucius had led the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, from where he had instructed Draco to return home while he concluded his business. It was odd, Draco considered, that Lucius had returned to Madam Malkin’s after having professed a desire for Draco to make the purchases alone.
With a shudder Draco realised that perhaps Lucius had left him in order to view his son in the very unstructured environment Draco had himself spent some time considering. If he had he would have seen the daydreaming and the smiles, highly un-Malfoyish behaviour and something that would displease him graetly. With dread settling in his stomach Draco hurried to his rooms, where he knew he could lose himself in an examination of the things purchased before the unfortunate trip to the robe shop.
If Lucius was coming home to punish him he would have no more reasons than those he had already seen. Nevertheless, it was very hard to feel pleased with the splendid new eagle owl and sleek wand when every few minutes he had to glance at the clock and every sound made him jump.
Harry didn’t think anymore about the pale boy as he ate ice cream and finished his shopping safe in Hagrid’s shadow. But as he sat on the train back in the familiar muggle world, he remembered the fear in the boys eyes. For a moment he considered once more asking Hagrid why the boy might have been scared. His other questions had already received highly illuminating answers and there seemed no reason Hagrid would be unable to shed light on this one.
He was just about to open his mouth when he rethought. Hagrid was nice, but experience had taught him not to push his luck where adults and questions were concerned. Besides, he wouldn’t like it if someone who knew his secrets told other people about them. No, he would wait and ask the boy when he saw him again. They would meet at Hogwarts, Harry was sure of it, whether the boys father wanted them to or not. The thought of a world without Dudley, however many other monsters it might contain, still sent shivers of excitement racing down his spine.
Draco surveyed the small table that had been set up in the corner of his room. The meal was warm, as always, and composed of some of the finest delicacies in the wizarding world. Considering the snails and carefully pickled doxy eggs that made up his entre Draco sighed. He preferred the sandwiches the gardeners sometimes shared with him to this. Sometimes being rich and powerful didn’t seem worth as much as some chicken between two slices of bread.
Father didn’t know about the trips to the garden of course. At least, he knew Draco went out to the garden every evening with a book, but he didn’t know how he spent his time there. The carefully constructed illusion that he would be reading kept Lucius at bay and ensured privacy for Draco’s forays into the botanical world. And the world of people who didn’t jump at the sound of his voice.
Harry stuck his head out the cupboard and peered around. The glowing face of his watch read two a.m. but Dudley had been known to leave traps for the hungry orphan before he went to bed. Lighting the face of the watch again Harry waved his arm, briefly illuminating various parts of the hallway. Nothing. He really loved his watch. Creeping down the hallway he remembered the supply teacher who had given it to him. The young man had told him that everyone should have a way of telling the time. Harry had bounded to school the next day, carrying a card he had made to thank the man, but he had been gone. Sitting at the desk was Mrs Smith, and everything had gone back to normal. The card was still sitting in his desk at school.
Harry stubbed his toe in the darkness, the pain reminding him where and when he was. Hissing quietly under his breath he limped into the kitchen and gathered a few odds and ends as fast as he could before scurrying back to his cupboard where he would be unlikely to be disturbed. Sitting in the dark once more, chewing on the stale bread and leftover meat he discovered some cold potatoes. Grinning, he devoured his favourite food. Perhaps the wizard thing was the beginning of some good luck for him.
Silence and darkness filled the giant room. Draco lay, curled up on his side. Father had not returned. Well, he had not come to see Draco, from which Draco had surmised he had not returned at all. Or perhaps he had and the waiting was simply another part of the punishment. He sighed and pulled a pillow against his chest, wrapping his arms around it. The stiff linen rubbed his face as he wondered what it would be like to hug something that hugged back. He sighed again and rolled over, letting go of the impromptu teddy. Malfoy’s didn’t have soft toys. They didn’t have toys at all once they didn’t need a nursery anymore.
Squeezing his eyes tight shut against the darkness and the empty room beyond, Draco wondered what it would be like to sleep in a room with four other boys, as he would at Hogwarts. It’d probably be just the same as when they played together. The more people he was surrounded by the more alone he felt. So perhaps things would change at Hogwarts but maybe he would still just be lonely in the darkness.
But Blaise would be there. Blaise was the only other person who seemed to understand what it was like to be alone in a crowd of people. The others remained too focussed on themselves to notice the yawning gap to the person next to them. They had never discussed it of course, that would not be proper. But they knew. Perhaps things would be better, with Blaise there.
His snack finished, Harry curled up once more. He retrieved, from under his threadbare pillow, the blanket in which he had been abandoned on the doorstep as a baby. Clutching it tightly against his chest, he wondered if he would have friends at Hogwarts. He considered again that there would be no Dudley to beat him up, no one to steal his food. There would be other monsters he knew, remembering the look on the little boys face, perhaps they would even be worse.
But for now, with his arm still smarting and the sticky tape that held his glasses together tickling the bridge of his nose, it was hard to dream up anything more horrible than his oversized cousin. There might always be someone bigger and stronger than him in the world, no matter whether he was a wizard or not. But maybe, at Hogwarts, he could be a part of that bigger and stronger. Perhaps with his own gang the Dudley’s of the world would find it harder to beat him.
Closing his eyes, Harry dreamed of a world where he was not alone and not afraid. He created for himself a safe place where he could sit with the blonde boy, and others who had been afraid, in comfort and security. The next morning, when he woke alone in the darkness, he was, perhaps, not as lonely as he had been before.