So. Handwavium handwavium, AU Spike who dies during that whole Initiative business. We good? Good.
Actual British people, you have my permission to point out all the mistakes I'm going to make in my use of tough-guy slang and terminology in general. I'm just a Canadian; good enough to fake like I know this stuff, not good enough to always remember that it's a pitch not a field.
If no one minds, I'd like to start with you guys at eleven.
~
In a manor in Wiltshire, there lived a pureblood.
Not a decaying, faded ancient manor, nor a cold, loveless modern manor.
It was Malfoy Manor, and that means comfort.
GWANG! GWANG! GWANG!
And peacocks. For some reason Granddad really likes peacocks. One time one of them bit you when you got too close, and when you ran inside crying, he immediately demanded to know what you'd done to upset it. Crazy old bastard.
But that was years ago. Now you're tall enough that the birds avoid you when you cross the lawn; the only inconvenience they can provide now is by waking you up at an entirely ungodly hour.
"Dobby," you mumble, and with a crack the only entity more annoying than the peacocks stands before your bed. "Bring me toast."
"Master Draco is not to have meals in bed," Dobby says. "Mistress says he will surely attract insects."
"Well I'll eat at my sodding desk, then!" you groan, stretching. "Toast. Now." The elf nods, and runs off.
It takes you a moment to remember what day it is, and when you do your stomach jolts in anticipation. Today's the day you go shopping for Hogwarts. Today's the day you finally get your own wand.
You've practised with Mum's every so often - can't have a Malfoy going off to school without a leg up, after all - but you've never been able to get it to respond as well as she can. Granddad says it's because you lack finesse, but he can go fuck a goat; you'll bet he didn't learn to talk in complete sentences by 3 years old or how to fly a Double Eight Loop by 9 - what's that if not finesse?
(Granted, Father doesn't have too many kind words for the latter accomplishment, but Mum arranged to have a photo taken of it that still hangs in your bedroom.)
Dressing quickly, you devour your toast and run downstairs to wait in the entrance hall.
After fifteen minutes, you grudgingly admit that you have a while to wait, and head back upstairs. Taking a seat at your desk, you pull out your most cherished possession; a small notebook. You've never shown it to anyone, not even Mum, but for three years now you've been diligently filling it with thoughts and impressions and... occasionally... poems.
Right, you know they're crap, but so what? They're yours.
Gently, you unscrew the lid to your inkwell and dip the nib of your quill in it.
Schooldays soon begin apace
The rush of what's to come... bugger. Base? Chase? Erase? Face? Grace? Haste? Lace? Mace? Race? Taste? Vase? Waste? Gragh!
A half hour passes, and Mum sends word from the foyer that you're to depart. Sulkily, you give the poem up as a lost cause. It's more forward slash now than phrase, twisted and evil. And not the fun kind.
Mum purses her lips in that particular way when you get down the stairs. You brace yourself.
"Really, Draco, when you're at Hogwarts you'll have to dress in black every day. Would it be so terrible to wear something more cheerful? Mrs Zabini bought you those lovely new skylark blue robes for your birthday."
You're almost certain Blaise put her up to that. Some mate he turned out to be. "I like black, Mum," you protest weakly.
She tsks so tenderly that even the paintings flinch. "Don't be ridiculous, darling; it makes you look frightfully unwell."
"Leave the boy be, Narcissa," Father says, adjusting his collar on the advice of the hall mirror. "Black is a perfectly sensible colour for a wizard to wear."
You feel a rush of gratitude. You love Mum to bits, but there are some things only Father really gets.
Mum sighs. "I suppose I should be grateful not to have raised some tasteless dandy," she concedes, and kisses your father on the cheek. "Have a good day, darling."
He returns the gesture, and turns to you. "Today marks your first foray into wizarding society at large," he says sternly. "As such, you are to be mindful of your position as a Malfoy - Mr Ollivander is not being paid to listen to your cheek, do you understand me? And that applies to any other respectable people you encounter."
You grumble out a half-hearted promise, which quickly becomes a (manly) squeak of protest as he wraps you in a hug.
"And if you comport yourself acceptably I'll permit you to accompany your mother and me to lunch," he says finally, patting your hair as he pulls back.
"See you at lunch, then," you say. A few years ago you'd have told him goodbye, but you're too old for that stuff. You're a Hogwarts student now.
=
Your money has been withdrawn and Diagon Alley lies before you. Where do you go first?
[X] Madam Malkin's
[X] Ollivanders
[X] The Magical Menagerie
