Learning magic, training two rather dim subordinates, occasionally winning Pansy's favor with stories, and sometimes traveling with his parents—Malfoy's days had been quite fulfilling.
But that peace ended the day an owl arrived with a letter.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards; Chief Warlock, Wizengamot; First Class Sorcerer, Order of Merlin)
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
School Uniform (First-Year Students)
Three sets of plain black work robes
One plain pointed hat (black) for daytime wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One black winter cloak with silver fastenings
All clothing must bear name tags.
Books
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 – Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic – Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory – Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration – Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi – Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions – Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them – Newt Scamander
Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection – Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
One wand, one cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), one set of glass or crystal phials, one telescope, one brass set of scales.
Students may also bring an owl or a cat or a toad.
First-year students are not permitted their own broomsticks.
"I still think Durmstrang would be more suitable for him," Lucius said after reading the letter. Research into dark magic was less restricted there, and he wouldn't have to mingle with non–pure-blood students. Lucius truly believed his son would receive a better education abroad.
"Are you really willing to send our precious son so far away? And it's an island—how inconvenient would that be?" Narcissa insisted, wanting Draco close to home. "You're a school governor at Hogwarts; you could even keep an eye on him."
"You know I don't get along with that old white-bearded man," Lucius replied grimly.
"I've decided to go to Hogwarts," Draco said calmly.
What a joke—how could he abandon the little girl he'd been building affection with for so long?
After several years of what could only be called childhood friendship, Pansy had grown deeply attached to him despite her occasional tsundere remarks. Besides, at Hogwarts he might even act as a "prophet." If he went to that island, he'd be completely in the dark. Viktor Krum's participation in the Triwizard Tournament was the only thing he knew about Durmstrang—hardly useful.
"Did you hear that, Lucius? Our son can't bear to leave us!" Narcissa exclaimed, kissing Draco's forehead with delight.
"Alright, alright," Lucius sighed, defeated by the united front of mother and son. "We'll send him to Hogwarts."
"Oh! You'll need to go to Diagon Alley soon. I can't wait to see our little Draco in his robes," Narcissa said excitedly. "And make sure Ollivander picks the wand that suits you best."
"Got it." Draco wasn't obsessed with wands. As long as it worked, he was satisfied. The Elder Wand? A cursed object, in his view. True power came from oneself, not from the tool. A wand could enhance skill—but it couldn't create greatness. Draco understood that well.
"No time like the present," Lucius said. "We should go now. In a few days it'll be crowded, and I hate crowds."
"Agreed." Draco was curious about Diagon Alley—about Gringotts, the wizarding world's version of Wall Street, or perhaps Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, though it probably hadn't opened yet.
They stepped into the fireplace together.
"Be careful not to say the wrong destination," Lucius warned.
"Don't worry, Father," Draco replied. Holding hands, they shouted together, "Diagon Alley!" and threw a handful of shimmering Floo powder into the fire.
Green flames erupted, twisting and pulling them through a spinning vortex. A moment later, Draco staggered onto solid ground again, dizzy but fascinated.
"Let's rest a bit first," Lucius suggested, noticing his son's discomfort. "Perhaps some ice cream?"
Draco nodded, still catching his breath.
They went to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where Lucius ordered two licorice sundaes. Although usually cold and formal, Lucius seemed softer now—like any father seeing joy in his child's eyes. Sweets truly did have healing power. By the time Draco finished, the nausea had passed.
"I think that ice cream will bring us luck," Lucius said with rare humor. "Now, to Ollivander's. You need a wand."
After a short walk, a small, shabby shop appeared before them. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Peeling gold letters read:
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
A bell tinkled as they entered.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. It belonged to Garrick Ollivander himself, one of Europe's greatest wandmakers. His silvery eyes gleamed with uncanny intelligence.
"Ah, Mr. Lucius Malfoy. It feels like only yesterday since we last met," Ollivander greeted.
"Yes, yes—you say that to everyone," Lucius replied dryly. "Though I know you truly do remember."
"What a handsome young man," Ollivander continued, turning to Draco. "What's that Muggle term—genes? Clearly he's inherited quite a few of yours. What's your name, young man?"
"Draco Malfoy," Draco answered.
"An excellent name." Ollivander's gaze sharpened. "Come this way."
As a silver-marked tape measure began taking Draco's measurements, Ollivander asked, "Which hand will you use?"
"My right hand—it's more convenient," Draco said.
Ollivander nodded and turned to retrieve a wand, but Draco's eyes had already landed on one in the corner.
"Mr. Ollivander, I think that one looks good," he said, pointing.
"Hm…" Ollivander hesitated. "I'd advise you to trust a professional. A wand may accompany you for life."
"I'd like to hear my son's suggestion," Lucius interjected.
"Very well." Ollivander fetched the indicated wand. "Hawthorn wood, unicorn hair, exactly ten inches. Try it."
Draco grasped it. "Lumos."
A brilliant light burst forth, so dazzling that both Lucius and Ollivander shielded their eyes.
"Well," Ollivander said with a faint smile, "it seems I'm out of a job."
"I just didn't want to waste time," Draco thought to himself.
"How much?" Lucius asked.
"Twelve Galleons," Ollivander replied weakly, clearly deflated by the ease of the match. "I believe your son will become an extraordinary wizard," he added sincerely as they left.
"Thank you for your kind words," Lucius said, pleased.
Outside, Diagon Alley bustled with shoppers. Parents led eager children through the crowded streets. Then Lucius's expression hardened.
"My dear son, remember the glory of our bloodline," he said suddenly. "Do not tarnish it like others have."
"Yes, Father. The glory of the Malfoy family will never fade," Draco replied, puzzled by the abrupt lesson—until he saw the reason.
Approaching them were a man and boy with unmistakable bright red hair.
"Unbelievable, Arthur, seeing you here," Lucius sneered. "I thought the Weasleys never bought new things. Oh, but wands—surely you can't hand those down? My mistake."
Arthur Weasley's eyes narrowed. "Since when did the Malfoys take such interest in others' affairs?"
Ron's cheeks flushed scarlet. Lucius's words had hit home—Ron was using his brother's old wand.
"I merely hope certain people don't disgrace their family names," Lucius continued smoothly, his tone more cutting than ever.
Arthur took Ron by the arm. "Come, Ron. We've wasted enough time."
Draco watched them go, thinking, First meeting, and it's already this bad.
The Malfoys and Weasleys represented opposite poles of wizarding ideology: one clung to pure-blood superiority, the other embraced equality and even championed Muggle protection. Ideological wars rarely ended peacefully; Lucius preferred subtle cruelty to open conflict. Today, he chose to mock their poverty instead.
As they walked away, Draco reflected. Many in his family tree had already intermarried with Muggles. Much of their wealth even came from those connections. If that ever became public, the consequences could be disastrous. Perhaps, he thought, changing old prejudices might one day save them all.
"Remember that red hair," Lucius said. "They're a disgrace to pure-bloods."
"I'll remember, Father."
"Good." A rare smile curved Lucius's lips. "Now, to Gringotts."
"Father, we should already have enough to buy robes and books," Draco reminded him.
"My dear boy, don't you want your own broomstick? This won't cover it."
"But first-years aren't allowed their own—" Draco began, then stopped as Lucius chuckled.
"As a school governor, I think I can grant my son a little privilege."
Draco's eyes brightened. Flying—the ultimate dream. "That's wonderful, Father."
"But promise me one thing," Lucius said. "Don't tell your mother. You know how she worries."
"Of course." Draco smiled faintly. The original Draco really was spoiled for a reason, he thought.
Lucius ruffled his hair. "Then let's go."
Whatever his faults, Lucius's devotion to his family was undeniable.
As dusk fell, father and son returned from Diagon Alley, arms full of parcels, disappearing through the shimmering entranceway—thus ending their long, eventful day of shopping.