Diagon Alley shimmered under the August sun, a cacophony of garish colors and carefree laughter that made Draco wrinkle his nose the moment they stepped out of the Floo.
Narcissa brushed a speck of nonexistent ash from her pale blue robes.
"Draco, I still do not understand why we have returned," she said, adjusting her gloves. "We bought everything last month. Your father had the trunks delivered to the Manor."
"The equipment was standard, Mother. And I am not standard."
Draco walked with a determination that parted the crowd. Wizards and witches moved aside instinctively, not just because of the evident wealth of his clothing, but because of the aura of ice he projected.
They headed directly for the white marble building dominating the street: Gringotts.
"Furthermore," Draco continued, taking the stone steps two at a time, "I need gold. My own gold. Lucius's weekly allowance is adequate for purchasing confectionery, not for constructing a future."
They entered the lobby. Goblin tellers worked on their high stools, weighing rubies and counting coins with long, greedy fingers. Narcissa tended to wait near the entrance, wearing that expression of distaste Purebloods reserved for "creatures."
Draco didn't stop. He walked straight to the main counter. The goblin in charge didn't even look up.
"Name," the creature croaked.
"Gringott as an gring." (May your gold flow and your enemies break.)
The phrase wasn't in English. It was in guttural, harsh, and surprisingly fluid Gobbledegook.
The goblin froze. He raised his head slowly, his black eyes shining with a mixture of shock and suspicion. Wizards didn't speak their language. And rich wizard children definitely didn't.
"...Vo gring na," (And may your vault never empty) the goblin replied cautiously. He inclined his head, a gesture of reluctant respect. "I was unaware House Malfoy educated its heirs in the Goblin Tongue."
"House Malfoy is evolving," Draco said, resting his hands on the marble counter. He didn't look down at the goblin; he looked him in the eye, equal to financier. "I wish to access the Malfoy Heir Trust Vault. And I want to make a substantial withdrawal. Without notifying my father."
The goblin bared sharp teeth in a slow grin.
"Discretion carries a fee, young Malfoy."
"Loyalty is paid with gold. Silence is paid with more gold. Take your fee."
Narcissa, who had approached, looked at her son as if someone had swapped the boy for a stranger.
"Draco... since when do you speak...?"
"Knowledge is power, Mother," he cut her off gently as the goblin sealed a parchment. "And goblins control the economy. Treating them as servants is a tactical error Lucius commits daily. I will not make it."
When they left Gringotts twenty minutes later, Draco's pouch (carrying an undetectable extension charm bought from the goblin under the table) weighed pleasantly on his belt.
The [System] flickered discreetly in his vision.
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: SILVER DIPLOMACY][Reputation Goblin Nation: Neutral -> Cautious Respect (+5)][Reward: Knowledge of Runic Magic (Arcane Level)][Associated Sub-Reward: Advanced Magical Theory (Required for comprehension of reward)][Note: You have avoided your father's arrogant mistake. Bankers do not forget.]
"Now," Draco said, ignoring his mother's inquisitive look, "to the bookstore. There are texts Flourish & Blotts hides in the back room, and I intend to read them before setting foot in school."
"Books?" Narcissa sighed, relieved to return to familiar territory. "Well, that is harmless."
Draco smirked.
"Yes. Harmless."
As he walked beside his mother toward the bookshop, Draco felt a slight headache, the residual echo of a "data download."
Feeling the throb that was now somewhat familiar, Draco couldn't help but recall the first time he felt such pain.
Draco hadn't been born knowing the Goblin tongue. Nor had he learned it from the dusty books of Malfoy Manor in a day. He had bought it.
His mind reviewed the System transaction history with the coldness of an accountant:
[SYSTEM LOG - JULY 1991]
Initial Balance: 500 XP (Reward: "The Mask of Ice").
Purchase: Linguistics Package: Gobbledegook (Native/Archaic Level).
Cost: 450 XP.
Current Balance: 50 XP.
It had been a risky bet. He could have spent that experience on Basic Combat Magic or upgrading his Mana Pool. But Draco knew something old Lucius had forgotten: war is not won with wands alone. It is won with gold, information, and allies no one expects you to have.
A cutting hex can be learned through practice. A language that takes decades to master and opens the doors to the magical economy... that was worth every point of experience.
Furthermore, thanks to his purchase, he had unintentionally unlocked an achievement that, although it gave him a slight headache, provided invaluable knowledge.
"An investment," he muttered to himself, rubbing his temple and touching the fabric of his belt where the coins rested. "And it has already begun to pay dividends."
—[<×>]—
Flourish & Blotts was an assault on the senses. The smell of fresh ink and old paper was intoxicating, but the noise was unbearable. Students shoving, owls hooting from cages on the upper floor, and parents shouting shopping lists.
Narcissa stopped at the entrance, wrinkling her nose delicately.
"I will go to Madam Malkin's to pick up my dress robes, Draco. Can you handle your extra books on your own? I do not wish to be here if the horde of Weasleys arrives; God knows they are notorious for last-minute shopping."
"Of course, Mother."
Draco slid through the crowd like an eel in murky waters. He didn't shove; he simply projected an aura of "move or you'll regret it" that made people unconsciously step aside.
He headed to the Advanced Magical Theory section at the back of the shop, where the shadows were longer and the customers scarcer.
Or so he hoped.
Someone was there. A girl with a tangle of brown hair so thick it seemed to have a life of its own. She was surrounded by three towers of books, precariously balanced. She was muttering to herself with frantic speed.
"History of Magic... check. Magical Theory... Adalbert Waffling is very vague in chapter three, I need a cross-reference... Transfiguration... should I read up to year two just in case? Yes, better safe than..."
Draco stopped. The System flickered, superimposing a red interface over the girl.
[TARGET DETECTED: HERMIONE GRANGER][Status: Academic Anxiety / Social Insecurity.][Magical Potential: S (Dense core, unstable control).][Affinity: Light (Rigid Logic). Corruptibility: High (Through knowledge).]
Draco smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a craftsman who has just found top-quality clay.
He approached silently and watched as she tried to reach a heavy tome on the top shelf: Principles of Elemental Summoning. Her fingers barely grazed the spine.
Draco reached over her, took the book down with ease, and held it just out of her reach.
The girl spun around, eyes wide. Her front teeth were a bit large, giving her the air of a frightened rabbit, but there was fire in her gaze.
"I was going to get that!" she snapped, instantly defensive.
Draco ignored her tone. He weighed the book in his hand, reading the back cover with feigned disinterest.
"Principles of Elemental Summoning..." he read aloud, drawing out the vowels. "Ambitious. And completely useless for someone who hasn't yet learned to hold a wand without poking their neighbor's eye out."
Hermione blushed furiously.
"I've read all the course textbooks," she retorted, straightening up to try and look taller. "And I've practiced some simple spells at home and they worked. I just want to be prepared. Knowledge is..."
"Reading isn't understanding, Granger," Draco interrupted. His voice was soft, cold, cutting through her nervous diatribe like a scalpel.
She blinked, confused.
"How do you know my surname?"
"I know many things." Draco returned the book to the high shelf, far away from her. Hermione let out a small sound of indignation. "For instance, I know you are trying to memorize magic as if it were a cooking recipe."
He leaned in slightly. The invasion of her personal space made her step back until she hit the bookshelf behind her.
"Magic isn't science; it is will," Draco whispered, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Waffling is a boring theorist writing for bureaucrats. If you want to understand why fire burns, you don't read about temperature. You read about anger."
Draco turned to a lower shelf, pulled out a thin book with a black binding and no title on the spine, and placed it in her hands, right on top of her pile.
"The Dynamics of Intention, by E. Limus. It's not on the Hogwarts list. The professors hate it because it tells the truth: the wand only obeys those who dare to command."
Hermione looked at the black book as if it were a bomb, and then at Draco. Her logical mind struggled between the insult of his arrogance and the fascination with his authority.
"Why... why are you giving me this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Draco adjusted his shirt cuffs, returning to his distant posture.
"Because it would be a waste for a capable mind to atrophy reading Ministry-approved rubbish." He looked her in the eye one last time, making sure to leave a mark. "Don't bore me in September, Granger. I expect competence."
He turned and walked toward the counter, leaving her standing there, hugging the black book against her chest, her heart beating at a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with curiosity.
[SYSTEM: Seed of Intellectual Obsession Planted.][Progress with Hermione Granger: 5%.]
—[<×>]—
Ollivander's shop was narrow and dim. The dust didn't float in the air; it seemed suspended in time, trapped in the stillness of thousands of boxes stacked to the ceiling.
When the door bell chimed, Garrick Ollivander emerged from the shadows like a pale ghost. His silvery eyes lit up upon seeing Draco, but his smile faltered.
"Mr. Malfoy?" his voice was a raspy whisper. "But you were here barely three weeks ago. Hawthorn, ten inches, pliant, unicorn hair. An excellent wand for refined charms."
Draco pulled the wand from his sleeve. He didn't hold it with reverence, but with the coldness of one holding a defective tool.
"Refined, yes. But it lacks a backbone."
He set the wand on the counter. The wood seemed to vibrate slightly, as if relieved to lose contact with his skin.
Ollivander frowned, taking the wand and examining it under the light of an oil lamp.
"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Malfoy. It has always been so. That you return so soon suggests... a drastic change in your nature."
"Let's say I've grown," Draco said, resting his hands on the counter. "The unicorn demands purity and noble intention. It resists when I try to impose my will upon reality. I need something that doesn't judge. I need something that obeys."
The old man stared at him for a long moment. His moon-like eyes seemed to want to peel back Draco's layers of Occlumency. Finally, he nodded slowly.
"I see. Ambition. Brute force wrapped in elegance. Yes... I believe I have something in the back. A creation my father made seventy years ago that never found an owner."
Ollivander disappeared into the back room. Sounds of shifting boxes and a sliding ladder drifted out. He returned with a black box, covered in a thicker layer of dust than the others.
"Ebony," Ollivander whispered, opening the box.
The wand rested on blood-red velvet. It was black as night, polished to shine like volcanic glass.
"Ebony and dragon heartstring. But not just any dragon. A Hebridean Black, known for its territorial aggression. Eleven inches. Rigid. Very rigid."
Draco reached out.
The moment his fingers grazed the black wood, the air in the shop was sucked toward him. Shadows lengthened. A low hum, like the purr of a massive beast, vibrated through the floor, making the windowpanes rattle.
There were no golden sparks or warm wind. There was a surge of cold power. The wand didn't ask him who he was; the wand submitted to his superior magic, recognizing an alpha predator.
Draco smiled. This time, the smile reached his eyes.
[SYSTEM: WEAPON LINKED][Wand: "The King's Fang"][Materials: Ebony (Combat Potency) + Hebridean Heart (Destructive Magic).][Bonus: +15% Curse Damage. +10% Transfiguration Efficiency.][Compatibility: 99%.]
"Curious," Ollivander murmured, taking a step back, visibly unsettled by the density of the aura Draco was projecting. "Very curious. That wand has rejected many Aurors and duelists. It seems it has been waiting for someone with the... proper determination."
"It is perfect," Draco said.
He paid seven galleons on the counter without haggling. As he turned to leave, Ollivander spoke one last time.
"Ebony is for those who hold fast to their beliefs, Mr. Malfoy. Ensure your beliefs are worth it."
Draco paused at the door, the wand already stowed in a dragon-hide holster on his forearm.
"My beliefs, Mr. Ollivander, are the only thing that matters."
—[<×>]—
The sun was beginning to dip low when Draco reunited with Narcissa near the brick archway that separated the magical world from Muggle London.
She had several packages floating discreetly behind her.
"Did you get what you needed?" she asked, observing her son's air of satisfaction.
"And more," he replied.
Just as Narcissa was about to open the passage in the wall with her wand, she stopped. Her gaze drifted toward the opposite side of the alley.
"Look, Draco," she whispered, with that tone of polite disdain the aristocracy used so well. "That giant. It must be the Hogwarts gamekeeper. And the boy with him..."
About fifty yards away, Rubeus Hagrid walked laden with cages and packages, and at his side, a scrawny boy with round glasses and oversized hand-me-downs looked at everything with his mouth hanging open. Harry Potter. The Hero.
Narcissa arched a brow.
"He looks so... ordinary. Small."
Draco didn't even turn his head completely. He spared the "Savior" a peripheral glance, assessing his current threat level.
[TARGET: HARRY POTTER][Level: 1 (Novice).][Status: Ignorant. Protected by Destiny (Plot Armor).][Recommended Action: Do not antagonize directly. Let him self-destruct.]
"Myths always disappoint in the light of day, Mother," Draco said, turning his back on Harry Potter without hesitation. "Let's go home. I have books to read and a future to plan. Potter can keep his fame; I will keep the power."
Narcissa smiled, pleased by her son's lack of childish interest in celebrity.
"Well said."
She tapped the correct brick. The wall opened, revealing the grey and dirty London beyond. Draco crossed the threshold, leaving Diagon Alley behind, ready to transform Hogwarts into his own personal chessboard.