𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: "Chapter One"

This story, written for the Classic Canon Challenge, is a crossover fic between the Harry Potter-verse and Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess. Some lines are taken verbatim from Ms. Burnett's work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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It was a dark evening in December, when the streets were littered with dirty clumps of snow and the street lamps shone dismally in the thick, swirling London fog, that a little boy sat in the back of a dark car, his enormous gray eyes fixed on the passing streets. His legs were tucked up underneath him, and he stared in wonder, as if he had never seen shop fronts before, which, incidentally, wasn't far from the truth. On the seat next to him sat a rather fine-looking gentleman, his long, blond hair held back from his pale face with a black silk ribbon, his aristocratic features softened by a smile as he looked down on his only son, a black-gloved hand closing the distance between them to rest possessively and affectionately on the boy's shoulder.

"Father," the boy said without turning, "is it true that we are looking for a pub?" His voice trembled with excitement, as was typical for a boy of nine, which was, in fact, his age, but his inflection was very grown up and very proper, indicative of his fine upbringing.

The man's smile widened, and he slid his hand up to rest on the boy's baby-fine hair. "Yes, Draco, that is correct," he affirmed. "It is a place called the Leaky Cauldron. No Muggle who passes it will see any more than a dark, run-down establishment, and even to us Wizards it looks rather unimpressive, but it is the entrance into London's Wizarding High Street."

Draco made another little excited wriggle, but then caught himself, turning away from the window and finally looking up at his father, his face glowing with anticipation. "And that is where we are going?" he asked, folding his small, white hands in his lap and fixing his father with an expression filled with equal parts hope and apprehension.

"It is," the man said, maintaining his smile although he could feel something twisting in his chest. Draco all but squeaked, whipping his head around and looking out the window again, hungrily, and leaving his father to his thoughts.

Lucius Malfoy leaned back against the seat, still watching his son with an affectionate eye, although there was sadness in his expression as well. Draco had been his only companion for many years, ever since they left England for India nearly nine years ago, and the idea of leaving him at a boarding school with strangers while he went back to India to close out his business there seemed excruciatingly painful to him.

While Lucius had been brought up by a rather indifferent father and an often cold and unaffectionate mother, his experiences over the last few years had made quite a different man of him. Claudius Malfoy, his father, had desired power, money, prestige, and recognition; Lucius' interests were closer to the heart. The Malfoys were a very rich family, to be sure, and Draco had always had everything he could ever want, but instead of following his father's lead and spending days and weeks seeking success elsewhere, he stayed home, lavishing his attention on his son. Claudius had been a shrewd businessman and a very highly ranked member of the Wizarding elite. Lucius and Draco lived by themselves, away from society for the most part, and found everything they needed in each other. Where Claudius had been successful, Lucius was often clueless, but he had managed to achieve something his father had not: the joy of being a loving and loved father.

Lucius shook his head wryly, watching his small son try to refrain from bouncing in his seat as they continued their trek through the London fog toward the mysterious blackened pub. Had his father been alive right now, he undoubtedly would have looked at Lucius with disgust, called him a disgrace to the Malfoy name, and possibly given him a good, hard thrashing with the cane he always carried. But Claudius was dead, had died soon after Draco had been born, and Lucius rarely thought of him anymore. His father had been the cause of many of his own mistakes, and any thoughts of the elder man were never pleasant ones.