Three weeks later Benedict, the Malfoy's Eagle owl, brought Draco's second year book list, sent from McGonagall.
"Are you coming too?" Draco asked his mother.
"No, you will go with your father, I have, um, things to sort out here at home," Narcissa replied, vaguely. "Oh and Orla will be going with you. Liv is going to help me here." The next morning, Liv and Orla arrived early, then Lucius set off with the two children in tow.
"Leaky Cauldron," Orla cried, as the green flames from the Floo powder licked up her body and took her to her destination. Draco followed, then Lucius behind him. They brushed themselves down and made their way into Diagon Alley.
"We have a stop to make first," said Lucius, quietly. "Follow me, do not touch anything." He swept off so fast, that Orla and Draco had a little bit of trouble keeping up with him. They hurried past all the shops they needed to go in, and turned down into Knockturn Alley. Most people avoided that place, and no sane parent would let their child near the place. They stopped in a dark, narrow lane, outside a shop called Borgin and Burkes, which Orla thought needed a good clean.
"Don't touch anything, either of you," Lucius said lazily to them both, as the bell rung above their heads when they walked through the door. Orla looked at the shelves. There was a glass case, holding a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. Evil looking masks hung from the walls, an assortment of human bones sat on the counter and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.
"I thought you were getting me a present," sighed Draco. He didn't want to be here, but had only agreed to come once his father had backed down to the whining and promised to buy the pair of them something.
"I said I would buy you a racing broom. This is not a broom store," said Lucius, drumming his fingers on the glass counter.
"What's the point of that if I'm not even on the house team," spat Draco, sulking now. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus 2000 last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play on his house team. He isn't even that good. Only famous for having a stupid scar on his stupid head." Orla rolled her eyes at this point. She couldn't stand Potter either, but once Draco got going about this, it could be hard to shut him up. "...everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick."
"Yes we know," sighed Orla, "you've told us this at least a dozen times."
"And I would like to remind you that is it not prudent to appear less than fond of Mr Potter," said his father, with a hint of a warning in his usually smooth voice. "Especially not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear."
"Ah Mr Malfoy." An oily voice came from behind them.
"Mr Borgin, good morning," said Lucius, turning around.
"What a pleasure to see you again," the elderly wizard crooned. "Delighted - and young Mr Malfoy, and Miss Rowle too - charmed. How many I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today and very reasonably priced -"
"I'm not buying today Borgin," hissed Lucius, "I'm selling."
"Selling, sir?" The smile faded from his face. Draco and Orla were looking around the shop at the very curious objects.
"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry are performing raids again," Lucius said, unravelling a large scroll of parchment. "I have a few - ah - items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call..."
