Cat Whiskers- Draco Malfoy Fanfiction

Book Two: 7.

Third Person POV
*****

Harry Potter didn't know what happened. One moment, he was holding a flowerpot with the Weasleys and some strange method of travel called Floo Powder and the next, he was feeling around for broken ribs and his glasses snapped in half. He held the broken bridge with his two fingers, praying that he could find some help but as he looked around the dark shop filled with antiques and strange heads, he felt his heart sink.

Great.

And if life couldn't get better, he was about to be caught.

That was how he found himself in a dark cabinet, shutting the doors closed as he peeked through a small hole to see Draco Malfoy and an older version of him. Clearly his father, seeing that horrible sneer on his face. The man had a pale, pointed face and the identical cold grey eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop and looked around before saying sharply to his son, "Touch nothing, Draco."

  Malfoy, who was reaching for a glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to get me a present."

  "I said I would buy you a racing broom," his father drummed his fingers on the counter.

  "What good is that if I'm not on the House Team?" Draco asked sulkily, "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year...special gift from Dumbledore, so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good..it's all because he's famous—famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead."

  Malfoy bent to see a rack filled with skulls, "....everyone thinks he's so smart, that he's so wonderful with his broom and scar...."

  "You have told me this more than a dozen times," Lucius said with a quelling look at his son, "and might I remind you that it is not prudent to appear less fond of Harry Potter when most of our kind regards him as a hero that put an end to the Dark Lord—-ah, Mr. Borgin."

  A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair away from his face.

  "Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," Mr. Borgin said with teeth pulled back in a yellow smile and his voice as oily as his hair, "Delighted...and young Master Malfoy too...charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you this...it's reasonably priced—"

  "I'm not buying but selling today," Mr. Malfoy said.

  "Selling?" Borgin's smile faded somewhat.

  "You have heard, of course, that this Ministry is conducting raids—" said Mr. Malfoy taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Borgin to read, "I have a few...ah....items at home that might embarrass me should the Ministry call—"

  "The Ministry shouldn't trouble you too much, right, sir?"

   Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

  "I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain amount of respect yet the Ministry becomes more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act—no doubt, that flea bitten Muggle loving fool, Arthur Weasley is behind this."

  Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"...and as you can see, a couple of these poisons are—"

  "I understand, sir," Borgin replied, "let me see—"

  "Can I have that?" Draco pointed to a withered hand on a cushion.

   "Ah—The Hand Of Glory—insert a candle and it will give light only to its holder—" Borgin rushed over, eyes gleaming, "very good for thieves and plunderers. Your son has fine tastes, sir—"