Ex-Friends || A Drarry Story

Two : Two

TW: MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE

Striding down Knockturn Alley, Draco imitated his father's posture; it was rigid, reminding Draco of those enchanted chess pieces he encountered a few months ago, his hands clasping the snake-headed cane. Draco kept his hands behind his back.

The alley was dark, making Draco squint as he tried to see. All of the shops around were dedicated to the Dark Arts and Draco felt his skin crawl when a pair of grimy, greasy-haired wizards grinned at him. Half of their teeth were missing and the little teeth they did have were rotting.

Gagging, Draco increased his stride, following closely behind his father. His father led him to Borgin and Burkes, the largest shop there. Opposite to it was a nasty window displaying shrunken heads of house-elves and people alike. There was a cage with gigantic spiders and singing ferrets as well.

Draco gulped as he entered Borgin and Burkes. Nothing in there could have ever been on a Hogwarts supply list; a nearby glass case housed a withered hand holding a candle, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a singular glass eyeball. Evil-looking masks stared down from the ceiling and an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter with a rusty, spiked instrument.

Draco reached his hand out to touch the rusty spikes, but the snake's head of his father's cane came down on his hand, the fangs cutting into his skin, making him bleed. "Touch nothing, Draco," his father ordered.

"Yes, Father," Draco said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He glanced over at a peculiar-looking cabinet, seeing a gleam from the inside. He stepped closer, reaching his hand out until he remembered his father's warning. Instead, he narrowed his eyes nearly gasping when he saw a bright green eye and the shadow of a scar. "Potter!" he hissed so softly that it could have been lost. "Why are you in a cabinet?"

"Floo Powder didn't work," the dark-haired boy whispered, his voice slow. "Supposed to be in Diagon Alley."

"You don't want to be here," whispered Draco, glancing again at his father, who was waiting for Mister Borgin. "This place is crawling with people who practise the Dark Arts."

"I can't just leave!" gasped Harry softly, his eye wide. "I've gotta wait for---"

"Draco!" Lucius Malfoy snapped, drawing the blonde boy's attention away from Harry Potter. "Didn't I tell you not to touch anything?"

"Yes, Father. You did." Draco glanced once more at Harry Potter before returning to his father's side. "But you said you'd buy me a present. For my birthday." Two months ago, he wanted to add, but he didn't.

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

"What's the point of having a racing broom if I'm not on the house team?" Draco asked, frowning deeply, forgetting that Harry Potter was in the shop as he continued, "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so that he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good. It's just because he's famous for that stupid scar. Wonderful Harry Potter, he's so smart with his little broomstick."

"I've told you already, Draco, that it is not prudent to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, especially with your history of------ah, Mr Borgin."

The stooping, greasy-haired man spoke to his father about the recent raids on multiple homes of Dark wizards, which had been his just a few nights ago. A redheaded man by the name of Arthur Weasley had searched their home thoroughly. He found nothing.

"Can I have that?" Draco asked after a while of them talking, pointing to the withered hand that held a candle.

"The Hand of Glory!" Mr Borgin said, scurrying to Draco's side. Draco breathed through his mouth. "Light the candle and it gives light only to the beholder! Friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."