Anyway. Chatting about your deeds of myth and legend isn't what we're here for."
"Oh?" Ginny asked.
"Yeah. We're giving you a heads up."
"Downstairs, that healer, Tonks, is talking with Mum and Dad about the possibility of using veritaserum."
Ginny's eyes widened in horror.
"They're really not sure about it, but apparently, as head of a pureblood house, Dad can request some from the ministry, and have a specialist handler administer some to a member of the house." "But, he's more than a little bit uncomfortable with the idea. Especially after what happened with the legilimency." "Mum is a bit more enthusiastic."
"It also wouldn't be cheap."
"Just thought you should get some warning, Little Sis."
"We'll keep you updated."
They left, and closed the door behind them. Ginny started to sweat. Veritaserum? They wouldn't. Would they? Her breathing became strained. She started to shake.
She didn't have a defence against veritaserum. If they gave that to her and asked the right questions, she'd squeal all of Harry's secrets. Her mind flooded with images of Harry in Azkaban, all skin and bones, wearing rags, eyes dead to the world. Her chest tightened.
Tears of frustration and desperation welled up in her eyes. She looked down at the ring on her pinky. The hand it was attached to was trembling.
She should have alerted Harry already. She should have alerted him the moment she realised they knew about the broomstick. She should have alerted him the moment they started to pump her for foreign magic. But she hadn't — so desperate she'd been to prove she could handle it herself.
And now it was so time-critical she didn't know if Harry could even get here in time.
She focused her magic into her right pinky and pulsed it into her ring. Long long short, short short short, long long long, short short short.
She collapsed side-ways on the bed, rolled into a ball, and gazed towards the clock.
…
…
The second-hand moved.
[Forty-five minutes earlier]
"Potter." The words were ground out through clenched teeth.
"Greetings, Heir Malfoy of the Noble House of Malfoy" Harry said, lightly stepping onto Madam Malkin's measuring stool. His Dumbledore orchestrated introduction to the wizarding world was turning out a lot better than first time around.
Draco Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What's with the formal greeting? Finally decided to stop acting like blood traitor scum?"
Harry grinned. "The formal greeting because we've never met before."
"Wha?"
is
"Allow me to introduce myself. Harry James Potter, estranged member of the Most Ancient and Noble house of Potter. John is my detested brother."
The young sales-witch measuring him gasped. Although whether due to realising this wasn't John Potter or to his declaration of sibling loathing, he couldn't be sure. Malfoy's eyes widened. "The Boy-Who-Lived has a brother?"
"That is a one-hundred percent true statement." The cords measuring him were suddenly pulled a lot tighter. Yep, definitely the declaration of loathing.
"You hate him?"
"I believe the ways and means employed by him and my family to be short-sighted and contemptible."
"You…you're Dark?"
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that… although I've got nothing against dealing with people who needlessly antagonise me." He glared at the sales-witch who returned his look with one of pure contempt." "So…" Malfoy regarded him as one might a puzzling quidditch play. "What house do you think you'll be in?"
"Slytherin. No question."
Malfoy nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'll probably go there too. Although my Father did say he wouldn't be furious if I went to Ravenclaw."
Harry smirked. Malfoy had been the bane of his existence during his brief and lonely two years at Hogwarts. Looking back it wasn't hard to see why. He'd turned up in the house of the aristocrats wearing rags and standard Hogwarts modern open-robes. Scrawny and dirty. No hygiene products, no grooming knowledge. Was it any wonder he'd been treated like a walking dragon-pox victim?
"Harry," Malfoy said, his voice relaxing into a bored drawl, "there's a man outside trying to get your attention."
Harry glanced around and spied the half-giant making impatient jerking motions while holding a single massive multi-layered ice-cream. The man took a long lick of it.
"Oh, don't worry. It's just my parole officer."
Malfoy frowned.
Harry turned to the window. "Five more minutes!" He turned back. "Merlin. Some people, eh?"
Malfoy shrugged.
He grinned at the boy. "So, do you have your real robes ready yet, or are you getting them later?" The Malfoy scion eyed him; then smirked. "Later. Acromantula silk — closed of course. You?"
"Closed and duelling. Acromantula silk and dragon hide… which I'm certainly not getting here," he added to the reddening, commission-based sales-witch.
Malfoy raised a single eyebrow. "You're bringing duelling robes?"
"Yeah. Not planning on wearing them normally though. Not unless it's needed. My parents"—he lowered his voice so only he and Malfoy could hear—"would pitch a fit if they found out."
Malfoy nodded again, smirked his trademark I'm-better-than-you smirk, and reached out a hand. "By the way, I don't think I properly introduced myself. Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Noble House of Malfoy."
.
.
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