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Chapter 6 — Packed Bags and Premonitions
After buying all his school supplies, there were still several days before term began, and Draco's routine barely changed—if anything, he was simply practicing more spells.
Crabbe and Goyle made excellent human targets.
Before this, Draco had been stuck with only theory, occasionally borrowing one of the old spare wands lying around the manor. Hardly ideal. But now that he had his wand? His fingers practically tingled with the itch to cast.
And who better to "assist" him than his two loyal blockheads?
> "I wonder if I can get a copy of Snape's Advanced Potion-Making early…"
He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle collapsed in a heap on the floor and immediately lost interest. Lately he was far more fascinated by spells like Shadowless Blade and Belladonna Hex. He'd already mastered nearly all the first-year and standard course spells, with only a few self-invented or outright forbidden curses beyond his reach. All he could do now was refine what he knew.
> I'm really looking forward to Hogwarts.
Classes themselves might not teach him anything new, but Hogwarts wasn't just its curriculum. The school was ancient; its library was legendary. No matter how wealthy the Malfoys were, some magical knowledge simply couldn't be purchased. Rare materials. Out-of-print grimoires. Lost techniques.
Money could buy influence, but not everything.
Lucius understood that too. Ever since the fall of Voldemort, he'd clawed his way back into respectable society, building prestige and alliances as if they were ingredients in a potion. He'd made progress—though compared to Dumbledore, the wizarding world's walking saint and undisputed powerhouse, Lucius was still miles behind. In canon, Draco remembered, Lucius never truly succeeded in opposing him; every scheme had been child's play for Dumbledore to dismantle.
A soft groan drew Draco's attention.
> "You can stop pretending. I know you're awake."
Crabbe and Goyle sat up with pained expressions. No one liked being hit with spells, and stupid as they were, they weren't unconscious.
> "Go home," Draco said suddenly.
They blinked in shock.
> "Term starts in a few days. You should pack. We'll stop here today."
The boys bolted as if pardoned by the Minister for Magic himself. Crabbe even tripped over his own feet in his haste.
Draco raised a brow.
> "Am I really that frightening?"
In their eyes, probably yes.
Years living together—and the fact that his father essentially ordered them to be Draco's shadows—had cemented his authority. Draco's talent with magic didn't hurt either. Instinctively, even simple-minded wizards developed a sense for power.
If Draco had told them to stay and continue being target dummies, they definitely would have.
He sighed.
> "The difficulty's too low anyway. Real duels don't stand still and let you hit them."
Practice was good, but combat experience was a different beast entirely.
An owl hooted behind him—deep and resonant.
The Malfoy family eagle owl swooped in, enormous and regal, with wide wings and bright orange eyes. It looked like it had stepped out of a painting titled Nobility Personified.
Draco untied the magazine from its leg.
> "Ah… The Singing Sorceress."
He settled into a chair and flipped through the pages. The articles were amusing—if you didn't expect depth. In a world with primitive Muggle technology and bans on most modern electronics, magazines were a rare form of entertainment. Draco found himself occasionally relying on them to pass the time.
After finishing the latest issue, he yawned, eyelids heavy.
> "Baby, come here!"
Narcissa's voice floated through the door.
Draco put the magazine away and stepped out—
—only to stop dead.
> "Mother… this is too much."
The living room looked like a luggage explosion. Trunks, crates, baskets—piled high like a miniature mountain range. Narcissa had prepared everything she thought Draco might possibly need, which apparently included half the manor.
He opened one box. It was filled to the brim with his favorite snacks.
> "Mother, I don't need all this."
> "I don't think you'll like the school food," Narcissa said serenely.
Draco rubbed his temples.
> "As the heir of the Malfoy family, I think I can endure a school meal or two…"
But he couldn't bring himself to reject her outright. She'd done all of this out of love, and her expression when he objected made his stomach twist.
> "…Maybe the owl could send things occasionally," he added quickly.
Narcissa brightened immediately and kissed his forehead.
> "I knew you wouldn't waste my efforts."
Draco sighed inwardly.
> Spoiled rotten… but I suppose spoiled is better than neglected.
Then—
> "By the way, why hasn't your little girlfriend come over lately?" Narcissa asked, oh-so-casually.
Draco froze.
> "Er… that—"
> "Did you bully her again?"
He opened his mouth—
She continued without pause:
> "You know, when your father was courting me, he—"
And then came the story. The entire dramatic, suspiciously polished, possibly fabricated tale of how Lucius Malfoy supposedly wooed her with unmatched charm and romance.
Draco worked very hard not to laugh. It was hard to imagine the cold, severe Lucius doing half the things Narcissa described.
He coughed.
> "Mother, I think she's preparing for school as well."
> "Oh! That's right—you're the same age. So you'll be in the same House at Hogwarts?"
> "Most likely."
> "I expect so. Aside from the Weasleys, very few pure-bloods send their children to other schools," Narcissa said, smiling.
She glanced at the clock.
> "Goodness, it's already late. Baby, go get some rest. We'll sort everything tomorrow."
> "Goodnight, Mother."
Draco retreated to his room, mentally preparing himself for the chaos of both Hogwarts—and Narcissa's luggage mountain—the next day.
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