someday, somehow → d.malfoy [discontinued]

004

the mingling scents of animal excrement, paper and burning sugar was just as draco had remembered diagon alley.

part of him wanted to wrinkle his nose in distaste at it all—especially the young child who nearly managed to bowl him over as they whizzed past with their clumping footsteps—and another part of him wanted to let a smile stretch across his face. the bustling alley brought with it a flooding sense of nostalgia that bubbled warmly in draco's belly. but he pushed the feeling down, following his mother and the girl along the street, the latter of which was miraculously keeping up with narcissa as she was dragged through the street by her arm. she'd not yet taken her white-furred coat off, and on her right hand was a jade-stone ring that winked prettily in the yellow sunlight of late-morning. the russet-coloured soles of her heels flashed into his sight every now and then as she took step after step.

"let us go to the bank first," his mother said, and soon the trio were gliding like smoke between fat marble columns that marked the towering establishment of gringotts bank. heels clicked crisply against the colourless tiles (they were set out in a most unaesthetic way, but draco wasn't keen on voicing that particular thought while they were there), and he saw their blurred, dark reflections against smooth marble. something about transference, his mother was talking about to the goblin who, in turn, spoke out the gnarled slit of a mouth to beckon them along. the dark swallowed their four figures gratefully, quickly as they shot down at an incredible speed. further, still, until a mammoth door glinted, charcoal-black, in front of them. 

"hand," the goblin spat, reached its hand with those cruel, pointed fingers out. in the time draco looked at his mother, expecting her to give over her hand, the girl had done it. draco scanned their surroundings—was he blind? the malfoy vault did not look like this. from inside the girl's vault came the unmistakable deep-yellow glow of piles and piles of galleons. draco wondered how he had gone his whole life not knowing of her existence, if she was so wealthy and (supposedly) connected with his own mother. his mother, the girl and the goblin spent an unbearably long while discussing things that draco did not care to listen to after gold had been removed from the vault—until, finally, the two witches gave him a mercy by leaving.

they visited flourish and blotts first. the scent of paper and parchment and ink filled the space, while he fulfilled his mother's request of finding all his school books independently. draco stole a glance at the girl—she was looking at what he realised was one of his favourite novels. it was returned to its shelf, however, as soon as his mother called out for her. the list of new textbooks needed for draco's fourth year was significantly shorter than his last, and he found that they were moving on to the next store, and the next, and the next, quicker than he'd initially anticipated. the only two stores that saw an extended visit were the magical menagerie (the girl purchased a elegant barn owl) and madam malkin's—in which draco's mother made him try on an assortment of different (but very similar-looking) dress robes that she had picked out and deemed acceptable. draco stayed in the cubicle for longer than it took him to decide, because he wanted her to think he had at least tried on and considered all of them. in reality, his eyes had skimmed their various necklines and cuts. that way, he managed to eliminate over half of them, and proceeded to try on only six before he came to a final decision.

.

the sheer amount of gowns narcissa was making artemis try on brought on a pounding headache.

the first, they'd both agreed did not suit artemis as much as they'd hoped—with a soft, sunflower-yellow coloured fabric, and a bell-skirt that fell down like soft petals, the idea of it was that artemis would look, well... like a sunflower. it had sounded like a decent vision at the time, but once the dress had been zipped up, several problems arose; the waist bunched up strangely, and the skirt length was far too short. artemis had stopped counting after dress-number-seven (a delicate pink, but far too doll-like in artemis' opinion). if she had to guess, she would suppose they were somewhere nearing dress-number-twenty. this one was, so far, her almost-favourite; second only to a powder-blue skirt bedecked in a sheer fabric of the same colour, with glowing silver stars embroidered across it, and a figure-tight corset bodice. it was so very juxtaposed to the one she was standing in now, a ring of tall mirrors encircling her as her legs shook slightly beneath the dress' weight. it cut sharply across artemis' fair skin with velvet the colour of wine, wrapped asymmetrically across her chest and around her waist, until it met the heavy skirt—which would have worked much better if it didn't billow outwards so much. artemis wrinkled her nose.