Year Seven:Blindsided

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or places they belong to the wonderful J. K. Rowling: It is her world I just play in it.

Chapter 3- Diagon Alley


Draco had been in an especially foul mood this morning. The spoiled young wizard was hard pressed to contain his revulsion as the wizened old innkeeper, Tom, lead him to the room in the Leaky Cauldron that would be his for the next two days and nights. Tom placed Draco’s bags gingerly on the floor next to the ancient bed then nodded to the youth as he left the room.


Looking around at the sparse accommodations that his room afforded the only bright spot that Draco could find about the situation in which he found himself was that he would be free from the cruelty of his father for a few days. He walked to the mirror that hung over the chest in his room and began to preen, unless he wished to incur more severe punishment from his father, he must behave as a Malfoy was expected to behave. This meant that he must not look rattled in any way when he was in a public place, particularly if he were to find himself without the company of a chaperone. He polished the badge on his chest and wrapped himself in arrogance and composure before leaving the room to head for Gringotts.


Hermione had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron earlier that morning and by the time Draco had settled himself in his room she was nearly finished opening her new account at Gringotts. This proved to be both easier than she’d thought and tougher than she hoped. After six years at Hogwarts she had finally convinced her parents that it would be practical for her to have a bank account in the wizarding world. Her final argument was that she would be finished with school at the end of next spring. Hermione’s parents had to come to terms with the fact that the little girl they once knew was gone, transformed into a fine young woman, seemingly overnight.


It was because of this revelation that they allowed Hermione to go to Diagon Alley alone to collect her supplies for the following school year. After much persuasion she talked them into letting her stay at the Leaky Cauldron by herself for two nights. Well, not entirely by herself she would bring Crookshanks with her. As he had proven on many occasions that he was a very capable guardian.


The only thing that remained for Hermione to do at the massive bank was to see and approve of the vault, which would from then after be hers. She had heard Harry’s tales of the wild ride that one had to undergo to reach one’s vault. Hermione smiled as she climbed aboard the cart as her goblin guide directed her to; she sat down and, as per Harry’s advice, she buckled herself in then sat back to enjoy the ride. The closest muggle equivalent to this experience would be a roller coaster. This was much faster and, Hermione concluded, much more fun.


Draco strode down Diagon Alley toward Gringotts looking every bit the Malfoy that he was. For the first time in his life he was alone shopping for his school supplies. This was part of the punishment his father had handed down for his sub par academic performance. Draco knew that in this punishment his father would only relent if his son’s grades could outstrip those of the cursed mudblood bitch.


Still, he was in utter disbelief that his father had not provided a single servant to assist him in carrying the parcels he would purchase in the next two days. It seemed that years of privilege had, indeed, ruined the young wizard’s work ethic. He bristled at the thought that he would have to carry his own parcels whilst walking through the street, just like that sorry excuse for a pureblood wizard Ron Weasley must have to do. It was all that Draco could do to keep his outward composure while these thoughts sent him into a consummate rage.


After years of practice Draco had learned that turning his anger inward was too destructive to make a habit of. So he decided that he would wear his anger, as one would wear a cloak. In this manner over the years he had built up quite an impressive suit of emotional armor. Perhaps his speed and posture conveyed, to those in his path, his lack of patience as well as his annoyance with the fact that he was sharing common space with “the great unwashed,” as his father called them.


The witches and wizards on Diagon Alley parted to allow the young blond wizard to pass, if for no other reason than to be rid of the snobby little git as soon as possible. This seemed to be the best solution for all parties involved. Draco hardly took note of the actions of those around him while he was in public anymore. He found it boring; people treated him just as they had his whole life. Those around him acted just as they had when he had been out with his father. They seemed to think that because he was a Malfoy, he was inherently dangerous. He would never be like his father! This sudden realization struck him like an adder at a mouse.


All of the people he had passed on all the streets he’d ever walked assumed that he would grow to be a carbon copy of his father, and thus was not to be trusted. Draco was more hurt by this than any other single event in his life to date. He pushed his frustration and pain outward to become another coat of polish on his shining suit of armor.


The giant white doors to Gringotts stood ajar as he approached, as they always were on warm summer mornings such as this one. Draco passed through them and up to the nearest available space at the counter as he pulled his key from his pants pocket. Without looking up from the ledger in which he was writing the surly goblin at the counter greeted him in a low raspy voice, “Good day young Master Malfoy. Am I to assume that you wish to make a withdrawal to purchase your school supplies?”


Draco answered politely, but did not smile. He never knew exactly where even a wealthy wizard stood socially with goblins. Even Lucius, for all of his ideas about the different ‘classes’ of wizards and witches, seemed strangely humbled by the Gringotts goblins. Upon more consideration he would conclude that his father’s attitude toward goblins had more to do with monetary than social reasons.


The goblin marked the proper amounts in the proper ledgers before leading the young wizard to the cue for the carts, which would take him down to his vault. The goblin smirked as he thanked Draco for his patronage and then hobbled back to his space at the counter. The line seemed as if it were moving at a pace so slow that it would shame a snail…


Hermione hopped from the cart and thanked the goblin for his assistance. As she made her way to the waiting street she swore, for a moment, that she had seen Draco’s blond head, but as she paused for a closer look she could not find him again. She shook her head; surely she must be going mad if she was seeing Him everywhere. Hermione collected her wits and made for the alley to continue her shopping.


The cart rolled to a stop and Draco climbed into it with great care, as he had no love for the experience he was about to endure. After strapping himself in tightly he took a deep breath to calm his nerves; this had the exact opposite effect for which he had hoped.


“Hermione,” he whispered, “she’s here.” No other witch in the world could possibly smell like that. Draco felt his skin flush and his hands tingle. He might be able to find her and…and what? Profess his undying love for her? That was preposterous, her every action betrayed her feelings of hatred toward him.


Draco was unprepared for the jolt with which the cart began its breakneck decent into the vault shafts which stretched for miles below London. He felt his stomach protest and he clamped his jaw against the vomit he felt certain would soon come.