"And I am pleased to learn that I shall be treated with the respect due to the family of Malfoy," the other boy lobbed back, accompanied by a smile such as the highest of kings might bestow upon the least of his subjects, if that subject were honest, though poor.
Eh... Damn, Harry was having trouble thinking up his next line. Well, everyone did want to shake the hand of Harry Potter, so - "When my clothes are fitted, sir, might you deign to shake my hand? I should wish nothing more to put the capper upon this day, nay, this month, indeed, my whole lifetime."
The white-blonde-haired boy glared in return. "And what have you done for the Malfoys that entitles you to such a favour?"
Oh, I am so totally trying this routine on the next person who wants to shake my hand. Harry bowed his head. "No, no, sir, I understand. I'm sorry for asking. I should be honoured to clean your boots, rather."
"Indeed," snapped the other boy. His stern face lightened somewhat. "Tell me, what House do you think you might be sorted into? I'm bound for Slytherin House, of course, like my father Lucius before me. And for you, I'd guess House Hufflepuff, or possibly House Elf."
Harry grinned sheepishly. "Professor McGonagall says that I'm the most Ravenclaw person she's ever seen or heard tell of in legend, so much so that Rowena herself would tell me to get out more, whatever that means, and that I'll undoubtedly end up in Ravenclaw House if the hat isn't screaming too loudly for the rest of us to make out any words, end quote."
"Wow," said Draco Malfoy, sounding slightly impressed. The boy gave a sort of wistful sigh. "Your flattery was great, or I thought so, anyway - you'd do well in Slytherin House, too. Usually it's only my father who gets that sort of grovelling. I'm hoping the other Slytherins will suck up to me now I'm at Hogwarts... I guess this is a good sign, then."
Harry coughed. "Actually, sorry, I've got no idea who you are really."
"Oh come on!" the boy said with fierce disappointment. "Why'd you go and do that, then?" Draco's eyes widened with sudden suspicion. "And how do you not know about the Malfoys? And what are those clothes you're wearing? Are your parents Muggles?"
"Two of my parents are dead," Harry said. His heart twinged. When he put it that way - "My other two parents are Muggles, and they're the ones that raised me."
"What?" said Draco. "Who are you?"
"Harry Potter, pleased to meet you."
"Harry Potter?" gasped Draco. "The Harry -" and the boy cut off abruptly.
There was a brief silence.
Then, with bright enthusiasm, "Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Gosh, I've always wanted to meet you!"
Draco's attendant emitted a sound like she was strangling but kept on with her work, lifting Draco's arms to carefully remove the chequered robe.
"Shut up," Harry suggested.
"Can I have your autograph? No, wait, I want a picture with you first!"
"Shutupshutupshutup."
"I'm just so delighted to meet you!"
"Burst into flames and die."
"But you're Harry Potter, the glorious saviour of the wizarding world! Everyone's hero, Harry Potter! I've always wanted to be just like you when I grow up so I can -"
Draco cut off the words in mid-sentence, his face freezing in absolute horror.
Tall, white-haired, coldly elegant in black robes of the finest quality. One hand gripping a silver-handled cane which took on the character of a deadly weapon just by being in that hand. His eyes regarded the room with the dispassionate quality of an executioner, a man to whom killing was not painful, or even deliciously forbidden, but just a routine activity like breathing.
That was the man who had, just that moment, strolled in through the open door.
"Draco," said the man, low and very angry, "what are you saying?"
In one split second of sympathetic panic, Harry formulated a rescue plan.
"Lucius Malfoy!" gasped Harry Potter. "The Lucius Malfoy?"
One of Malkin's assistants had to turn away and face the wall.
Coolly murderous eyes regarded him. "Harry Potter."
"I am so, so honoured to meet you!"
The dark eyes widened, shocked surprise replacing deadly threat.
"Your son has been telling me all about you," Harry gushed on, hardly even knowing what was coming out of his mouth but just talking as fast as possible. "But of course I knew about you all before then, everyone knows about you, the great Lucius Malfoy! The most honoured laureate of all the House of Slytherin, I've been thinking about trying to get into Slytherin House myself just because I heard you were in it as a child -"
"What are you saying, Mr. Potter?" came a near-scream from outside the shop, and Professor McGonagall burst in a second later.
There was such pure horror on her face that Harry's mouth opened automatically, and then blocked on nothing-to-say.
"Professor McGonagall!" cried Draco. "Is it really you? I've heard so much about you from my father, I've been thinking of trying to get Sorted into Gryffindor so I can -"
"What?" bellowed Lucius Malfoy and Professor McGonagall in perfect unison, standing side-by-side. Their heads swivelled to look at each other in duplicate motions, and then the two recoiled from one another as though performing a synchronised dance.
There was a sudden flurry of action as Lucius seized Draco and dragged him out of the shop.
And then there was silence.
In Professor McGonagall's left hand lay a small drinking-glass, tilted over to one side in the forgotten rush, now slowly dripping drops of alcohol into the tiny puddle of red wine that had appeared on the floor.
Professor McGonagall strode forward into the shop until she was opposite Madam Malkin.
"Madam Malkin," said Professor McGonagall, her voice calm. "What has been happening here?"
Madam Malkin looked back silently for four seconds, and then cracked up. She fell against the wall, wheezing out laughter, and that set off both of her assistants, one of whom fell to her hands and knees on the floor, giggling hysterically.
Professor McGonagall slowly turned to look at Harry, her expression chilly. "I leave you alone for six minutes. Six minutes, Mr. Potter, by the very clock."
"I was only joking around," Harry protested, as the sounds of hysterical laughter went on nearby.
"Draco Malfoy said in front of his father that he wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor! Joking around isn't enough to do that!" Professor McGonagall paused, visibly taking breaths. "What part of 'get fitted for robes' sounded to you like please cast a Confundus Charm on the entire universe!"
"He was in a situational context where those actions made internal sense -"
"No. Don't explain. I don't want to know what happened in here, ever. Whatever dark power inhabits you, it is contagious, and I don't want to end up like poor Draco Malfoy, poor Madam Malkin and her two poor assistants."
Harry sighed. It was clear that Professor McGonagall wasn't in a mood to listen to reasonable explanations. He looked at Madam Malkin, who was still wheezing against the wall, and Malkin's two assistants, who had now both fallen to their knees, and finally down at his own tape-measure-draped body.
"I'm not quite done being fitted for clothes," Harry said kindly. "Why don't you go back and have another drink?"
Chapter 6: The Planning Fallacy
Blah blah disclaimer blah blah Rowling blah blah ownership.
A/N: The "Aftermath" section of this chapter is part of the story, not omake.