By the time they reached Madam Malkin’s, Draco was exhausted. He didn’t even protest when Mother left him alone and went to look at the wands, though he suspected she was rather more interested in the perfume shop they’d passed on the way. Just like she had suspected Father of ulterior motives when he’d volunteered to get Draco’s schoolbooks.
“Just stay out of Ogden’s,” she had hissed through clenched teeth, while smiling tightly at some acquaintance or another.
Draco had wondered what “Ogden’s” was, but he’d known better than to ask.
Madam Malkin offered him lemonade and he accepted with thanks. The tall glass came with a spoon bewitched to stir the juice on its own and a colorful straw that pumped it like a little fountain. It was amusing enough to keep Draco pacified a while as he waited his turn. Two older Hogwarts students were having their dress robes measured, but they either didn’t know each other, or had some feud going, because they didn’t exchange a single word. Once he finished his drink, Draco became bored and moody. He itched to demand everyone hurry up so he could get his business done and go look at the brooms at Quality Quidditch Supplies. There was still a chance, however slim, that he might talk Father into buying him one. The Nimbus Two Thousand, he thought dreamily, picturing himself soaring through the clouds.
“We’re ready for you, young sir.”
Draco started and the dewy glass almost slipped from his hands. He’d dozed off.
“It was about time,” he snapped, shakily setting the glass on a tea table. The older students were gone. With his chin held high, he walked to the footstool in front of the wide mirror and stepped up.
“So sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” said Madam Malkin, draping a silky school robe over his shoulders. “We’re awfully busy these days, as you may well imagine. But worry not, we’ll have your robes ready in no time.”
Draco put his arms through the sleeves and felt the fabric critically. It was rather plain, but smooth and comfortingly heavy, pooling around the stool like ripples in a dark lake.
He was reminded, with a bit of a jolt, how, about half a year ago—it had been spring—he had climbed a similar stool at home and tried on Father’s robes. They had been even larger, heavier and darker, embroidered with golden thread in a delicate, hypnotizing pattern. Looking at himself in the tall standing mirror in his parents’ dressing room, Draco had grimaced. He tried to gather the robes in front of him, hiding the stool to look taller, and as a last resort, pulled on the hood. But the shoulders were so wide and the sleeves so long, all he managed to do was make himself look like a dementor.
Casting the hood down, Draco caught sight of one of Mother’s pointed hats. He stepped out of Father’s robes, hung them reverently back in their place, and grabbed one of Mother’s coats instead, and the hat. He didn’t have to climb the stool for this. Mother’s coat reached just below his ankles, and wasn’t so terribly wide in the shoulders either. In fact… Draco buttoned it up and tightened the belt around his waist. Then he put on the hat. He had to rotate and angle it several times before he got it right.
He blinked at his reflection. With his hair hidden under the hat and the feminine cut of the coat, he was indistinguishable from a girl. He would’ve expected that to bother him—all the girls he knew were awfully dull and only ever wanted to giggle among themselves—but it didn’t. He even liked it. Stepping closer to the mirror, he struck a girly pose and smiled a girly smile. Not bad at all, he thought. If he met a girl like that, he’d think her cute. If only his hair was a bit longer…
Then he caught sight of another item among his mother’s accessories: a long braid of blonde hair. It could be bewitched to merge with Mother’s real hair and hang down her back or wrap around her head. Draco didn’t know the spell, but he could just… tuck the thicker end into the hat and arrange the rest over his shoulder. Mother’s hair was a few shades darker than Father’s and Draco’s, but it didn’t matter because the hat covered all Draco’s hair anyway and only the braid was out.
The result was… breathtaking. For a moment, he couldn’t recognize himself. He wasn’t just dressed as a girl, he was a girl. A beautiful, pale-skinned, bright-eyed girl.
“Draco!”
Draco jumped, heart in his throat. Father stood behind him, looking furious.
“Take that off at once,” he hissed. His eyes were wide and wild. “Idiot child!” He slapped the hat from Draco’s head and the braid coiled around his feet like a snake.
Draco started to unbutton Mother’s coat with clumsy, shaking hands, but Father’s impatience wasn’t having it. He grasped Draco’s shoulders and roughly spun him around. Then he crouched, momentarily lost his balance, and when he cursed, bracing himself on one knee, his breath hit Draco’s face like a pitcher of hot liquor. Father tore the belt of Mother’s coat open, then ripped the coat itself by the lapels so that the ivory buttons struck the marble floor like hail.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Draco whined, shivering like a leaf. “I’m—”
“Silence!” Father tugged the coat off Draco and tossed it aside. He seized Draco’s arms, and leaned closer, the better to look in his son’s guilty face. Draco held his breath. “What’s wrong with you?” Father shook Draco so hard, his teeth chattered. “Wearing women’s clothes? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m sorry.” It was all Draco could think to say, tears trembling in his voice and pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m—”
“Stop it!” Father grabbed Draco’s chin. His bloodshot eyes were bulging. “Don’t you dare cry, Draco Lucius Malfoy! Boys don’t cry. And you’re almost a man now. Don’t you dare!”
Draco turned his eyes up at the high ceiling, willing his tears to dry.
But Father tugged Draco’s chin down, forcing him to meet his burning gaze. “Listen to me, son.”
Draco nodded feebly, praying to Merlin to keep his tears from spilling.
“You will promise never to do anything like this again.”
Draco nodded some more.
“Say it.”
Draco swallowed the knot in his throat, but still, his voice came out high-pitched and girly. “I promise, Father.”
Father studied him a moment longer, then nodded and finally let go of Draco’s other arm too. His grip on it had been so vicious, Draco’s hand had gone to sleep.
“Almost a man,” Father muttered, his brow pinched. He abruptly got on his feet, and staggered, and Draco instinctively stepped back till he hit the mirror, which gave an aggravated creak. But all Father did was take out his wand and gesture a wordless charm at the mess. The buttons knit themselves back to the coat, the braid and the hat flew to their hangers, and the coat settled in its place, only slightly worse for wear.
Late that night, Draco overheard his parents fight.
“You’ve spoiled him rotten, Narcissa,” Father was hissing in a futile effort to keep his voice from carrying. They were in the dining room and the marble floors, walls and columns echoed every whisper to where Draco stood, holding a door ajar. “Have you no memory of how sensitive boys fare in boarding school? Think of Severus. Think of Remus. Is that what you want? For our son to be victimized by bullies? He’s eleven years old and he still can’t tie his shoes, for Lord’s sake.”
Draco frowned. What was Father on about? Of course he could tie his shoes.
“You exaggerate,” said Mother tightly. “He’s no different from other boys his age.”
“No different? No different? He was wearing your frocks, head to toes! He even wore one of your cursed wigs! I barely knew him!”
Shame burned up Draco’s cheeks. He had been too shocked before to fully feel its sting, but hearing Father speak about it like this…
“So what?” said Mother, a tone of hysteria sneaking into her voice. “Boys do all kinds of silly things, all the time. He was just playing. It doesn’t mean anything, Lucius.”
“Like catching him with that Nott boy didn’t mean anything?”
Draco screwed his eyes shut, sweat breaking over his forehead.
It had happened last Yule, when the Notts were visiting, and Theo with them. He and Draco had gone to the guest bathroom to wash their hands before the meal, and ended up spraying water on one another, carrying on some joke they had started next to the bonfire outside. Then Theo said he needed to pee, and Draco needed to pee too. There was only one toilet. It hadn’t been the first time they peed together. But when they were done, Theo seized Draco’s wrist before he could button up his trousers, and told him to close his eyes. Then he put his hand where no one’s hand had gone since Draco was a baby. He didn’t mind, but he didn’t particularly like it either. He was about to shove Theo off when Mother burst in, and dropped her wineglass.
Draco had hoped she wouldn’t mention it to Father, but apparently, she had. Which explained why he hadn’t seen Theo since.
“They’re just little boys,” she pleaded now, sounding as desperate as Draco felt. Would he ever be able to look in Father’s eyes again? “They were just fooling around. We were the same when we were children.”
“Please. You mean to tell me you fornicated with other girls when you were eleven years old?”
A porcelain teacup rang against its saucer. “Don’t be vulgar! And keep your voice down.”
As always, that angered Father even more. Clatter of silverware followed the thump of his fist on the table. “I wouldn’t be yelling if he’d been caught with a girl. I wouldn’t be yelling if I found him wearing my clothes!”
But I did, Draco wanted to yell right back. I did!
“Something must be done, Narcissa. Before it’s too late!”
“And what do you suggest?” mother shrieked to match him. “Beating him up for being sensitive?”
“Of course not! I would never—”
“His arms were bruised black, Lucius!” Mother’s voice broke, and tears welled in Draco’s eyes in sympathy. Hidden behind the heavy oak door, he felt his upper arms gingerly. Mother had had a house elf heal the bruises with magic, but his flesh still held the memory of pain.
“I didn’t,” Father stammered. “I—”
“You did! You didn’t even know it, because you were drunk!”
And then the weeping came, and hushed words from Father. Draco let the door slip closed and walked to his chambers, nauseous and numb.
A week later, he was introduced to a new friend who would start at Hogwarts together with him: Gregory Goyle. He was big, clumsy and obnoxious, but Father obviously wanted Draco to accept him; and eager to get back in Father’s good graces, Draco did his best. He was quick to realize that Greg was willing to do all sorts of foolhardy things for Draco’s feigned approval. And he was just as quick to pick up Greg’s aggressive, confident manner, making a conscious effort to overcome his own “sensitivity”. Remembering what Father had said about getting caught with a girl, Draco started to pursue Pansy Parkinson, another young pureblood from a family almost as old and rich as his own. By Draco’s birthday, he and Father could mostly be themselves with each other again, and Draco had managed to put both shameful incidents behind him.
* * *
He awoke from the reverie as another boy his age stepped onto the stool next to him. One of the witches draped a robe identical to Draco’s over his bony shoulders, while the other was pinning Draco’s sleeves to the perfect length.
The boy glanced timidly at Draco through the mirror.
He would not make a cute girl, Draco thought. His face was angular, his black hair was wild, and he wore a pair of ridiculous circular spectacles. But behind them shone large, perplexed eyes of the most vivid green Draco had ever seen.
Without a doubt, he did make a cute boy.
“Hello,” Draco said. Warmth crept up his ears. “Hogwarts?”