Chapter 2: Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, the Arrogant Platinum-Haired Young Lady (Patreon)

Diagon Alley.

Even in the afternoon heat of midsummer, the long cobbled street bubbled like a cauldron of potion at a rolling boil.

Wizards pushing owl cages, vendors hawking charms against hexes, and clusters of first-year families, stiff with nerves and wide-eyed with wonder, packed the street wall to wall.

Raven Capet drifted along with the crowd at an unhurried pace. His robe was finely tailored, but the cloth was only plain black cotton.

Thanks to the System talent he'd just claimed, [Pure-Blood Elegant Bearing], his back was straight and his stride easy, and the cool, old-world European aristocrat aura radiating from his bones drew sidelong glances from several young witches as he passed.

Before long, Raven stopped in front of a slightly faded sign in gold lettering: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

A bell tinkled as he pushed open the brass-trimmed glass door, breaking the quiet of the shop.

"Oh, dear, another new Hogwarts student?"

A short, plump witch with a kindly smile popped up from behind mountains of stacked fabric. She wore mauve robes, and a measuring tape hovered in the air beside her. "Come in, come in, child. We've got room right now."

Raven gave a slight bow, his manners impeccable. "Good afternoon, Madam Malkin. One standard Hogwarts first-year robe, plain black, and a winter cloak as well."

"Wonderful. What a polite young gentleman. Up on that stool, please." Madam Malkin beamed and pointed to an empty wooden stool on the right.

Raven had barely stepped up, letting a tape measure flit over his chest and arms, when the shop door swung open again.

The bell this time was sharp and hurried, and brazenly showy.

"Honestly, the air out there is thick with that revolting stink of poverty and dirt... Crabbe, hold those boxes properly! If you get my ribbons dirty, you'll regret it when we get home!"

A clear, slightly shrill, petulant voice rang out from the doorway.

Then, on a wave of rich ambergris and white rose, a dazzling figure swept into the shop.

Raven turned his eyes slightly, glancing over with idle indifference.

It was a girl of about eleven.

She wore a tightly waisted black velvet cape of meticulous cut, its edges finely piped in silver thread worked into a faint serpent pattern. But what caught the eye most was her platinum hair, bright as melted moonlight, curling gently at the ends and falling neatly over her slender shoulders.

Her small face was pale to the point of transparency, her features as delicate as the priciest porcelain doll in a Gringotts shop window.

And in that outrageously pretty face, a pair of clear gray-blue eyes were narrowed slightly, full of undisguised fussiness and arrogance.

Draconia Malfoy. The true jewel of the Malfoy family.

Behind her trailed two stocky, blank-faced boys, loaded down with bags and parcels piled high as hills. Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, Merlin's beard, Miss Malfoy!" Madam Malkin clearly recognized her valued customer, and her smile deepened at once. "Welcome, welcome! Isn't your father with you today?"

"Father's next door in Knockturn Alley, seeing to some family business, and Mother is picking out silk gloves at Twilfitt and Tattings."

Draconia lifted her pointed little chin. Her voice was crisp, with a condescension that seemed born in her. "Don't try to palm me off with that coarse cloth you sell to commoners, Madam Malkin. I want the finest black velvet woven with Acromantula silk, and every seam reinforced with pure silver thread. I won't have the quality of my clothes drag down the Malfoy name at the welcoming feast."

"Of course, of course! We know very well what pure-blood families require!" Madam Malkin nodded frantically and bustled off to the back room to dig out the expensive fabrics.

Draconia gave a little sniff, and in her small leather boots, lifting the hem of her cloak, she walked to the empty stool beside Raven's.

As she stepped up and turned her head idly, her gaze finally landed on him.

The young lady froze for a moment.

Proud as she was, she had to admit the boy her own age was strikingly good-looking. Eyes deep as ink, a sharply defined jaw, and above all that pine-like stillness, as if the clamor around him had nothing to do with him. For some reason, her heart skipped a beat.

But when her critical gaze swept over his plain-cloth black robe, which didn't even bear a family crest, that faint flicker of goodwill was instantly smothered by pure-blood hauteur.

She raised her chin, a glint of mockery surfacing in her gray-blue eyes. "Hey. You there."

Raven didn't so much as lift an eyelid, as though the person beside him were thin air.

Draconia's brows knitted at once. Since the day she was born, every child her age had fawned over her and done as she said. Even Pansy Parkinson tiptoed around her with flattery. And this pauper dared to ignore her?

"I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?" Arms crossed, the young lady let a sharper edge of scorn and demand into her voice. "You're a first-year this year too? Which family are you from? Look at that robe... ugh, how shabby. At Malfoy Manor, rough cotton like that wouldn't even be good enough for a house-elf's rag."

At the door, her two lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, dutifully let out a few snorts of derision.

Still, Raven didn't turn his head. As the measuring tape slid past his wrist, he smoothed his sleeve cuff with perfect ease, then spoke slowly in a voice utterly devoid of ripples.

"If I remember correctly, Article Three of Chapter Four of The Pure-Blood Wizard's Code of Conduct and Etiquette, published in the eighteenth century, states: 'A well-bred pure-blood lady, before addressing an unfamiliar gentleman in public, should first curtsy and give her family name, rather than squawk her shallow noisiness like a bird whose tail has been stepped on.'"

Raven turned his face then, those deep black eyes resting calmly on the girl beside him, one corner of his mouth curling in a faint, chilly arc. "Or is it that the so-called 'refinement' the Malfoy family has hoarded over centuries has sunk so low that you need to mock a peer's clothing to prop up your fragile sense of superiority, Miss Malfoy?"

The instant the words fell, an eerie silence swallowed the whole tailor's shop.

Draconia stood rigid on the stool. Her pretty eyes flew wide, and her pale, jade-smooth little face went from stunned to crimson at a speed you could actually see!

In her whole life, no one, not even the stern Lucius, had ever spoken to her in that calm, soul-piercing tone!

"You... you dare call me shallow?! And a bird with its tail stepped on?!"

The young lady's chest heaved with fury, her delicate nostrils flared, and her gray-blue eyes nearly spat fire. "Do you know who I am?! My father is a governor of the school! You nameless lunatic who won't even give your name, do you want to find out what I'll—"

"Of course I know who you are, Miss Draconia Malfoy." Raven calmly cut off her tirade.

At the same time, he unhurriedly slid a hand into the inner pocket of his washed-out robe, and his fingertips found the parchment scroll bound with silver ribbon.

[Ding! Strong emotional fluctuation detected in key main-plot character 'Draconia Malfoy'!] [Causality Reversal Points +150!] [Evaluation: A textbook verbal counterstrike. The noble young lady's pride feels trampled!]

Hearing the prompt in his mind, Raven's smile deepened. He drew out the contract parchment, stamped with the Malfoy twin-serpent wax seal, and with Draconia watching in uneasy confusion, spun it lightly once around his fingertips.

"Allow me to introduce myself, lest the young lady think me rude." Raven smiled at her, his voice low and playful. "Raven Capet. I believe you must have some recollection of this marriage contract between our families, signed ten years ago?"

Seeing the familiar twin-serpent seal, Draconia's voice cut off short, and she stood rooted to the spot as if struck by lightning.