Chapter Text
"He should talk already," Bellatrix said, her sneer fading as her nephew, sitting on her lap, pulled at her curls.
Her younger sister, Narcissa, tries to stop her son from pulling out Bella's hair. "Children learn at their own pace."
"Rabastan was already talking at that age, Sirius and Regulus too. He doesn't even say father or mother yet." the dark-haired one snorts in annoyance. "I would know, as if you or Lucius could ever stop talking about it."
The little boy won't stop pulling at her hair, so she grabs her wand and cuts off the strand.
"You should talk to a healer about it. It's bad enough he's a Malfoy but he's also disabled? We don't want the last male Black to be disabled."
*
It's a warm day, Narcissa is wearing a dress, a shorter one than she would normally wear, her ankles showing. Lucius has been staring at it the whole time.
Draco has his piano lessons, his teacher is the portrait of Maria Anna Walburga Ignatia Mozart, his great great great great something, probably aunt.
He bites his lips, as he always does when he's concentrating.
An owl comes flying in through the open window with a letter in its beak. His Hogwarts letter.
His father wanted him to attend Durmstrang, but they didn't accept disabled students outside their zones.
*
The blond boy stands on a stool in Madame Malkin's clothing store. He tries to stand still when another boy with wild brown curls enters the room.
The boy is led next to him by Madame Malkins, also on a stool.
He would love to talk to the other now, Draco doesn't often socialise with his peers. His arms are outstretched while Malkins' assistants put pins on the fabric on his body, he can't use them.
"Hullo," says the smaller boy. Draco just nods his head.
"Hogwarts too?" The green eyed boy asks, he can only nod again.
The witch moves from his arm to his hip. He can't stop himself from grinning. He moves his hands hastily.
"Are you a first year too? If so, what's your name? My name is Draco Malfoy," but the other boy just looks at him in confusion, so he repeats himself, more slowly.
"Are you deaf?" the brown-haired boy asks, still confused. He shakes his head, trying to explain better with easier signs as Madame Malkins tells the other boy he's done.
He thanks her and waves to him, turns and walks out of the shop.
Draco sulks, he's the first boy he's had contact with where his parents haven't interfered, and he hasn't had a chance to have a proper conversation with him! He hopes he'll come to Slytherin too.
He ignores the fact that the boy is wearing old rancid muggle clothes and that he doesn't know him so he can't be a pureblood, at least not one from Britain.
Draco knows that someone like him can't make enemies. He can't just hate because someone like him will rarely have friends.