Lucius led them down the crowded street, stopping before a narrow shop with large glass windows.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was painted neatly above the door.
"This first," Lucius said. "School robes."
They stepped inside, and the noise of Diagon Alley softened at once.
The shop was warm and well lit, bolts of fabric lining the walls in orderly rows. Several children stood atop brass footstools while enchanted tape measures fluttered around them, tugging hems and sleeves into place.
A plump witch in mauve robes looked up with a welcoming smile.
"Madam Malkin, at your service. Hogwarts, dear?"
"Yes," Narcissa replied smoothly.
"Excellent. Step right along."
Victor and Draco were guided to two adjacent footstools. Almost immediately, a measuring tape sprang to life, looping around Victor's shoulders and waist before darting over to Draco with a sharp flick.
Draco scowled as it tugged at his sleeve. "Oi—be careful!"
Victor, by contrast, stood perfectly still, hands folded neatly at his sides.
"Black, standard length," Madam Malkin murmured. "Very good posture, dear."
Draco shot Victor a look. "You're just standing there."
"That's usually how measurements work," Victor replied calmly. "It's best not to move while measurements are being taken. Even a small mistake can ruin the fit of the robes."
Draco huffed, crossing his arms.
Whenever it came to words, Draco never won—not in front of his older brother. His brother spoke like an adult, precise and composed, and it never failed to irritate him.
Sometimes Draco couldn't understand it. They were only minutes apart in age—yet Victor felt years older.
As if on cue, the enchanted tape gave a final snap and fell limp against Madam Malkin's wrist.
"Well then," she said briskly, making a note with her quill, "that's all the measurements taken."
She looked up at them, eyes flicking once over both boys with professional satisfaction.
"Come back in an hour," Madam Malkin added. "They'll be ready."
Lucius gave a short nod, already turning toward the door.
Next came the books.
They made their way farther down Diagon Alley, stopping before the wide front of Flourish and Blotts.
The shop was crowded, shelves stacked high with spellbooks, textbooks, and magical volumes of every size. Voices echoed softly between the aisles as parents and children searched for their Hogwarts lists.
Lucius approached the counter and placed a neatly folded parchment upon it.
"First-year Hogwarts textbooks," he said coolly.
The shop assistant took the list with a nod and began calling instructions to the shelves behind him. Books shifted and slid from their places, stacking themselves neatly on the counter.
Victor scanned the surrounding shelves with quiet interest. After a moment, he spoke.
"I would like sets of third-, fourth-, and fifth-year textbooks as well," he said calmly.
He had completed the first- and second-year material long ago; Malfoy Manor was quiet enough that boredom often drove him to study.
The Malfoy Manor library also held an extensive collection of magical books, but most of them were advanced texts—dense, complex, and written for experienced witches and wizards.
Without a solid foundation, they were nearly impossible to understand. That was why Victor preferred proper textbooks for now. Basics mattered.
The shop assistant paused and looked up, surprise plain on his face. "Those are… quite advanced for someone your age."
Lucius glanced at Victor, then back at the assistant.
"Add them," he said simply.
There was a faint, almost imperceptible look of pride in Lucius's expression. When it came to his children's growth, he could be a capable father—one who encouraged ambition and knowledge. His judgment was not always sound, particularly in matters of ideology.
"Then give me second-year books too," Draco said quickly, his chin lifting with competitive spirit.
Victor turned to him, one eyebrow arching slightly.
"Then tell me," he asked mildly, "what spell is used to unlock doors?"
Draco blinked. "What?"
Victor allowed himself a small smile.
"You don't even know what's in the first-year books," he said. "What would you do with second-year ones? Draco, be a good brother. If you truly want to learn, I can teach you."
There was no mockery in his voice—only quiet confidence, and a hint of satisfaction that Draco at least wanted to compete. Still, Victor knew better than most: buying books did not mean they would be read.
He hoped—quietly—that Draco would remain like this. Curious. Ambitious. Not the sort of boy who would grow into a bully, careless of his studies and too eager to sneer at Gryffindors for sport.
Narcissa smiled gently and rested a hand on Draco's shoulder.
"Your brother is right, dear," she said softly. "Once you both begin at Hogwarts, you can learn everything from him. I'm quite certain that will serve you better than reading ahead."
Draco did not argue. He only wanted to prove that he was not beneath his brother—that he was just as capable.
Like most children, he wanted to be seen as special.
With their books safely packed away, the Malfoys continued down Diagon Alley until they reached a narrow shop wedged between two larger buildings.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
The faded gold lettering gleamed faintly above a dusty window.
They stepped inside.
The shop was long and narrow, its walls lined with countless slender boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. The air smelled faintly of old wood and magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice.
From behind the counter emerged a thin, elderly man with pale, knowing eyes.
"Mr. Malfoy," Ollivander said, inclining his head toward Lucius. "How good to see you again."
Lucius returned the nod. "Ollivander."
The wandmaker's gaze shifted to the boys. He studied them carefully, lingering a moment longer on Victor before turning to Draco.
"Twins," he murmured. "How very interesting."
Draco straightened at once.
"Both starting Hogwarts," Lucius said. "Wands."
"Of course," Ollivander replied. "Step forward, then—one at a time."
Draco moved first without hesitation.
Victor remained beside Narcissa, observing quietly as Ollivander produced a measuring tape.
"Every wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander said mildly, measuring Draco's arm. "Never the other way around."
He returned with a slender wand and placed it in Draco's hand.
"Vine wood, ten inches. Dragon heartstring."
Draco gave it a sharp flick.
Nothing happened.
Ollivander took it back at once. "No, no. Not quite right."
Another wand followed.
Then another. Hazel. Hawthorn. Elm. Each time, Draco waved the wand, and each time the result was the same—nothing more than a weak spark or no reaction at all.
Draco's impatience grew with every attempt. At last, Ollivander paused, then turned toward a higher shelf.
"Ah. Yes. Try this." He handed Draco a pale, elegant wand.
"Hawthorn wood," Ollivander said. "Ten inches. Unicorn hair."
Draco lifted it—and the wand warmed instantly in his grip. A faint shower of silver sparks spilled from the tip.
Draco's face lit up. "This one."
Ollivander smiled faintly. "Indeed. Hawthorn works well for wizards who are quick-minded and strong-willed."
Draco straightened, clearly pleased with himself, and glanced toward Victor. "See?"
Victor nodded once. "It suits you," he said evenly. "But if you think a wand alone can make you great, you still have much to learn."
Ollivander turned. "And now—the other brother."
Victor stepped forward.
The tape measure snapped briskly around him, measuring with unusual speed before retreating.
"Hm," Ollivander murmured. "Yes… very interesting."
The first wand reacted violently, bucking in Victor's hand and sending sparks into the ceiling.
"No," Ollivander said at once.
The second sent a stack of boxes crashing to the floor. The third went so cold Victor dropped it instantly.
Draco stared. "Are they—rejecting him?"
"Quite the opposite," Ollivander replied. "They're unsettled."
A fourth wand cracked sharply. A fifth shrieked and vibrated until Ollivander snatched it away. With each attempt, the air in the shop grew tighter, dust trembling along the shelves.
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Is this normal?" Even in his experience, Ollivander usually found a suitable wand within two or three attempts.
"For most customers," Ollivander agreed quietly. "For your son… less so."
At last, he turned toward the oldest shelves at the back and removed a long box coated in dust.
"This," he said, opening it carefully, "is a rare combination."
"Yew wood," Ollivander continued, "with a phoenix feather core."
"Yew demands ambition and control," Ollivander said. "phoenix feather answers only to strength of will and clarity of purpose. Together, they refuse nearly everyone."
Draco frowned. "So only the strong ones get it?"
"Not merely strong," Ollivander corrected. "Disciplined."
Victor took the wand.
It settled perfectly in his grip. He lifted it slightly, and a soft, controlled glow shimmered before fading.
Ollivander nodded, satisfied. "Yes. That will do nicely. Wands like this choose few masters—but those they choose are never ordinary."