Narcissa Malfoy swept through the doors of Salon Noblesse. Heads turned, a reaction she'd begun to crave as she neared the birthday she dreaded: thirty years old, emphasis on old. Any other day, she would have taken comfort in the admiring glances that proved her appearance remained flawless. She would have paused a moment to dazzle onlookers with the ivory elegance of her latest ensemble. On that day, she marched past the receptionist desk towards her faithful confidant in times of trouble.

"Jean Paul."

The stylist who wore black as a fashion statement the way she wore white stopped spell-highlighting his client's hair when he heard her agonised whisper. He pressed a hand to his ascot. "Madam Malfoy, what ees wrong, ma belle ami?"

"I need a private consultation."

He turned to his client, a witch who overused tanning spells. "Et voila, madam! The transformation ees complete!"

"Charming," Narcissa said.

Jean Paul, who had his back to the woman, smirked.

The woman patted her hair. "You don't think I need more highlights?"

"Non," Jean Paul said dismissively. He flicked his fingers. "Ze girl at ze counter will take care of you."

He ushered Narcissa through the salon and down the employees corridor to his consultation room. The black and white vintage French decor never failed to soothe. Narcissa and Jean Paul sat together on a settee. He captured a lock of her hair between two fingers and slid his fingers down the strands. "No split ends, that's a relief," he said, dropping the French accent he affected for clientele who didn't remember him as a quiet Slytherin named John. He gave her hair a playful tug. "Tell your old mate what's wrong, Cissy."

His use of her childhood nickname broke through her reluctance. She said, "Perdita Parkinson invited children over to play with Pansy, and the mums were going on about some new, exclusive primary school. Perdy asked if I was sending Draco, so of course I said yes. I couldn't admit that I'd never heard of the place. Lucius only talks about the Hogwarts Board of Governors." Heat scorched her face at the memory. "And then Perdy said she was glad I'd already secured Draco's admission because the term started next week!"

"The pug-faced hag set you up."

"Will you help me, Johnny? You know people who know people."

He tried to look stern, but his dark eyes smiled. "Don't you have a husband who can use his connections to get Draco in?"

"He'd be cross. Lucius doesn't like owing anyone favours."

Johnny sighed.

Narcissa said, "I'll let you do what you've been fantasizing about since we left Hogwarts."

He smiled. "I'll fetch the hair dye."

.

Draco was hunting Galleons with his stuffed Niffler when the boggart entered the nursery. He took one look at the black streak in her hair and gave a terrified shout, waking Nanny Murphy from her nap on the window seat. She jerked upright, adjusting the lacy cap on her head. He scurried to hide behind her wide skirts. "It's a boggart, Nanny!" he cried. "A boggart pretending to be Mummy!"

"It's only a bit of hair colour, darling," the boggart said.

"My apologies, madam." Nanny's knees made creaking sounds as she rose to her feet. "Mr. Malfoy told the boy not to jump when he entered the room, that his father wasn't a boggart, which led to questions and more questions, and now it's the monster of the week."

"Don't talk to it! Cast the charm, Nanny! Ridikkit!"

The boggart reached into a pocket. "Fruit pastilles, like I promised."

Draco peered around Nanny's skirts. Boggarts scared people. They didn't give them sweets. He frowned at his Niffler. "Bad Scorpy. It's only Mummy with funny hair, not a boggart." He took the pastilles from his mother and asked, "Why do you have funny hair?"

His mother knelt down to look him in the eye. "Change is good for us."

He didn't know about that, but the pastilles were good, chewy sweet and coated in sugar. He liked the green apple ones best.

"You're a big boy now." She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Almost five."

Draco ate a grape pastille. It wasn't as tasty as the green apple flavour, but it was all right. "Nanny says I'm her little man."

"Yes, you are." His mother smiled the uh oh smile—the smile that meant something bad was going to happen, like a haircut or a trip to a dress shop. "I'm sure she'll miss you very, very much."

Suddenly, his stomach hurt like he'd eaten the entire packet of sweets. "Why will Nanny miss me?"

His mother said, "You're going to primary school."

.

The Walpurgis School for Superior Children looked exactly like the photograph in the brochure. It was a brick fortress in London, six stories tall, with a crenelated parapet, windows like filmy eyes and a spire atop a timber cupola. A ghost stuck her head out of an upper window to peer down at the pure-blood children in wizard robes entering the school by themselves or with their parents. When the ghost waved, Draco was certain that she waved at him. Lady ghosts always pestered him. They gushed about his "angel" face and white-blond hair.

Draco dug his heels in when his father tried to tug him forward. "I don't care about Inception year. I want to stay home with Nanny and Scorpy." Scorpy would be lonely without him.

"I rescheduled a business meeting for this why, Narcissa?" Father muttered. He tapped Draco's leg with the tip of his cane. "You are going to school, young man."

"Nanny has a new family to care for, remember, darling?" Mother said quickly. She pressed something tiny and soft into his hand. "I used a Shrinking Charm so you can take Scorpy with you."

Draco closed his fingers around his best mate and tucked him into a robe pocket. "Thank you, Mummy." He saw two boys about to enter the building. They were so large, they could be mistaken for Year Two students. Draco called out, "Vincent! Gregory!" Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle immediately headed his way.

"Assertiveness. That's more like it. I'll look forward to hearing about your day at dinner." His father Disapparated.

"Shouldn't I walk you to your class?" his mother asked.

Draco shook his head. Vincent and Gregory didn't have mothers holding their hands. He shouldn't either.

She kissed his cheek. "All right, dearest. I'll be waiting to take you home when school lets out. Have a wonderful day."

He was already hurrying to meet his mates. "This school is creepy. Did you see the ghost? I bet there's a skeleton in the attics." Skeletons couldn't hurt anyone. Not like Inferi, or ghouls, or boggarts.

Vincent and Gregory shrugged. They didn't notice things like he and Scorpy did.

Someone pushed Draco in the back. "You're blocking the door. Move."

It was Pansy Parkinson. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring, when last week she'd tried to kiss him. Girls. He said, "Let her through, lads. We'll have more fun without her."

She started to brush past him and stopped. "Where are you going?"

"The attics." He walked into the school.

A witch who dressed like a mum instead of a teacher welcomed them to the school. "Inception class is down the corridor. Follow the green signs."

Draco pretended to do what she said and then made for the stairs when she turned away to greet the next students.

Pansy followed. "We have to go to class."

"You go to class," Vincent said.

"We'll all go," Draco said. "After we go to the attics."

.

.

A/N: The story image is Kenmont Primary School in London, photograph by Nigel Shafran, permission to use given if credited and Victorian Web cited as the source. The story was inspired by wondering what a primary school for pure-bloods would be called. Since the Death Eaters used to be called the Knights of Walpurgis, I went with Walpurgis, and modeled my title after Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. Four-year-olds in English schools are in "Reception year," so I changed it to "Inception," because the school is for pure-bloods. Anyone who now has the urge to re-watch the Leonardo Di Caprio film Inception, I applaud your good taste. Those who review, I applaud your generosity (and good taste). ;)