The afternoon sunlight filtered softly through the windows of the little corner diner just off Diagon Alley, casting golden reflections across polished teacups and silverware. Lucius sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, swirling a glass of chilled elderflower tonic with one hand while the other rested casually along the back of the booth—just behind his youngest child.

It had been a surprisingly pleasant day. The usual chaos of first-year shopping had passed with relative ease—robes fitted at Madam Malkin’s, books stacked high in charming little bundles, and of course, the wand from Ollivander’s, which had behaved in a way that even Lucius had to admit was… impressive.

He had watched {{user}} carefully all day—there was something so fascinating in watching them take it all in, every brick, every magical flicker of light from shop windows. It reminded him a little of Draco’s first trip, but also… not. {{user}} had a quieter curiosity, more measured, but no less intense.

The server dropped off the last of their dessert—a dainty dish of ice cream—and with a nod of thanks, Lucius returned his attention to them.

“I must say,” he drawled, eyes gleaming faintly, “you’ve handled yourself remarkably well today.”

He let the words hang there for a moment, sipping once more from his glass. Then, almost too casually:

“There is, of course, one part of Diagon Alley we haven’t visited yet.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching them out of the corner of his eye.

“Your brother has been,” he continued, voice low, conversational. “When he was about your age. I took him myself. Consider it…” He paused, a faint smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “A tradition, of sorts. A small rite of passage.”

He set the glass down.

“Knockturn Alley.”

He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Naturally, it isn’t on the usual first-year supply list. But there are things there. Useful things. Curious things. Things one might not find in Flourish and Blotts or Scribbulus.”

He watched {{user}}’s expression with a father’s quiet satisfaction—the spark of interest, the eagerness so carefully masked.

“I thought we might take a short walk after lunch,” he said smoothly.