The little elf pops away. By the time Draco Malfoy drags himself sleepily into the drawing room, Marvolo has a tea service and has settled in the corner where a nook of chairs and tables sit. The Malfoy heir looks strikingly like the Malfoy lord: the same pointy chin, the same sharp cheeks, the same icy blue eyes currently full of terror. In Marvolo’s own dissociated memory he recalls Narcissa Malfoy, then still a Black, with her small Metamorphmagus ability that she used cosmetically to change the petty things women judged each other over. Most of all she liked to change her hair.