Draya Malfoy

4 - At Flourish and Blotts

"How was school?"

"Well, I enjoyed Defence Against the Dark Arts until Harry Potter burnt the teacher's face off."

"Made any new friends?"

I shrugged. "Some. Harry Potter is friends with a blood traitor and a Mudblood."

There was a loud bang as my father's newspaper connected against the dining table, causing his peas to go flying.

"Will you not mention that word in my house," he roared, spittle flying from his lips.

I blinked up at him. "What, Mudblood?"

"No - Potter!"

"But-" I spluttered, "last summer you said I had to make friends with him!"

"Yes, but that was before I knew he was going to associate himself with such filth! He's just like his father, it seems."

I fell silent as Father went on a long rant about what a treacherous bunch of Muggle-loving fools the Potters and Weasleys are.

Summer sucked already. Two months of lonely days stretched out before me, the promise of school seeming too far away.

My mind drifted to what everyone else was up to. I wondered if Father would allow me to have some friends over to hang out. He didn't usually like visitors in the Manor unless it was beneficial to him.

When I was finally excused from the table, I went straight upstairs to my room with an intention to write to my new associates, but I found I was stuck for anything to say, my mind too busy thinking about Harry, instead.

I wondered how he was spending his summer. Rumour had it that the Muggles he lived with didn't like him very much. Can't say I blame them. He really is a smug show off with something of a hero complex.

And the way that everyone just seemed to love him. Especially Dumbledore. Perfect Potter with his shiny new broomstick and tousled black hair-

Damn, I had been pressing my quill down so hard on the blank parchment that the nib snapped.

*****

What luck, Father allowed me to go with him down Knockturn Alley, despite my mother's protests.

"Relax, Narcissa," Father drawled lazily as he placed a hand upon my shoulder, "it won't hurt Draya to see the real parts of the wizarding world. It isn't all Quidditch and unicorns unlike which Dumbledore would rather they believe."

I shivered at the mention of unicorns, still not over my midnight excursion into the forest.

We arrived at a shop called Borgin and Burkes which seemed to be entirely full of Dark Arts artefacts. Excitement swirled in my stomach as I stepped inside and feasted my eyes on the displays, wondering where to start.

"Touch nothing, Draya," Father ordered sharply as he rang a bell on the empty shop counter, preventing me from reaching for a glass eye.

"I thought you were going to buy me a present." I pouted.

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," Father replied, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not in the house team?" I said, feeling suddenly sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead..."