Far Away (Draco Malfoy)

~ 1 ~

The living room was small, but it was home. I sat cross-legged on the scratchy carpet, feeling its rough texture under my bare legs, though it didn't bother me anymore. I was used to it— just like I was used to the worn-out couch in the corner, the faint smell of old wood and dust, and the low hum of our ancient, brick-like TV.

     The screen flickered as the opening credits of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" rolled. I leaned forward, mesmerized by the magic unfolding before me. Harry, Ron, Hermione— they felt like old friends, pulling me into their world of spells, broomsticks, and adventure. But it was Draco Malfoy who caught my attention the most. He was arrogant, sure, but there was something else there— a curiosity, a sadness maybe— that I couldn't quite place.

Dad was at work, as usual, so it was just me and the TV, the walls seeming to close in just a little more every day. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, but I didn't care. I didn't have to get up early for school in the morning anyway.

I leaned back, letting the TV's soft glow warm the dark room. Draco's sneering face flashed across the screen, and I smiled despite myself. Even at eleven, he seemed so sure of who he was. So certain of where he belonged. I wondered what that felt like.

The movie played on, the carpet's rough texture grounding me as my eyes grew heavy. I blinked slowly, my thoughts drifting between reality and the magic on the screen. My eyelids felt like they had weights on them, and eventually, I gave in, curling up on the floor. The last thing I saw was Draco's pale face fading into darkness, as my dreams swept me away.

The morning light filtered through my eyelids, but something felt off. The scratchy carpet, the dim hum of the TV, the small living room—all of it was gone. My eyes fluttered open, expecting to see the familiar walls of my home, but instead, I was surrounded by bustling people, strange noises, and towering shops unlike anything I'd ever seen.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes as if that might clear away the impossibility of it all. But when I opened them again, I was still there, standing in the middle of what could only be Diagon Alley. Cobblestones stretched beneath my feet, and people in robes hurried past, some chatting animatedly, others peering into shop windows filled with things that should have only existed in my imagination.

A chill ran down my spine, and I shivered despite the warmth of the morning sun. This had to be a dream. I was sure of it. No way was I actually here— in the world of magic, where owls swooped overhead and wands were sold in cozy little shops.

I looked down, noticing for the first time that I was clutching something in my hand. A thick envelope, crinkled slightly from my tight grip. My heart skipped a beat as I turned it over. It was an acceptance letter, like the ones I'd seen so many times in the movies. The wax seal with the Hogwarts crest gleamed in the light.

I took a breath, trying to steady myself as I read the name on the front: "AthenaThunderbrooke."

Thunderbrooke? That wasn't my last name. I turned the letter over again, half expecting the name to change. It didn't. A strange mix of excitement and confusion twisted in my chest.

What was happening? This wasn't real— couldn't be real. I looked around, searching for something familiar, but all I found were more strange faces and towering buildings that tilted at odd angles.

I squeezed the letter, feeling the edges dig into my palm. The name "Thunderbrooke" echoed in my mind, a wrongness that didn't sit right. Was this some kind of joke? Some bizarre trick of my imagination?

I pinched myself, hard, wincing at the sharp sting. The scene didn't waver. I was still here, still standing in the middle of Diagon Alley with a letter addressed to someone I wasn't.