Prologue
"Draco!"
"Yes, mother?"
"Come, we must leave."
Trying to hide hisexcitement he rushed down the stairs, he was to go to Hogwarts this year. he pulled on my travelling cloak and made my way to the drawing room.
"We'll be flooing to Diagon Alley, Draco," the better-than-thou voice of Lucius Malfoy informed him.
Stepping into the dancing, green flames Draco shouted, "Diagon Alley!"
His knees gave way as he landed onto the cold, stone floor of the Leaky Cauldron.
"All right, son?" A worried looking wizard made his way to Draco.
"He's fine."
The man immediatley backed up as Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the flames.
"Just checking."
"Don't need you to," sneered Lucius.
"Okay," the wizard turned and left Draco alone with his parents.
"Get up," snarled Lucius.
"Lucius-"
"No! He's showing weakness, get up you pansy!"
Pulling himself to his feet Draco grimaced and dusted off his trousers.
*
"Just you're wand left."
"-And robes. Father, I must get a racing broom."
"Hmm, yes Draco would be a crime were you not picked for the team. I must go to but your books, Narcissa go look at wands and Draco, get your robes."
Draco entered the shop, Madam Malkins. He had never been in here on his own before, Madam Malkin shuffled out from the back, "Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
"To the back."
In the back Draco found himself on a stool being measured, seconds later he heard Madam Malkin talking to someone. It turned out to be a boy, he had messy black hair, green eyes and was quite small. He wore scruffy and overlarge clothes and his spectacles were held together by some type of spello-tape.
The boy looked quite sad and Draco found himself trying to cheer him up, "hullo. Hogwarts too?"
"Yes."
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands, "then going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." The boy did not respond, "got your own broom?"
"No."
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No."
"I do- and father says it's a crime of I don't get picked to play for my house, and I must say I agree. Know what house you'll be in?"
"No."
"Well, no-one really knows until you get there, do they? I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Mmmm."
Draco noticed a large, hairy man standing at the window, "I say, look at that man!"
"That's Hagrid, he works at Hogwarts."
"Oh," Draco remembered a conversation about the oaf, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper."
"I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."
"I think he's brilliant."
Draco found himself sneering at the boy, "do you? Why's he with you, where are you're parents?"
"They're dead."
"Oh, sorry," Draco answered emotionlessly, "but they were our kind weren't they?"
"They were a witch and wizard if that's what you mean."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname anyway?"
"That's you done my dear."
The boy hopped off and looked quite relieved.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."
*
Draco had retired to his room and was lying in bed thinking of what adventures he'd have at Hogwarts. He would be popular, yes. Top of the class, play quidditch for Slytherin, prefect and headboy. Life was going to be perfect.
