The Mudblood

Chapter 55 : Summer

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was quite a busy place in August. Students of all ages came in to be fitted for robes by Madam Malkin, and I was her trusty assistant. She was a bit spacy, Madam Malkin, always fretting about the shop as she forgot pins and thread and fabric. I ended up doing most of her paperwork, and I also waited behind the front desk to greet customers when she was working on producing robes in the back room.

I met quite a few first years in my weeks at the shop. They were all nervous and shy, like I'd been my first year. All so happy, so innocent, so excited. Little did they know what pain and strife life would bring them...

A few of my Hogwarts friends also showed up in the shop, all utterly surprised to see that I was working there. Some had heard about my father's death through Muggle news, though it was very awkward to explain to the few who hadn't. No one mentioned anything of Voldemort, which was probably because the Ministry of Magic was trying to pretend he was still "dead." The Ministry wouldn't dare allow the Daily Prophet to write about my father's murder, because then they'd have to admit that Voldemort was back.

During the last week of August, someone unexpected arrived in the shop—someone who I'd barely thought about all summer.

My breath caught in my throat the moment he stepped in the door. The faint sound of the bell trickled through the air as the door shut behind him, and he swaggered up to the front desk with a classic, smug smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Mudblood," Draco Malfoy drawled as he stepped right up on the other side of the counter. He looked almost the same as last time I'd seen him, now only a few inches taller with slightly more matured features. No amount of aging would ever cure the permanently stained expression of presumptuousness that encompassed his face, however.

"You dyed your hair black?" he blurted, his eyes flickering over my messy dark hair. "That's ghastly—mourning over Diggory that much, are you?"

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, my nose scrunching as I scowled at him. Though part of me was fluttering at the sight of Draco Malfoy, most of me wanted to hex him out of this shop.

"Got fitted for some new robes early this summer," he replied casually. "I'm here to pick them up. Father gave me the money for them—want to know why?"

"Because you're a spoiled little brat?" I suggested sardonically.

His smirk wavered slightly as his eyes narrowed at me. "No—it's because I've been made a Slytherin Prefect."

I let out a rough gag, holding myself steady by the counter. "Er—what?"

"You heard me—that old bag's finally done something right," Malfoy bragged arrogantly. "Just think about all of the ways I can get you in trouble now, Fitzroy. Maybe I'll even manage to get you expelled—rid that blasted place of one stupid Mudblood—"

"Madam Malkin!" I called into the back room. "You have an extremely rude customer here!"

"Is it Mr. Malfoy?" she shouted back, sounding normally frazzled. "Ah—I'll send his robes right out—"

Without another word, Malfoy's bagged up black robes came flying out of the back room, hitting me in the head before falling to the ground. Muttering to myself, I picked them up and slid them across the counter toward Malfoy.

"That'll be four Galleons, git-face. Cough up," I commanded, holding out my hand to him.

He grumbled something incoherent before rummaging through his pockets. "You're seriously working here?" he sneered as he dropped the coins in my hand. "That's pathetic, Mudblood."