Lost Dragon

Prologue/ In Madam Malkin's

A/N: hi so apparently now i write fanfic? This is my first even fanfic so pls be nice and stuff :) Constructive criticism is always welcome though. I want to improve! Just a quick warning: this fic is pretty much going to be entirely angst, so... sorry about that? This is based on an idea i had a while ago. I'm trying t make it as accurate to the books as possible, so all of this COULD be cannon (cannon according to the books). This is not a Drarry fic, just some very angsty gay Draco. The basic premise is that Draco is gay, and very confused, and then sh*t happens and everyone is sad. Have fun!

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Harry Potter is dead. 

Dead.

Draco  Malloy is angry. Harry Potter cannot be dead. He's to annoying and confusing and frustrating and alive to possibly be dead.

Yet here is a body, lying limp in Hagrid's arms. And here is the Dark Lord, gloatingly proclaiming it. 

Harry Potter is dead. 

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Draco noticed his hair first. For such a painfully underfed-looking boy, his hair was a surprisingly large shock of unruly jet black, so different from Draco's own pale, slicked-back head. The eyes were next, when the boy turned. Green, not like the emeralds that were everywhere in his family's gloomy mansion, but green like the ocean, or like light on leaves. Green that was alive. 

Draco was startled by the boy. He looked so small, so breakable. And he had an aura of wonderment emanating from him in palpable waves. His eyes devoured the shop, the customers, the lane outside. His parents must have never taken him to Diagon Alley before.

"Hello," Draco said, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said the other boy.

Draco smiled. He was proud to be going to Hogwarts. He tried to make conversation. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm 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." Draco thought this a rather ingenious plan, and wanted the boy to agree. "Have you got our own broom?"

The boy was frowning. "No," he said.

"Play quidditch at all?" Draco wondered if maybe they could play together. He wanted this boy to like him.

"No," the boy said, deflating Draco's fantasy. His frown had deepened.

"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say I agree." Draco, for some reason that he didn't fully understand, wanted to impress this boy. "Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," the boy said again, his face falling yet further. Draco couldn't figure out what was bothering him.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" More like his family would disown him.

All the other boy said was "Mmm." Draco wondered if he was being boring. Or maybe he was coming across as too aloof. That happened sometimes. His father encouraged him, but it gave Draco a sick, crawly feeling all over him, like the fake confidence was congealing on his skin. He tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"I say," he exclaimed, "look at that man!" A great giant, wearing a hideous furry coat and holding two dripping ice creams was standing outside the shop.

"That's Hagrid," the boy said, "He works at Hogwarts." The boy smiled.

"Oh, I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said the other boy with a frown. 

Draco didn't know how to respond, so he spouted his father's words. "Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ands up setting fire to his bed. That was almost word-for-word of something he had heard his father say at a party somewhere. At the party, everyone listening had laughed loudly in response, but the boy did not laugh. Instead, his frown deepened. He was properly scowling now.

"I think he's brilliant," he said, a challenging glint in his eye.

Draco felt wrong-footed, so he slipped, by habit, back into his sneering, cruel mask. "Do you?" Draco said, sneering. "Why is he here with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead." 

"Oh, sorry," said Draco, trying to sound sincere, but it came out with more of a edge than he intended. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

Again, Draco was unsure of how to respond, so he quoted his father. Lucius always sounded smart and cool, and that was exactly how Draco wanted to appear to this other boy. "I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they'v never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts untill they get the letter, imagine. I think" or at least my father does, "that they should keep it in the old wizard if families. What's your surname, anyway?" Draco searched the boy's face for signs of being impressed, but instead his eyebrows had furrowed even further.

Just at that moment, Madam Malkin said to the boy, "That's you done, my dear," and the boy hopped off his stool and walked quickly from the shop. Draco watched him go.

That had not gone very well, Draco reflected. He would find him on the train and talk to him. He really wanted to impress him, the boy with the raven hair and living eyes.

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A/N: so guys hope that was fun I honestly have no idea about when I'll be posting chapters, but I'm about halfway through the next one right now so that should be soon. Love you all :) bye