Destiny and the Dragon (A Draco Malfoy Love Story)

Chapter One

I had always been average. No, less than that. I was skinny, small, and not particularly striking to look at, but worse than that; I was poor. I had always been poor, after all I spent every year as long as I can remember in a church-run orphanage, so that is to be expected.

I think I was around the age of six when I decided that, after I grew up, I would never be poor again. I hated it: never enough food, no new clothes, secondhand books. I think, until the day Professor Dumbledore took me to Madam Malkin's to buy my first set of Hogwarts robes, I had never owned anything new in my life. But really, more than a question of material possessions, it was a matter of freedom. I was trapped in that orphanage, without any escape, because I didn't have anything to escape on.

Now, I knew I never wanted to be poor, but until that cooky old bat showed up at the Saint Mary's Home for Children in London, I didn't know exactly how I was going to get there. When he told me that I was special, that I could do magic, and that there was a special fund for people like me so I could learn it all the same as anybody else, I knew that this opportunity would be it for me. I would take this money, this school, and turn it into something great for myself. I would be the best, the brightest, no matter what I had to sacrifice to get there.

"This way," Professor Dumbledore pointed, pushing his half-moon spectacles up his crooked nose and smiling under his long, white beard as he led me by the hand towards the incredible street named Diagon Alley. When the Professor tapped the three bricks and this new world unfolded onto me, I could not contain my joy. It was nearly incomprehensible. We stepped through a creaky wooden door into one of the most cluttered shops I'd ever seen, although, to be fair, I was only eleven and I never had any money so my experience was quite limited.

"Hello, hello," called a wheezing voice from behind a shelf that was cluttered with long, thin boxes. A man stepped out from behind it who had unkempt gray hair and a smile that bordered on creepy decorating his face. "And who might you be?"

"Phoebe Metis," I answered shyly, hiding my face behind Dumbledore's velvety blue cloak. The man's smile widened and he dashed back to his shelves. I could hear him filling his arms with boxes, though, and he reappeared quickly.

"Welcome to Ollivanders, the finest wandmakers in all of Britain!" he announced proudly, and clumsily dropped all his boxes on the counter in between us. "Muggleborn, I presume?" he asked, eyeing my overwhelmed appearance.

"I don't know, sir. I've never met my parents," I told him, and he nodded. It seemed to me that any normal person would have been made uncomfortable by this, but Ollivander did not miss a step.

"Well, try this one out, alright? Eleven inches, chestnut, and unicorn hair core." I whipped the wand in the air, but nothing happened. Ollivander frowned.

"Nope!" he said, and handed me a new wand. "Thirteen inches, cherry, and dragon heartstring core. Careful not to point that at me or dear Professor Dumbledore, that is a quite powerful combination!" Ollivander warned. I gulped and waved the wand at the floor. A great shower of sparks shot from the tip, and I hopped back before realizing they couldn't burn through my shoes like pops from firewood. Ollivander chuckled.

"There we are! This wand shows a great strength of mind and determination, young one. With it you may accomplish much!" I flushed and smiled gratefully at him as he packaged up my purchase and Professor Dumbledore handed him the correct amount of wizard-money.

To my chagrin, when I was done shopping I had to take my purchases back to St. Mary's and bid the nice old professor goodbye. He warned me that I couldn't mention a word about this to the other children, so I holed up in my bed, under the thin covers, reading the secondhand magic books that had been purchased for me by donation where none of the other children could see, filled with immeasurable awe. The time passed quickly this way, and before I knew it the nicest nun at the orphanage was taking me to King's Cross Station for the Hogwarts Express. Sister Carrie kissed me on the cheek and left me to find my train alone, at my persistence. How would I explain to a muggle nun that I was searching for a platform that didn't exist? I wandered the station for a few minutes, desperately searching for the stop on the ticket. Platform nine and three quarters? I had only visited this station once on a field trip, but I remembered no such thing. I hovered in between Platforms nine and ten, hoping to spot someone who was here for similar purposes to my own, and I eventually did. A golden-haired girl a few years older than me looked right, then left, and when she thought the coast was clear she ran directly into the wall. My jaw fell open. I walked towards the wall, understandably afraid, but I closed my eyes and shoved fear out of my mind.