Chapter Text
Draco
I've always been a people pleaser. A people impresser, if you will (is that a word?). Being born a Malfoy, means being naturally gifted at persuasion, pulling strings, charming people for gain. Plus, with the Malfoy name, our status and obvious class adds to all this. "Connections," Father always says, "are the most important assets that a person can possess. You can never have too many contacts." I thought I was good at the charming people business. But now, I'm doubting myself. All because of one Boy.
There I was, proudly having my first robes fitted when I noticed the Boy. Scrawny, shabbily dressed, with black, black hair that stuck out in every direction. Clearly he needed some friends of the right sort. Someone who knows how to clean up after themselves, present well, make good impressions. I pitied him, really. So I'd confidently walked up to him started talking about basic things - Hogwarts, the Houses, blood status stuff, but this boy actually had the audacity to seem unimpressed. He seemed like bored, cold even. I didn't know what to make of it. Obviously the boy was just stupid. Maybe even a filthy muggleborn - that would explain why he didn't care. Or maybe, just maybe he actually hadn't been taken with me? Had I seemed unlikable to him? Ha. That's bloody preposterous. But despite that, I was disconcerted. And I'm beyond irked at having been disconcerted for so many weeks over so trivial a thing.
The grandfather clock in my huge mansion strikes twelve, and I jump. Internally cursing myself, I decide to put Black Hair out of mind. Tomorrow's the big day and I've got a great lot of classmates-to-be to impress. Maybe I'll see him again. We'll see. Who cares.
It's finally the first day of school and I'm having a hard time keeping my excitement in check. I know that even the slightest crack in the careful, poised demeanor I've been raised to cultivate will earn the terrible "look of disapproval" from Father. So as much as I want to run or jump or even laugh, I restrain it. Instead I wear the distant, unbothered facade that I know Father wants me to wear. I'm sophisticated, indifferent. That is, until I see Black Hair, standing on Platform 9, looking confused. I quicken my pace, hoping he hasn't noticed me. I knew it, I knew he'd be here today. And also why am I avoiding him? I'm not scared of him! I totally don't care that he's the first person I've ever met who hasn't been utterly charmed by my obvious charisma. Does it matter? I'll ignore that little twat for all 7 years if I have to - whoops. Accidentally bumped into Father.
"Draco, for Merlin's sake!" Father seethes, looking around. "I did not raise you to get lost in your daydreams like some commoner.”
"Sorry, Father,” I murmer, super embarrassed. Father's glares down at me with the expression I've been dreading all along. It's all Black-hair’s fault. Mother gives me a quiet, reassuring smile, though.
"It’s alright darling. You’ll just have to walk through this wall here and we’ll be at the platform.”
I quickly walk through the wall and stand before the Hogwarts Express as Father called for a porter to attend to my trunk. My eagle owl, Salazar stares at me unblinkingly out of his cage. After it had all been sorted, we the Malfoy family, finally say our goodbyes. There is no crying. Malfoys don't cry.
As I walk through the train, I see Crabbe and Goyle sitting at a compartment, saving me a seat, just like I had told them to. We won't allow anyone else in our compartment, that's already been decided.
"Hello, boys,” I drawl loudly as I settle in.
"Malfoy.” Crabbe says shortly and Goyle nods at me. They don't usually do the talking, that's my job, but this time Crabbe has some news to share.
“Did you know Harry Potter's in our year? He’s coming to Hogwarts with us.”
"Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?” I ask incredulously. “Have you seen him?”
"Yeah Zabini pointed him out for us,” Goyle says smirking. “He was wearing his Grandmom’s clothing by the looks of it. Clouds of messy black hair too, sticking up in every possible direction-“
Goyle goes on but I'd stopped listening the second Goyle said "black hair". There's no way right? The kid I've been obsessing about can't be him. Can't be The. Harry. Potter.
"You good?” Crabbe asks gruffly. I realise that I've probably been staring into space for a while now.
“What? Oh yes, I’m alright, just…just surprised, that’s all,” I say quickly. But I've decided on a change of plan. Instead of trying to ignore him and forget him I'm going to try to make friends with him. Again. As much as it pains me. Black-hair would be a fool to not accept my friendship for the second time. I wonder which compartment he's in. Maybe I could go check? No. How would that look? I'm not desperate. I'll wait until we're in the castle and then I'll make my move.
“Crabbe, Goyle,” I say abruptly. “I think we should make friends with Harry Potter. Imagine the sort of reputation we’d get hanging around with The Boy Who Lived. It’s an opportunity that’s not to be missed now, is it?”
Crabbe and Goyle exchange glances and shrug. But wait, suppose Harry Potter had already made friends with some commoner in his compartment? I have to help him make the right kind of friends! Oh Merlin, what if he's holed up in there with a muggle born? I have to talk to him right now and make sure he's not running around with the wrong sort of people.
"Alright get up.” I say standing up. “We’re going to talk to him now.”
I bustle along the corridor until I see the unmistakable wild black hair I've seen so many times in my head before. I stride up to the compartment and open it. Yup. Just as I suspected, Black Hair's sitting with this poor looking red-head with dirt on his nose. Alright. Time to dazzle.
"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," I say winningly except Red sniggers in my face. Ah I know who he is. Red hair and hand-me-down robes, this boy definitely matches the description of the Weasley blood traitors Father mentioned once. And that’s what I tell him. But that evidently isn't the smartest thing to say because it immediately brings that same cold look back on Potter’s face. And when I offer to be his friend, Potter has the audacity to outright reject me! Then I try to save face and the entire thing almost turns into a fight. Disaster. The Potter boy is heaps more trouble than he's worth, I've realized. I don't need friends who can't appreciate the value of my friendship, who aren't grateful for the fact that I've even noticed them. I don't need it.
After the Sorting (I've obviously been sorted to Slytherin), I eat my fill of dinner and follow the Prefect down to the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle by my side. I hate the dungeons. I hate the damp, dark passageways and I hate that the common room and dormitories have no windows. I've been claustrophobic from when I was a kid but Father's done a pretty good job of stamping it out of me by routinely locking me up in my closet until I calmed down and stopped screaming. The only way to face fear is head on, he says. Plus a Malfoy being scared of cupboards? It just wouldn't do. Anyway, although I can manage the dungeons without panicking, I still really hate them. But what more can I do than pretend to love the dank aesthetic and quickly pick a bunk to sleep in? I've to maintain appearances, haven't I? As I'm drifting off to sleep, the last thing I think about is a pair of green green eyes. And how much I hate them.