NOTE: Many many thanks to lovestruckbyanelf, Sage and Snape and flutingfrenzy for letting me know I made a really stupid error: Harry's scar is LIGHTNING-SHAPED, not THUNDER-SHAPED. Hehe. I wouldn't have realized it myself. Thanks again guys!

DISCLAIMER: Some of the dialogues in this fic are taken from pp. 77-79 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. This story shows the first time Harry and Draco meet, just like it was in canon, but this time, in Draco's perspective. Oh, and yeah, Harry, Draco and his family, Hagrid, Madam Malkin and her shop, Hogwarts, Quidditch and everything else are never mine. The name Brigitte is just a made-up name, by the way.

What A Malfoy Deserves

"I think I'll need a bigger one, Madam Malkin," I said, removing the tight-fitting robes around my body and handing them to the pudgy witch dressed in all mauve.
"Yes, dear," she nodded, smiling as she gathered the bundle of robes in her stout arms. She walked towards the storage room.
I stifled a yawn. Robe-fitting has always been such a boring task. Good thing Mother is at Ollivanders right now, or it would be twice as bad. Normally she would be around fussing all over me. She took me shopping for robes millions of times already.
It's dreadful, Draco darling, the color clashes with your eyes.
Goodness, that one is too shoddy for you. I wouldn't want you to be caught dead wearing that rubbish!
Madam Malkin came back with a bigger size of the uniform for Hogwarts. She slipped the long robe over my head and pinned it.
I scrutinized the clothes thoughtfully. Madam Malkin stared at me, waiting for my decision.
"Hmm... I don't think so. This is too big. I want my uniform just right for me," I stripped the robes off and gave them to Madam Malkin. She was still smiling, but I can see she was exasperated.
"Brigitte," she called, and a witch appeared from the storage room. Madam Malkin gave the robes to the second witch. " Get Mr. Malfoy a slightly smaller size of these uniforms and attend to him after. A customer is arriving." She nodded to the glass windows, where a boy my age can be seen walking towards the shop.
Brigitte disappeared into the storage room as the door of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions opened. Madam Malkin was already at the door, greeting the customer.
"Er, I'm going to buy a uniform," the boy stammered. He wore glasses and he had dark unruly hair, just the kind of hair that would scandalize Mother if he saw me sporting it. I couldn't see him clearly, as he was a bit far and I was standing at the back of the shop.
Brigitte returned from the storage room with my uniform and started to fit it to me.
"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkin asked the boy. "Got the lot here--another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
The boy nodded, and Madam Malkin led him to the footstool beside mine. I looked at him, trying hard not to look too curious. He was wearing weird clothes. Were they Muggle clothes? I was so bored, I can consider speaking to him even if he were a Mudblood.
Madam Malkin also slipped a robe over his head. There was something different about the boy, something that told me he wasn't someone common. People don't normally make an impression on me, and it's very unusual that I feel something very extraordinary about someone who just walks in.
"Hello," I said, trying to make my voice sound cool. "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," he replied.
How will I know what his last name was? Maybe if I talk about my family he will mention his.
"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," I drawled. Then I decided to mention Quidditch. Just to show off I have a lot of experience in it. "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."
There was an expression in his face that I couldn't read. He didn't answer.
"Have you got your own broom?" I asked, hoping he would finally say something.
"No."
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No."
He was either bored with the conversation or very very stupid.
"Well, I do--Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No."
Can't he say anything else but no?
"Well no one really knows until they get there, do they?" I asked, but I didn't pause for a reply. "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?" I made a disgusted face as the thought of being in Hufflepuff crossed my mind.
"Mmm," the boy only said.
Aloof, isn't he? I can't believe someone would snub a Malfoy this way.
A horrible-looking half-giant with appalling hair was standing by the window outside the shop, holding two large ice creams. "I say, look at that man!" I exclaimed, snorting derisively as I nodded to the window.
"That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts." The boy seemed to like the monster. Any good impression that I might have had of him was fading away.
"Oh. I've heard of him. He's sort of a servant, isn't he?" I turned to the boy to look at him. Sweat was poring on his forehead because of the heat, the robes being thick and heavy, plus the warmth of the early August temperature.
"He's the gamekeeper."
"Yes, exactly. I've 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 ends up setting fire to his bed," I smirked,
"I think he's brilliant," he said flatly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. What I saw surprised the world out of me. But I wonder if I really saw it, because it was all so fast.
He had a lighting-shaped scar on his forehead.
Could he beno, he couldn't be. He's friends with Hagrid, the hideous giant of a gamekeeper. But then again, there's still the possibility. Asking wasn't an option. I wouldn't want to sound like some deranged fan of his if I do something like ask if he happened to be Harry Potter.
"Do you?" I said disdainfully. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation to his family.
"They're dead," he answered, sounding like he didn't want to talk more.
"Oh, sorry," I replied absent-mindedly. Dead, eh? Well, there's a clue. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"
"They were witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" I kept talking to continue our conversation. Maybe he would reveal his identity if I succeed in getting him to talk. "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."
The boy wasn't saying anything, so I decided I should ask outright. "I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"
"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin interrupted our rather one-sided chat. The mysterious boy stepped off the stool and got ready to leave. Oh, perfect timing, that tubby old witch has.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," I tried to sound apathetic, but I was staring at him as he walked away.
He was Harry Potter. He had to be. That's why I sensed something different about him.
Well, Father wouldn't exactly be skipping with joy if he knew I would want to hang around with The Boy Who Lived. He wasn't exactly happy that the Dark Lord suddenly disappeared to Merlin-knows-where in the peak of his power, thanks to the famous Harry Potter, who probably did nothing but cry when the Dark Lord was about to kill him. But Father himself said we should only pick two kinds of friends, the ones who are powerful, and the ones we can easily control. Harry Potter surely belonged to the first kind. He had to be powerful to be able to be the cause of the defeat of the Dark Lord.
He was pretty snobbish, but that will change when he finds out who I am. I will teach him to steer clear of the likes of that revolting Hagrid.
What house would he be in? With that kind of power, he'd probably end up in Slytherin, just like I would be. Someone like me deserves to be only with those with glory, fame and power. And if he thinks likewise, we'd be ruling Hogwarts together. We are above everyone, after all. Being Harry Potter's friend could also be a help to Father, if ever the Dark Lord suddenly materializes again, which is highly likely.
I realized I was standing on the footstool for ages. Madam Malkin's assistant was looking at me expectantly.
"I guess this will do," I said dismissively. "It fits right. But no, wait. I don't like the feel of it, and there are too many stray threads in it."
I took off the robes and tossed them to the witch, who gave a tired sigh. Well, I'm a Malfoy. I deserve to be waited on hand and foot.