I cannot go. Draco thought. After what that bastard did to me. How DARE he invite me to go! Draco started pacing the room in anger. All the memories he had worked so hard to forget came running back, playing like a sick video made to torture him. Five years had already gone by, but as he looked at the invitation laid out before him he remembered everything as if it happened that week. He remembered the day they met as if it were yesterday.

Draco was excited to be starting school. Not only did it mean leaving his overprotective parents, but it also a time to finally have friends. His parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, never allowed him to have friends. They were always too afraid he would embarrass the family name. Draco received his acceptance letter a week before his eleventh birthday. It was, at the time, the happiest moment of his life.

x~x~x

The wind was crisp that Wednesday morning. Draco awoke to his house elf, Dobby, bringing him a cup of tea.

"Master Malfoy?" Dobby started, looking at the ground timidly. The house elf was showing his usual air of submission, however there was a small glint of eagerness in his voice.

"What is it?" Draco snapped. He needed to act like he hated the help talking to him. His father always told him his place as a superior race. He was too good to talk to the likes of a house elf.

"Madam Malfoy wishes to speak to you. She said something about the owl post."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. He looked at his calendar. May 29th. One week from his eleventh birthday. Why did it arrive so early?

"Thank you, Dobby." Draco said, curtly nodding, trying not to beam the biggest smile he had ever flashed.

After chugging a cup of scalding hot tea, he dressed in presentable clothes and made his way down the stairs toward the dining room, trying to conceal his excitement.

Despite knowing he was a wizard, he couldn't help having a feeling of apprehension. What if, in fact, he was a squib? He shuddered at the thought of what his parents would do. Probably lock him in the basement, or kill him. His family was really into the whole "Purebloods are superior" thing. He knew he had magic blood, when he was three he vividly remembered getting mad and magically lighting the drapes on fire. However, the fear of being a squib arose causing his heart to beat faster and harder with every step he took closer to the dining room.

Draco entered the dining room to find his mother sitting at the far end of the large 18 person table. She looked up at him and beckoned him over to her.

"You wanted to see me mother?" Draco said, sitting down next to his mother.

"Yes Draco," Narcissa said, snapping her fingers once in the air. Dobby entered at once, bowing his head and presenting a round silver platter with a letter sealed with a coat of arms on top of it. "An owl post arrived this morning for you."

Draco nodded curtly as he held back from jumping up and down. He calmly took the letter addressed to him.

Draco Lucius Malfoy

Malfoy Manner

Wiltshire, England

x~x~x

Draco was so excited he had to stop himself from skipping as he went through Diagon Alley with his father. His father dropped him off with a sack of galleons while he went off to buy the books. His mother was going to meet him at Olivanders, according to his father.

Draco entered Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions attempting to surpress his excitement. Malfoy's were not supposed to show emotion or act like giddy school girls according to his father. As he entered the store, Madam Malkin, a squat witch dressed in mauve, walked up to him.

"Good morning Mr. Malfoy." Madam Malkin said with a tone of fear. Draco's heart sank. He understood why the Wizarding World feared his family, but he was just a boy. The anger bubbled up inside him. I'll give her something to be scared about, Draco thought, act like father would.

"I need a school robe." Draco said, with an air of importance that he saw his father use on more than one occasion.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Right this way." The witch led Draco to a footstool in the back of the shop, while another witch slipped a robe over his head and pinned it to the right length. God this is boring. He thought. Just then he heard the bell go off as a small boy with messy black hair and broken glasses, wearing clothes that were way too big for him, walked in.

*"Hogwarts, dear?" Draco heard the witch ask. Before the boy could speak she continued. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." Draco felt his face go hot as he felt the boy's eyes on him. He did not know why, but every time a boy stared at him he felt funny and embarrassed. The witch dragged him to the stool next to him. Draco looked at the boy. He was very handsome- if you can call an eleven year old that. He had a soft face with black hair that stuck up in all sorts of crazy directions. His eyes were the most startling green he had ever seen. Despite his outfit, he looks to be pureblood. Father always said that important purebloods are the only true magical people and I can feel the magic radiating off this boy. Draco figured that since he was pureblood, he needed to seem strong if he wanted to talk to the boy. Maybe if he told the boy he was a bully the boy would take a kind liking to him.

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

"Yes," said the boy. He sounded nervous as well.

"My father's next door buying books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said Draco. He realized he needed to sound cool; maybe he would talk about brooms and Quidditch. Maybe while he was at it, he could start new and make it seem like he was a tough guy, not a momma's boy.

"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years cannot have their own." The boy seemed to be barely listening. He had a look on his face like he had never heard of racing brooms. Draco found this funny. "I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Even the thought of attempting to bully his father and smuggling a broom into Hogwarts was terrifying. He had no clue why he said that, but the boy looked bored, so he pressed on.

"Have you got your own broom?"

"No." The boy said.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No."

The boy had a look like he had no clue what Quidditch was. Maybe the boy wasn't a pureblood! Either way the boy didn't really seem impressed, so Draco decided to talk about his Quidditch abilities.

"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 wondered if he was being too snobbish. Then he thought of his father, and how his father would think he was being too nice. Apparently the boy did not find Quidditch interesting, so went on to discuss houses.

"Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No." said the boy. He looked embarrassed. He was probably going to be a Hufflepuff. Father always said Hufflepuff's are the losers of Hogwarts.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imaging being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm" is all the boy replied. Draco sighed. The boy seemed to dislike him. Just then he saw a half giant out the window. "I say, look at that man!"

The boy seemed to light up. "That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts."

Draco remembered the stories his father told him about Hagrid, and decided to share them with the boy.

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

"He's a gamekeeper." said the boy, sounding annoyed.

"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 ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant." the boy replied, coldy.

Draco seemed annoyed. This boy was insane. He thought someone brilliant that father thought savage. Who was this boy! And why was he with the oaf?

"Do you?" he said with a sneer that his father would be proud of. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

The boy's green eyes darkened. "They're dead." Draco felt bad, but again, remembering his father's advice, did not show it.

"Oh, sorry. But they were our kind, weren't they?" He asked, the question on this kid's blood still haunting him. If he was a mudblood, as his father called them, then he knew he couldn't be friends with the boy.

"They were a witch and wizard if that's what you mean." Draco felt relieved. He is a pureblood. Now I can talk to him about what my father told me to talk about.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" Draco said. Draco really did not believe this, but since he was a pureblood, then he must share the same beliefs as his father did. "They're just not the same, they've never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." The boy looked sad and angry at the same time. Maybe he was one of those wizarding families who are what his father called "blood traitors" like the Wealseys. I'll find out his name so I can ask my father. "What's your surname, anyway?"

"That's you done, my dear." Madame Malkin said to the boy, and without hesitation, he jumped off the stool, paid the witch, and ran off. *

Draco was curious as to who he was just talking to. He really wanted to find out if the boy was a blood traitor or not. I guess I will just have to wait until Hogwarts and pray I see him again.

A/N: all between the two astericks (*) is dialogue from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by JK Rowling, rewritten in the view of Malfoy by me