This collection has been entered in Fanfiction, School of Imagination and Creativity (The 70s and 80s - write a collection about a character born in those years)

This chapter has also been entered in the Opposite Day Challenge (write a non-romance fic with Draco and Harry as the main characters); the If You Dare Challenge (147. skirmish) and the Philosopher's Stone Competition (Diagon Alley)

"Draco, can I trust you to get fitted for robes alone?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, looking down at her son.

"Of course, Mother," the blond boy said, flashing her an innocent look.

She peered down at him, a suspicious look on her face. Finding nothing to worry about, she let out a satisfied sound before turning and starting to walk towards Gingotts. As his father followed her, Draco exchanged a knowing smirk with him.

As soon as his parents were out of his eyesight, he turned around and walked into Madam Malkin's, strutting just like his father had taught him. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were better than everyone else – he would make sure that the woman his parents had told him would take his measurements knew that.

"Oh!" a little, white-haired woman squealed at the sight of him. "Here for your new robes dear?" she asked, beaming. "You'll be starting Hogwarts this year, I assume?"

"Of course," Draco sniffed, "Isn't it obvious? I haven't been here before, have I?"

The woman – Madam Malkin, he assumed – gave him a dry look. "A Malfoy, I'm guessing," she murmured. "I should have realised it as soon as I saw you – that hair is unmistakeable." Before Draco could say anything, she summoned a small platform in front of her.

"Stand on here, please," she said, her voice a little sharper than before. To anyone else, it wouldn't have been audible, but Draco caught it immediately. He couldn't help but feel pleased – the woman had obviously realised how superior he was to her, and the envy had started to overtake her.

He stood there for Merlin only knew how long, bearing her measurements in irritated silence, before the door opened again.

At the sound of the door, she looked up from taking care of his robes to greet the new arrival, a dark haired boy who looked to be about his age. Immediately, Draco noticed the state of his clothes. For one, they were unmistakeably Muggle. That could have been forgiven, but they were also old and too big for him – it was obvious that whoever this boy was, he definitely wasn't at Draco's level.

As Madam Malkin made small talk with the boy, Draco braced himself to face him. He still didn't know who the boy was, and no matter how he looked, he would be expected to be friendly to him until he had more information.

So when the boy climbed onto a platform next to him, he fixed a fake smile on his face before turning to look at him. "Hullo," he said, "Hogwarts too?"

The boy replied with a simple, "Yes." Immediately, Draco could feel himself getting irritated for some unknown reason – the boy just happened to rub him the wrong way.

"My father's next door buying my books and my 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," he boasted, making sure the other boy knew just how superior he was. He knew that almost everything he was saying was a lie, and his parents would kill him if they heard him, but it didn't matter. He had to prove he was better than the other boy. "Have you got your own broom?" he asked, certain of the answer.

The other boy's "No" confirmed that he was right – this wasn't someone he'd usually associate with at all. Smirking just a little, Draco continued to ask him mindless questions about Quidditch and the houses at Hogwarts, knowing that every word must be reminding him of how much Draco was better than him.

He couldn't remember what he said during the rest of the conversation, but within a few moments, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and handed him a package with his robes.

Draco stepped off the little footstool and walked out the door, content in his momentary freedom. He had no doubt that he'd see the boy at Hogwarts, but he was just as sure that he'd made certain that he would be in awe of Draco – after all, considering his lineage, who wouldn't be?

But before he could continue on with his musings, his parents suddenly appeared in front of him. His mother took his robes and shrunk them, putting them into her purse.

"So," she asked, "Did you meet anyone in the shop, love? Maybe a new friend?"

"No one worthy of me, Mother," Draco replied.

As his mother let out an exasperated sigh and started to talk about how he shouldn't act superior all the time, his father passed him an ice cream cone. And as Draco ate his ice cream – chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts – he smiled softly.

Life was good for Draco Malfoy.

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