My birthday today. My third birthday; and I am in the Shame Corner.

I know perfectly well why. I'm the last nameless one. They pick a name whenever they see fit. And mine hasn't come; yet.

I awoke this morning and a horrid tingly feeling built up in my nose until I sneezed. And to my horror sparks flew out of my nostrils. Only a few the first time, but more and more as I went into the seventh sneeze.

And on the eighth, a spark caught on a tissue which burst into flame. I wriggled into the opposite corner to the flaming tissue when the door opened.

A wand was revealed and a small spurt of water doused the flame. The woman screamed "Dragon! Dragon!" I cried out, "I'm not a dragon, I'm the last Nameless One!" The woman was halfway through the word 'dragon' again before she thought for a while.

"Dragon; sounds like a good name, but not in English. That sounds silly. Let's see, in French and Spanish it's the same; Italian it's drago or dragone; and in Latin it's draco. Well, which do you prefer, Drago or Draco?" she asked coldly. "D-Drago, my lady." I replied respectfully.

"Right, that settles it. Your new name is Draco," she said haughtily and then grabbed me by the collar and put me in the Shame Corner.

Apparently setting fire to a tissue isn't good and nether's 'answering back'. But everyone has beginnings, and these were mine. As the year progressed, I realised being the Draco of the group meant I was walked over and pushed about endlessly.

Everyone else had normal names, but no, I was the Dragon, and dragons must bow to the humans. I heard it from the boys there that the Dragon will be thrown out on his fifth birthday. Why I do not know. I shall have to wait.

It is the hour before my fifth birthday. I will be thrown out when the sun has reached his highest phase.

My mother came to collect me at nine and we will leave at twelve. I have packed the items I own and my clothes, my room is bare of any sign I'd ever been here. My wardrobe is empty with the exception of the box that was already there; the box I had been told not to open. There's something I've been wanting to do for months; I've been attracted to doing it since I knew I'd be leaving.

I find a scrap of paper, quietly write my name and age and open the box. To my surprise, I see row upon row of little pieces of paper with children's names and ages on them.

There is a note attatched to the lid, peeling and slightly faded which reads, "Please add your name and age on a piece of paper to this box." So I do. I quietly walk downstairs and hand my mother my suitcase. She nods curtly and I slip into the car. I sit inside, looking out at the miserable place I need never see again. We drive away. She says nothing to me. And I say nothing to her.

The silence is an uncomfortable one; and to break it I clear my throat. My mother calls back blandly, "Draco, how would you feel about going to Diagon Alley?"

I stop. I stutter, "W-What? I can go to Diagon Alley?" It was always a privilege I was denied.

My mother coolly replies, "Yes, you're a wizard, Draco. That's why you sneezed sparks. Audrey waited intentionally until your magic showed to give you your name. It's a tradition in the Malfoy family.

"Your father's Lucius, also Latin because when his magic showed itself; he shone a bright white, like he had turned into a beacon for an hour. and I, Narcissa; my name appeared because when I showed magic, ten daffodils sprouted. That's all there is to it. Uncle Rodolphus will teach you Quidditch; Lucius will be very disappointed if you don't make the team when you are in your second year..."

I nod. This will be a confusing couple of weeks...