A black winter robe with silver fastenings lay neatly on the young boy's bed. It was folded so that the illuminating fringes prominently brandished themselves. Beside it lay three additional robes folded in the same format as the latter. All of them were a result of the previous day's trip to Diagon Alley. Protective gloves, a pointed hat, dazzling black cauldron, and a mystical blue telescope had already been placed in his trunk, and the object he cared for the most was in his hands. His pale eyes gleamed brightly as he ran his hands over the 10 inch long, Hawthorn wood wand with a unicorn hair core. Ollivander himself had described it as being "reasonably pliant" and though this was not the highest compliment it was more than the offspring of a Dark wizarding family could have hoped for.
He glanced dismally at the stack of books atop the dresser opposite his bed. His father would expect him to excel in potions during his first year at Hogwarts as a result of their connection to the professor. However this pureblood secretly yearned for Defense against the Dark Arts (even though he would have to wait until Third Year to take it). The child couldn't help but wonder why You-Know-Who had been made a Slytherin and if there was any way he could escape his impending fate of also becoming one. A small knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Dobby has come to bring his master something which his master required," the little house elf exclaimed excitedly, staggering under the weight of a large textbook.
"Keep your voice down," the young boy insisted, taking it gingerly out of Dobby's hands and giving him a pat on the head. "How did you find it?"
"Dobby went searching for it in strange places he did," he lowered his voice. "But found it all the same!"
"Thanks Dobby," the boy shoved aside his robes and plopped down on his bed, examining the leather bound cover of an antique copy of The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts. The house elf climbed into his master's lap and gazed at his ghost like face, eagerly awaiting his next task.
"What does Dobby's master require now?"
The boy cautiously peered at the door, and after making certain it was closed he whispered, "Tell me everything you know about Harry Potter."
"The boy who lived? I has only ever heard what Master Lucius has spoken of him. Nothing nice, nothing good. He vanquished the Dark Lord you see. But…" Dobby lowered his head, "Dobby thinks he is not...not all bad, sir."
"Neither do I," Draco confided, a tear sliding down his cheek. He opened his mouth as if to elaborate upon this but heard the slamming of a door from downstairs and realized his parents were home. He quickly got up from the bed, threw his robes into the trunk, and carefully hid the book beneath a floorboard under his bed. Dobby snapped his fingers and waved as he vanished, having been quite accustomed to helping his master hide who he truly was. Nobody else had ever seen the pure goodness in Draco, and at the time the boy did not realize that only one person would (Dumbledore).