The first time I met Louis Weasley, I paid him little attention. He seemed just an ordinary little wizard boy, at least to me. I considered myself pretty much the same, except that I was a big wizard boy. He did seem quite a bit smaller than me, and I just thought he was much younger than me. I also was not ordinary, after all, I was Scorpious Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy estate and house, the richest and most powerful house in the wizarding world at least in the United Kingdom and Ireland, even after its disastrous backing of the wrong side in the last wizarding war. Does that surprise you? Did you think that I would not admit that my house backed the wrong side in the last two wars? If you did, you really do not know me well, but that is OK, because even today, few people know me. In fact, there are probably only three people who really know me well, my father, that comes from our close relationship, Albus Potter, my best friend and roommate (and the son of the hero of the last wizarding war, I know, it is weird, live with it), and Louis Weasley, my other best friend and my best teacher. It was the things he did and taught me that made me conclude that he was more than part Veela, he was part demon. You do not believe me? Well, you will see, you'll see.
Though I hardly looked at him, from his size and stature, I thought he was about two years younger than me. In reality, he had already confounded me because he was only about a year younger. It was just that he was unusually small for his age. I never learned of this mistake until three years later when we met again on the Hogwarts express. He was standing by the window of The Broom Shop, a store in Diagon Alley in London that sells brooms, with his head up against the window looking in attentively. He was ogling the newest model of flying brooms that were on display in the window. He must have come with his mother and older sister (or sisters) to get supplies for Hogwarts. It was a perfectly natural reaction for a young boy to have, so I thought nothing of it or of him at the time. Oh heck, I will be honest. It was my first time to Diagon Alley, so I did not know what to expect. Why I was there, I cannot recall, nor can I recall why my father went there. It certainly was not to get supplies for Hogwarts as I would not be going for another two years. Anyway, I knew nothing of the broom shop, but seeing the other boy practically drooling over the window caught my attention. I figured the display must have something pretty good, so I went straight over to the same window and did exactly the same as the other boy, including the drooling according to my father, though I swear I did not. In the window was none other than the latest model of the Nimbus flying broom! "Wow!" I said to the smaller boy without turning away from the broom, "This is the best thing I've seen all day! Thanks for pointing it out!"
He never stopped looking at the broom, and said that yes it was good, but that he had never pointed it out. To be polite, I never told him that he had been drooling over it, only that he had been ogling it. I then cupped my hands around my eyes, placing them between the window and my forehead to get a better view. I was of course only admiring the broom, Malfoy's do not ogle. Though he looked a lot younger than I, he was so smart that he imitated my method of getting a better look at the broom. I would have admired him for it, but to tell you the truth, my attention at the time was only on the broom. In fact, I paid him no further attention until I overheard my father talking about us.
"Hello Fleur!" my father said with enthusiasm. "Is that your boy standing next to mine at the window of The Broom Shop?"
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," a woman said with a thick French accent. I know French accents from my family's travels across the channel. "He likes very much to look in the window to the broom, observe he does." I know, her grammar could use some work, but it is not her native tongue.
"Fleur, I know our families fought on opposite sides of the war, but I switched sides, and we did know each other briefly while at school. Please call me Draco."
"Mr. Malfoy, my family was in France and did fight not in the war. I am calling you not by your first name because woman married I am and some distance I need with men."
"Then I will respect your wishes Mrs. Fleur Weasley née Delacour," he said with such grace that even a nine-year-old could notice it. "Yet, please know that I am so much in love with my wife and son that your Veela charms will have little effect on me." Yes, I know. My father often says such corny things as that, but I do think he was telling the truth here.
I think some nonverbal communication occurred between them, because what exchanged between them I missed. All I know is that the next thing I knew, the two of them were talking as if they were long lost friends, which they were not. They had both become comfortable with each other and were asking fairly personal questions. For example, my father asked if her husband, Bill Weasley, was ever worried of having a heart attack in bed because his wife was part Veela, and Mrs. Weasley asked about my mother's blood curse. These are topics I would have never discussed in polite company, though true, Hogwarts students cannot be considered polite company by anyone's standard.
Then I heard my father say, "I looked over at my son, and I thought someone had hexed me. Because I saw two of them. Then I noticed that one was smaller and younger, and I wondered if Scorpious had cloned himself." Fleur laughed and called me very handsome. She said I looked very much like her son. From that moment on, I turned to look at her and loved her. I swear it was because she did not think me handsome, but very handsome. Yet, everyone I tell this story to tells me that it was because I fell under her Veela charm. Merlin's beard, I was only nine at the time, I doubt if the Veela in her could have had much influence on me at all.
Just to be friendly, I began a polite conversation to the boy next to me without looking at him. Yes, I know. That was not very polite of me, but I was only a nine-year-old boy with the newest Nimbus in front of me! Who could blame me? "I am going to ask my dad if he will buy me one. He will probably say no, but there is always hope. Are you going to ask your folks?"
"I hope you get one. Yet, no, they would never buy me one. Some year, I hope they might?"
I thought to myself, some year? He had abandoned all hope for today and only hoped that maybe in some distant year in the future he might be able to get one. That was not very normal for a boy, at least not a wizarding boy. That is when I first really looked at him. I only saw the side of his face for a few seconds, but it was enough. He had the same chiseled face and delicate features that I did, the same button nose, the same light skin color and smooth complexion, the same hair color, type, and nearly the same haircut. His hair was a little longer and had a slight wave about the ears, mine was straight and clipped short, but otherwise, it was the same. He was shorter, lighter, younger, and considering his apparent age, that was expected. I did not get to see his eyes until later, but they differed the most. Mine were a handsome grey blue, his were such a deep shade of ocean blue that one could easily get lost in them. Upon later reflection, he did look like me and hardly looked-liked a Weasley at all. He lacked the tale-tell red hair, the facial freckles, the robust athletic build, and at the time lacked the mischievous eyes. He did share their fixation for concentrating on one thing at a time, as he was demonstrating by his fixation on the broom. Of course, my obsession returned to the broom as well, confirming my father's impression that we could have been clones.
Later, when we were leaving, I asked my father why the other boy would not even ask his parents for a broom. He looked disturbed by my news and explained that some boys were not as lucky as I. I frowned and pointed out that I was not that lucky, as I did not get the broom I had asked for. He called me into his lap, hugged me, and beeped my noise, saying that I had a mother and father who loved me greatly, a roof over my head, and enough money for all my needs for a lifetime. Although I did not get a new broom, I had my training broom, my old broom, and that I would get a new broom on my second year at Hogwarts. This still did not sound very lucky to me, that meant I would not be getting a new broom for three more years! Yes, I know, I was a prat at the time. What did you expect from a nine-year-old boy who had just seen the broom of his dreams? I was not totally helpless though. Even at that age, I could empathize. From my father's talk I wondered if the other boy was not as lucky as I because he did not have a mother and father who loved him. This part of my father's talk I understood, so naturally, I worried that he might not be loved. Why else would his parents never buy him a broom? At age nine, all the talk about a roof over my head and enough money for my needs had no meaning to me. I was a Malfoy and having money and a roof over my head was all I had ever known. Did not everyone have those? Hopefully, you have concluded that I did not understand a lot about the world yet.
After worrying that the cute miniature me might not be loved, I promptly forgot about him for several years. I admit, it was strange that I never thought about him until we both were attending Hogwarts. During my first year, I certainly heard his last name Weasley many times, ran into his cousins on numerous occasions (there were Weasleys in some of my classes), and I even met his sister Dominique briefly. I also talked to others about Dominique being part Veela and wondered about her siblings. Yet, to tell you the truth, I am not sure I ever associated the boy, Louis, I once met as a Weasley or as a part Veela. (I know, the Veela thing should have been obvious after hearing my father's conversation to his mother, but remember, I was only nine at the time.) What is even more surprising is that my best friend and roommate never to my recollection discussed Louis or that he was a cousin of his.
