Draco's arms feel heavy; he's been holding them up for what feels like an age. The tape measure curls around his waist, cinching to the slicing rhythm of the shop assistant's scissors. He sighs in relief as she finally tells him, "You can put your arms down now, Mr. Malfoy. I just have to hem your robes now."
What have you been doing? Draco cantankerously wonders, but rolls his shoulders in relief. He makes sure to keep his body still below the waist, though; one small move and the entire measurement will be off and he'll be walking around Hogwarts in crooked robes for the entire year. Well, at least until Christmas, and his father would be sure to have the shop assistant fired for her oversight. Best to just keep still.
Madame Malkin herself leads another boy to the fitting area just as he finishes considering this, a motherly hand on his shoulder as she directs him to stand on a stool next to Draco.
Draco stops breathing for a few seconds. When he begins again, the air comes shallowly, rasping through his lungs and out again as if he's ill with Mumblemumps. "Hello," he says raspily, "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," Harry Potter says. There is a moment of silence, broken only by the zip of thread as the two witches sew their robes.
"Know what House you'll be in, yet? All my family's been in Slytherin, so I'm bound to be as well," Draco finally offers, feeling as though he might stumble after all, and end up with crooked robes for his trouble.
"Er—" Potter says. "Slytherin?"
"Don't tell me you don't know about the Houses?" Seeing Potter's blank eyes and scrunched brows, Draco huffs a breath and explains, "Hogwarts divides students into groups, called Houses, where students live for all seven years. There's four of them: Gryffindor's for bravery, Ravenclaw's for cleverness, Hufflepuff's for loyalty, and Slytherin's for ambition. That's what the Founders meant them to be, of course. Now Slytherin's mostly for purebloods who focus on blood purity and its inherent superiority; Ravenclaw's full of people who are smart and do well in classes; Gryffindor's the home of many reckless idiots, and I think Hufflepuff has the people who don't fit anywhere else."
Potter blinks. "Okay," he agrees mindlessly, and Draco wants to storm out of the shop. Alas, crooked robes, but still—this is the intellect of the Boy Who Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World?
"Which House do you think you'll be in, then," Draco says, wanting to tap his foot.
"Er—" Potter repeats, but before he can continue, Madame Malkin pulls the robe back over his head and says, "That's you done, my dear," and leads him out of the shop.
Draco expels air forcefully through his nostrils and glares down at the assistant painstakingly threading his robes. She's taken twice as long as Madame Malkin took with Potter, and he really wants to have his father buy him his Nimbus 2000 now.
On Draco's eighth birthday, midnight arrived with a bang, and nightmares tumbled through his mind. He woke up bawling and proceeded to wake the entire household with his wails. Dobby appeared at the end of his bed within a few seconds of the noise's beginning. He cringed away from the boy and said nervously, "Is there something Dobby can be doing for Master Draco?"
Draco sat up and stared at him with a quivering lip, then sobbed more harshly, burying his head in his hands. Dobby, whose mouth also began to quiver, snapped his fingers and disappeared, only to reappear a moment later with Draco's mother, her hand lightly draped over his shoulder. She used this hand to push him aside, striding quickly towards Draco's bed.
"My darling, what has happened?" she asked, sitting beside him.
Draco looked up at her, wide blue eyes rimmed with red and brimming with tears. As she began to stroke the white-blond hair at the nape of his neck he blubbered, "I had a dream, Mother—H-harry Potter a-and a curse and the D-d-da, the D—" Draco's stutters dissolved into incoherent whimpers; tears streamed steadily down his cheeks.
Narcissa shushed him, pulled him closer. "My son," she whispered. She began to hum a familiar lullaby.
"M-mum," Draco managed to get out through his heaving sobs, curling closer into her. She smoothed his hair back and stayed with him until his ragged breathing settled back into slumber.