"Draco, the Morrises are here!" Mum calls. I, six years old, run out to help her greet them. The Morris sisters, Alana (my best friend) and Abigail (her snotty older sister), five and seven, are standing in front of our iron gate. Alana has the nauseous look on her face, usually an effect of side-along apparition.

Abigail, however, tosses her long black hair over her shoulder, and gives me a sneer. I return it as well as I can.

The adults stand talking in front of the Manor for a moment, and Alana plops down in the grass to make a daisy chain. When the adults look away, Abigail snatches it from Alana's pudgy fingers and throws it over her shoulder.

Alana pouts, and pokes Abigail's leg with a stick. As our fathers leave to talk Ministry business in his study, and our mums go to have tea in the sitting room, I run over to my favorite tree.

My broom is resting against it, and I grab it. "Do you want to ride?" I ask politely. "Sure," Alana says.

Abigail scowls at me, and then sashays inside where the women are chatting away happily. I climb on my broom and scoot up, giving Alana enough room to slide on behind me.

I fly into the air, across the grass. Alana squeals, then wraps her arms around my waist, holding on for dear life.

"Am I going too fast?" I call above the sound of wind rushing by us. Alana shakes her head. "No, I'm having fun. Whee!" she cries happily, swinging her short legs.

I give her an air tour of the grounds, and Alana stares down, fascinated. "Wow, Draco, you have a pretty home!" she breathes. I have been over her house plenty of times with my parents, but Alana has never been here before.

She shoves her glasses further up her nose as we land. I misjudge the distance as we reach the ground, and Alana and I go tumbling. She starts laughing, and I join in.

A shadow blocks out the sunlight. Abigail is glaring down at us her blue eyes flashing. Alana gives me a mischievous look and I know what she is thinking.

Alana stands up, cups her fingers around her mouth, and yells at the top of her lungs, "Abigail loves Neville! Abigail loves Neville!" She is referring to Neville Longbottom, a clumsy boy we met at the Ministry's Dinner last month.

I laugh, and then shout, "Neville and Abigail, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!"

Alana bursts into a fit of giggles and Abigail sees red. "Come here, you little runts!" She chases us around the Manor, until she collapses in a tired heap in front of a shrub.

I look over at Alana, who does the unthinkable. She stands up, turns around, and wiggles her bottom at Abigail.

Abigail jumps up. Alana smirks at me, and then pulls me behind the house. The birch tree seems to say, 'hide over here!' so we climb into it, breathless, and trying our hardest not to laugh.

Alana beams at me and I reach over to tug her strawberry blonde ringlet. "Hey squirts!" Abigail calls from below. "When you come down here, you're dead meat!"

Alana leans down to make a face at her sister. "That's it, I'm coming up there!" Abigail yells. She is in front of us in what seems like two seconds.

Without thinking, Alana sticks her foot out. Abigail's hands slip, and she falls down, to the grass. "Abby!" Alana screams, clambering down to the bottom of the tree, with me in her wake.

Abigail glares at the two of us, but it soon disappears, as her face is overcome with obvious pain. "Is it broken?" I ask.

With encouragement from Alana and me, Abigail tries to move her left arm, but cries out. Alana takes out her father's old wand, and raises it the way she's seen him do. She mutters a spell, and Abigail rises into the air. We levitate her back to the Manor; where we have Dobby, my house-elf, heal her arm.

Alana brings her sister a glass of pumpkin juice from the kitchen, while I hand Abigail a pillow. Later that evening, my parents talk to me about the tree incident.

"What were you two thinking? You know how sensitive Abigail is about her friendship with Neville!" My mum cries.

My father sends me a secret look. "She should be," he whispers. I snicker.

"Lucius!" Mum scolds. My father sighs in defeat. "I'll go do some paperwork, Cissy," he says finally, rising and walking towards his study.

"Foiled again," he says quietly to me. I laugh again, but only inside my head. "Now," mum continues. "I want you to owl Abigail an apology letter."

I groan. "But mum, I have to-"

Mum raises her hand to stop me. "No buts young man," she says, giving me the 'evil-witch-mother-eye-of-death,' as Alana puts it. "You write the letter, or I'll give Luna Lovegood your ticket to the Quidditch World Cup on Sunday."

I gasp. "You would do that?" I squeak nervously. Mum smiles at me. "Would you like to try me, Draco?" I shake my head meekly, and go off to write my letter.

As I'm sitting in my room, facing a full inkwell and an empty piece of parchment, a thought suddenly strikes me.

Wait a moment, I think. I didn't even kick Abigail out of the tree!

EIGHT YEARS LATER

Alana's POV

"I can't believe you're going to the Yule Ball with Potter!" Draco cries. He's following me down the corridor, raving about the fact that I agreed to go to the Ball with Harry Potter.

I adjust the strap of my bag as I walk to the Great Hall. "It's mad!" Draco continues angrily. I give him a glare worthy of Abigail. "Look, Draco," I say, irritated, "Harry asked me, and I said yes. We're just going as friends."

Draco looks at me in disbelief. "Is that why you and Weaselette are going to pick out your dresses later?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "First of all, her name is Ginny. Secondly, of course I'm picking out a dress. What do you expect me to wear, jeans and a hoodie?"

Draco looks me up and down, and then thinks for a minute. "Yes," he replies, and I can't blame him. I'm a tomboy, so to speak, and hardly ever wear skirts if I can help it- let alone dresses.

I smirk at Draco. "Are you jealous?" I ask. The tips of his ears turn slightly pink, and he doesn't answer. "No," Draco replies.

"Remember the Quidditch World Cup we went to during the summer?" I say. Mr. Malfoy got us tickets in the top box, and we saw some of my Gryffindor friends up there too.

"Yeah," Draco says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Are you going with Pansy Parkinson?" I ask. Draco laughs. "No way," he replies. "I'm going with Astoria Greengrass."

I nod. "Great," I say. "Guess what? Ginny invited me to the Burrow next summer," I say. Draco's face clouds over. "But you and Abigail always come to Malfoy Manor during the summer break," he protests.

I roll my eyes. "It's just for a week, Draco, and besides, I practically live at Malfoy Manor. I'm sure you and your family won't miss me for one week," I say.

"Besides, you'll have Abigail!" Draco glares at me for suggesting that. It's no secret that my sister doesn't like him.

"Will Potter be there?"

I shrug. "I don't know; probably. I've met his aunt and uncle before, and they hate him. It's either the Burrow or Hogwarts, and Mrs. Weasley's cooking is to die for," I answer.

"You've met Potter's Aunt and Uncle? That's like meeting his parents!" Draco cries. I roll my eyes again. "I've met your parents for the past nine years," I reply.

Draco grunts, which he only does when he doesn't want to admit that someone else has a point that rules over his.

When we reach the Great Hall, I pass the Slytherin table to join my house, and sit next to Hermione Granger. She's lecturing Harry and Ron Weasley about the importance of fully-reading Hogwarts: A History, and the boys look relieved to see me.

"So, Hermione," I say, changing the subject. "Who are you going to the Yule Ball with?"

"She refuses to tell," Harry says. But Hermione leans over and whispers the name in my ear. I gasp and give a little squeal.

"Who are you going with?" Ron asks. "Let me guess, Malfoy? I'll bet you two sickles it's Malfoy." He crams a third spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

"No, I'm going with Harry," I reply happily, holding out my hand for the money. Ron groans, and then plops the sickles in my hand.

I smirk at him. Harry eyes my smirk. "You've been spending too much time around Malfoy," he jokes. I laugh, then pile chicken on my plate.

"So, I told Draco I'm going with Harry," I announce. Ron smiles. "What happened? Did he throw a tantrum? Did he threaten to tell his father?"

I laugh again. "He practically had an aneurism, and told me it was mad and a bunch of other things," I reply.

Ron gets a mischievous look. "Put the memory in a pensieve. I want to see it later," he says, seriously. I shoot him a look.

"So, who are you going with Ron?" Hermione asks. Ron looks up from his plate defensively. "If you don't want to tell me who you're going with, why should I tell you who-"

"Luna Lovegood," Harry interrupts. I stifle a laugh and Ron glares at me. "She's not so bad," Hermione says, elbowing me in the rib.

I giggle again. "Yeah, she's really nice. And Loony," I whisper to Harry, who tries to keep a straight face. Hermione elbows me again.

Later that night, I'm the Gryffindor common room with Neville Longbottom. Basically, I tutor him in Potions, and he tutors me in Herbology.

Neville holds up a flashcard. "What plant is this?" I squint at the card for a moment. "A bubotuber?" I guess. Neville shakes his head. "It's a belladonna," he explains.

After a while I pack my books up. "G'night, Neville," I say. After all, we have been studying for three hours.